Fifty Orwell Essays. Title: Fifty Orwell Essays. Author: George Orwell. A Project Gutenberg of Australia e.
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Date first posted: August 2. Most recent update: December 2. This e. Book was produced by: Colin Choat. Production notes. Author's footnotes appear at the end of the paragraph where indicated. Details are. provided on the George Orwell page at.
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Books in compliance with a particular. Be sure to check the. You may copy it, give it away or re- use it under the terms. Project Gutenberg Australia Licence which may be viewed online. WODEHOUSE (1. 94. NONSENSE POETRY (1. NOTES ON NATIONALISM (1.
REVENGE IS SOUR (1. THE SPORTING SPIRIT (1. YOU AND THE ATOMIC BOMB (1. A GOOD WORD FOR THE VICAR OF BRAY (1. A NICE CUP OF TEA (1. BOOKS VS. CIGARETTES (1. CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK REVIEWER (1.
DECLINE OF THE ENGLISH MURDER (1. HOW THE POOR DIE (1. JAMES BURNHAM AND THE MANAGERIAL REVOLUTION. PLEASURE SPOTS (1. POLITICS AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1.
POLITICS VS. LITERATURE: AN EXAMINATION OF. GULLIVER’S TRAVELS (1.
RIDING DOWN FROM BANGOR (1. SOME THOUGHTS ON THE COMMON TOAD (1. THE PREVENTION OF LITERATURE (1. WHY I WRITE (1. 94. LEAR, TOLSTOY AND THE FOOL (1.
SUCH, SUCH WERE THE JOYS (1. WRITERS AND LEVIATHAN (1.
REFLECTIONS ON GANDHI (1. THE SPIKEIt was late- afternoon. Forty- nine of us, forty- eight men and one. We were too. tired to talk much. We just sprawled about exhaustedly, with.
Overhead. the chestnut branches were covered with blossom, and beyond that. We defiled. the scene, like sardine- tins and paper bags on the seashore.
What talk there was ran on the Tramp Major of this spike. He was. a devil, everyone agreed, a tartar, a tyrant, a bawling. You couldn't call your soul your own. When You, came to be. If you were. caught with tobacco there was bell to. Pay, and if you went in with.
God help you. I had eightpence on me. You'd get seven days for.
So I buried my money in a hole under the hedge, marking the spot. Then we set about smuggling our matches and. We hid them in. our socks, except for the twenty or so per cent who had no socks.
We stuffed our ankles with contraband until anyone seeing us. But is an. unwritten law that even the sternest Tramp Majors do not search. This was. Scotty, a little hairy tramp with a bastard accent sired by cockney.
Glasgow. His tin of cigarette ends fell out of his sock at. At six, the gates swung open and we shuffled in. An official at. the gate entered our names and other particulars in the register. The woman was sent off to the. It was a gloomy, chilly. The terrible Tramp Major met us.
He was a gruff, soldierly man of forty, who gave the. But when. he came to myself, he looked hard at me, and said: 'You are a gentleman?''I suppose so,' I said. He gave me another long look. All the indecent. The room became a press of steaming. Some of the men refused the. Each of us had three.
Six greasy, slippery roller. When we had bathed our own clothes were taken away from us, and. Then we were sent. It took us five minutes to.
Then the Tramp Major served us. The doors were locked on the outside a little before. The cells measured eight feet by five, and, had no lighting. There were no bugs, and we had bedsteads and. In many spikes one sleeps on. With a cell to myself, and a bed, I was hoping for.
But I did not get it, for there is always. I discovered immediately, was the cold. May had begun, and in. The cotton blankets were almost useless. One spent. the night in turning from side to side, falling asleep for ten.
As always happens in the spike, I had at last managed to fall. Major. came marching down the passage with his heavy tread, unlocking the. Promptly the passage was. Only One tub full of water between us all in the morning. When I arrived twenty tramps.
I gave one glance at the black scum. We hurried into our clothes, and then went to the dining- room to. The bread was much worse than usual, because. Tramp Major had cut it into slices. But we were. glad of our tea after the cold, restless night. I do not know what. It was three. quarters of an hour before the doctor arrived, and one had time now.
It was an. instructive sight. We stood shivering naked to the waist in two. The filtered light, bluish and cold. No one can imagine, unless. Shock heads, hairy, crumpled faces, hollow chests, flat.
All were flabby and discoloured, as all. Two or three figures wen. Old 'Daddy', aged seventy- four.
Lazarus in some primitive picture: an imbecile, wandering. But few of us. were greatly better than these; there were not ten decently built. I believe, should have been in.
This being Sunday, we were to be kept in the spike over the. As soon as the doctor had gone we were herded back to the. It was a lime- washed. The windows were so high. Rules threatening dire penalties to any casual who misconducted. We packed the room so tight that one could not move an. Already, at eight o'clock in the.
There was nothing to. Salvation Army. Tramps hardly ever get away from. They have. nothing worthy to be called conversation, bemuse emptiness of belly. The world is too much with.
Their next meal is never quite secure, and so they cannot. Two hours dragged by. Old Daddy, witless with age, sat silent. George, a dirty old tramp notorious for the queer. Bill the moocher, the best built man of us. Herculean sturdy beggar who smelt of beer even after twelve. William and, Fred, two young, ex- fishermen from.
Norfolk, sang a sad song about Unhappy Bella, who was betrayed and. The imbecile drivelled, about an imaginary toff. So the time passed, with dun talk and dull obscenities. We smoked furtively, hiding our cigarettes. Tramp Major's step, for smoking. Most of the tramps spent ten consecutive hours in this dreary. It is hard to imagine how they put up with 1.
I have come to. think that boredom is the worst of all a tramp's evils, worse than. It is a silly piece of cruelty to confine. Tramps, unlettered types as nearly. They have not the stuff in them. And so, since so much of their. I was much luckier than the others, because at ten o'clock the. Tramp Major picked me out for the most coveted of all jobs in the.
There was not. really any work to be done there, and I was able to make off and. Sunday- morning. service. There was a stove burning there, and comfortable packing. FAMILY HERALD, and even a. RAFFLES from the workhouse library.
It was paradise after. Also, I had my dinner from the workhouse table, and it was one. I have ever eaten. A tramp does not see such a.
The paupers told. Sundays, and. went hungry six days of the week. When the meal was over the cook. The wastage was astonishing; great dishes of beef. I filled five dustbins. And while I did so my follow tramps.
Sunday. It. appeared that the food was thrown away from deliberate policy. At three I left the workhouse kitchen and went back to the. The, boredom in that crowded, comfortless room was now. Even smoking had ceased, for a tramp's only tobacco is. To occupy the time I.
He kept a little aloof from the other tramps, and held. He had literary tastes. Scott's novels on all his wanderings. He. told me he never entered a spike unless driven there by hunger. Along the. south coast he had begged by day and slept in bathing- machines for. We talked of life on the road. He criticized the system which.
He spoke of his own. It was idiotic, he said. Then I told him about the wastage of food in the workhouse. I thought of it. And at that he changed his tune.
I saw that I had awakened the pew- renter who sleeps in. English workman. Though he had been famished, along with the.
He admonished me quite. They have to do it,' he said. These tramps. are too lazy to work, that's all that's wrong with them.
You don't. want to go encouraging of them. They're scum.'I produced arguments to prove him wrong, but he would not. He kept repeating: 'You don't want to have any pity on these tramps–scum. You don't want to judge them by the same standards as men.
They're scum, just scum.'It was interesting to see how subtly he disassociated himself. He has been on the road six months, but in.
God, he seemed to imply, he was not a tramp. His body. might be in the spike, but his spirit soared far away, in the pure. The clock's hands crept round with excruciating slowness. We. were too bored even to talk now, the only sound was of oaths and. One would force his eyes away from the clock.
Ennui clogged our souls like cold. Our bones ached because of it. The clock's hands stood. At last six o'clock did come, and the Tramp Major and his. The yawning tramps brisked up like. But the meal was a dismal disappointment.
The older men went almost supperless, and not a. When. we had finished, the blankets were served out immediately, and we.
Thirteen hours went by. At seven we were awakened, and rushed. Our time in the spike was up, but we could.
The. doctor kept us waiting two hours this time, and it was ten o'clock. At last it was time to go, and we were let out into the yard. The Tramp Major handed each man. This was our. interim of freedom. After a day and two nights of wasted time we.
Also, we had to. make our ten, fifteen, or it might be twenty miles to the next. I disinterred my eightpence and took the road with Nobby, a. Labour Exchanges. Our late companions were. It was a quiet road, there were.
Everything was so quiet and smelt so clean, it was. The. others had all disappeared; we two seemed to be the only tramps on.
Then I heard a hurried step behind me, and felt a tap on my arm. He pulled a. rusty tin box from his pocket. He wore a friendly smile, like a man. Here y'are, mate,' he said cordially. The Tramp Major give me back my box.
One good turn deserves. And he put four sodden, debauched, loathly cigarette ends into. A HANGING (1. 93. It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light. like yellow tinfoil, was slanting over the high walls into the jail. We were waiting outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds.
Each cell. measured about ten feet by ten and was quite bare within except for.