The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by Robert Tressell

  Loud cheers greeted the conclusion of Bert’s speech. The box was placed on the table, which was then moved to the end of the room, and the chairs were ranged in two rows in front.

  The ‘Pandorama’ consisted of a stage-front made of painted cardboard and fixed on the front of a wooden box about three feet long by two feet six inches high, and about one foot deep from back to front. The ‘Show’ was a lot of pictures cut out of illustrated weekly papers and pasted together, end to end, so as to form a long strip or ribbon. Bert had coloured all the pictures with water-colours.

  Just behind the wings of the stage-front at each end of the box – was an upright roller, and the long strip of pictures was rolled up on this. The upper ends of the rollers came through the top of the box and had handles attached to them. When these handles were turned the pictures passed across the stage, unrolling from one roller and rolling on to the other, and were illuminated by the light of three candles placed behind.

  The idea of constructing this machine had been suggested to Bert by a panorama entertainment he had been to see some time before.

  ‘The Style of the decorations,’ he remarked, alluding to the painted stage-front, ‘is Moorish.’

  He lit the candles at the back of the stage and, having borrowed a tea-tray from Nora, desired the audience to take their seats. When they had all done so, he requested Owen to put out the lamp and the candles on the tree, and then he made another speech, imitating the manner of the lecturer at the panorama entertainment before mentioned.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen: with your kind permission I am about to hinterduce to your notice some pitchers of events in different parts of the world. As each pitcher appears on the stage I will give a short explanation of the subject, and afterwards the band will play a suitable collection of appropriated music, consisting of hymns and all the latest and most popular songs of the day, and the audience is kindly requested to join in the chorus.

  ‘Our first scene,’ continued Bert as he turned the handles and brought the picture into view, ‘represents the docks at Southampton; the magnificent steamer which you see lying alongside the shore is the ship which is waiting to take us to foreign parts. As we have already paid our fare, we will now go on board and set sail.’

  As an accompaniment to this picture Bert played the tune of ‘Goodbye, Dolly, I must leave you’, and by the time the audience had finished singing the chorus he had rolled on another scene, which depicted a dreadful storm at sea, with a large ship evidently on the point of foundering. The waves were running mountains high and the inky clouds were riven by forked lightning. To increase the terrifying effect, Bert rattled the tea-tray and played ‘The Bay of Biscay’, and the children sung the chorus whilst he rolled the next picture into view. This scene showed the streets of a large city; mounted police with drawn swords were dispersing a crowd: several men had been ridden down and were being trampled under the hoofs of the horses, and a number of others were bleeding profusely from wounds on the head and face.

  ‘After a rather stormy passage we arrives safely at the beautiful city of Berlin, in Germany, just in time to see a procession of unemployed workmen being charged by the military police. This picture is hintitled “Tariff Reform means Work for All”.’

  As an appropriate musical selection Bert played the tune of a well-known song, and the children sang the words:

  ‘To be there! to be there!

  Oh, I knew what it was to be there!

  And when they tore me clothes,

  Blacked me eyes and broke me nose,

  Then I knew what it was to be there!’

  During the singing Bert turned the handles backwards and again brought on the picture of the storm at sea.

  ‘As we don’t want to get knocked on the ’ed, we clears out of Berlin as soon as we can – whiles we’re safe – and once more embarks on our gallint ship, and after a few more turns of the ’andle we finds ourselves back once more in Merry Hingland, where we see the inside of a blacksmith’s shop with a lot of half-starved women making iron chains. They work seventy hours a week for seven shillings. Our next scene is hintitled “The Hook and Eye Carders”. ’Ere we see the inside of a room in Slumtown, with a mother and three children and the old grandmother sewin’ hooks and eyes on cards to be sold in drapers’ shops. It ses underneath the pitcher that 384 hooks and 384 eyes has to be joined together and sewed on cards for one penny.’

  While this picture was being rolled away the band played and the children sang with great enthusiasm:

  ‘Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves!

  Britons, never, never, never shall be slaves!’

  ‘Our next picture is called “An Englishman’s Home”. ’Ere we see the inside of another room in Slumtown, with the father and mother and four children sitting down to dinner – bread and drippin’ and tea. It ses underneath the pitcher that there’s Thirteen millions of people in England always on the verge of starvation. These people that you see in the pitcher might be able to get a better dinner than this if it wasn’t that most of the money wot the bloke earns ’as to pay the rent. Again we turns the ’andle and presently we comes to another very beautiful scene – “Early Morning in Trafalgar Square”. ’Ere we see a lot of Englishmen who have been sleepin’ out all night because they ain’t got no ’omes to go to.’

  As a suitable selection for this picture, Bert played the tune of a music-hall song, the words of which were familiar to all the youngsters, who sang at the top of their voices:

  ‘I live in Trafalgar Square,

  With four lions to guard me,

  Pictures and statues all over the place,

  Lord Nelson staring me straight in the face,

  Of course it’s rather draughty,

  But still I’m sure you’ll agree,

  If it’s good enough for Lord Nelson,

  It’s quite good enough for me.’

  ‘Next we ’ave a view of the dining-hall at the Topside Hotel in London, where we see the tables set for a millionaires’ banquet. The forks and spoons is made of solid gold and the plates is made of silver. The flowers that you see on the tables and ’angin’ down from the ceilin’ and on the walls is worth £2,000 and it cost the bloke wot give the supper over £30,000 for this one beano. A few more turns of the ’andle shows us another glorious banquet – the King of Rhineland being entertained by the people of England. Next we finds ourselves looking on at the Lord Mayor’s supper at the Mansion House. All the fat men that you see sittin’ at the tables is Liberal and Tory Members of Parlimint. After this we ’ave a very beautiful pitcher hintitled “Four footed Haristocrats”. ’Ere you see Lady Slumrent’s pet dogs sittin’ up on chairs at their dinner table with white linen napkins tied round their necks, eatin’ orf silver plates like human people and being waited on by real live waiters in hevening dress. Lady Slumrent is very fond of her pretty pets and she does not allow them to be fed on anything but the very best food; they gets chicken, rump steak, mutton chops, rice pudding, jelly and custard.’

  ‘I wished I was a pet dog, don’t you?’ remarked Tommy Newman to Charley Linden.

  ‘Not arf!’ replied Charley.

  ‘Here we see another unemployed procession,’ continued Bert as he rolled another picture into sight; ‘2,000 able-bodied men who are not allowed to work. Next we see the hinterior of a Hindustrial ’Ome – Blind children and cripples working for their living. Our next scene is called “Cheap Labour”. ’Ere we see a lot of small boys about twelve and thirteen years old bein’ served out with their Labour Stifficats, which gives ’em the right to go to work and earn money to help their unemployed fathers to pay the slum rent.

  ‘Once more we turns the ’andle and brings on one of our finest scenes. This lovely pitcher is hintitled “The Hangel of Charity”, and shows us the beautiful Lady Slumrent seated at the table in a cosy corner of ’er charmin’ boodore, writin’ out a little cheque for the relief of the poor of Slumtown.

  ‘Our next scene is called “Th
e Rival Candidates, or, a Scene during the General Election”. On the left you will observe, standin’ up in a motor car, a swell bloke with a eyeglass stuck in one eye, and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, addressing the crowd: this is the Honourable Augustus Slumrent, the Conservative candidate. On the other side of the road we see another motor car and another swell bloke with a round pane of glass in one eye and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, standing up in the car and addressin’ the crowd. This is Mr Mandriver, the Liberal candidate. The crowds of shabbylookin’ chaps standin’ round the motor cars wavin’ their ’ats and cheerin’ is workin’ men. Both the candidates is tellin’ ’em the same old story, and each of ’em is askin’ the workin’ men to elect ’im to Parlimint, and promisin’ to do something or other to make things better for the lower horders.’

  As an appropriate selection to go with this picture, Bert played the tune of a popular song, the words being well known to the children, who sang enthusiastically, clapping their hands and stamping their feet on the floor in time with the music:

  ‘We’ve both been there before,

  Many a time, many a time!

  We’ve both been there before,

  Many a time!

  Where many a gallon of beer has gone,

  To colour his nose and mine,

  We’ve both been there before,

  Many a time, many a time!’

  At the conclusion of the singing, Bert turned another picture into view.

  ‘’Ere we ’ave another election scene. At each side we see the two candidates the same as in the last pitcher. In the middle of the road we see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot of Liberal and Tory working men kickin’ ’im, jumpin’ on ’im, and stampin’ on ’is face with their ’obnailed boots. The bloke on the ground is a Socialist, and the reason why they’re kickin’ ’is face in is because ’e said that the only difference between Slumrent and Mandriver was that they was both alike.’

  While the audience were admiring this picture, Bert played another well-known tune, and the children sang the words:

  ‘Two lovely black eyes,

  Oh what a surprise!

  Only for telling a man he was wrong,

  Two lovely black eyes.’

  Bert continued to turn the handles of the rollers and a long succession of pictures passed across the stage, to the delight of the children, who cheered and sang as occasion demanded, but the most enthusiastic outburst of all greeted the appearance of the final picture, which was a portrait of the King. Directly the children saw it – without waiting for the band – they gave three cheers and began to sing the chorus of the National Anthem.

  A round of applause for Bert concluded the Pandorama performance; the lamp and the candles of the Christmas tree were relit – for although all the toys had been taken off, the tree still made a fine show with the shining glass ornaments – and then they had some more games; blind man’s buff, a tug-of-war – in which Philpot was defeated with great laughter – and a lot of other games. And when they were tired of these, each child ‘said a piece’ or sung a song, learnt specially for the occasion. The only one who had not come prepared in this respect was little Rosie, and even she – so as to be the same as the others – insisted on reciting the only piece she knew. Kneeling on the hearthrug, she put her hands together, palm to palm, and shutting her eyes very tightly she repeated the verse she always said every night before going to bed:

  ‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,

  Look on me, a little child.

  Pity my simplicity,

  Suffer me to come to Thee.’

  Then she stood up and kissed everyone in turn, and Philpot crossed over and began looking out of the window, and coughed, and blew his nose, because a nut that he had been eating had gone down the wrong way.

  Most of them were by this time quite tired out, so after some supper the party broke up. Although they were nearly all very sleepy, none of them were very willing to go, but they were consoled by the thought of another entertainment to which they were going later on in the week – the Band of Hope Tea and Prize Distribution at the Shining Light Chapel.

  Bert undertook to see Elsie and Charley safely home, and Philpot volunteered to accompany Nellie and Tommy Newman, and to carry Rosie, who was so tired that she fell asleep on his shoulder before they left the house.

  As they were going down the stairs Frankie held a hurried consultation with his mother, with the result that he was able to shout after them an invitation to come again next Christmas.

  30

  The Brigands hold a Council of War

  It being now what is usually called the festive season – possibly because at this period of the year a greater number of people are suffering from hunger and cold than at any other time – the reader will not be surprised at being invited to another little party which took place on the day after the one we have just left. The scene was Mr Sweater’s office. Mr Sweater was seated at his desk, but with his chair swung round to enable him to face his guests – Messrs Rushton, Didlum, and Grinder, who were also seated.

  ‘Something will ’ave to be done, and that very soon,’ Grinder was saying. ‘We can’t go on much longer as we’re doing at present. For my part, I think the best thing to do is to chuck up the sponge at once; the company is practically bankrupt now, and the longer we waits the worser it will be.’

  ‘That’s just my opinion,’ said Didlum dejectedly. ‘If we could supply the electric light at the same price as gas, or a little cheaper, we might have some chance; but we can’t do it. The fact is that the machinery we’ve got is no dam good; it’s too small and it’s wore out, consequently the light we supply is inferior to gas and costs more.’

  ‘Yes, I think we’re fairly beaten this time,’ said Rushton. ‘Why, even if the Gas Coy. hadn’t moved their works beyond the borough boundary, still we shouldn’t ’ave been hable to compete with ’em.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Grinder. ‘The truth of the matter is just wot Didlum says. Our machinery is too small, it’s worn hout, and good for nothing but to be throwed on the scrap-heap. So there’s only one thing left to do and that is – go into liquidation.’

  ‘I don’t see it,’ remarked Sweater.

  ‘Well, what do you propose, then?’ demanded Grinder. ‘Reconstruct the company? Ask the shareholders for more money? Pull down the works and build fresh, and buy some new machinery? And then most likely not make a do of it after all? Not for me, old chap! I’ve ’ad enough. You won’t catch me chuckin’ good money after bad in that way.’

  ‘Nor me neither,’ said Rushton.

  ‘Dead orf!’ remarked Didlum, very decidedly.

  Sweater laughed quietly. ‘I’m not such a fool as to suggest anything of that sort,’ he said. ‘You seem to forget that I am one of the largest shareholders myself. No. What I propose is that we Sell Out.’

  ‘Sell out!’ replied Grinder with a contemptuous laugh in which the others joined. ‘Who’s going to buy the shares of a concern that’s practically bankrupt and never paid a dividend?’

  ‘I’ve tried to sell my little lot several times already,’ said Didlum with a sickly smile, ‘but nobody won’t buy ’em.’

  ‘Who’s to buy?’ repeated Sweater, replying to Grinder. ‘The municipality of course! The ratepayers. Why shouldn’t Mugsborough go in for Socialism as well as other towns?’

  Rushton, Didlum and Grinder fairly gasped for breath: the audacity of the chief’s proposal nearly paralysed them.

  ‘I’m afraid we should never git away with it,’ ejaculated Didlum, as soon as he could speak. ‘When the people tumbled to it, there’d be no hend of a row.’

  ‘People! Row!’ replied Sweater, scornfully. ‘The majority of the people will never know anything about it! Listen to me –’

  ‘Are you quite sure as we can’t be over’eard?’ interrupted Rushton, glancing nervously at the door and round the office.

  ‘It’s all right,’ answered Swe
ater, who nevertheless lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and the others drew their chairs closer and bent forward to listen.

  ‘You know we still have a little money in hand: well, what I propose is this: At the annual meeting, which, as you know, comes off next week, we’ll arrange for the Secretary to read a highly satisfactory report, and we’ll declare a dividend of 15 per cent – we can arrange it somehow between us. Of course, we’ll have to cook the accounts a little, but I’ll see that it’s done properly. The other shareholders are not going to ask any awkward questions, and we all understand each other.’

  Sweater paused, and regarded the other three brigands intently. ‘Do you follow me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Didlum eagerly. ‘Go on with it.’ And Rushton and Grinder nodded assent.

  ‘Afterwards,’ resumed Sweater, ‘I’ll arrange for a good report of the meeting to appear in the Weekly Ananias. I’ll instruct the Editor to write it himself, and I’ll tell him just what to say. I’ll also get him to write a leading article about it, saying that electricity is sure to supersede gas for lighting purposes in the very near future. Then the article will go on to refer to the huge profits made by the Gas Coy. and to say how much better it would have been if the town had bought the gasworks years ago, so that those profits might have been used to reduce the rates, the same as has been done in other towns. Finally, the article will declare that it’s a great pity that the Electric Light Supply should be in the hands of a private company, and to suggest that an effort be made to acquire it for the town.

  ‘In the meantime we can all go about – in a very quiet and judicious way, of course – bragging about what a good thing we’ve got, and saying we don’t mean to sell. We shall say that we’ve overcome all the initial expenses and difficulties connected with the installation of the works – that we are only just beginning to reap the reward of our industry and enterprise, and so on.