The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by Robert Tressell

  ‘’Ear, ’ear,’ said Linden, who always agreed with Crass, because the latter, being in charge of the job, had it in his power to put in a good – or a bad – word for a man to the boss. ‘’Ear, ’ear! Now that’s wot I call common sense.’

  Several other men, for the same reason as Linden, echoed Crass’s sentiments, but Owen laughed contemptuously.

  ‘Yes, it’s quite true that we gets a lot of stuff from foreign countries,’ said Harlow, ‘but they buys more from us than we do from them.’

  ‘Now you think you know a ’ell of a lot,’ said Crass. ‘’Ow much more did they buy from us last year, than we did from them?’

  Harlow looked foolish: as a matter of fact his knowledge of the subject was not much wider than Crass’s. He mumbled something about not having no ’ed for figures, and offered to bring full particulars next day.

  ‘You’re wot I call a bloody windbag,’ continued Crass; ‘you’ve got a ’ell of a lot to say, but wen it comes to the point you don’t know nothin’.’

  ‘Wy, even ’ere in Mugsborough,’ chimed in Sawkins – who though still lying on the dresser had been awakened by the shouting – ‘we’re overrun with ’em! Nearly all the waiters and the cook at the Grand Hotel where we was working last month is foreigners.’

  ‘Yes,’ said old Joe Philpot, tragically, ‘and then thers all them Hitalian horgin grinders, an’ the blokes wot sells ’ot chestnuts: an’ wen I was goin’ ’ome last night I see a lot of them Frenchies sellin’ hunions, an’ a little wile afterwards I met two more of ’em comin’ up the street with a bear.’

  Notwithstanding the disquieting nature of this intelligence, Owen again laughed, much to the indignation of the others, who thought it was a very serious state of affairs. It was a dam’ shame that these people were allowed to take the bread out of English people’s mouths: they ought to be driven into the bloody sea.

  And so the talk continued, principally carried on by Crass and those who agreed with him. None of them really understood the subject: not one of them had ever devoted fifteen consecutive minutes to the earnest investigation of it. The papers they read were filled with vague and alarming accounts of the quantities of foreign merchandise imported into this country, the enormous number of aliens constantly arriving, and their destitute conditions, how they lived, the crimes they committed, and the injury they did to British trade. These were the seeds which, cunningly sown in their minds, caused to grow up within them a bitter undiscriminating hatred of foreigners. To them the mysterious thing they variously called the ‘Friscal Policy’, the ‘Fistical Policy’, or the ‘Fissical Question’ was a great Anti-Foreign Crusade. The country was in a hell of a state, poverty, hunger and misery in a hundred forms had already invaded thousands of homes and stood upon the thresholds of thousands more. How came these things to be? It was the bloody foreigner! Therefore, down with the foreigners and all their works. Out with them. Drive them b—s into the bloody sea! The country would be ruined if not protected in some way. This Friscal, Fistical, Fissical or whatever the hell policy it was called, was Protection, therefore no one but a bloody fool could hesitate to support it. It was all quite plain – quite simple. One did not need to think twice about it. It was scarcely necessary to think about it at all.

  This was the conclusion reached by Crass and such of his mates who thought they were Conservatives – the majority of them could not have read a dozen sentences aloud without stumbling – it was not necessary to think or study or investigate anything. It was all as clear as daylight. The foreigner was the enemy, and the cause of poverty and bad trade.

  When the storm had in some degree subsided,

  ‘Some of you seem to think,’ said Owen, sneeringly, ‘that it was a great mistake on God’s part to make so many foreigners. You ought to hold a mass meeting about it: pass a resolution something like this: “This meeting of British Christians hereby indignantly protests against the action of the Supreme Being in having created so many foreigners, and calls upon him to forthwith rain down fire, brimstone and mighty rocks upon the heads of all those Philistines, so that they may be utterly exterminated from the face of the earth, which rightly belongs to the British people”.’

  Crass looked very indignant, but could think of nothing to say in answer to Owen, who continued:

  ‘A little while ago you made the remark that you never trouble yourself about what you call politics, and some of the rest agreed with you that to do so is not worth while. Well, since you never “worry” yourself about these things, it follows that you know nothing about them; yet you do not hesitate to express the most decided opinions concerning matters of which you admittedly know nothing. Presently, when there is an election, you will go and vote in favour of a policy of which you know nothing. I say that since you never take the trouble to find out which side is right or wrong you have no right to express any opinion. You are not fit to vote. You should not be allowed to vote.’

  Crass was by this time very angry.

  ‘I pays my rates and taxes,’ he shouted, ‘an’ I’ve got as much right to express an opinion as you ’ave. I votes for who the bloody ’ell I likes. I shan’t arst your leave nor nobody else’s! Wot the ’ell’s it got to do with you who I votes for?’

  ‘It has a great deal to do with me. If you vote for Protection you will be helping to bring it about, and if you succeed, and if Protection is the evil that some people say it is, I shall be one of those who will suffer. I say you have no right to vote for a policy which may bring suffering upon other people, without taking the trouble to find out whether you are helping to make things better or worse.’

  Owen had risen from his seat and was walking up and down the room emphasizing his words with excited gestures.

  ‘As for not trying to find out wot side is right,’ said Crass, somewhat overawed by Owen’s manner and by what he thought was the glare of madness in the latter’s eyes, ‘I reads the Ananias every week, and I generally takes the Daily Chloroform, or the Hobscurer, so I ought to know summat about it.’

  ‘Just listen to this,’ interrupted Easton, wishing to create a diversion and beginning to read from the copy of the Obscurer which he still held in his hand:

  ‘GREAT DISTRESS IN MUGSBOROUGH.

  HUNDREDS OUT OF EMPLOYMENT.

  WORK OF THE CHARITY SOCIETY.

  789 CASES ON THE BOOKS.

  ‘Great as was the distress among the working classes last year, unfortunately there seems every prospect that before the winter which has just commenced is over the distress will be even more acute.

  Already the Charity Society and kindred associations are relieving more cases than they did at the corresponding time last year. Applications to the Board of Guardians have also been much more numerous, and the Soup Kitchen has had to open its doors on Nov. 7th a fortnight earlier than usual. The number of men, women and children provided with meals is three or four times greater than last year.’

  Easton stopped: reading was hard work to him.

  ‘There’s a lot more,’ he said, ‘about starting relief works: two shillings a day for married men and one shilling for single and something about there’s been 1,572 quarts of soup given to poor families wot was not even able to pay a penny, and a lot more. And ’ere’s another thing, an advertisement.

  ‘THE SUFFERING POOR

  Sir: Distress among the poor is so acute that I earnestly ask you for aid for The Salvation Army’s great Social work on their behalf. Some 6000 are being sheltered nightly. Hundreds are found work daily. Soup and bread are distributed in the midnight hours to homeless wanderers in London. Additional workshops for the unemployed have been established. Our Social Work for men, women and children, for the characterless and the outcast, is the largest and oldest organized effort of its kind in the country, and greatly needs help. £10,000 is required before Christmas day. Gifts may be made to any specific section or home, if desired. Can you please send us something to keep the work going? Please address cheques, crossed Bank of En
gland (Law Courts Branch), to me at 101, Queen Victoria Street, EC. Balance Sheets and Reports upon application.

  ‘BRAMWELL BOOTH.’

  ‘Oh, that’s part of the great ’appiness an’ prosperity wot Owen makes out Free Trade brings,’ said Crass with a jeering laugh.

  ‘I never said Free Trade brought happiness or prosperity,’ said Owen.

  ‘Well, praps you didn’t say exactly them words, but that’s wot it amounts to.’

  ‘I never said anything of the kind. We’ve had Free Trade for the last fifty years and today most people are living in a condition of more or less abject poverty, and thousands are literally starving. When we had Protection things were worse still. Other countries have Protection and yet many of their people are glad to come here and work for starvation wages. The only difference between Free Trade and Protection is that under certain circumstances one might be a little worse than the other, but as remedies for Poverty, neither of them are of any real use whatever, for the simple reason that they do not deal with the real causes of Poverty.’

  ‘The greatest cause of poverty is hover-population,’ remarked Harlow.

  ‘Yes,’ said old Joe Philpot. ‘If a boss wants two men, twenty goes after the job: ther’s too many people and not enough work.’

  ‘Over-population!’ cried Owen, ‘when there’s thousands of acres of uncultivated land in England without a house or human being to be seen. Is over-population the cause of poverty in France? Is over-population the cause of poverty in Ireland? Within the last fifty years the population of Ireland has been reduced by more than half. Four millions of people have been exterminated by famine or got rid of by emigration, but they haven’t got rid of poverty. P’raps you think that half the people in this country ought to be exterminated as well.’

  Here Owen was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and resumed his seat. When the cough had ceased he sat wiping his mouth with his handkerchief and listening to the talk that ensued.

  ‘Drink is the cause of most of the poverty,’ said Slyme.

  This young man had been through some strange process that he called ‘conversion’. He had had a ‘change of ’art’ and looked down with pious pity upon those he called ‘worldly’ people. He was not ‘worldly’, he did not smoke or drink and never went to the theatre. He had an extraordinary notion that total abstinence was one of the fundamental principles of the Christian religion. It never occurred to what he called his mind, that this doctrine is an insult to the Founder of Christianity.

  ‘Yes,’ said Crass, agreeing with Slyme, ‘an’ thers plenty of ’em wot’s too lazy to work when they can get it. Some of the b—s who go about pleading poverty ’ave never done a fair day’s work in all their bloody lives. Then thers all this new fangled machinery,’ continued Crass. ‘That’s wot’s ruinin’ everything. Even in our trade ther’s them machines for trimmin’ wallpaper, an’ now they’ve brought out a paintin’ machine. Ther’s a pump an’ a ’ose pipe, an’ they reckon two men can do as much with this ’ere machine as twenty could without it.’

  ‘Another thing is women,’ said Harlow, ‘there’s thousands of ’em nowadays doin’ work wot oughter be done by men.’

  ‘In my opinion ther’s too much of this ’ere eddication, nowadays,’ remarked old Linden. ‘Wot the ’ell’s the good of eddication to the likes of us?’

  ‘None whatever,’ said Crass, ‘it just puts foolish idears into people’s ’eds and makes ’em too lazy to work.’

  Barrington, who took no part in the conversation, still sat silently smoking. Owen was listening to this pitiable farrago with feelings of contempt and wonder. Were they all hopelessly stupid? Had their intelligence never developed beyond the childhood stage? Or was he mad himself?

  ‘Early marriages is another thing,’ said Slyme: ‘no man oughtn’t to be allowed to get married unless he’s in a position to keep a family.’

  ‘How can marriage be a cause of poverty?’ said Owen, contemptuously. ‘A man who is not married is living an unnatural life. Why don’t you continue your argument a little further and say that the practice of eating and drinking is the cause of poverty or that if people were to go barefoot and naked there would be no poverty? The man who is so poor that he cannot marry is in a condition of poverty already.’

  ‘Wot I mean,’ said Slyme, ‘is that no man oughtn’t to marry till he’s saved up enough so as to ’ave some money in the bank; an’ another thing, I reckon a man oughtn’t to get married till ’e’s got a ’ouse of ’is own. It’s easy enough to buy one in a building society if you’re in reg’lar work.’

  At this there was a general laugh.

  ‘Why, you bloody fool,’ said Harlow, scornfully, ‘most of us is walkin’ about ’arf our time. It’s all very well for you to talk; you’ve got almost a constant job on this firm. If they’re doin’ anything at all you’re one of the few wot gets a show in. And another thing,’ he added with a sneer, ‘we don’t all go to the same chapel as old Misery.’

  ‘Old Misery’ was Rushton & Co.’s manager or walking foreman. ‘Misery’ was only one of the nicknames bestowed upon him by the hands: he was also known as ‘Nimrod’ and ‘Pontius Pilate’.

  ‘And even if it’s not possible,’ Harlow continued, winking at the others, ‘what’s a man to do during the years he’s savin’ up?’

  ‘Well, he must conquer hisself,’ said Slyme, getting red.

  ‘Conquer hisself is right!’ said Harlow and the others laughed again.

  ‘Of course if a man tried to conquer hisself by his own strength,’ replied Slyme, ‘’e would be sure to fail, but when you’ve got the Grace of God in you it’s different.’

  ‘Chuck it, fer Christ’s sake!’ said Harlow in a tone of disgust. ‘We’ve only just ’ad our dinner!’

  ‘And wot about drink?’ demanded old Joe Philpot, suddenly.

  ‘’Ear, ’ear,’ cried Harlow. ‘That’s the bleedin’ talk. I wouldn’t mind ’avin ’arf a pint now, if somebody else will pay for it.’

  Joe Philpot – or as he was usually called, ‘Old Joe’ – was in the habit of indulging freely in the cup that inebriates. He was not very old, being only a little over fifty, but he looked much older. He had lost his wife some five years ago and was now alone in the world, for his three children had died in their infancy. Slyme’s reference to drink had roused Philpot’s indignation; he felt that it was directed against himself. The muddled condition of his brain did not permit him to take up the cudgels in his own behalf, but he knew that although Owen was a teetotaller himself, he disliked Slyme.

  ‘There’s no need for us to talk about drink or laziness,’ returned Owen, impatiently, ‘because they have nothing to do with the matter. The question is, what is the cause of the lifelong poverty of the majority of those who are not drunkards and who do work? Why, if all the drunkards and won’t-works and unskilled or inefficient workers could be by some miracle transformed into sober, industrious and skilled workers tomorrow, it would, under the present conditions, be so much the worse for us, because there isn’t enough work for all now and those people by increasing the competition for what work there is, would inevitably cause a reduction of wages and a greater scarcity of employment. The theories that drunkenness, laziness or inefficiency are the causes of poverty are so many devices invented and fostered by those who are selfishly interested in maintaining the present states of affairs, for the purpose of preventing us from discovering the real causes of our present condition.’

  ‘Well, if we’re all wrong,’ said Crass, with a sneer, ‘praps you can tell us what the real cause is?’

  ‘An’ praps you think you know how it’s to be altered,’ remarked Harlow, winking at the others.

  ‘Yes; I do think I know the cause,’ declared Owen, ‘and I do think I know how it could be altered –’

  ‘It can’t never be haltered,’ interrupted old Linden. ‘I don’t see no sense in all this ’ere talk. There’s always been rich and poor in the world, and there always wil
l be.’

  ‘Wot I always say is this ’ere,’ remarked Philpot, whose principal characteristic – apart from thirst – was a desire to see everyone comfortable, and who hated rows of any kind. ‘There ain’t no use in the likes of us trubblin our ’eds or quarrelin about politics. It don’t make a dam bit of difference who you votes for or who gets in. They’re hall the same; workin the horicle for their own benefit. You can talk till you’re black in the face, but you won’t never be able to alter it. It’s no use worrying. The sensible thing is to try and make the best of things as we find ’em: enjoy ourselves, and do the best we can for each other. Life’s too short to quarrel and we’ll hall soon be dead!’

  At the end of this lengthy speech, the philosophic Philpot abstractedly grasped a jam-jar and raised it to his lips; but suddenly remembering that it contained stewed tea and not beer, set it down again without drinking.

  ‘Let us begin at the beginning,’ continued Owen, taking no notice of these interruptions. ‘First of all, what do you mean by Poverty?’

  ‘Why, if you’ve got no money, of course,’ said Crass impatiently.

  The others laughed disdainfully. It seemed to them such a foolish question.

  ‘Well, that’s true enough as far as it goes,’ returned Owen, ‘that is, as things are arranged in the world at present. But money itself is not wealth: it’s of no use whatever.’

  At this there was another outburst of jeering laughter.

  ‘Supposing for example that you and Harlow were shipwrecked on a desolate island, and you had saved nothing from the wreck but a bag containing a thousand sovereigns, and he had a tin of biscuits and a bottle of water.’

  ‘Make it beer!’ cried Harlow appealingly.

  ‘Who would be the richer man, you or Harlow?’