# Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 29

CHAPTER XXIX
The Socialist Van
Rushton and Company did a lot of work that summer, not many big jobs but a lot of little ones, and the boy Bert was kept busy running from one to the other. He spent most of his time dragging a hand-cart with loads of paint, or planks and steps, and seldom went out to work with the men, for when he was not taking things out to the various places where the philanthropists were working, he was in the paint-shop at the yard, scraping out dirty paintpots or helping Crass to mix up colours. Although scarcely anyone seemed to notice it, the boy presented a truly pitiable spectacle. He was very pale and thin. Dragging the hand-cart did not help him to put on flesh, for the weather was very hot and the work made him sweat.
His home was right away on the other side of Windley. It took him more than three-quarters of an hour to walk to the shop, and as he had to be at work at six that meant that he must leave home at a few minutes past five every morning, so that he always got up about half past four.
About the middle of June Hunter met with an accident. He was tearing off to one of the jobs on his bicycle about five minutes to twelve, to see if he could catch anyone knocking off before the proper time, and while going down a rather steep hill his brakes failed to act, and to save himself from being smashed against the railings at the bottom of the hill, Misery threw himself off the machine, with the result that his head and face and hands were terribly cut and bruised. He was so badly knocked about that he had to remain at home for nearly three weeks, much to the delight of the men and the annoyance—not to say indignation—of Mr Rushton, who could not make out estimates without assistance. There were several jobs to be tendered for just at that time, so Rushton sent the specifications round to Hunter's house for him to ​figure out the prices, and while he was laid up he spent most of his time sitting up in bed, swathed in bandages, trying to calculate the probable cost of these jobs. Rushton did not come to see him, but he sent Bert nearly every day, either with some specifications, or some accounts, or something of that sort, or with a note inquiring when Hunter thought he would be able to return to work.
All sorts of rumours became prevalent amongst the men concerning Hunter's condition. He had 'broken his spiral column,' he had 'conjunction of the brain,' or he had injured his 'innards' and would probably never be able to 'do no more slave-drivin''. Crass, who had helped Mr Rushton to 'price up' several small jobs, began to think it might not be altogether a bad thing for himself if something were to happen to Hunter, and he began to put on side and to assume airs of authority, and became so bumptious and offensive in his position of deputy foreman that most of the men were almost glad when Nimrod did return. They said that if Crass ever got the job he would be a damn sight worse than Hunter, who when he first came back seemed to have improved in character. But the change was only of short duration and he was soon driving, spying and bullying as hard as ever, while one of the new rules he instituted, at Crass's private instigation, made him more unpopular, if possible, than before. When the men worked overtime it had been their custom to snatch a few minutes off at six o'clock for a mouthful of food. Misery knew they could not work from dinner till 7.30 without something to eat, but he instituted a new regulation that they were to stop work from 6 to 6.30, and lose half an hour's pay, so that instead of knocking off at 7.30 they were obliged to work till 8 o'clock without extra pay. The men cursed and grumbled, but put up with it like sheep, though there were one or two, who apparently had become contaminated with Socialistic theories, who said that they did not desire to work overtime at all, ten hours a day were quite enough for them, in fact they would rather do only eight. What they wanted, they said, was not more work, but more grub, more clothes, more leisure, more pleasure and better homes. They wanted to be able to go for country walks or bicycle rides, to go out fishing or to go to the seaside and bathe and lie on the beach. But there were not many so selfish as this. The majority desired nothing but to be allowed to work, and as for their children, why, ​'what was good enough for them, oughter be good enough for the kids.'
One Sunday morning towards the end of July, a band of about twenty-five men and women on bicycles invaded the town. Two of them, who rode a few yards in front of the others, had affixed to their handle bars a slender upright standard from the top of one of which fluttered a small flag of crimson silk with 'International Brotherhood and Peace,' in gold letters. The other standard was similar in size and colour, but with a different legend: 'One for all and All for one.'
As they rode along they gave leaflets to the people in the streets, and whenever they came to a place where there were many people they dismounted and walked about, distributing leaflets. They made several long halts during their progress along the Grand Parade, where there was a considerable crowd, and then they rode over the hill to Windley, which they reached just before opening time. There were little crowds waiting outside the several public-houses, and a number of people passing through the streets on their way home from church and chapel. To all who would take them the strangers distributed leaflets, and they also went through the side streets putting them under the doors and in the letter boxes. When they had exhausted their stock they remounted and rode back the way they came.
Meantime the news of their arrival had spread, and as they returned through the town they were greeted with jeers and booing. Presently someone threw a stone, and as there happened to be plenty of stones just there, several others followed suit and began running after the retreating cyclists, throwing stones, hooting and cursing.
The leaflet which had given rise to all this fury read as follows:
* WHAT IS SOCIALISM?
* At present the workers with hand and brain produce continually food, clothing and all useful and beautiful things in great abundance,
* But They Labour In Vain
* for they are mostly poor and often in want. They find it a hard struggle to live.
* Their women and children suffer, and their old age is branded with pauperism.
* ​Socialism is a plan by which poverty will be abolished and all will be enabled to live in plenty and comfort, with leisure and opportunity for ampler life.
* If you wish to hear more of this plan, come to the field at the Cross Roads on the hill at Windley, on Tuesday evening next at 8 p.m., and
* LOOK OUT FOR THE SOCIALIST VAN.
The cyclists rode away amid showers of stones without sustaining much damage. One had his hand cut and another, who happened to look round, was struck on the forehead, but these were the only casualities.
On the following Tuesday evening, long before the appointed time, a large crowd assembled at the cross roads on the hill at Windley, evidently prepared to give the Socialists a warm reception. There was only one policeman in uniform but several plain-clothes were amongst the crowd.
Crass, Dick Wantley, the Semi-Drunk, Sawkins, Bill Bates and several other frequenters of the 'Cricketers' were there, and also a sprinkling of tradespeople including the Old Dear and Mr Smallman, the grocer, and a few ladies and gentlemen, well-to-do visitors; but the bulk of the gathering consisted of working-men, labourers, mechanics and boys.
As it was quite evident that the crowd meant mischief—many of them had their pockets filled with stones, and were armed with sticks—several of the local Socialists, including Owen, were in favour of going to meet the van to endeavour to persuade those in charge from coming further, and with that object they went down the road in the direction from which the van was expected. They had not gone very far, however, before the people, divining their intention, began to follow them, and while they were hesitating what course to pursue, the Socialist Van, escorted by five or six men on bicycles, appeared round the corner at the bottom of the hill.
As soon as the crowd saw the van they gave an exultant cheer, or rather, yell, and began running down the hill, and in a few minutes it was surrounded by a howling mob. The van was drawn by two horses; there was a door and a small platform at the back and over this was a sign with white letters on a red ground: 'Socialism, the only hope of the Workers.'
The driver pulled up, and another man on the platform at ​the rear attempted to address the crowd, but his voice was inaudible in the din of howls, catcalls, hooting, and obscene curses. After about an hour of this, as the crowd began pushing against the van and trying to overturn it, the terrified horses became restive and uncontrollable, and the man on the box attempted to drive up the hill. This seemed still further to infuriate the horde of savages who surrounded the van. Numbers of them clutched the wheels and turned them the reverse way, screaming that it must go back to where it came from; and several of them accordingly seized the horses' heads and, amid cheers, turned them round.
The man on the platform was still trying to make himself heard, but without success. The strangers who had come with the van and the little group of local socialists, who had forced their way close to the platform in front of the would-be speaker, only increased the din by their shouts of appeal to the crowd to 'give the man a fair chance.' This little bodyguard closed round the van as it began to move slowly downhill, but it was completely out-numbered, and the mob, being dissatisfied with the rate at which the van was proceeding, began to shout: 'Run it away!', 'Take the brake off!'; and several savage rushes were made with the intention of putting these suggestions into execution.
Some of the defenders were hampered by their bicycles, but by tremendous efforts they succeeded in keeping the crowd off until the foot of the hill was reached, and then someone threw the first stone, which by a strange chance happened to strike one of the cyclists, whose head was already bandaged. It was the same man who had been hit on the Sunday. This stone was soon followed by others, and the man on the platform was the next to be struck. He got it right on the mouth, and as he put up his handkerchief to staunch the blood another stone struck him on the forehead just above the temple, and he dropped forward on his face onto the platform as if he had been shot. As the speed of the vehicle increased, a regular hail of stones fell upon the roof and against the sides of the van and whizzed past the retreating cyclists, while the crowd followed close behind, cheering, shrieking out volleys of obscene curses, and howling like wolves.
'We'll give the swines Socialism!' shouted Crass, who was literally foaming at the mouth.
'We'll teach 'em to come 'ere trying to undermine our ​bloody morality!' howled Dick Wantley, as he hurled a lump of granite at one of the cyclists.
After pursuing the van until it was out of range the mob bethought themselves of the local Socialists; but these were nowhere to be seen, having prudently withdrawn as soon as the van had got clear. The victory gained, the upholders of the present system returned to the piece of waste ground on the top of the hill, where a gentleman in a silk hat and frock coat stood up on a little hillock and made a speech. He said nothing about the Distress Committee or the Soup Kitchen or the children who went to school without proper clothes or food, and made no reference to what was to be done next winter when nearly everybody would be out of work. But he said a great deal about the Glorious Empire and the Flag, and his remarks were received with rapturous applause; and at the conclusion of his address the crowd sang the National Anthem with great enthusiasm and dispersed, congratulating themselves that they had shown, to the best of their ability, what Mugsborough thought of Socialism.