The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists is an important historical document, a powerful critique of social injustice, and a compelling piece of literature that continues to resonate today. It stands as a powerful testament to the resilience of the working class and their ongoing fight for a fairer society.
George Orwell was a big fan. Although he never wrote a full-fledged review, he did express his strong admiration for the book on several occasions.
He praised its authenticity and particularly appreciated the novel's "faithful picture of working-class life", its ability to capture the "tiny things almost unimaginable to any comfortably situated person which make life a misery when one's income drops below a certain level". He also acknowledged its impact, regarding it as a "considerable work of art" and "a book that everyone should read" He even commented on the tragedy of losing a potential "considerable novelist" in the author, Robert Tressell, due to societal neglect
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We have selected Chapter 21 The Reign of Terror: The Great Money Trick to do a wee experiment and would appreciate any feedback. As with our new e-book, Aesop's Fables we are translating into Modern Scots using AI. Readers (especially speakers/readers of Scots) can judge whether or not the effort is worthwhile...
Chapter 21: The Reign o Terror. The Great Siller Scam
Ower the neist fower weeks, that same dreidfu rule held sway at 'The Cave'. The men toiled lik prisoners, aye watched ower by Crass, Misery and Rushton. Nae a soul felt safe frae their eyes for a single meenit. Mair often than no, a man workin his lane – or thinkin he was – wid turn roond tae find Hunter or Rushton stannin ahint him; or lift his heid, and there a face wid be, glowerin frae a door, a windae, or ower the stair railin. Gin they were workin in a room doonstairs, or at a windae oan ony level, they kent fine weel that Hunter and Rushton made a habit o hidin in the trees roond the hoose, and spyin on them that gate.
There was a plimmer ootside fixin the gutterin roond the fit o the ruif. This puir cratur's life was a roch misery: he thocht he saw Hunter or Rushton lurkin in ilka buss. He had twa leddirs tae work wi, an syne they'd been in use, Misery had fun a new wey o keepin an eye on the men. Findin he niver catched onybody daein onything wrang when he gaed intae the hoose through a door, Misery took tae creepin up yin o the leddirs, in through yin o the upper windaes, slippin quietly doon the stairs and in-an-oot the rooms. Even then he niver catched onybody, but that didnae maitter, for he got whit he aimed for -- ilka man seemed feart tae tak a break, even for a meenit.
O course, the end result o aw this was that the work raced towards finishin. The lads griped and cursed, but at the same time, ilka yin o them tore intae it wi aw they had. Though he did next tae naething hissel, Crass watched and harried the rest. He was 'in chairge o the job': he kent fine that unless he made this work profitable, he widna be pit in chairge o ony ither. On the ither haund, gin he did make it pay, he'd get chosen first ower ithers and kept on for as lang as the firm had ony work. But the firm wid only favour him for as lang as it suited them. As for the lads, ilka man kent there was nae chance o gettin work onywhere else for noo; there were dozens oot o employment already. Aside frae that, even gin there micht hae been a chance o a job some ither place, they were aware that the conditions were mair or less the same oan every firm. Some were even waur than this yin. Each man knew that unless he did as muckle as he could, Crass wid report him for bein slow. They kent tae, that when the job began tae wind doon, the number o men workin oan it wid be cut, and when that time cam, the lads that did the maist work would be kept, and the slower yins laid off. Sae it was wi the hope o bein ane o the favoured few that while silently cursin the rest for 'tearin intae it', ilka ane o them, oot o self-preservation, got stuck in as weel.
They aw cursed Crass but maist o them wid hae been braw tae swap places wi him: and gin ony yin o them had been in his boots, they'd hae felt forced tae act the same wey – or lose the job. They aw railed at Hunter, but maist wid hae been happy tae swap places wi him tae: and gin ony yin o them had been whaur he was, they'd hae been forced tae act the same wey, or lose the job. They aw hated and blamed Rushton. Yet gin they'd been in Rushton's place, they'd hae haed tae dae the same things, or go bankrupt: for it's clear as day that the only wey tae compete wi ither bosses that sweit their workers is tae be a sweater yersel. Sae naebody that backs up the present system can honestly blame ony o thae men. Blame the system.
Gin ye, reader, had been yin o the lads, wid ye hae slogged yer guts oot? Or wid ye raither hae starved and seen yer faimly starve? Gin ye'd been in Crass's place, wid ye hae quit raither than dae sic mucky work? Gin ye'd had Hunter's job, wid ye hae gien it up and stooped doon tae the level o the lads? Gin ye'd been Rushton, wid ye raither go bust raither than treat yer lads and customers the same wey as yer rivals treat theirs? It micht be that, in their shoes, ye – bein the noble soul that ye are – wid hae acted withoot thocht for yersel. But naebody has the richt tae expect ye tae sacrifice yersel for the guid o ither folk that wid only think ye a feel for yer efforts. It micht weel be the case that if ony o the lads – Owen, for example – had been a boss, he'd hae done the same as the rest o them. Some folk seem tae think that proves the present system is fine! But a it really proves is that the present system forces ye tae be selfish. Ye either trample on ithers or get trampled yersel. Happiness micht be possible if every yin was selfless; if every yin thocht o their neebor's welfare before their ain. But as there's only a wheen o sic selfless folk in the warld, the present system has turned the Earth intae a kind o hell. Under the present system there's no enough o onything for every yin tae hae plenty. And sae there's a fecht – cried the 'Battle o Life' by Christians. In this fecht some get mair than they need, some barely enough, some gey little, and some naething at aw. The mair forcefu, sly, cauld-hertit and selfish ye are, the better aff ye'll be. As lang as this 'Battle o Life' system lasts, we've nae richt tae blame ither folk for daein the same things we're forced tae dae oorsels. Blame the system.
But that's EXACTLY what the lads didnae dae. They blamed each ither; they blamed Crass, and Hunter, and Rushton, but wi the Great System that made them aww mair or less victims, they were fine, persuaded that it was the only yin possible and the best that humans could come up wi. The reason they aww believed this was because no a single yin o them had iver bothered tae ask if it wouldna be possible tae dae things different. They were fine wi the way things were. Gin they were na fine, they'd hae been keen tae find a way tae chynge it. But they'd niver bothered their heids tae really think if there was a better wey, and though they aw kinda kent in a vague way that ither weys tae manage the warld had already been pit forrit, they niver bothered askin if thae ither weys were possible or sensible, and they were aye ready tae oppose, wi ignorant mockery or brute force, ony man daft or idealistic enough to try and explain his better wey tae them. They acceptit the current system in the same wey they acceptit the chyngin seasons. They kent there was spring and simmer and hairst and winter. As tae how these different seasons cam tae be, or what caused them, they didna hae the foggiest, and it's awfy doubtful if the question had ever even crossed their minds: but there's nae doubt that nane o them kent. Frae the time they were bairns they'd been trained tae distrust their ain smarts, and tae leave the rinnin o the warld – and the next yin for that maitter – tae their betters; and noo maist o them were clean incapable o thinkin aboot ony abstract subject. Nearly aw their betters – that is, the folk that dae naething – were agreed that the present system is fine, and that it's impossible tae chynge or improve it. So Crass and his mates, though they kent diddly-squat aboot it, acceptit as solid, undeniable fact that the way things are wid never chynge. They believed it because somebody else telt them. They wid hae believed onything: on ae condition – that they were telt tae believe it by their betters. They said it surely wasna for the likes o them tae think they kent better than thae that were mair educated and had time tae spare tae pontificate.
As the work in the drawing-room went on, Crass gied up his hope that Owen wid muck it up. Some o the rooms upstairs were noo ready for papering, so Slyme was pit on that, Bert taen awa frae Owen to help Slyme wi the paste, and it was planned for Crass tae gie Owen a haund if needed. Sweater aye cam by these four weeks, bein interested in how the job was gettin on. On thae occasions Crass aye managed tae be in the drawing-room and did maist o the talkin. Owen was braw wi this arrangement, for he was aye pech'd when talkin til a man like Sweater, wha spoke in an aff-putting, patronizin wey and expeckit ordinar folk tae scrape before him and 'Sir' him every second word. Crass on the ither haund, seemed tae enjoy that kind o thing. He didna exactly crawl when Sweater spoke til him, but he gied the impression he'd be willin tae dae so if needed. Ootside the hoose Bundy and his mates had dug deep trenches in the weet grund, whaur they were layin new drains. This work, like the paintin inside the hoose, was near finished. It was a wretched job. Due tae a spell o bad weather the grund was soakin wet and there was dubs awwhere, the men's claes and buits glarred wi it. But the worst thing aboot the job was the smell. For years the auld drain-pipes had been faulty and leaky. The grund a wheen feet doon was soggy wi stinkin weetness and a stench like a thoosand rottin deid bodies cam frae the open grund. The claes o the men workin in the trench were soaked wi this awfy stink, and for that maiter, sae were the men themsels. They said they could smell and taste it a the time, even when they were awa frae the work at hame, and when they were at their meals. Though they smoked their pipes a the time they were workin, Misery haein grudgingly gien them permission, several times Bundy and yin or anither o his mates were boakin wi the stink. But, as they began tae realise that the end o the job was comin, a kind o fear came ower the lads, especially thae wha'd been taen on last and wha wid be the first tae be let go. Easton, though, felt gey sure that Crass wid dae his best tae get him kept on til the end o the job, for they'd become quite freendly recent, usual spendin a few nichts thegither at the Cricketers every week.
'There'll be a bluidy massacre here suin,' said Harlow tae Philpot yin day as they were paintin the bannisters o the stair. 'I reckon next week'll aboot finish aff the inside.'
'And the ootside's no goin tae tak verra lang, ye ken,' replied Philpot.
'They've no got ony ither work in, hae they?'
'No that I ken o,' replied Philpot grimly; 'and I dinna think onybody else has either.'
'Ye ken that wee place they ca the "Kiosk" doon the Grand Parade, near the bandstand,' asked Harlow after a wee while. 'Whaur they used tae sell refreshments?'
'Aye; it belongs tae the Cooncil, ye ken.'
'It's been shut up recently, hasna it?'
'Aye; the folk that had it couldna mak it pay; but I heard last nicht that Grinder the fruit-merchant is goin tae open it up again. Gin it's true, there'll be a bit o a job there for somebdy, cause it'll need tae be done up.'
'Weel, I hope it dis come aff,' replied Philpot. 'It'll be a job for some puir buggers.'
'I wonder gin they've stairted onybody yet on the venetian blinds for this hoose?' remarked Easton efter a bit.
'I dinna ken,' replied Philpot.
They fell silent for a while.
'I wonder whit time it is?' said Philpot eventually.
'I dinna ken aboot you, but I'm beginnin tae want ma dinner.'
'That's exactly whit I was thinkin; it canna be far aff noo. It's nearly half an oor since Bert went doon tae mak the tea. It seems a hell o a lang mornin tae me.'
'Sae it dis tae me,' said Philpot; 'slip upstairs and ask Slyme whit time it is.'
Harlow set his brush ower the tap o his paint-pot and went upstairs. He was wearin a pair o claith slippers, and walked saftly, no wantin Crass tae hear him leavin his work, sae it happened that withoot ony intention o spyin on Slyme, Harlow got tae the door o the room whaur the ither yin was workin withoot bein heard and, gaun in a at ance, surprised Slyme – staunin near the fireplace – right in the act o breakin a hale roll o wallpaper ower his knee like yin micht break a stick. On the flair aside him was whit had been anither roll, noo broken intae twa pieces. When Harlow cam in, Slyme jumped, and his face went crimson wi confusion. He hurriedly gaithered thegither the broken rolls and, kneelin doon, shoved the pieces up the lum o the grate and shut the register.
'Whit's the bloody gemme?' asked Harlow. Slyme laughed tryin tae seem like he didna care, but his haunds were shakin and his face was noo gey peely-wally.
'We need tae get oor ain back somewey, ye ken, Fred,' he said. Harlow didna answer. He didna unnerstaun. Efter puzzlin ower it fer a few minutes, he gied up. 'Whit's the time?' he asked.
'Fifteen minutes til twal,' said Slyme and added, as Harlow wis gaun awa: 'Dinna mention onythin aboot that paper tae Crass or ony o the ithers.'
'I'll no say a thing,' replied Harlow. Bit by bit, as he thocht aboot it, Harlow began tae pit thegither whit the meanin o the destruction o the twa rolls o paper was. Slyme was daein the paperhangin as piecework – sae muckle fer each roll hingit. Fower o the rooms upstairs had been done wi the same pattern, and Hunter – wha wasna that handy at that kinda thing – had obviously sent mair paper than needed. By gettin rid o thae twa rolls, Slyme wid be able tae mak it seem like he had hingit twa rolls mair than he really had. He had broken the rolls so he could tak them awa frae the hoose withoot gettin clocked, and he had hidden them up the lum til he got the chance. Harlow had jist come tae this answer tae the problem when, hearin the laigher stairs creakin, he peeped ower and saw Misery creepin up. He had come tae see if onybody had stopped work afore the richt time. Passin the twa workin men withoot a word, he went up til the next flair, and intae the room whaur Slyme was.
'Ye'd better no dae this room yet,' said Hunter. 'There's tae be a new grate and mantelpiece pit in.' He crossed ower tae the fireplace and stuid leukin at it thochtfully for a few minutes. 'It's no a bad wee grate, ye ken, is it?' he said. 'We'll be able tae uise it somewhaur or ither.'
'Aye, it's a braw ane,' said Slyme, his hert thumpin like a steam hammer.
'Dae fine in a front room o a cottage,' continued Misery, kneelin doon tae look at it closer. 'There's naething broken that I can see.'
He pit his haund against the register and tried in vain tae open it. 'H'm, there's somethin wrang here,' he said, pushin harder.
'Likely a brick or some plaster fawen doon,' gasped Slyme, comin tae Misery's help. 'Shall I try tae open it?'
'Dinna fash yersel,' replied Nimrod, gettin tae his feet. 'It's maist likely whit ye say. I'll see that the new grate gets sent right efter denner. Bundy can fix it this efternuin and then ye can get on wi the paperin as suin as ye like.'
With that, Misery gaed oot the room, doon the stairs, and awa frae the hoose, and Slyme wiped the sweat frae his broo wi his hankie. Then he knelt doon and, openin the register, he took oot the broken rolls o paper and hid them up the lum o the next room. While he was daein this the soond o Crass's whistle shrilled through the hoose.
'Thank God!' exclaimed Philpot wi feelin as he pit his brushes on the tap o his pot and joined in the stampede tae the kitchen. The picture here is already kenspeckle tae the reader. As seats, the two pairs o steps laid on their sides parallel tae ilk ither, aboot eight feet apart and at richt angles tae the fireplace, with the long plank pit across; and the owertorned pails and the drawers o the dresser. The flair unswept and clattered wi dirt, scraps o paper, bits o plaster, pieces o lead pipe, and dried glaur; and in the middle, the steamin bucket o brewed tea and the huddle o cracked cups, jam jars, and condensed milk tins. And on the seats the men in their dozent and in some cases tattered claes sittin and eatin their rough scoff and swappin jokes. It was a sad and wunnerful and at the same time a contemptible sicht. Sad that human beins should be doomed tae spend the maist o their lives in sic surroondins, cause it must be mindet that maist o their time was spent on some job or ither. When 'The Cave' was finished they wid go tae some ither muckle 'job', gin they were lucky enough tae find yin. Wunnerful, because though they kent they did mair than their fair share o the great work o producin the things needed for life and the guid things in it, they didna think they were entitled tae a fair share o the guid things they helped tae mak! And contemptible, because although they saw their ain bairns doomed tae the same life o shame, haurd work and hardship, still they wadna help tae bring aboot a better state o affairs. Maist o them thocht that whit had been guid enough for themsels was guid enough fer their bairns.
It seemed like they thought on their ain weans wi a kind o disdain, as bein fit only tae grow up tae be servants o the bairns o the likes o Rushton and Sweater. But it maun be minded that they had been taught tae haud themsels in nae regaird when they were wee. In the sae-cawed 'Christian' schuils they went tae then, they were learned tae 'order themsels wi humility and respeck afore their betters', and they were now sendin their ain bairns tae learn the same demeanin lessons! They had a muckle deal o respect for their betters, and for the weans o their betters, but gey little for their ain weans, for ilk ither, or for themsels. That wis why they sat there in their tatters and ate their rough scoff, and made their awfie jokes, and drank the hair-raisin tea, and were content! As lang as they had plenty o work and plenty o – somethin – tae eat, and somebdy else's auld claes tae pit on, they were content! An they were prood o it. They took pride in it. They a' agreed and shairly believed the guid things in life were no meant for the 'likes o them', or their bairns.
'Whit's come o the Professor?' asked the gent that sat on the upturned pail in the neuk, meanin Owen, wha hadna come doon frae his work yet.
'Maybe he's gettin his sermon ready,' said Harlow wi a lauch.
'We've no had ony lectures frae him lately, since he's been workin in that room,' said Easton.
''Ave we?' 'Dam guid job an aw!' cried Sawkins.
'It gies me the boak tae hear him, the same auld pish ower and ower.'
'Puir auld Frank,' said Harlow. 'He dis git hissel aw in a fash aboot things, disna he?'
'Maor feel him!' said Bundy. 'I'll tak ma ain guid time gettin worked up like he dis, ower sic bloody nonsense.'
'I believe that's whit gars him leuk so waefu as he dis,' said Harlow. 'A wheen times this mornin I couldna help noticin the wey he kept on hostin.'
'I thocht he seemed a bittie better lately,' said Philpot; 'mair cheery and happy like, and mair up for a bit o fun.'
'He's a funny yin, isna he?' said Bundy. 'Yin day jist aw jokes, singin and crackin stories, and the neist ye can hardly get a word oot o him.'
'Bloody nonsense, I cry it,' chimed in the man on the pail. 'Whit the hell's the use o the likes o us fashin oor heids aboot politics?'
'Oh, I dinna see that.' replied Harlow. 'We've got votes and we're really the fowk that control the affairs o the country, so I reckon we should tak some interest in it, but at the same time I dinna see ony sense in this Socialist stuff that Owen's aye talkin aboot.'
'Nor dis naebody else,' said Crass wi a scornful lauch.
'Even if aw the bloody money in the warld was divided oot fair and square,' said the man on the pail, wi authority, 'it widna dae ony guid! In six months' time it wid be aw back in the same haunds again.'
'O course,' said everybody.
'But he had a go the ither day aboot money bein nae guid at aw!' said Easton. 'Dinna ye mind he said that money wis the main cause o poortith?'
'Sae it IS the main cause o poortith,' said Owen, wha came in at that meenit.
'Hooray!' cried Philpot, leadin a cheer that the ithers jyned in wi. 'The Professor has arrived and will noo speak a wheen wirds.'
A roar o lauchter greeted this.
'Let's hae oor bloody denner first, for Christ's sake,' said Harlow, mockin exasperation. As Owen, havin filled his cup wi tea, sat doon in his usual place, Philpot gaed tae his feet wi great ceremony, and leukin roond the company, said:
'Gentlemen, wi yer kind permission, as suin as the Professor has finished his denner he will gie his weel-kent lecture, entitled, "Money the Main Cause o Haurd Times", provin that money's nae guid tae naebdy. At the end o the lecture there'll be a collection tae gie the lecturer a wee bit o encouragement.'
Philpot sat doon again tae cheers.
As suin as they were done eatin, some o the men began tae mak remarks aboot the lecture, but Owen juist laughed and gaed on readin the bit o paper that his denner had been rowed up in. Usually maist o the men went oot for a daunder efter denner, but as it happened tae be raining that day they were determined, gin possible, tae mak Owen mak guid on wha Philpot had promised in his name.
'Let's get at him,' said Harlow, and the crew pounced at once; howls, moans, and boos filled the air, mixed wi cries o 'Fraud!' 'Imposter!' 'Gie us oor siller back!' 'Let's wreck the place!' and sae on.
'Come on then,' cried Philpot, pittin his haund on Owen's shooder. 'Prove that money is the cause o poortith.'
'It's yin thing tae say it and anither tae prove it,' sneered Crass, wha was desperate for a chance tae pit forrit the lang-awaited Obscurer cuttin.
'Money IS the real cause o poortith,' said Owen.
'Prove it,' said Crass again.
Owen carefully folded up the bit o paper he had been readin and stuck it in his pooch.
'Aw richt,' he said. 'I'll show ye how the Great Money Trick is worked.'
Owen opened his denner basket and took oot twa slices o breid but as they werena enough, he asked if onybody had ony breid left tae gie him. They gied him some mair slices, which he laid in a pile on a clean bit o paper, and, havin borrowed the pocket knives they uised tae cut and eat their denners wi frae Easton, Harlow and Philpot, he spoke tae them like this:
'Thae bits o breid represent the raw stuff that exists naturally in and on the yird for mankind tae uise; they werena made by ony human bein, but were created by the Great Speerit for the benefit o aw, the same as the air and the licht o the sun.'
'Ye're as fair-spoken a man as I've met for a while,' said Harlow, winkin at the ithers.
'Aye, mate,' said Philpot. 'Onybody wid agree wi that much! It's as clear as glaur.'
'Noo,' continued Owen, 'I am a capitalist; or, rather, I represent the landlord and capitalist cless. That is tae say, aw thae raw bits belong tae me. It disna maitter for oor bit o reasonin here how I got my haunds on them, or whether I hae ony real richt tae them; the only thing that maitters noo is the agreed fact that aw the raw stuffs that are needed for makin the important stuff tae live are noo the property o the Landlord and Capitalist cless. I am that cless: aw thae raw bits belong tae me.'
'Guid enough!' said Philpot.
'Noo ye three represent the Wirkin Cless: ye hae naething -- and for me, even tho I hae aw thae raw bits, they're nae guid tae me -- whit I need is -- the stuff that can be made frae thae raw bits by Work: but as I'm ower lazy tae work masel, I've come up wi the Money Trick tae mak ye work FOR me. But first I maun explain that I hae somethin else forby the raw stuffs. Thir three knives represent -- aw the machinery o production; the factories, tuils, railways, and sae on, withoot which life's necessities canna be made in plenty. And thir three bawbees' -- takin three ha'pennies frae his pooch -- 'represent ma Money Caipital.'
'But afore we gang ony further,' said Owen, stoppin hissel, 'it's maist important that ye mind that I'm no supposed tae be juist "a" capitalist. I represent the hale Capitalist Cless. Ye're no supposed tae be juist three workers -- ye represent the whole Wirkin Cless.'
'Aw richt, aw richt,' said Crass, wi nae patience, 'we aw unnerstaun that. Get on wi it.'
Owen cut yin o the slices o breid intae a wheen o wee square blocks. 'Thir represent the things that are made by work, wi the help o machinery, frae the raw stuff. We'll say that three o thir blocks represent -- a week's work. We'll say that a week's work is worth -- yin pound: and we'll say that ilka yin o thir ha'pennies is a sovereign. We'd be able tae dae the trick better gin we had real sovereigns, but I forgot tae bring ony wi me.'
'I'd lend ye some,' said Philpot, sadly, 'but I left ma purse on oor grand piano.'
As if by chance naebdy happened tae hae ony gowd on them, it was agreed tae mak dae wi the ha'pennies.
'Noo here's how the trick works --'
'Afore ye gang on wi it,' said Philpot, fearfully, 'dinna ye think we'd better hae somebdy keepin watch at the gate in case a polisman comes alang? We dinna want tae get pinched, ye ken.'
'I dinna think there's ony need for that,' said Owen, 'there's only yin polisman wha wid interfere wi us for playin this game, and that's Police Constable Socialism.'
'Never mind aboot Socialism,' said Crass, angrily. 'Get alang wi the bloody trick.'
Owen noo spoke tae the wirkin clesses as represented by Philpot, Harlow and Easton.
'Ye say that ye're aw needin wark, and as I'm the kind-hertit capitalist cless I'm gaun tae pit aw ma money intae different industries, sae as tae gie ye Plenty o Work. I'll pay ilka yin o ye yin pound per week, and a week's work is -- ye maun ilka ane mak three o thir square blocks. For daein this work ye'll ilka ane get yer wages; the siller will be yer ain, tae dae as ye like wi, and the things ye mak will o course be mine, tae dae as I like wi. Ilka ane o ye will tak yin o thae machines an as suin as ye've dune a week's work, ye'll get yer siller.'
The Wirkin Clesses got tae work, and the Capitalist Cless sat doon and watched them. As suin as they were done, they passed the nine wee blocks tae Owen, wha set them on a bittie paper bi his side and paid the workers their wages.
'Thir blocks represent life's necessities. Ye canna live withoot some o this stuff, but as they belong tae me, ye'll hae tae buy them back aff me: my price for thir blocks is -- yin pound ilka ane.'
As the wirkin clesses needed life's stuff and as they couldna eat, drink, or wear the useless siller, they were forced tae agree tae the kind Capitalist's terms. They ilka ane bocht back an at once ate a third o whit their work had made. The capitalist cless ate twa o the square blocks tae, and sae the final score o the week's work wis that the kind capitalist had eaten twa pound's worth o the stuff made by the work o ithers, and countin the squares at their mercat worth o yin pound ilka ane, he had mair nor doubled his capital, for he still had the three pounds in siller and on tap o that fower pound's worth o guids. As for the wirkin clesses, Philpot, Harlow an Easton, havin ilka ane eaten the pound's worth o life's stuff they'd bocht wi their wages, they were nou in exactly the same condeetion as when they stairted work -- they had nothin.
This process went on for a while again and again: for ilka week's work the workers were paid their wages. They kept on wirkin and spendin aw their earnins. The kind-hertit capitalist ate twice as much as ony ane o them and his muckle pile o wealth juist kept gettin bigger. Afore lang -- countin the wee squares at their mercat worth o a pound ilka ane -- he wis worth aboot a hunner pounds, and the wirkin clesses were still in the same state as when they stairtit, and were still fechtin at their work as if their lives dependit on it.
Efter a while the rest o the crew stairtit tae laugh, and their fun got even mair when the kind-hertit capitalist, juist efter havin selt a pound's worth o stuff tae ilka yin o his workers, suddenly teuk their tuils -- the Machinery o Production -- the knives awa frae them, and telt them that owin tae Ower Production aw his warehouses were fu tae the brim wi aw the things it taks tae live, he had decidit tae shut doon the warks.
'Weel, and whit the bloody hell are we tae dae noo?' asked Philpot.
'That's nae business o mine,' said the kind-hertit capitalist. 'I've paid ye yer wages, and gien ye Plenty o Work for a lang time noo. I've nae mair work for ye tae dae at the noo. Come back in a few months' time and I'll see whit I can dae for ye.'
'But whit aboot whit we need for tae live?' cried Harlow. 'We maun hae somethin tae eat.'
'Of coorse ye maun,' said the capitalist, kindly like; 'and I'll be gey pleased tae sell ye some.'
'But we ain't got nae bloody siller!'
'Weel, ye canna expect me tae gie ye ma goods for naething! Ye didna work for me for free, ye ken. I paid ye for yer work and ye should hae saved somethin: ye should hae been canny like me. Leuk how I've got on by bein thrifty!'
The unemployed workers leuked at each ither, nae idea whit tae dae, but the rest o the crew juist laughed; and then the three unemployed stairtit tae gie the kind-hertit capitalist a richt doin, demandin that he should gie them some o the stuff for livin that he had piled up in his warehouses, or tae be alloued tae work and mak some mair for theirsels; and even threatened tae tak some o the stuff by force gin he didna sort them oot. But the kind-hertit capitalist telt them no tae be cheeky, and gied them a lecture aboot honesty, and said gin they werena careful he wid get the polis tae smash their faces in for them, or gin he really had tae, he wid caw in the sodgers and hae them shot doon like dugs, the same as he had afore at Featherstone and Belfast.
'O course,' the kind-hertit capitalist went on, 'if it wisna for foreign competition I wid be able tae sell thae things that ye have made, and then I wid be able tae gie ye Plenty o Work again: but until I hae selt them tae somebdy or ither, or until I hae uised them masel, ye'll hae tae stay idle.'
'Weel, this is the last straw, is it no?' said Harlow.
'The only thing I can think o,' said Philpot sadly, 'is tae hae an unemployed procession.'
'That's the ticket,' said Harlow, and the three o them stairtit tae march aboot the room, single file, singin:
'We've got nae work tae dae-oo-oo'
We've got nae work tae dae-oo-oo!
Juist acause we've been wirkin ower hard,
Noo we've got nae work tae dae.'
As they marched roond, the crew mocked them and made rude remarks. Crass said that onybody could see that they were a bunch o lazy, drookit scunners wha had never dune an honest day's work in their lives and never planned tae either.
'We'll never get naething like this, ye ken,' said Philpot. 'Let's try the religion trick.'
'Aw richt,' said Harlow. 'Whit'll we gie them?'
'I ken!' cried Philpot efter a wee bit o thinkin. '"Let my lower lichts be burnin." That aye maks them gie up the siller.'
Aifter that, the three unemployed stairted marchin roon the room again, singin in a sad voice and tryin tae sound like buskers:
'Trim yer wee lamp ma brithers,
Some puir sailor lost in storm,
Strugglin hard tae reach the harbour,
In the darkness may be torn,
So let oor lower lichts be burnin,
Send a gleam across the wave,
Some puir shipwrecked, strugglin seaman,
Ye may rescue, ye may save.'
'Kind friends,' said Philpot, takkin aff his cap and speakin tae the crowd, 'we're aw honest Breetish wirkin men, but we've been oot o work for the last twenty year acause o foreign competition and ower-production. We're no oot here acause we're ower lazy tae work; it's acause we canna get a job. Gin it wisna for foreign competition, the kind-hertit Inglish capitalists wid be able tae sell their stuff and gie us Plenty o Work, and if they could, I swear tae ye that we wid aw be perfectly happy and content tae keep wirkin wirsels tae the bane for the guido o oor maisters for the rest o oor lives. We're mair nor willin tae work: that's aw we're efter--Plenty o Work--but as we canna get it, we're forced tae come oot here and ask ye tae spare a few bawbees for a crust o breid and a place tae sleep the nicht.'
As Philpot held oot his cap for siller, some o them tried tae spit in it, but the mair decent yins pit in bits o coal or dirt frae the fleer, and the kind-hertit capitalist wis that moved by the sicht o their sufferin that he gied them ane o the sovereigns he had in his pooch: but as this wis nae guid tae them they gied it back tae him straight awa in exchange for ane o the wee squares o life's essentials, which they shared oot and scoffed greedily. And when they were done eatin they gaithered aroon the fellae that luves helpin others and sang, 'For he's a jolly guid fellae,' and efter that Harlow said they should ask him if he wid let them vote for him tae be in Parliament.
The Great Money Trick -- the comic from the The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists (avine.co.uk)
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