Books Read This Week: The Ragger Trousered Philanthropists (Robert Tressell) 10/10
This is a good book with which to stoke up one's rage.
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists is a classic of Socialist literature and this year is the centenary of Robert Tressell's death from tuberculosis. The book, which is (at the very least) semi-autobiographical was written in evenings and weekends; Tressell was working full time (56 1/2 hours a week) as a painter decorator whilst he wrote the book. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists follows the employees of Rushton and Co., a firm of house painters and decorators, in the thinly fictionalised town of Mugsborough (Hastings) for a full year. The book focuses primarily on Frank Owen, a committed socialist, and his family - his wife Nora and son Frankie - although there is a large cast of characters, primarily so that (as Tressell says in the Preface) although the book covers only one year, we may see the working class of Mugsborough at every stage in life.
The characters make the book; their names may be pseudodescriptive (halfway between the Pilgrim's Progress and Dickens); Dauber and Botchit, A. Sweater, Graball D'Encloseland (a personal favourite of mine), Slyme; but they are not ciphers - they feel real. And that, of course, makes their tragedy all the more poignant.
And at the centre of it all, Owen, a dying man, desperately trying to keep going for the sake of his family, and desperately trying to convince his workmates that the world doesn't have to be the way it is. That things can change - that they must change. He is a deeply tragic figure; I can never finish Chapter 34 (The Beginning of the End) with dry eyes; Owen standing over the sink in the early hours of the morning, blood haemorraging from his mouth and his only thought being that when he dies his wife and child will starve is an image that hits you like a punch to the stomach - as well it should.
I had much more to say about this book; how it brutally exposes the inadequacy and stupidity of privately organised efforts to alleviate public distress (the sort of "third sector" activity we're all supposed to be replacing the welfare state with in this new big society of ours) and moreover how farming out relief efforts to the private sector forces people to conform to social mores; go to church or starve. How it contains one of the very few good descriptions of Christmas in English literature. The surprisingly sensible treatment of Ruth Easton's rape, pregnancy and postnatal depression. The pitch black humour with which the story is told. But then I realised if I mentioned all of those things, I would basically be paraphrasing the entire book. So, I'll just strongly suggest that you read it: Project Gutenberg have the text here
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3608
I find the character of Barrington something of a tragedy - although, I think, a necessary one. On the one hand, it is deeply unfortunately that the only way Tressell could see for his characters (or, at least, those still alive) to enjoy a happy ending was to introduce Dickens' stock in trade, the benevolent (although in this case also very socialist) rich man. On the other hand, precisely because he does not have to fear the sack, Barrington has some excellent moments (his speech at the Beano, in particular), and his temptation by the Liberal orator during the by-election is wonderfully done. And ultimately, I cannot begrudge Owen and his family their happy ending or their joy when Barrington says he will fit out a Socialist van, and start a branch of the Labour Party. The fact that Barrington does not have to fear the sack also showcases exactly how brave Owen is when he does finally confront the villainous Rushton.
Although the narrative is crushingly depressing, with the benefit of a century of hindsight, the main message I take from the novel is one of hope: we won all the battles being fought in the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists - the workhouses are all closed. We have a national minimum wage, and paid holidays. A welfare state and a national health service. It is worth remembering: we beat the bastards once. And we can do it again.
I'm going to finish with my favourite passage from the novel, and one that suddenly seems relevant again, after a century:
'Our next scene is called "The Rival Candidates, or, a Scene during the General Election". On the left you will observe, standin' up in a motor car, a swell bloke with a eyeglass stuck in one eye, and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, addressing the crowd: this is the Honourable Augustus Slumrent, the Conservative candidate. On the other side of the road we see another motor car and another swell bloke with a round pane of glass in one eye and a overcoat with a big fur collar and cuffs, standing up in the car and addressin' the crowd. This is Mr Mandriver, the Liberal candidate. The crowds of shabby-lookin' chaps standin' round the motor cars wavin' their 'ats and cheerin' is workin' men. Both the candidates is tellin' 'em the same old story, and each of 'em is askin' the workin' men to elect 'im to Parlimint, and promisin' to do something or other to make things better for the lower horders.'
''Ere we 'ave another election scene. At each side we see the two candidates the same as in the last pitcher. In the middle of the road we see a man lying on the ground, covered with blood, with a lot of Liberal and Tory working men kickin' 'im, jumpin' on 'im, and stampin' on 'is face with their 'obnailed boots. The bloke on the ground is a Socialist, and the reason why they're kickin' 'is face in is because 'e said that the only difference between Slumrent and Mandriver was that they was both alike.'
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