Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 28
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Beano Meeting
Towards the end of March the outlook began to improve. By the middle of April Rushton and Company were working eleven and a half hours a day. In May, as the jobs increased and the days grew longer, they were allowed to put in overtime; and as the summer months came round, once more the crowd of ragged trousered philanthropists began to toil and sweat at their noble and unselfish task of making money for Mr Rushton. Papering, painting, whitewashing, distempering, digging up drains, repairing roofs, their zeal and enthusiasm was unbounded. Their operations extended all over the town. At all hours of the day they were to be seen going to or returning from jobs, carrying planks and ladders, paint and whitewash, chimney pots and drainpipes, a crowd of tattered Imperialists, in broken boots, paint-splashed caps, their clothing saturated with sweat and plastered with mortar. The daily spectacle of the workmen, tramping wearily home along the pavement of the Grand Parade, caused some annoyance to the better classes, and a letter appeared in 'The Obscurer' suggesting that it would be better if they walked on the road. When they heard of this letter most of the men adopted the suggestion and left the pavement for their betters.
On the jobs themselves, meanwhile, the same old conditions prevailed, the same frenzied hurry, the same scamping the work, slobbering it over, cheating the customers; the same curses behind the foreman's back, the same grovelling in his presence, the same strident bellowing from Misery: 'Get it Done! For Gord's sake get it Done! 'Aven't you finished yet? We're losing money over this! If you chaps can't tear into it we'll 'ave a Alteration!' and the result was that the philanthropists often tore into it to such an extent that they worked themselves out of a job, for business fluctuated, and occasionally everybody was 'stood off' for a few days. Still, on the whole, there was 'plenty of work'. Nearly all Rushton's old hands were back again, and several new ones, including the Semi-Drunk, several cheap 'light-weight' men, and a few improvers, also cheap, because they were paid at a reduced rate.
It was about the beginning of June that Crass, after due consultation with several of the others, including Philpot, Harlow, Bundy, Slyme, Easton and the Semi-Drunk, decided to call a meeting of the hands for the purpose of considering the advisability of holding the usual beano later on in the summer. The meeting was held in the carpenters' shop down at the yard one evening at six o'clock, which allowed time for those interested to attend after leaving work.
The hands sat on the benches or carpenters' stools, or reclined upon heaps of shavings. On a pair of trestles in the centre of the work-shop stood a large oak coffin which Crass had just finished polishing.
When all those who were expected to turn up had arrived, Payne, the foreman carpenter, was voted to the chair, and then a solemn silence ensued, which was broken at last by the chairman, who, in a lengthy speech, explained the object of the meeting. He took the trouble to explain this several times, going over the same ground and repeating the same words over and over again, whilst the audience waited in a deathlike and miserable silence for him to stop. Payne, however, did not appear to have any intention of stopping, for, like a man in a trance, he continued to repeat what he had said before, evidently under the impression, that he had to make a separate explanation to each individual member of the audience. At last the crowd could stand it no longer, and began to shout 'hear, hear,' and to bang bits of wood and hammers on the floor and the benches, and then, after a final repetition of the statement, that the object of the meeting was to consider the advisability of holding an outing or beanfeast, the chairman collapsed on to a carpenter's stool and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Crass then reminded the meeting that the last year's beano had been an unqualified success, and for his part he would be very sorry if they did not have one this year. Last year they had four brakes, and they went to Tubberton Village. It was true that there was nothing much to see at Tubberton, but there was one thing they could rely on getting there that they could not be sure of getting for the same money anywhere else, and that was a good feed. (Applause). Just for the sake of getting on with the business, he would propose that they decide to go to Tubberton, and that a committee be appointed to make arrangements about the dinner with the landlord of the 'Queen Elizabeth's Head' at that place.
Philpot seconded the motion, and Payne was about to call for a show of hands, when Harlow rose to a point of order. It appeared to him that they were getting on a bit too fast. The proper way to this business was first to take the feeling of the meeting as to whether they wished to have a beano at all, and then, if the meeting was in favour of it, they could decide where they were to go, and whether they would have a whole day or only half a day.
The Semi-Drunk said that he didn't care a 'something' where they went; he was willing to abide by the majority. (Applause.) It was a matter of indifference to him whether they had a day, or half a day, or two days; he was agreeable to anything.
Easton suggested that a special saloon carriage might be engaged, and they could go and visit Madame Tussaud's Waxworks. He had never been to that place and had often wished to see it. But Philpot objected that if they went there, Madame Tussaud might be unwilling to let them out again.
Bundy endorsed the remarks that had fallen from Crass with reference to Tubberton. He did not care where they went, they would never get such a good spread for the money as they did last year at the 'Queen Elizabeth.' (Cheers.)
The chairman said that he remembered the last beano very well. They had half a day—left off work on Saturday at twelve instead of one, so there was only one hour's wages lost; went home, had a wash and changed their clothes, and got up to the 'Cricketers' where the brakes was waiting at one. Then they had two hours' drive to Tubberton, stopping on the way for drinks at the 'Blue Lion,' the 'Warrior's Head,' the 'Bird in Hand,' the 'Dewdrop Inn' and 'The World Turned Upside Down.' (Applause). They arrived at the 'Queen Elizabeth' at three thirty, and the dinner was ready; and it was one of the finest blow-outs he had ever had. (Hear, hear). There was soup, vegetables, roast beef, roast mutton, lamb and mint sauce, plum duff, yorkshire, and a lot more. The landlord of the 'Queen Elizabeth' kept as good a drop of beer as anyone could wish to drink, and as for the teetotallers, they could have tea, coffee or ginger beer.
Having thus made another start Payne found it very difficult to leave off, and was proceeding to relate further details of the last beano when Harlow again rose up from his heap of shavings and said he wished to call the chairman to order. (Hear, hear). What the hell was the use of all this discussion before they had even decided to have a beano at all? Was the meeting in favour of a beano or not? That was the question.
A prolonged and awkward silence followed. Everybody was very uncomfortable, looking stolidly on the ground or staring straight in front of them.
At last Easton broke the silence by suggesting that it would not be a bad plan if someone was to make a motion that a beano be held. This was greeted with a general murmur of 'hear, hear,' followed by another awkward pause, and then the chairman asked Easton if he would move a resolution to that effect. After some hesitation Easton agreed, and formally moved: 'That this meeting is in favour of a Beano.'
The Semi-Drunk said that, in order to get on with the business he would second the resolution. But meantime several arguments had broken out between the advocates of different places, and several men began to relate anecdotes of previous beanos. Nearly everyone was speaking at once, and it was some time before the chairman was able to put the resolution. Finding it impossible to make his voice heard above the uproar, he began to hammer on the bench with a wooden mallet and to shout requests for order; but this only served to increase the din.
Whilst the chairman was trying to get the attention of the meeting in order to put the question, Bundy had become involved in an argument with several of the new hands who claimed to know of an even better place than the 'Queen Elizabeth'—a pub called 'The New Found Out,' at Mirkfield, a few miles further on than Tubberton; and another individual joined in the dispute, alleging that a house called 'The Three Loggerheads,' at Slushton-cum-Dryditch, was the finest place for a beano within a hundred miles of Mugsborough. He went there last year with Pushem and Driver's crowd, and they had roast beef, goose, jam tarts, mince pies, sardines, blancmange, calves' feet jelly, and one pint for each man was included in the cost of the dinner. In the middle of the discussion, ever, they noticed that most of the others were holding up their hands, so to show there was no ill feeling, they held up theirs also, and then the chairman declared the motion was carried unanimously.
Bundy said he would like to ask the chairman to read out the resolution which had just been passed, as he had not caught the words.
The chairman replied that there was no written resolution. The motion was just to express the feeling of this meeting as to whether there was to be an outing or not.
Bundy said he was only asking a civil question, a point of information: all he wanted to know was, what was the terms of the resolution? Was they in favour of the beano or not?
The chairman responded that the meeting was unanimously in favour. (Applause.)
Harlow said that the next thing to be done was to decide upon the date. Crass suggested the last Saturday in August. That would give them plenty of time to pay in.
Sawkins asked whether it was proposed to have a day or only half a day. He himself was in favour of the whole day. It would only mean losing a morning's work. It was hardly worth going at all if they only had half the day.
The Semi-Drunk remarked that he had just thought of a very good place to go if they decided to have a change. Three years ago he was working for Dauber and Botchit and they went to 'The First In and the Last Out' at Bashford. It was a very small place, but there was a field where you could have a game of cricket or football, and the dinner was AI at Lloyd's. There was also a skittle alley attached to the pub and no charge was made for the use of it. There was a bit of a river there, and one of the chaps got so drunk that he went orf his onion and jumped into the water, and when they got him out the village policeman locked him up, and the next day he was took before the beak and fined two pounds or a month's hard labour for trying to commit suicide.
Easton pointed out that there was another way to look at it. Supposing they decided to have the beano he supposed it would come to about six shillings a head. If they had it at the end of August and started paying in now, say a tanner a week, they would have plenty of time to make up the amount; but supposing the work fell off and some of them got the push?
Crass said that in that case a man could either have his money back or he could leave it and continue his payments even if he were working for some other firm; the fact that he was off from Rushton's would not prevent him from going to the beano.
Harlow proposed that they decide to go to the 'Queen Elizabeth' the same as last year, and that they have half a day.
Philpot said that in order to get on with the business he would second the resolution.
Bundy suggested as an amendment that it should be a whole day, starting from the 'Cricketers' at nine in the morning, and Sawkins said that in order to get on with the business he would second the amendment.
One of the new hands said he wished to move another amendment. He proposed to strike out the 'Queen Elizabeth' and substitute the 'Three Loggerheads.'
The chairman after a pause enquired if there were any seconder to this, and the Semi-Drunk said that although he did not care much where they went, still, to get on with the business he would second the amendment, although for his own part he would prefer to go to the 'First In and Last Out' at Bashford.
The new hand offered to withdraw his suggestion re the 'Three Loggerheads' in favour of the Semi-Drunk's proposition, but the latter said it didn't matter, it could go as it was.
As it was getting rather late several men went home, and cries of 'Put the question' began to be heard on all sides. The chairman accordingly was proceeding to put Harlow's proposition when the new hand interrupted him by pointing out that it was his duty as chairman to put the amendments first. This produced another long discussion, in the course of which a very tall thin man with a harsh metallic voice gave a long rambling lecture about the rules of order and the conduct of public meetings. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, using very long words and dealing with the subject in an exhaustive manner. A resolution was a resolution, and an amendment was an amendment; then there was what was called an amendment to an amendment; and so on.
This man kept on talking for about ten minutes, and might have continued for ten hours if he had not been rudely interrupted by Harlow, who said he wanted his tea, and he would also like to get a few hours' sleep before going to work in the morning. He was getting about sick of all this talk. (Hear, hear.) In order to get on with the business he would withdraw his resolution if the others would withdraw their amendments. If they would agree to do this, he would then propose another resolution which, if carried, would meet all the requirements of the case. (Applause.)
The man with the metallic voice observed that it was not necessary to ask the consent of those who had moved amendments; if the original proposition was withdrawn all the amendments fell to the ground.
'Last year,' observed Crass, 'when we was goin' out of the room after we'd finished our dinner at the "Queen Elizabeth" the landlord pointed to the table and said: "There's enough left over for you all to 'ave another lot."' (Cheers.)
Harlow said that he would move that it be held on the last Saturday in August; that it be for half a day, starting at one o'clock so that they could work up till twelve, which would mean that they would only lose one hour's pay; that they go to the same place as last year—the "Queen Elizabeth" (Hear, hear); and that the same committee that acted last year, Crass and Bundy, be appointed to make all the arrangements and collect the subscriptions. (Applause.)
The tall man observed that this was what was called a compound resolution, and was proceeding to explain further, when the chairman exclaimed that it did not matter a dam what it was called—would anyone second it? The Semi-Drunk said that he would, in order to get on with the business.
Bundy moved, and Sawkins seconded, as an amendment, that it should be a whole day.
The new hand moved to substitute the 'Loggerheads' for the 'Queen Elizabeth.'
Easton proposed to substitute Madame Tussaud's Waxworks for the 'Queen Elizabeth.' He said he moved this just to test the feeling of the meeting.
Harlow pointed out that it would cost at least a pound a head to defray the expenses of such a trip. It would not be possible for any of them to save the necessary amount during the next three months. (Hear, hear.)
Philpot repeated his warning as to the danger of visiting Madame Tussaud's. He was certain that if she once got them she would never let them go. He had no desire to pass the rest of his life as an image in a museum.
Easton said that he would withdraw his amendment.
Acting under the directions of the man with the metallic voice, the chairman now proceeded to put the amendment to the vote. Bundy's proposal that it should be a whole day was defeated, only himself, Sawkins, and the Semi-Drunk being in favour. The motion to substitute the 'Loggerheads' for the 'Queen Elizabeth' was also defeated, and the compound resolution proposed by Harlow was then carried nem. con.
Philpot now proposed a hearty vote of thanks to the chairman for the very able manner in which he had conducted the meeting. When this had been unanimously agreed to the Semi-Drunk moved a similar tribute of gratitude to Crass for his services to the cause, and the meeting dispersed.
The Semi-Drunk's engagement at Rushton's was not of very long duration, the job of cleaning and decorating 'Macaroni's Royal Café' on the Grand Parade being the cause of his downfall. The place was disgustingly dirty, but in no part was the filth of such an unspeakable description as in the kitchen and scullery, which the Semi-Drunk and another man called Bill Bates were ordered to clean out and prepare for painting and distempering.
At the start the job made them feel so ill that they went out and had a pint each before continuing operations.
After a little more work they felt that it was imperatively necessary to have another drink, and this time they had two pints each. Bill paid for the first two and then the Semi-Drunk refused to return to work unless Bill would consent to have another pint with him before going back. When they had drunk the two pints they decided, in order to save themselves the trouble and risk of leaving the job, to take a couple of quarts back with them in two bottles.
On their returning they found the coddy in the kitchen, looking for them. He began to talk and grumble, but the Semi-Drunk told him he could either have a drink out of one of the bottles or a punch in the bloody nose, whichever he liked! Or if he did not fancy either he could go to hell!
As the coddy was a sensible man he took the beer and advised them to pull themselves together and try to get some work done before Misery came, which they promised to do.
Shortly afterwards Misery came and began shouting at them because he said it looked as if they had been asleep all the morning! Here it was nearly ten o'clock, and so far as he could see they had done Nothing!
When he was gone they drank the rest of the beer and then felt more inclined to laugh than work. What did they care for Hunter or Rushton either? To hell with both of 'em! They left off scraping and scrubbing, and began throwing buckets of water over the dresser and the walls, laughing uproariously all the time.
'We'll show the blighters how to wash down paintwork!' shouted the Semi-Drunk, as he stood in the middle of the room and hurled a pailful of water over the door of the cupboard. 'Bring us another bucket of water, Bill.'
Bill was out in the scullery filling his pail under the tap, and laughing so much that he could scarcely stand. As soon as it was full he passed it to the Semi-Drunk, who threw it bodily, pail and all, on to the bench in front of the window, smashing one of the panes of glass. The water poured off the table and all over the floor.
Bill brought the next pailful in and threw it at the kitchen door, splitting one of the panels from top to bottom; and then they threw about half a dozen more pailfuls over the dresser.
'We'll show the blighters 'ow to clean paintwork,' they shouted, as they hurled the buckets at the walls and doors.
By this time the floor was deluged with water, which mingled with the filth and formed a sea of mud.
They left the two taps running in the scullery, and as the waste pipe of the sink was choked up with dirt the sink filled up and overflowed like a miniature Niagara.
The water ran out under the doors into the back yard and along the passage out to the front door. But Bill Bates and the Semi-Drunk remained in the kitchen, smashing the pails at the walls and the doors of the dresser, and cursing and laughing hysterically.
They had just filled the two buckets and were bringing them into the kitchen when they heard Hunter's voice in the passage bellowing enquiries as to where all that water was coming from. Then they heard him advancing towards them and stood waiting, and directly he put his head in at the door they let fly at him with both pails at once. Unfortunately they were too drunk and excited to aim straight. One pail struck the middle of the door and the other the wall at the side of it.
Misery hastily shut the door and ran upstairs, and presently the coddy came down and called out to them from the passage.
They went out to see what he wanted, and he told them that Misery had gone to the office to get their wages ready; they were to make out their time sheets and go for their money at once. Misery had said that if they were not there in ten minutes he would have the pair of them locked up.
The Semi-Drunk said that nothing would suit them better than to have all their pieces at once, they had spent all their money and wanted another drink. Bill Bates concurred, so they borrowed a piece of black lead pencil from the coddy and made out their time sheets, took off their aprons, put them into their tool bags, and went to the office for their money, which Misery passed out to them through the trap door.
The news of this exploit spread all over the town during that day and evening, and although it was in July, the next morning at six o'clock there were half a dozen men waiting at the yard to ask Misery if there was 'any chance of a job.'
Bill Bates and the Semi-Drunk had had their spree and had got the sack for it, and most of their mates said it served them right for there was very little real sympathy between the men, and there were few who would not seize the opportunity of 'telling each other off' to the coddy or foreman with a view to currying favour in high places.
But to hear them talking in the pub of a Saturday afternoon just after pay time one would think them the best friends and mates and the most independent spirits in the world, fellows whom it would be very dangerous to trifle with and who would stick up for each other through thick and thin. All sorts of stories were related of the wonderful things they had done and said; of jobs they had 'chucked up,' and masters they had 'told off'; of pails of whitewash thrown over offending employers. But strange to say, for some reason or other it seldom happened that a third party ever witnessed any of these incidents. It seemed as if a chivalrous desire to spare the feelings of their victims had always prevented them from doing or saying anything to them in the presence of witnesses.
When he had drunk a few pints, Crass was a very good hand at these stories. He told one in the bar of the 'Cricketers' on the Saturday afternoon of the same week that Bill Bates and the Semi-Drunk got the sack.
'Last Thursday night about five o'clock,' said Crass, ''Unter comes inter the paint shop an' ses to me: "I wants a pail o' wash made up to-night, Crass," e' ses, "ready for fust thing in the mornin'," 'e ses. "Oh," I ses, lookin' 'im straight in the bloody eye. "Oh, yer do, do yer?"—just like that. "Yes," 'e says. "Well, you can bloody well make it yerself", I ses, "'cos I ain't agoin' to," I ses, just like that. "Wot the 'ell do yer mean," I ses, "by comin' 'ere at this time o' the night with a order like that?" I ses. You'd a larfed,' continued Crass, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after taking another drink out of his glass, and looking round to note the effect of the story; 'you'd a larfed if you'd bin there. 'E was fairly flabbergasted! An' then 'e started apoligising and said as 'e 'ad'nt meant no offence; but I told 'im bloody straight not to come no more of it. "You bring the horder at a reasonable time," I ses—just like that—"and I'll attend to it," I ses, "but not otherwise," I ses.'
As he concluded this story Crass drained his glass and gazed round upon his admiring audience. Yes, undoubtedly that was the proper way to deal with such bounders as Nimrod: take up a strong attitude, an' let 'em see as you'll stand no nonsense!
'Yer don't blame me, do yer?' continued Crass. 'Why should we put up with a lot of old buck from the likes of 'im! We're not a lot of bloody Chinamen, are we?'
Far from blaming him, they all assured him that they would have acted in precisely the same way under similar circumstances.
'For my part, I'm a bloke like this,' said a tall man with a very loud voice, who as a matter of fact nearly fell down dead every time Rushton or Misery looked at him; 'I'm a bloke like this 'ere: I never stands no cheek from no gaffers! If a guv'nor ses two bloody words to me, I downs me tools an' I ses to 'im: "Wot! don't I suit yer, guv'nor? Ain't I done enuff for yer? Werry good! Gimmie me bleedin' 'a'pence."'
'Quite right too,' said everybody. That was the way to serve 'em. If only everyone would do the same as the tall man, who had just paid for another round of drinks, things would be a lot more comfortable than they was.
'Last summer I was workin' for ole Buncer,' said a little man with a cutaway coat several sizes too large for him. 'I was workin' for ole Buncer, over at Windley, an' you all knows as 'e don't arf lower it. Well, one day, wen I knowed 'e was on the drunk, I 'ad to first coat a room out, white; so thinks I to meself: "If I buck up I shall be able to get this lot done by about four o'clock, an' then I can clear orf 'ome." 'Cos I reckoned as 'e'd be about flattened out by that time, an' you know 'e ain't got no foreman. So I tears into it an' gets this 'ere room done about a quarter past four an' I'd jist got me things put away for the night wen 'oo should come fallin' up the bloody stairs but ole Buncer, drunk as a howl! An' no sooner 'e gits inter the room than 'e starts yappin' an' rampin'! "Is this 'ere hall you've done?" 'e shouts out. "Wothcher bin up to hall day?" 'e ses; an' 'e keeps on shoutin' an' swearin' till at last I couldn't stand it no longer, 'cos you can guess I wasn't in a very good temper with 'im comin' along jist then wen I thought I was goin' to get orf a bit early. So wen 'e kept on shoutin' I never made no answer to 'im but I ups with me fist an' I gives 'im a slosh in the dial an' stopped 'is clock! Then I chucked the pot o' wite paint hover 'im an' kicked 'im down the bloody stairs.'
'Serve 'im blooming well right, too,' said Crass, as he took a fresh glass of beer from one of the others, who had just 'stood' another round.
'What did the blighter say to that?' enquired the tall man.
'Not a bloody word!' replied the little man. ''E picked 'iself up and called a keb wot was passin' an' got inter it an' went 'ome, an' I never seen no more of 'im until about arf past eleven the next day, wen I was second coatin' the room, an' 'e comes up with a noo suit o' clothes on an' arsts me if I'd like to come hover to the pub an' 'ave a drink? So we goes hover an' 'e calls for a whisky an' soda for 'isself an' arsts me wot I'd 'ave, so I 'ad the same. An' wile we was gettin' it down us, 'e ses to me: "Ah, Garge," 'e ses, "you losed your temper with me yesterday," 'e ses.'
'There you are, you see!' said the tall man. 'There's an example for yer! If you 'adn't served 'im as you did you'd most likely have 'ad to put up with a lot more ole buck.'
They all agreed that the little man had done quite right. They all said that they didn't blame him in the least; they would all have done the same; in fact, this was the way they all conducted themselves whenever occasion demanded it.
Crass stood the final round of drinks, and as he evidently thought that circumstance deserved to be signalised in some special manner he proposed the following toast, which was drunk with enthusiasm:
'To hell with the man,
(May he never grow fat)
What carries two faces,
Under one 'at.'