deguonis
02-28-2014, 01:19 PM
Most of you know the Welsh poet W. H. Davies although he didn't write anything in Welsh. Outrageous.
Here is a terrific essay by Davies that you won't find in any of his books!
I suspect nobody will comment on it but it is indeed a superb essay and should be included in some book.
The English Review Vol. 1 No. 1 - December 1908
How it Feels to be Out of Work
By W. H. Davies
It is generally in spring or summer that a man out of work takes courage to leave his friends and seek work in strange places. He can, and does, somehow manage, with the assistance of relatives, friends and landladies to get food and shelter in winter, but no sooner does the air begin to brighten in spring than he must feel more independence; and if he still cannot get work at home, he obeys the old lust to wander, even as a dog goes hunting. His hands begin to itch for something to do, and it is now a matter of chance whether he is to be a working man or a real beggar. So he takes to the road, not doubting but what he will soon find work and settle, until such time as better trade in his native town beckons him to return.
Very well then; he has a shilling or two in his pocket, which his friends have mustered for him, and he leaves his native place. He is quite happy, for it never once occurs to him that work is not to be had—if honestly sought.
At this stage of his career the man no sooner hears of work being done than he hastens in that direction. If he sees a gang of men mending a road, or hoeing potatoes, the poor fellow not only asks for work immediately but, being told there is none for him, stands spellbound, without power to leave that sight of industry; while real beggars pass indifferently to and fro, laughing in their sleeves at all labouring men.
This man is now so interested in work of every kind that he even addresses little children. "Hallo!" says he, "what does father work at?" On being told he asks a second question, "Is he working?" After receiving information he goes his way, feeling better satisfied than before. These questions are asked out of real respect for work and not, as some people would think, for the sake of giving a child pleasure in answering them. It is far different with the real tramp, for he is not interested in work and seldom speaks to children.
Again, there is something about his manner that is not so open as the other's, and children fear him, and he knows it well.
To this innocent man out of work there are no real tramps; for he thinks that every man is looking anxiously for work; so it can be imagined how he amuses those real beggars, who have no other object in inquiring for work than to know what places to avoid.
This new tramp begins to feel distressed when several weeks go by and still there is no prospect of work. He sees his shoes wearing away and his clothes beginning to change colour, and he does not know whether to return home or not. It is well for him that he has that strange fortune which guides staggering drunkards safely past glass windows and looks after infants that tumble downstairs; for this man—to the astonishment of real beggars—is continually being assisted one way or another. Every day he has an experience to tell of how some gentleman drove him part of the way in a trap, how another gave him sixpence, and a woman gave him threepence and a parcel of food. How does all this come about? Even real beggars, who go systematically to work, cannot tell, for they seldom get more than a penny at a time. The reason is that the real beggar whines in such humble tones that people would feel no shame in giving him a farthing. But this new beggar, not yet having lost the dignity and pride of a respectable human being, addresses them in such an open, manly way that a penny seems small indeed to offer such a man—and this is one reason for his success.
Again, he does not miss good opportunities, as the real beggar often does. This new beginner, being a respectable man, unfortunate for the time in being out of work, seldom thinks of the police. Why should he? He does not beg straight; but his innocent roundabout way of inquiring for work—which he really wants—is more profitable than straight begging would be. In his innocence, he does not suspect all tall men are detectives or constables in private clothes, and pass them by, as real tramps often do. The consequence is that he gets assistance from them — even if they are detectives.
Of course this man soon begins to see that the life of a man out of work is not so terrible after all. He gets enough to eat, and is free to go his way, and he has no responsibilities. A fine healthy appetite compensates for the low quality of his food; for he will now relish plain bread and cheese as he never relished the beef-steak and onions of his former days. Day after day he passes before strange eyes, and therefore has no need to study appearances. He loses all fret, and settles himself to a wandering life. He cannot fail to see how happy are the real beggars he meets on the road and in lodging-houses—and he soon becomes indifferent to work.
Although this man may become too indifferent to look for work, that is not to say that he will not take advantage of a good offer. A number of tramps do this, but if they have had a thorough taste of the road, they can never be relied on in after days. They hear the call of the road much the same as sailors working on land hear the call of the sea. Such a man is not to be trusted, even though he marries; for he is likely to welcome any slight provocation at home or at work, and take to the road again, deserting wife and little ones. I have often heard of men in a respectable position that boasted—to make their success in business look more important—that they had once been tramps on the road, but it is always to be found that the experiences of such men were limited to a week or two; and that they never properly filled their lungs with the air of freedom. It would be very difficult to find a man in a respectable position that had been for a whole summer a free wanderer.
I really cannot imagine any better life on earth than to be free of all tasks and duties; free, morning and night, to rise and retire at one's pleasure. Nothing amuses me more than to read of the activity of some of our leading men ; how they are always trying with all their might to make up the time they wasted as babes in their mothers' arms, and in idle play in fields and streets.
Here is a terrific essay by Davies that you won't find in any of his books!
I suspect nobody will comment on it but it is indeed a superb essay and should be included in some book.
The English Review Vol. 1 No. 1 - December 1908
How it Feels to be Out of Work
By W. H. Davies
It is generally in spring or summer that a man out of work takes courage to leave his friends and seek work in strange places. He can, and does, somehow manage, with the assistance of relatives, friends and landladies to get food and shelter in winter, but no sooner does the air begin to brighten in spring than he must feel more independence; and if he still cannot get work at home, he obeys the old lust to wander, even as a dog goes hunting. His hands begin to itch for something to do, and it is now a matter of chance whether he is to be a working man or a real beggar. So he takes to the road, not doubting but what he will soon find work and settle, until such time as better trade in his native town beckons him to return.
Very well then; he has a shilling or two in his pocket, which his friends have mustered for him, and he leaves his native place. He is quite happy, for it never once occurs to him that work is not to be had—if honestly sought.
At this stage of his career the man no sooner hears of work being done than he hastens in that direction. If he sees a gang of men mending a road, or hoeing potatoes, the poor fellow not only asks for work immediately but, being told there is none for him, stands spellbound, without power to leave that sight of industry; while real beggars pass indifferently to and fro, laughing in their sleeves at all labouring men.
This man is now so interested in work of every kind that he even addresses little children. "Hallo!" says he, "what does father work at?" On being told he asks a second question, "Is he working?" After receiving information he goes his way, feeling better satisfied than before. These questions are asked out of real respect for work and not, as some people would think, for the sake of giving a child pleasure in answering them. It is far different with the real tramp, for he is not interested in work and seldom speaks to children.
Again, there is something about his manner that is not so open as the other's, and children fear him, and he knows it well.
To this innocent man out of work there are no real tramps; for he thinks that every man is looking anxiously for work; so it can be imagined how he amuses those real beggars, who have no other object in inquiring for work than to know what places to avoid.
This new tramp begins to feel distressed when several weeks go by and still there is no prospect of work. He sees his shoes wearing away and his clothes beginning to change colour, and he does not know whether to return home or not. It is well for him that he has that strange fortune which guides staggering drunkards safely past glass windows and looks after infants that tumble downstairs; for this man—to the astonishment of real beggars—is continually being assisted one way or another. Every day he has an experience to tell of how some gentleman drove him part of the way in a trap, how another gave him sixpence, and a woman gave him threepence and a parcel of food. How does all this come about? Even real beggars, who go systematically to work, cannot tell, for they seldom get more than a penny at a time. The reason is that the real beggar whines in such humble tones that people would feel no shame in giving him a farthing. But this new beggar, not yet having lost the dignity and pride of a respectable human being, addresses them in such an open, manly way that a penny seems small indeed to offer such a man—and this is one reason for his success.
Again, he does not miss good opportunities, as the real beggar often does. This new beginner, being a respectable man, unfortunate for the time in being out of work, seldom thinks of the police. Why should he? He does not beg straight; but his innocent roundabout way of inquiring for work—which he really wants—is more profitable than straight begging would be. In his innocence, he does not suspect all tall men are detectives or constables in private clothes, and pass them by, as real tramps often do. The consequence is that he gets assistance from them — even if they are detectives.
Of course this man soon begins to see that the life of a man out of work is not so terrible after all. He gets enough to eat, and is free to go his way, and he has no responsibilities. A fine healthy appetite compensates for the low quality of his food; for he will now relish plain bread and cheese as he never relished the beef-steak and onions of his former days. Day after day he passes before strange eyes, and therefore has no need to study appearances. He loses all fret, and settles himself to a wandering life. He cannot fail to see how happy are the real beggars he meets on the road and in lodging-houses—and he soon becomes indifferent to work.
Although this man may become too indifferent to look for work, that is not to say that he will not take advantage of a good offer. A number of tramps do this, but if they have had a thorough taste of the road, they can never be relied on in after days. They hear the call of the road much the same as sailors working on land hear the call of the sea. Such a man is not to be trusted, even though he marries; for he is likely to welcome any slight provocation at home or at work, and take to the road again, deserting wife and little ones. I have often heard of men in a respectable position that boasted—to make their success in business look more important—that they had once been tramps on the road, but it is always to be found that the experiences of such men were limited to a week or two; and that they never properly filled their lungs with the air of freedom. It would be very difficult to find a man in a respectable position that had been for a whole summer a free wanderer.
I really cannot imagine any better life on earth than to be free of all tasks and duties; free, morning and night, to rise and retire at one's pleasure. Nothing amuses me more than to read of the activity of some of our leading men ; how they are always trying with all their might to make up the time they wasted as babes in their mothers' arms, and in idle play in fields and streets.