Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) 📖

like brutes for the benefit of other people.

They did not want to be civilized themselves and they intended to take

good care that the children they had brought into the world should

never enjoy the benefits of civilization either. As they often said:

 

`Who and what are our children that they shouldn’t be made to work for

their betters? They’re not Gentry’s children, are they? The good

things of life was never meant for the likes of them. Let ‘em work!

That’s wot the likes of them was made for, and if we can only get

Tariff Reform for ‘em they will always be sure of plenty of it - not

only Full Time, but Overtime! As for edication, travellin’ in furrin’

parts, an’ enjoying life an’ all sich things as that, they was never

meant for the likes of our children - they’re meant for Gentry’s

children! Our children is only like so much dirt compared with

Gentry’s children! That’s wot the likes of us is made for - to Work

for Gentry, so as they can ‘ave plenty of time to enjoy theirselves;

and the Gentry is made to ‘ave a good time so as the likes of us can

‘ave Plenty of Work.’

 

There were several more verses, and by the time they had sung them

all, the Tories were in a state of wild enthusiasm. Even Ned Dawson,

who had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on the table,

roused himself up at the end of each verse, and after having joined in

the chorus, went to sleep again.

 

At the end of the song they gave three cheers for Tariff Reform and

Plenty of Work, and then Crass, who, as the singer of the last song,

had the right to call upon the next man, nominated Philpot, who

received an ovation when he stood up, for he was a general favourite.

He never did no harm to nobody, and he was always wiling to do anyone

a good turn whenever he had the opportunity. Shouts of `Good old Joe’

resounded through the room as he crossed over to the piano, and in

response to numerous requests for `The old song’ he began to sing `The

Flower Show’:

 

`Whilst walkin’ out the other night, not knowing where to go

I saw a bill upon a wall about a Flower Show.

 

So I thought the flowers I’d go and see to pass away the night.

And when I got into that Show it was a curious sight.

So with your kind intention and a little of your aid,

Tonight some flowers I’ll mention which I hope will never fade.’

 

Omnes:

Tonight some flowers I’ll mention which I hope will never fade.’

 

There were several more verses, from which it appeared that the

principal flowers in the Show were the Rose, the Thistle and the

Shamrock.

 

When he had finished, the applause was so deafening and the demands

for an encore so persistent that to satisfy them he sang another old

favourite - `Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?’

 

`Ever coming, ever going,

Men and women hurry by,

Heedless of the tear-drops gleaming,

In her sad and wistful eye

How her little heart is sighing

Thro’ the cold and dreary hours,

Only listen to her crying,

“Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?”’

 

When the last verse of this sang had been sung five er six times,

Philpot exercised his right of nominating the next singer, and called

upon Dick Wantley, who with many suggestive gestures and grimaces sang

`Put me amongst the girls’, and afterwards called upon Payne, the

foreman carpenter, who gave `I’m the Marquis of Camberwell Green’.

 

There was a lot of what music-hall artists call `business’ attached to

his song, and as he proceeded, Payne, who was ghastly pale and very

nervous, went through a lot of galvanic motions and gestures, bowing

and scraping and sliding about and flourishing his handkerchief in

imitation of the courtly graces of the Marquis. During this

performance the audience maintained an appalling silence, which so

embarrassed Payne that before he was half-way through the song he had

to stop because he could not remember the rest. However, to make up

for this failure he sang another called `We all must die, like the

fire in the grate’. This also was received in a very lukewarm manner

by the crowd, same of whom laughed and others suggested that if he

couldn’t sing any better than that, the sooner HE was dead the better.

 

This was followed by another Tory ballad, the chorus being as follows:

 

His clothes may be ragged, his hands may be soiled.

But where’s the disgrace if for bread he has toiled.

His ‘art is in the right place, deny it no one can

The backbone of Old England is the honest workin’ man.’

 

After a few more songs it was decided to adjourn to a field at the

rear of the tavern to have a game of cricket. Sides were formed,

Rushton, Didlum, Grinder, and the other gentlemen taking part just as

if they were only common people, and while the game was in progress

the rest played ring quoits or reclined on the grass watching the

players, whilst the remainder amused themselves drinking beer and

playing cards and shove-ha’penny in the bar parlour, or taking walks

around the village sampling the beer at the other pubs, of which there

were three.

 

The time passed in this manner until seven o’clock, the hour at which

it had been arranged to start on the return journey; but about a

quarter of an hour before they set out an unpleasant incident occurred.

 

During the time that they were playing cricket a party of glee

singers, consisting of four young girls and five men, three of whom

were young fellows, the other two being rather elderly, possibly the

fathers of some of the younger members of the party, came into the

field and sang several part songs for their entertainment. Towards

the close of the game most of the men had assembled in this field, and

during a pause in the singing the musicians sent one of their number,

a shy girl about eighteen years of age - who seemed as if she would

rather that someone else had the task - amongst the crowd to make a

collection. The girl was very nervous and blushed as she murmured her

request, and held out a straw hat that evidently belonged to one of

the male members of the glee party. A few of the men gave pennies,

some refused or pretended not to see either the girl or the hat,

others offered to give her some money for a kiss, but what caused the

trouble was that two or three of those who had been drinking more than

was good for them dropped the still burning ends of their cigars, all

wet with saliva as they were, into the hat and Dick Wantley spit into

it.

 

The girl hastily returned to her companions, and as she went some of

the men who had witnessed the behaviour of those who had insulted her,

advised them to make themselves scarce, as they stood a good chance of

getting a thrashing from the girl’s friends. They said it would serve

them dam’ well right if they did get a hammering.

 

Partly sobered by fear, the three culprits sneaked off and hid

themselves, pale and trembling with terror, under the box seats of the

three brakes. They had scarcely left when the men of the glee party

came running up, furiously demanding to see those who had insulted the

girl. As they could get no satisfactory answer, one of their number

ran back and presently returned, bringing the girl with him, the other

young women following a little way behind.

 

She said she could not see the men they were looking for, so they went

down to the public house to see if they could find them there, some of

the Rushton’s men accompanying them and protesting their indignation.

 

The time passed quickly enough and by half past seven the brakes were

loaded up again and a start made for the return journey.

 

They called at all the taverns on the road, and by the time they

reached the Blue Lion half of them were three sheets in the wind, and

five or six were very drunk, including the driver of Crass’s brake and

the man with the bugle. The latter was so far gone that they had to

let him lie down in the bottom of the carriage amongst their feet,

where he fell asleep, while the others amused themselves by blowing

weird shrieks out of the horn.

 

There was an automatic penny-in-the-slot piano at the Blue Lion and as

that was the last house of the road they made a rather long stop

there, playing hooks and rings, shove-ha’penny, drinking, singing,

dancing and finally quarrelling.

 

Several of them seemed disposed to quarrel with Newman. All sorts of

offensive remarks were made at him in his hearing. Once someone

ostentatiously knocked his glass of lemonade over, and a little later

someone else collided violently with him just as he was in the act of

drinking, causing his lemonade to spill all over his clothes. The

worst of it was that most of these rowdy ones were his fellow

passengers in Crass’s brake, and there was not much chance of getting

a seat in either of the other carriages, for they were overcrowded

already.

 

From the remarks he overheard from time to time, Newman guessed the

reason of their hostility, and as their manner towards him grew more

menacing, he became so nervous that he began to think of quietly

sneaking off and walking the remainder of the way home by himself,

unless he could get somebody in one of the other brakes to change

seats with him.

 

Whilst these thoughts were agitating his mind, Dick Wantley suddenly

shouted out that he was going to go for the dirty tyke who had offered

to work under price last winter.

 

It was his fault that they were all working for sixpence halfpenny and

he was going to wipe the floor with him. Some of his friends eagerly

offered to assist, but others interposed, and for a time it looked as

if there was going to be a free fight, the aggressors struggling hard

to get at their inoffensive victim.

 

Eventually, however, Newman found a seat in Misery’s brake, squatting

on the floor with his back to the horses, thankful enough to be out of

reach of the drunken savages, who were now roaring out ribald songs

and startling the countryside, as they drove along, with unearthly

blasts on the coach horn.

 

Meantime, although none of them seemed to notice it, the brake was

travelling at a furious rate, and swaying about from side to side in a

very erratic manner. It would have been the last carriage, but things

had got a bit mixed at the Blue Lion and, instead of bringing up the

rear of the procession, it was now second, just behind the small

vehicle containing Rushton and his friends.

 

Crass several times reminded them that the other carriage was so near

that Rushton must be able to hear every word that was said, and these

repeated admonitions at length enraged the Semidrunk, who shouted out

that they didn’t care a b—r if he could hear. Who the bloody hell

was he? To hell with him!

 

`Damn Rushton, and you too!’ cried Bill Bates, addressing Crass.

`You’re only a dirty toe-rag! That’s all you are - a bloody rotter!

That’s the only reason you gets put in charge of jobs - ‘cos you’re a

good nigger-driver! You’re a