The Complete Works. George OrwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
the holes in the tin and blows. A sticky greyish stream dribbles from the other.)
Charlie: “What luck, Florry? ’Ow ’bout that perishing toff as I see you get off with just now?”
Dorothy: “It’s got ‘Not fit for babies’ on it.”
Mrs. Bendigo: “Well, you ain’t a bloody baby, are you? You can drop your Buckingham Palace manners, ’ere, dearie.”
Florry: “Stood me a coffee and a fag—mingy bastard! That tea you got there, Ginger? You always was my favourite, Ginger dear.”
Mrs. Wayne: “There’s jest thirteen of us.”
Mr. Tallboys: “As we are not going to have any dinner you need not disturb yourself.”
Ginger: “What-o, ladies and gents! Tea is served. Cups forward, please!”
The Kike: “Oh Jeez! You ain’t filled my bloody cup half full!”
Mrs. McElligot: “Well, here’s luck to us all, an’ a better bloody kip to-morrow. I’d ha’ took shelter in one o’ dem dere churches meself, only de b ——s won’t let you in if so be as dey t’ink you got de chats on you.” (Drinks.)
Mrs. Wayne: “Well, I can’t say as this is exactly the way as I’ve been accustomed to drinking a cup of tea—but still——” (Drinks.)
Charlie: “Perishing good cup of tea.” (Drinks.)
Deafie: “And there was flocks of them there green parakeets in the coco-nut palms, too.” (Drinks.)
Mr. Tallboys:
“What potions have I drunk of siren tears,
Distilled from limbecs foul as Hell within!”
(Drinks.)
Snouter: “Last we’ll get till five in the —— morning.” (Drinks.)
(Florry produces a broken shop-made cigarette from her stocking, and cadges a match. The men, except Daddy, Deafie and Mr. Tallboys, roll cigarettes from picked-up fag-ends. The red ends glow through the misty twilight, like a crooked constellation, as the smokers sprawl on the bench, the ground or the slope of the parapet.)
Mrs. Wayne: “Well, there now! A nice cup of tea do seem to warm you up, don’t it, now? Not but what I don’t feel it a bit different, as you might say, not having no nice clean table-cloth like I’ve been accustomed to, and the beautiful china tea service as our mother used to have; and always, of course, the very best tea as money could buy—real Pekoe Points at two and nine a pound. . . .”
Ginger (singing):
“There they go—in their joy—
’Appy girl—lucky boy——”
Mr. Tallboys (singing, to the tune of “Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles”): “Keep the aspidistra flying——”
Charlie: “ ’Ow long you two kids been in Smoke?”
Snouter: “I’m going to give them boozers such a doing to-morrow as they won’t know if they’re on their ’eads or their —— ’eels. I’ll ’ave my ’alf dollar if I ’ave to ’old them upside down and —— shake ’em.”
Ginger: “Three days. We come down from York—skippering ’alf the way. God, wasn’t it jest about bleeding nine carat gold, too!”
Florry: “Got any more tea there, Ginger dear? Well, so long, folks. See you all at Wilkins’s to-morrow morning.”
Mrs. Bendigo: “Thieving little tart! Swallers ’er tea and then jacks off without so much as a thank you. Can’t waste a bloody moment.”
Mrs. McElligot: “Cold? Ay, I b’lieve you. Skipperin’ in de long grass wid no blanket an’ de bloody dew fit to drown you, an’ den can’t get your bloody fire goin’ in de mornin’, an’ got to tap de milkman ’fore you can make yourself a drum o’ tea. I’ve had some’v it when me and Michael was on de toby.”
Mrs. Bendigo: “Even go with blackies and Chinamen she will, the dirty little cow.”
Dorothy: “How much does she get each time?”
Snouter: “Tanner.”
Dorothy: “Sixpence?”
Charlie: “Bet your life. Do it for a perishing fag along towards morning.”
Mrs. McElligot: “I never took less’n a shilling, never.”
Ginger: “Kikie and me skippered in a boneyard one night. Woke up in the morning and found I was lying on a bleeding gravestone.”
The Kike: “She ain’t half got the crabs on her, too.”
Mrs. McElligot: “Michael an’ me skippered in a pigsty once. We was just a-creepin’ in, when, ‘Holy Mary!’ says Michael, ‘dere’s a pig in here!’ ‘Pig be ——!’ I says, ‘he’ll keep us warm anyway.’ So in we goes, an’ dere was an old sow lay on her side snorin’ like a traction engine. I creeps up agen her an’ puts me arms round her, an’ begod she kept me warm all night. I’ve skippered worse.”
Deafie (singing): “With my willy willy——”
Charlie: “Don’t ole Deafie keep it up? Sets up a kind of a ’umming inside of ’im, ’e says.”
Daddy: “When I was a boy we didn’t live on this ’ere bread and marg. and tea and suchlike trash. Good solid tommy we ’ad in them days. Beef stoo. Black pudden. Bacon dumpling. Pig’s ’ead. Fed like a fighting-cock on a tanner a day. And now fifty year I’ve ’ad of it on the toby. Spud-grabbing, pea-picking, lambing, turnip-topping—everythink. And sleeping in wet straw and not once in a year you don’t fill your guts right full. Well——!” (Retires within his coat.)
Mrs. McElligot: “But he was real bold, Michael was. He’d go in anywhere. Many’s de time we’ve broke into an empty house an’ kipped in de best bed. ‘Other people got homes,’ he’d say. ‘Why shouldn’t we have’m too?’ ”
Ginger (singing): “But I’m dan-cing with tears—in my eyes——”
Mr. Tallboys (to himself): “Absurnet haeres Caecuba dignior! To think that there were twenty-one bottles of Clos St. Jacques 1911 in my cellar still, that night when the baby was born and I left for London on the milk train! . . .”
Mrs. Wayne: “And as for the wreaths we ’ad sent us when our mother died—well, you wouldn’t believe! ’Uge, they was. . . .”
Mrs. Bendigo: “If I ’ad my time over again I’d marry for bloody money.”
Ginger (singing):
“But I’m dan-cing with tears—in my eyes——
Cos the girl—in my arms—isn’t you-o-ou!”
Nosy Watson: “Some of you lot think you got a bloody lot to howl about, don’t you? What about a poor sod like me? You wasn’t narked into the stir when you was eighteen year old, was you?”
The Kike: “Oh Je-e-eeeze!”
Charlie: “Ginger, you can’t sing no more’n a perishing tomcat with the guts-ache. Just you listen to me. I’ll give y’a treat. (Singing): Jesu, lover of my soul——”
Mr. Tallboys (to himself): “Et ego in Crockford. . . . With Bishops and Archbishops and with all the Company of Heaven. . . .”
Nosy Watson: “D’you know how I got in the stir the first time? Narked by my own sister—yes, my own bloody sister! My sister’s a cow if ever there was one. She got married to a religious maniac—he’s so bloody religious that she’s got fifteen kids now—well, it was him put her up to narking me. But I got back on ’em, I can tell you. First thing I done when I come out of the stir, I buys a hammer and goes round to my sister’s