Books: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

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`Anyone would think the dam' things had been there for a 'undred
years,' remarked Hunter, savagely, as he wiped the sweat from his face
and neck with his handkerchief.

Kneeling on the lid of the coffin and panting and grunting with the
exertion, the other two continued to struggle with their task.
Suddenly Crass uttered an obscene curse; he had broken off one side of
the head of the screw he was trying to turn and almost at the same
instant a similar misfortune happened to Sawkins.

After this, Hunter again took a screwdriver himself, and when they got
all the screws out with the exception of the two broken ones, Crass
took a hammer and chisel out of the bag and proceeded to cut off what
was left of the tops of the two that remained. But even after this
was done the two screws still held the lid on the coffin, and so they
had to hammer the end of the blade of the chisel underneath and lever
the lid up so that they could get hold of it with their fingers. It
split up one side as they tore it off, exposing the dead man to view.

Although the marks of the cuts and bruises were still visible on
Philpot's face, they were softened down by the pallor of death, and a
placid, peaceful expression pervaded his features. His hands were
crossed upon his breast, and as he lay there in the snow-white grave
clothes, almost covered in by the white lace frill that bordered the
sides of the coffin, he looked like one in a profound and tranquil sleep.

They laid the broken lid on the bed, and placed the two coffins side
by side on the floor as close together as possible. Sawkins stood at
one side holding the candle in his left hand and ready to render with
his right any assistance that might unexpectedly prove to be
necessary. Crass, standing at the foot, took hold of the body by the
ankles, while Hunter at the other end seized it by the shoulders with
his huge, clawlike hands, which resembled the talons of some obscene
bird of prey, and they dragged it out and placed it in the other
coffin.

Whilst Hunter - hovering ghoulishly over the corpse - arranged the
grave clothes and the frilling, Crass laid the broken cover on the top
of the other coffin and pushed it under the bed out of the way. Then
he selected the necessary screws and nails from the bag. and Hunter
having by this time finished, they proceeded to screw down the lid.
Then they lifted the coffin on to the tressels, covering it over with
the sheet, and the appearance it then presented was so exactly similar
to what they had seen when they first entered the room, that it caused
the same thought to occur to all of them: Suppose Snatchum took it
into his head to come there and take the body out again? If he were
to do so and take it up to the cemetery they might be compelled to
give up the certificate to him and then all their trouble would be
lost.

After a brief consultation, they resolved that it would be safer to
take the corpse on the handcart to the yard and keep it in the
carpenter's shop until the funeral, which could take place from there.
Crass and Sawkins accordingly lifted the coffin off the tressels, and -
while Hunter held the light - proceeded to carry it downstairs, a task
of considerable difficulty owing to the narrowness of the staircase
and the landing. However, they got it down at last and, having put it
on the handcart, covered it over with the black wrapper. It was still
raining and the lamp in the cart was nearly out, so Sawkins trimmed
the wick and relit it before they started.

Hunter wished them `Good-night' at the corner of the street, because
it was not necessary for him to accompany them to the yard - they
would be able to manage all that remained to be done by themselves.
He said he would make the arrangements for the funeral as soon as he
possibly could the next morning, and he would come to the job and let
them know, as soon as he knew himself, at what time they would have to
be in attendance to act as bearers. He had gone a little distance on
his way when he stopped and turned back to them.

`It's not necessary for either of you to make a song about this
business, you know,' he said.

The two men said that they quite understood that: he could depend on
their keeping their mouths shut.

When Hunter had gone, Crass drew out his watch. It was a quarter to
eleven. A little way down the road the lights of a public house were
gleaming through the mist.

`We shall be just in time to get a drink before closing time if we
buck up,' he said. And with this object they hurried on as fast as
they could.

When they reached the tavern they left the cart standing by the kerb,
and went inside, where Crass ordered two pints of four-ale, which he
permitted Sawkins to pay for.

`How are we going on about this job?' inquired the latter after they
had each taken a long drink, for they were thirsty after their
exertions. `I reckon we ought to 'ave more than a bob for it, don't
you? It's not like a ordinary "lift in".'

`Of course it ain't,' replied Crass. `We ought to 'ave about, say' -
reflecting - `say arf a dollar each at the very least.'

`Little enough too,' said Sawkins. `I was going to say arf a crown,
myself.'

Crass agreed that even half a crown would not be too much.

`'Ow are we going' on about chargin' it on our time sheets?' asked
Sawkins, after a pause. `If we just put a "lift in", they might only
pay us a bob as usual.'

As a rule when they had taken a coffin home, they wrote on their time
sheets, `One lift in', for which they were usually paid one shilling,
unless it happened to be a very high-class funeral, when they
sometimes got one and sixpence. They were never paid by the hour for
these jobs.

Crass smoked reflectively.

`I think the best way will be to put it like this,' he said at length.
`"Philpot's funeral. One lift out and one lift in. Also takin'
corpse to carpenter's shop." 'Ow would that do?'

Sawkins said that would be a very good way to put it, and they
finished their beer just as the landlord intimated that it was closing
time. The cart was standing where they left it, the black cloth
saturated with the rain, which dripped mournfully from its sable
folds.

When they reached the plot of waste ground over which they had to pass
in order to reach the gates of the yard, they had to proceed very
cautiously, for it was very dark, and the lantern did not give much
light. A number of carts and lorries were standing there, and the
path wound through pools of water and heaps of refuse. After much
difficulty and jolting, they reached the gate, which Crass unlocked
with the key he had obtained from the office earlier in the evening.
They soon opened the door of the carpenter's shop and, after lighting
the gas, they arranged the tressels and then brought in the coffin and
placed it upon them. Then they locked the door and placed the key in
its usual hiding-place, but the key of the outer gate they took with
them and dropped into the letter-box at the office, which they had to
pass on their way home.

As they turned away from the door, they were suddenly confronted by a
policeman who flashed his lantern in their faces and demanded to know
why they had tried the lock...

The next morning was a very busy one for Hunter, who had to see
several new jobs commenced. They were all small affairs. Most of
them would only take two or three days from start to finish.

Attending to this work occupied most of his morning, but all the same
he managed to do the necessary business connected with the funeral,
which he arranged to take place at two o'clock on Wednesday afternoon
from the mortuary, where the coffin had been removed during the day,
Hunter deciding that it would not look well to have the funeral start
from the workshop.

Although Hunter had kept it as quiet as possible, there was a small
crowd, including several old workmates of Philpot's who happened to be
out of work, waiting outside the mortuary to see the funeral start,
and amongst them were Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk, who were both
sober. Barrington and Owen were also there, having left work for the
day in order to go to the funeral. They were there too in a sense as
the representatives of the other workmen, for Barrington carried a
large wreath which had been subscribed for voluntarily by Rushton's
men. They could not all afford to lose the time to attend the
funeral, although most of them would have liked to pay that tribute of
regard to their old mate, so they had done this as the next best
thing. Attached to the wreath was a strip of white satin ribbon, upon
which Owen had painted a suitable inscription.

Promptly at two o'clock the hearse and the mourning coach drove up
with Hunter and the four bearers - Crass, Slyme, Payne and Sawkins,
all dressed in black with frock coats and silk hats. Although they
were nominally attired in the same way, there was a remarkable
dissimilarity in their appearance. Crass's coat was of smooth,
intensely black cloth, having been recently dyed, and his hat was
rather low in the crown, being of that shape that curved outwards
towards the top. Hunter's coat was a kind of serge with a rather
rusty cast of colour and his hat was very tall and straight, slightly
narrower at the crown than at the brim. As for the others, each of
them had a hat of a different fashion and date, and their `black'
clothes ranged from rusty brown to dark blue.

These differences were due to the fact that most of the garments had
been purchased at different times from different second-hand clothes
shops, and never being used except on such occasions as the present,
they lasted for an indefinite time.

When the coffin was brought out and placed in the hearse, Hunter laid
upon it the wreath that Barrington gave him, together with the another
he had brought himself, which had a similar ribbon with the words:
`From Rushton & Co. With deep sympathy.'

Seeing that Barrington and Owen were the only occupants of the
carriage, Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk came up to the door and asked
if there was any objection to their coming and as neither Owen nor
Barrington objected, they did not think it necessary to ask anyone
else's permission, so they got in.

Meanwhile, Hunter had taken his position a few yards in front of the
hearse and the bearers each his proper position, two on each side. As
the procession turned into the main road, they saw Snatchum standing
at the corner looking very gloomy. Hunter kept his eyes fixed
straight ahead and affected not to see him, but Crass could not resist
the temptation to indulge in a jeering smile, which so enraged
Snatchum that he shouted out:

`It don't matter! I shan't lose much! I can use it for someone
else!'

The distance to the cemetery was about three miles, so as soon as they
got out of the busy streets of the town, Hunter called a halt, and got
up on the hearse beside the driver, Crass sat on the other side, and
two of the other bearers stood in the space behind the driver's seat,
the fourth getting up beside the driver of the coach; and then they
proceeded at a rapid pace.

As they drew near to the cemetery they slowed down, and finally
stopped when about fifty yards from the gate. Then Hunter and the
bearers resumed their former position, mid they passed through the
open gate and up to the door of the church, where they were received
by the clerk - a man in a rusty black cassock, who stood by while they
carried the coffin in and placed it on a kind of elevated table which
revolved on a pivot. They brought it in footfirst, and as soon as
they had placed it upon the table, the clerk swung it round so as to
bring the foot of the coffin towards the door ready to be carried out
again.

There was a special pew set apart for the undertakers, and in this
Hunter and the bearers took their seats to await the arrival of the
clergyman. Barrington and the three others sat on the opposite side.
There was no altar or pulpit in this church, but a kind of reading
desk stood on a slightly raised platform at the other end of the
aisle.

After a wait of about ten minutes, the clergyman entered and, at once
proceeding to the desk, began to recite in a rapid and wholly
unintelligible manner the usual office. If it had not been for the
fact that each of his hearers had a copy of the words - for there was
a little book in each pew - none of them would have been able to
gather the sense of what the man was gabbling. Under any other
circumstances, the spectacle of a human being mouthing in this absurd
way would have compelled laughter, and so would the suggestion that
this individual really believed that he was addressing the Supreme
Being. His attitude and manner were contemptuously indifferent.
While he recited, intoned, or gabbled, the words of the office, he was
reading the certificate and some other paper the clerk had placed upon
the desk, and when he had finished reading these, his gaze wandered
abstractedly round the chapel, resting for a long time with an
expression of curiosity upon Bill Bates and the Semi-drunk, who were
doing their best to follow in their books the words he was repeating.
He next turned his attention to his fingers, holding his hand away
from him nearly at arm's length and critically examining the nails.

From time to time as this miserable mockery proceeded the clerk in the
rusty black cassock mechanically droned out a sonorous `Ah-men', and
after the conclusion of the lesson the clergyman went out of the
church, taking a short cut through the grave-stones and monuments,
while the bearers again shouldered the coffin and followed the clerk
to the grave. When they arrived within a few yards of their
destination, they were rejoined by the clergyman, who was waiting for
them at the corner of one of the paths. He put himself at the head of
the procession with an open book in his hand, and as they walked
slowly along, he resumed his reading or repetition of the words of the
service.

He had on an old black cassock and a much soiled and slightly torn
surplice. The unseemly appearance of this dirty garment was
heightened by the circumstance that he had not taken the trouble to
adjust it properly. It hung all lop-sided, showing about six inches
more of the black cassock underneath one side than the other.
However, perhaps it is not right to criticize this person's appearance
so severely, because the poor fellow was paid only seven-and-six for
each burial, and as this was only the fourth funeral he had officiated
at that day, probably he could not afford to wear clean linen - at any
rate, not for the funerals of the lower classes.

He continued his unintelligible jargon while they were lowering the
coffin into the grave, and those who happened to know the words of the
office by heart were, with some difficulty, able to understand what he
was saying:

`Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take
unto Himself the soul of our Dear Brother here departed, we therefore
commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to
dust -'

The earth fell from the clerk's hand and rattled on the lid of the
coffin with a mournful sound, and when the clergyman had finished
repeating the remainder of the service, he turned and walked away in
the direction of the church. Hunter and the rest of the funeral party
made their way back towards the gate of the cemetery where the hearse
and the carriage were waiting.

On their way they saw another funeral procession coming towards them.
It was a very plain-looking closed hearse with only one horse. There
was no undertaker in front and no bearers walked by the sides.

It was a pauper's funeral.

Three men, evidently dressed in their Sunday clothes, followed behind
the hearse. As they reached the church door, four old men who were
dressed in ordinary everyday clothes, came forward and opening the
hearse took out the coffin and carried it into the church, followed by
the other three, who were evidently relatives of the deceased. The
four old men were paupers - inmates of the workhouse, who were paid
sixpence each for acting as bearers.

They were just taking out the coffin from the hearse as Hunter's party
was passing, and most of the latter paused for a moment and watched
them carry it into the church. The roughly made coffin was of white
deal, not painted or covered in any way, and devoid of any fittings or
ornament with the exception of a square piece of zinc on the lid.
None of Rushton's party was near enough to recognize any of the
mourners or to read what was written on the zinc, but if they had been
they would have seen, roughly painted in black letters

J.L.
Aged 67

and some of them would have recognized the three mourners who were
Jack Linden's sons.

As for the bearers, they were all retired working men who had come
into their `titles'. One of them was old Latham, the venetian blind
maker.

Chapter 48

The Wise men of the East

At the end of the following week there was a terrible slaughter at
Rushton's. Barrington and all the casual hands were sacked, including
Newman, Easton and Harlow, and there was so little work that it looked
as if everyone else would have to stand off also. The summer was
practically over, so those who were stood off had but a poor chance of
getting a start anywhere else, because most other firms were
discharging hands as well.

There was only one other shop in the town that was doing anything at
all to speak of, and that was the firm of Dauber and Botchit. This
firm had come very much to the front during the summer, and had
captured several big jobs that Rushton & Co. had expected to get,
besides taking away several of the latter's old customers.

This firm took work at almost half the price that Rushton's could do
it for, and they had a foreman whose little finger was thicker than
Nimrod's thigh . Some of the men who had worked for both firms during
the summer, said that after working for Dauber and Botchit, working
for Rushton seemed like having a holiday.

`There's one bloke there,' said Newman, in conversation with Harlow
and Easton. `There's one bloke there wot puts up twenty-five rolls o'
paper in a day an' trims and pastes for 'imself; and as for the
painters, nearly everyone of 'em gets over as much work as us three
put together, and if you're working there you've got to do the same or
get the sack.'

However much truth or falsehood or exaggeration there may have been in
the stories of the sweating and driving that prevailed at Dauber and
Botchit's, it was an indisputable fact that the other builders found it
very difficult to compete with them, and between the lot of them what
work there was to do was all finished or messed up in about a quarter
of the time that it would have taken to do it properly.

By the end of September there were great numbers of men out of
employment, and the practical persons who controlled the town were
already preparing to enact the usual farce of `Dealing' with the
distress that was certain to ensue. The Rev. Mr Bosher talked of
reopening the Labour Yard; the secretary of the OBS appealed for more
money and cast-off clothing and boots - the funds of the Society had
been depleted by the payment of his quarter's salary. There were
rumours that the Soup Kitchen would be reopened at an early date for
the sale of `nourishment', and charitable persons began to talk of
Rummage Sales and soup tickets.

Now and then, whenever a `job' `came in', a few of Rushton's men were
able to put in a few hours' work, but Barrington never went back. His
manner of life was the subject of much speculation on the part of his
former workmates, who were not a little puzzled by the fact that he
was much better dressed than they had ever known him to be before, and
that he was never without money. He generally had a tanner or a bob
to lend, and was always ready to stand a drink, to say nothing of what
it must have cost him for the quantities of Socialist pamphlets and
leaflets that he gave away broadcast. He lodged over at Windley, but
he used to take his meals at a little coffee tavern down town, where
he used often to invite one or two of his old mates to take dinner
with him. It sometimes happened that one of them would invite him
home of an evening, to drink a cup of tea, or to see some curiosity
that the other thought would interest him, and on these occasions - if
there were any children in the house to which they were going -
Barrington usually made a point of going into a shop on their way, and
buying a bag of cakes or fruit for them.

All sorts of theories were put forward to account for his apparent
affluence. Some said he was a toff in disguise; others that he had
rich relations who were ashamed of him because he was a Socialist, and
who allowed him so much a week so long as he kept away from them and
did not use his real name. Some of the Liberals said that he was in
the pay of the Tories, who were seeking by underhand methods to split
up the Progressive Liberal Party. Just about that time several
burglaries took place in the town, the thieves getting clear away with
the plunder, and this circumstance led to a dark rumour that
Barrington was the culprit, and that it was these ill-gotten gains
that he was spending so freely.

About the middle of October an event happened that drew the town into
a state of wild excitement, and such comparatively unimportant
subjects as unemployment and starvation were almost forgotten.

Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been promoted to yet a higher post in
the service of the country that he owned such a large part of; he was
not only to have a higher and more honourable position, but also - as
was nothing but right - a higher salary. His pay was to be increased
to seven thousand five hundred a year or one hundred and fifty pounds
per week, and in consequence of this promotion it was necessary for
him to resign his seat and seek re-election.

The ragged-trousered Tory workmen as they loitered about the streets,
their stomachs empty, said to each other that it was a great honour
for Mugsborough that their Member should be promoted in this way.
They boasted about it and assumed as much swagger in their gait as
their broken boots permitted.

They stuck election cards bearing Sir Graball's photograph in their
windows and tied bits of blue and yellow ribbon - Sir Graball's
colours - on their underfed children.

The Liberals were furious. They said that an election had been sprung
on them - they had been taken a mean advantage of - they had no
candidate ready.

They had no complaint to make about the salary, all they complained of
was the short notice. It wasn't fair because while they - the leading
Liberals - had been treating the electors with the contemptuous
indifference that is customary, Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been
most active amongst his constituents for months past, cunningly
preparing for the contest. He had really been electioneering for the
past six months! Last winter he had kicked off at quite a number of
football matches besides doing all sorts of things for the local
teams. He had joined the Buffalos and the Druids, been elected
President of the Skull and Crossbones Boys' Society, and, although he
was not himself an abstainer, he was so friendly to Temperance that he
had on several occasions, taken the chair at teetotal meetings, to say
nothing of the teas to the poor school children and things of that
sort. In short, he had been quite an active politician, in the Tory
sense of the word, for months past and the poor Liberals had not smelt
a rat until the election was sprung upon them.

A hurried meeting of the Liberal Three Hundred was held, and a
deputation sent to London to find a candidate but as there was only a
week before polling day they were unsuccessful in their mission.
Another meeting was held, presided over by Mr Adam Sweater - Rushton
and Didlum also being present.

Profound dejection was depicted on the countenances of those assembled
slave-drivers as they listened to the delegates' report. The sombre
silence that followed was broken at length by Mr Rushton, who suddenly
started up and said that he began to think they had made a mistake in
going outside the constituency at all to look for a man. It was
strange but true that a prophet never received honour in his own land.
They had been wasting the precious time running about all over the
country, begging and praying for a candidate, and overlooking the fact
that they had in their midst a gentleman - a fellow townsman, who, he
believed, would have a better chance of success than any stranger.
Surely they would all agree - if they could only prevail upon him to
stand - that Adam Sweater would be an ideal Liberal Candidate!

While Mr Rushton was speaking the drooping spirits of the Three
Hundred were reviving, and at the name of Sweater they all began to
clap their hands and stamp their feet. Loud shouts of enthusiastic
approval burst forth, and cries of `Good old Sweater' resounded
through the room.