Mother’s Day - J. B. Priestley

Mother’s Day - J. B. Priestley

CHARACTERS

MRS ANNIE PEARSON

GEORGE PEARSON

DORIS PEARSON

CYRIL PEARSON

MRS FITZGERALD

The action takes place in the living-room of the

Pearsons’ house in a London suburb.

Time: The Present

Scene: The living-room of the PEARSON family. Afternoon. It is a comfortably furnished, much lived-in room in a small suburban semi-detached villa. If necessary only one door need be used, but it is better with two—one up left leading to the front door and the stairs and the other in the right wall leading to the kitchen and the back door. There can be a muslin covered window in the left wall and possibly one in the right wall, too. The fireplace is assumed to be in the fourth wall. There is a settee up right, an armchair down left and one down right. A small table with two chairs on either side of it stands at the centre.

When the curtain rises it is an afternoon in early autumn and the stage can be well lit. Mrs. Pearson at right, and MRS. FITZGERALD at left, are sitting opposite each other at the small table, on which are two tea-cups and saucers and the cards with which MRS. FITZGERALD has been telling Mrs. Pearson’s fortune. Mrs. Pearson is a pleasant but worried-looking woman in her forties. MRS. FITZGERALD is older, heavier and a strong and sinister personality. She is smoking. It is very important that these two should have sharply contrasting voices—MRS. PEARSON speaking in a light, flurried sort of tone, with a touch of suburban Cockney perhaps; and MRS. FITZGERALD with a deep voice, rather Irish perhaps.

MRS FITZGERALD: [collecting up the cards] And that’s all I can tell you, MRS. PEARSON. Could be a good fortune. Could be a bad one. All depends on yourself now. Make up your mind—and there it is.

MRS PEARSON: Yes, thank you, MRS. FITZGERALD. I’m much obliged, I’m sure. It’s wonderful having a real fortune-teller living next door. Did you learn that out East, too? 34 Snapshots.

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. Twelve years I had of it, with my old man rising to be Lieutenant quartermaster. He learnt a lot, and I learnt a lot more. But will you make up your mind now, MRS. PEARSON dear? Put your foot down, once an’ for all, an’ be the mistress of your own house an’ the boss of your own family.

MRS PEARSON: [smiling apologetically] That’s easier said than done. Besides I’m so fond of them even if they are so thoughtless and selfish. They don’t mean to be...

MRS FITZGERALD: [cutting in] Maybe not. But it’ud be better for them if they learnt to treat you properly...

MRS PEARSON: Yes, I suppose it would, in a way.

MRS FITZGERALD: No doubt about it at all. Who’s the better for being spoilt—grown man, lad or girl? Nobody. You think it does ’em good when you run after them all the time, take their orders as if you were the servant in the house, stay at home every night while they go out enjoying themselves? Never in all your life. It’s the ruin of them as well as you. Husbands, sons, daughters should be taking notice of wives an’ mothers, not giving ’em orders an’ treating ’em like dirt. An’ don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean, for I know more than you’ve told me.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I—keep dropping a hint...

MRS FITZGERALD: Hint? It’s more than hints your family needs, MRS. PEARSON.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I suppose it is. But I do hate any unpleasantness. And it’s so hard to know where to start. I keep making up my mind to have it out with them but somehow I don’t know how to begin. [She glances at her watch or at a clock] Oh—good gracious! Look at the time. Nothing ready and they’ll be home any minute and probably all in a hurry to go out again. [As she is about to rise, Mrs. Fitzgerald reaches out across the table and pulls her down.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Let ’em wait or look after themselves for once. This is where your foot goes down. Start now. [She lights a cigarette from the one she has just finished.]

MRS PEARSON: [embarrassed] MRS. FITZGERALD—I know you mean well—in fact, I agree with you— but I just can’t—and it’s no use you trying to make me. If I promise you I’d really have it out with them, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise.

MRS FITZGERALD: Then let me do it.

MRS PEARSON: [flustered] Oh no—thank you very much, Mrs. Fitzgerald—but that wouldn’t do at all. It couldn’t possibly be somebody else— they’d resent it at once and wouldn’t listen— and really I couldn’t blame them. I know I ought to do it—but you see how it is? [She looks apologetically across the table, smiling rather miserably.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] You haven’t got the idea.

MRS PEARSON: [bewildered] Oh—I’m sorry—I thought you asked me to let you do it.

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. But not as me—as you.

MRS PEARSON: But—I don’t understand. You couldn’t be me.

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] We change places. Or—really— bodies. You look like me. I look like you.

MRS PEARSON: But that’s impossible.

MRS FITZGERALD: How do you know? Ever tried it?

MRS PEARSON: No, of course not...

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] I have. Not for some time but it still ought to work. Won’t last long, but long enough for what we want to do. Learnt it out East, of course, where they’re up to all these tricks. [She holds her hand out across the table, keeping the cigarette in her mouth] Gimme your hands, dear.

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] Well—I don’t know—is it right? 36 Snapshots

MRS FITZGERALD: It’s your only chance. Give me your hands an’ keep quiet a minute. Just don’t think about anything. [Taking her hands] Now look at me. [They stare at each other. Muttering] Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta lamdumbona... [This little scene should be acted very carefully. We are to assume that the personalities change bodies. After the spell has been spoken, both women, still grasping hands, go lax, as if the life were out of them. Then both come to life, but with the personality of the other. Each must try to adopt the voice and mannerisms of the other. So now Mrs. Pearson is bold and dominating and Mrs. Fitzgerald is nervous and fluttering.]

MRS PEARSON: [now with MRS. FITZGERALD’S personality] See what I mean, dear? [She notices the cigarette] Here—you don’t want that. [She snatches it and puts it in her own mouth, puffing contentedly.]  [Mrs. Fitzgerald, now with Mrs. Pearson’s personality, looks down at herself and sees that her body has changed and gives a scream of fright.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [with Mrs. Pearson’s personality] Oh—it’s happened.

MRS PEARSON: [complacently] Of course it’s happened. Very neat. Didn’t know I had it in me.

MRS FITZGERALD: [alarmed] But whatever shall I do, Mrs. Fitzgerald? George and the children can’t see me like this.

MRS PEARSON: [grimly] They aren’t going to—that’s the point. They’ll have me to deal with—only they won’t know it.

MRS FITZGERALD: [still alarmed] But what if we can’t change back? It’ud be terrible.

MRS PEARSON: Here—steady, MRS. PEARSON—if you had to live my life it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d have more fun as me than you’ve had as you.

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but I don’t want to be anybody else...

MRS PEARSON: Now—stop worrying. It’s easier changing back—I can do it any time we want...

MRS FITZGERALD: Well—do it now...

MRS PEARSON: Not likely. I’ve got to deal with your family first. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Didn’t know how to begin with ‘em, you said. Well. I’ll show you.

MRS FITZGERALD: But what am I going to do?

MRS PEARSON: Go into my house for a bit—there’s nobody there—then pop back and see how we’re doing. You ought to enjoy it. Better get off now before one of ’em comes.

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously rising] Yes—I suppose that’s best. You’re sure it’ll be all right?

MRS PEARSON: [chuckling] It’ll be wonderful. Now off you go, dear. [MRS. FITZGERALD crosses and hurries out through the door right. Left to herself, Mrs. Pearson smokes away—lighting another cigarette—and begins laying out the cards for patience on the table. After a few moments Doris Pearson comes bursting in left. She is a pretty girl in her early twenties, who would be pleasant enough if she had not been spoilt.]

DORIS: [before she has taken anything in] Mum— you’ll have to iron my yellow silk. I must wear it tonight. [She now sees what is happening, and is astounded.] What are you doing? [She moves down left centre.] [MRS PEARSON now uses her ordinary voice, but her manner is not fluttering and apologetic but cool and incisive.]

MRS PEARSON: [not even looking up] What d’you think I’m doing—whitewashing the ceiling?

DORIS: [still astounded] But you’re smoking!

MRS PEARSON: That’s right, dear. No law against it, is there?

DORIS: But I thought you didn’t smoke.

MRS PEARSON: Then you thought wrong.

DORIS: Are we having tea in the kitchen?

MRS PEARSON: Have it where you like, dear.

DORIS: [angrily] Do you mean it isn’t ready?

MRS PEARSON: Yours isn’t. I’ve had all I want. Might go out later and get a square meal at the Clarendon.

DORIS: [hardly believing her ears] Who might? 38 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: I might. Who d’you think?

DORIS: [staring at her] Mum—what’s the matter with you?

MRS PEARSON: Don’t be silly.

DORIS: [indignantly] It’s not me that’s being silly— and I must say it’s a bit much when I’ve been working hard all day and you can’t even bother to get my tea ready. Did you hear what I said about my yellow silk?

MRS PEARSON: No. Don’t you like it now? I never did.

DORIS: [indignantly] Of course I like it. And I’m going to wear it tonight. So I want it ironed.

MRS PEARSON: Want it ironed? What d’you think it’s going to do—iron itself?

DORIS: No, you’re going to iron it for me... You always do.

MRS PEARSON: Well, this time I don’t. And don’t talk rubbish to me about working hard. I’ve a good idea how much you do, DORIS PEARSON. I put in twice the hours you do, and get no wages nor thanks for it. Why are you going to wear your yellow silk? Where are you going?

DORIS: [sulkily] Out with CHARLIE SPENCE.

MRS PEARSON: Why?

DORIS: [wildly] Why? Why? What’s the matter with you? Why shouldn’t I go out with CHARLIE

SPENCE if he asks me and I want to? Any objections? Go on—you might as well tell me...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Can’t you find anybody better? I wouldn’t be seen dead with CHARLIE SPENCE. Buck teeth and half-witted...

DORIS: He isn’t...

MRS PEARSON: When I was your age I’d have found somebody better than CHARLIE SPENCE—or given myself up as a bad job.

DORIS: [nearly in tears] Oh—shut up!

[DORIS runs out left. MRS. PEARSON chuckles and begins putting the cards together. After a moment CYRIL PEARSON enters left. He is the masculine counterpart of DORIS.]

CYRIL: [briskly] Hello—Mum. Tea ready?

MRS PEARSON: No.

CYRIL: [moving to the table; annoyed] Why not?

MRS PEARSON: [coolly] I couldn’t bother.

CYRIL: Feeling off-colour or something?

MRS PEARSON: Never felt better in my life.

CYRIL: [aggressively] What’s the idea then?

MRS PEARSON: Just a change.

CYRIL: [briskly] Well, snap out of it, Ma—and get cracking. Haven’t too much time. [CYRIL is about to go when MRS. PEARSON’s voice checks him.]

MRS PEARSON: I’ve plenty of time.

CYRIL: Yes, but I haven’t. Got a busy night tonight. [moving left to the door] Did you put my things out?

MRS PEARSON: [coolly] Can’t remember. But I doubt it.

CYRIL: [moving to the table; protesting] Now—look. When I asked you this morning, you promised. You said you’d have to look through ’em first in case there was any mending.

MRS PEARSON: Yes—well now I’ve decided I don’t like mending.

CYRIL: That’s a nice way to talk—what would happen if we all talked like that?

MRS PEARSON: You all do talk like that. If there’s something at home you don’t want to do, you don’t do it. If it’s something at your work, you get the Union to bar it. Now all that’s happened is that I’ve joined the movement.

CYRIL: [staggered] I don’t get this, Mum. What’s going on?

MRS PEARSON: [laconic and sinister] Changes. [DORIS enters left. She is in the process of dressing and is now wearing a wrap. She looks pale and red-eyed.]

MRS PEARSON: You look terrible. I wouldn’t wear that face even for CHARLIE SPENCE.

DORIS: [moving above the table; angrily] Oh—shut up about CHARLIE SPENCE. And anyhow I’m not ready yet—just dressing. And if I do look 40 Snapshots terrible, it’s your fault—you made me cry.

CYRIL: [curious] Why—what did she do?

DORIS: Never you mind.

MRS PEARSON: [rising and preparing to move to the kitchen] Have we any stout left? I can’t remember.

CYRIL: Bottle or two, I think. But you don’t want stout now.

MRS PEARSON: [moving left slowly] I do.

CYRIL: What for?

MRS PEARSON: [turning at the door] To drink—you clot! [MRS. PEARSON exits right. Instantly CYRIL and DORIS are in a huddle, close together at left centre, rapidly whispering.]

DORIS: Has she been like that with you, too?

CYRIL: Yes—no tea ready—couldn’t care less...

DORIS: Well, I’m glad it’s both of us. I thought I’d done something wrong.

CYRIL: So did I. But it’s her of course...

DORIS: She was smoking and playing cards when I came in. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

CYRIL: I asked her if she was feeling off-colour and she said she wasn’t.

DORIS: Well, she’s suddenly all different. An’ that’s what made me cry. It wasn’t what she said but the way she said it—an’ the way she looked.

CYRIL: Haven’t noticed that. She looks just the same to me.

DORIS: She doesn’t to me. Do you think she could have hit her head or something—y’know—an’ got—what is it?—y’know...

CYRIL: [staggered] Do you mean she’s barmy?

DORIS: No, you fathead. Y’know—concussion. She might have.

CYRIL: Sounds far-fetched.

DORIS: Well, she’s far-fetched, if you ask me. [She suddenly begins to giggle.]

CYRIL: Now then—what is it?

DORIS: If she’s going to be like this when Dad comes home... [She giggles again.]

CYRIL: [beginning to guffaw] I’m staying in for that—two front dress circles for the first house... [MRS. PEARSON enters right, carrying a bottle of stout and a half filled glass. CYRIL and DORIS try to stop their guffawing and giggling, but they are not quick enough. MRS. PEARSON regards them with contempt.]

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] You two are always talking about being grown-up—why don’t you both try for once to be your age? [She moves to the settee and sits.]

CYRIL: Can’t we laugh now?

MRS PEARSON: Yes, if it’s funny. Go on, tell me. Make me laugh. I could do with it.

DORIS: Y’know you never understand our jokes, Mum... 42 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: I was yawning at your jokes before you were born, Doris.

DORIS: [almost tearful again] What’s making you talk like this? What have we done?

MRS PEARSON: [promptly] Nothing but come in, ask for something, go out again, then come back 

when there’s nowhere else to go.

CYRIL: [aggressively] Look—if you won’t get tea ready, then I’ll find something to eat myself...

MRS PEARSON: Why not? Help yourself. [She takes a sip of stout.]

CYRIL: [turning on his way to the kitchen] Mind you, I think it’s a bit thick. I’ve been working all day.

DORIS: Same here.

MRS PEARSON: (calmly) Eight-hour day!

CYRIL: Yes—eight-hour day—an’ don’t forget it.

MRS PEARSON: I’ve done my eight hours.

CYRIL: That’s different.

DORIS: Of course it is.

MRS PEARSON: [calmly] It was. Now it isn’t. Forty-hour week for all now. Just watch it at the weekend when I have my two days off.

[DORIS and CYRIL exchange alarmed glances. Then they stare at MRS PEARSON who returns their look calmly.]

CYRIL: Must grab something to eat. Looks as if I’ll need to keep my strength up. [CYRIL exits to

the kitchen.]

DORIS: [moving to the settee; anxiously] Mummy, you don’t mean you’re not going to do anything on Saturday and Sunday?

MRS PEARSON: [airily] No, I wouldn’t go that far. I might make a bed or two and do a bit of cooking as a favour. Which means, of course, I’ll have to be asked very nicely and thanked for everything and generally made a fuss of. But any of you forty-hour-a-weekers who expect to be waited on hand and foot on Saturday and Sunday, with no thanks for it, are in for a nasty disappointment. Might go off for the week-end perhaps.

DORIS: [aghast] Go off for the week-end?

MRS PEARSON: Why not? I could do with a change. Stuck here day after day, week after week. If I don’t need a change, who does?

DORIS: But where would you go, who would you go with?

MRS PEARSON: That’s my business. You don’t ask me where you should go and who you should go with, do you?

DORIS: That’s different.

MRS PEARSON: The only difference is that I’m a lot older and better able to look after myself, so it’s you who should do the asking.

DORIS: Did you fall or hit yourself with something?

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] No. But I’ll hit you with something, girl, if you don’t stop asking silly questions. [DORIS stares at her open-mouthed, ready to cry.]

DORIS: Oh—this is awful... [She begins to cry, not passionately.]

MRS PEARSON: [coldly] Stop blubbering. You’re not a baby. If you’re old enough to go out with CHARLIE SPENCE, you’re old enough to behave properly. Now stop it.

[GEORGE PEARSON enters left. He is about fifty, fundamentally decent but solemn, self-important, pompous. Preferably he should be a heavy, slow-moving type. He notices DORIS’s tears.]

GEORGE: Hello—what’s this? Can’t be anything to cry about.

DORIS: [through sobs] You’ll see.

[DORIS runs out left with a sob or two on the way. GEORGE stares after her a moment, then looks at MRS. PEARSON.]

GEORGE: Did she say ‘You’ll see’...?

MRS PEARSON: Yes.

GEORGE: What did she mean?

MRS PEARSON: Better ask her. [GEORGE looks slowly again at the door then at MRS PEARSON. Then he notices the stout that MRS. PEARSON raises for another sip. His eyes almost bulge.] 44 Snapshots

GEORGE: Stout?

MRS PEARSON: Yes.

GEORGE: [amazed] What are you drinking stout for?

MRS PEARSON: Because I fancied some.

GEORGE: At this time of day?

MRS PEARSON: Yes—what’s wrong with it at this time of day?

GEORGE: [bewildered] Nothing, I suppose, Annie— but I’ve never seen you do it before...

MRS PEARSON: Well, you’re seeing me now.

GEORGE: [with heavy distaste] Yes, an’ I don’t like it. It doesn’t look right. I’m surprised at you.

MRS PEARSON: Well, that ought to be a nice change for you.

GEORGE: What do you mean?

MRS PEARSON: It must be some time since you were surprised at me, GEORGE.

GEORGE: I don’t like surprises—I’m all for a steady going on—you ought to know that by this time. By the way, I forgot to tell you this morning I wouldn’t want any tea. Special snooker match night at the club tonight— an’ a bit of supper going. So no tea.

MRS PEARSON: That’s all right. There isn’t any. GEORGE: [astonished] You mean you didn’t get any ready?

MRS PEARSON: Yes. And a good thing, too, as it’s turned out.

GEORGE: [aggrieved] That’s all very well, but suppose I’d wanted some?

MRS PEARSON: My goodness! Listen to the man! Annoyed because I don’t get a tea for him that he

doesn’t even want. Ever tried that at the club?

GEORGE: Tried what at the club?

MRS PEARSON: Going up to the bar and telling ’em you don’t want a glass of beer but you’re annoyed because they haven’t already poured it out. Try that on them and see what you get. GEORGE: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

MRS PEARSON: They’d laugh at you even more than they do now.

GEORGE: [indignantly] Laugh at me? They don’t laugh at me.

MRS PEARSON: Of course they do. You ought to have found that out by this time. Anybody else would have done. You’re one of their standing jokes. Famous. They call you Pompy-ompy PEARSON because they think you’re so slow and pompous.

GEORGE: [horrified] Never!

MRS PEARSON: It’s always beaten me why you should want to spend so much time at a place where they’re always laughing at you behind your back and calling you names. Leaving your wife at home, night after night. Instead of going out with her, who doesn’t make you look a fool... [CYRIL enters right, with a glass of milk in one hand and a thick slice of cake in the other. GEORGE, almost dazed, turns to him appealingly.]

GEORGE: Here, CYRIL, you’ve been with me to the club once or twice. They don’t laugh at me and call me Pompy-ompy PEARSON, do they? [CYRIL, embarrassed, hesitates.] [Angrily] Go on—tell me. Do they?

CYRIL: [embarrassed] Well—yes, Dad, I’m afraid they do. 

[GEORGE slowly looks from one to the other, staggered.]

GEORGE: [slowly] Well—I’ll be—damned! 

[GEORGE exits left, slowly, almost as if somebody had hit him over the head. CYRIL, after watching him go, turns indignantly to MRS. PEARSON.]

CYRIL: Now you shouldn’t have told him that, Mum. That’s not fair. You’ve hurt his feelings. Mine, too.

MRS PEARSON: Sometimes it does people good to have their feelings hurt. The truth oughtn’t to hurt anybody for long. If your father didn’t go to the club so often, perhaps they’d stop laughing at him.

CYRIL: [gloomily] I doubt it. 46 Snapshots

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Possibly you do, but what I doubt is whether your opinion’s worth having. What do you know? Nothing. You spend too much time and good money at greyhound races and dirt tracks and ice shows...

CYRIL: [sulkily] Well, what if I do? I’ve got to enjoy myself somehow, haven’t I?

MRS PEARSON: I wouldn’t mind so much if you were really enjoying yourself. But are you? And where’s it getting you? [There is a sharp hurried knocking heard off left.]

CYRIL: Might be for me. I’ll see. [CYRIL hurries out left. In a moment he re-enters, closing the door behind him.] It’s that silly old bag from next door—MRS. FITZGERALD. You don’t want her here, do you?

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Certainly I do. Ask her in. And don’t call her a silly old bag either. She’s a very nice woman, with a lot more sense than you’ll ever have. [CYRIL exits left. MRS. PEARSON finishes her stout, smacking her lips. CYRIL re-enters left, ushering in MRS. FITZGERALD, who hesitates in the doorway.] Come in, come in, MRS. FITZGERALD.

MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to left centre; anxiously] I—just wondered—if everything’s—all right...

CYRIL: [sulkily] No, it isn’t.

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Of course it is. You be quiet.

CYRIL: [indignantly and loudly] Why should I be quiet?

MRS PEARSON: [shouting] Because I tell you to—you silly, spoilt, young piecan.

MRS FITZGERALD: [protesting nervously] Oh—no— surely...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] Now, MRS FITZGERALD, just let me manage my family in my own way— please!

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but CYRIL...

CYRIL: [sulky and glowering] MR. CYRIL PEARSON to you, please, MRS. FITZGERALD. [CYRIL stalks off into the kitchen.]

MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to the settee; whispering] Oh— dear—what’s happening?

MRS PEARSON: [calmly] Nothing much. Just putting ’em in their places, that’s all. Doing what you ought to have done long since.

MRS FITZGERALD: Is George home? [She sits beside MRS. PEARSON on the settee.]

MRS PEARSON: Yes. I’ve been telling him what they think of him at the club.

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, they think a lot of him, don’t they?

MRS PEARSON: No, they don’t. And now he knows it.

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—dear—I wish you hadn’t, Mrs. Fitzgerald...

MRS PEARSON: Nonsense! Doing ’em all a world of good. And they’ll be eating out of your hand soon— you’ll see...

MRS FITZGERALD: I don’t think I want them eating out of my hand...

MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] Well, whatever you want, they’ll be doing it—all three of ’em. Mark my words, Mrs. Pearson. [GEORGE enters left glumly. He is unpleasantly surprised when he sees the visitor. He moves to the armchair left, sits down heavily and glumly lights his pipe. Then he looks from MRS. PEARSON to MRS. FITZGERALD, who is regarding him anxiously.]

GEORGE: Just looked in for a minute, I suppose, MRS. FITZGERALD?

MRS FITZGERALD: [who doesn’t know what she is saying] Well—yes—I suppose so, George.

GEORGE: [aghast] George!

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—I’m sorry...

MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] What does it matter? Your name’s George, isn’t it? Who d’you think you are—Duke of Edinburgh?

GEORGE: [angrily] What’s he got to do with it? Just tell me that. And isn’t it bad enough without her calling me George? No tea. Pompy-ompy PEARSON. And poor DORIS has been crying her eyes out upstairs—yes, crying her eyes out. 48 Snapshots

MRS FITZGERALD: [wailing] Oh—dear—I ought to have known...

GEORGE: [staring at her, annoyed] You ought to have known! Why ought you to have known? Nothing to do with you, MRS. FITZGERALD. Look—we’re at sixes and sevens here just now—so perhaps you’ll excuse us...

MRS PEARSON: [before MRS. FITZGERALD can reply] I won’t excuse you, GEORGE PEARSON. Next time a friend and neighbour comes to see me, just say something when you see her—Good evening or How d’you do? or something— an’ don’t just march in an’ sit down without a word. It’s bad manners...

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—it’s all right...

MRS PEARSON: No, it isn’t all right. We’ll have some decent manners in this house—or I’ll know the reason why. [glaring at GEORGE] Well?

GEORGE: [intimidated] Well, what!

MRS PEARSON: [taunting him] Why don’t you get off to your club? Special night tonight, isn’t it? They’ll be waiting for you—wanting to have a good laugh. Go on then. Don’t disappoint ’em.

GEORGE: [bitterly] That’s right. Make me look silly in front of her now! Go on—don’t mind me. Sixes and sevens! Poor DORIS been crying her eyes out! Getting the neighbours in to see the fun! [suddenly losing his temper, glaring at MRS PEARSON, and shouting] All right—let her hear it. What’s the matter with you? Have you gone barmy—or what?

MRS PEARSON: [jumping up; savagely] If you shout at me again like that, GEORGE PEARSON, I’ll slap your big, fat, silly face...

MRS FITZGERALD: [moaning] Oh—no—no—no—please, MRS. FITZGERALD... [MRS. PEARSON sits.]

GEORGE: [staring at her, bewildered] Either I’m off my chump or you two are. How d’you mean— “No, no—please, MRS FITZGERALD”? Look— you’re MRS FITZGERALD. So why are you telling yourself to stop when you’re not doing anything? Tell her to stop—then there’d be some sense in it. [Staring at MRS PEARSON] I think you must be tiddly.

MRS PEARSON: [starting up; savagely] Say that again, GEORGE PEARSON.

GEORGE: [intimidated] All right—all right—all right ... [DORIS enters left slowly, looking miserable. She is still wearing the wrap. MRS. PEARSON sits on the settee.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Hello—DORIS dear!

DORIS: [miserably] Hello—MRS. FITZGERALD!

MRS FITZGERALD: I thought you were going out with CHARLIE SPENCE tonight.

DORIS: [annoyed] What’s that to do with you?

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Stop that!

MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—it’s all right...

MRS PEARSON: [severely] It isn’t all right. I won’t have a daughter of mine talking to anybody like that. Now answer MRS. FITZGERALD properly, DORIS—or go upstairs again... [DORIS looks wonderingly at her father.]

GEORGE: [in despair] Don’t look at me. I give it up. I just give it up.

MRS PEARSON: [fiercely] Well? Answer her.

DORIS: [sulkily] I was going out with CHARLIE SPENCE tonight—but now I’ve called it off...

MRS FITZGERALD: Oh—what a pity, dear! Why have you?

DORIS: [with a flash of temper] Because—if you must know—my mother’s been going on at me making me feel miserable—an’ saying he’s got buck-teeth and is half-witted...

MRS FITZGERALD: [rather bolder; to MRS PEARSON] Oh—you shouldn’t have said that...

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] MRS FITZGERALD, I’ll manage my family—you manage yours.

GEORGE: [grimly] Ticking her off now, are you, Annie?

MRS PEARSON: [even more grimly] They’re waiting for you at the club, GEORGE, don’t forget. And don’t you start crying again, DORIS...

MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up; with sudden decision] That’s enough—quite enough. [George and Doris stare at her bewildered.] 50 Snapshots [to George and Doris] Now listen, you two. I want to have a private little talk with Mrs. Fitz— [she corrects herself hastily] with Mrs. Pearson, so I’ll be obliged if you’ll leave us alone for a few minutes. I’ll let you know when we’ve finished. Go on, please. I promise you that you won’t regret it. There’s something here that only I can deal with.

GEORGE: [rising] I’m glad somebody can—’cos I can’t. Come on, Doris. [George and Doris exit left. As they go Mrs. Fitzgerald moves to left of the small table and sits. She eagerly beckons Mrs. Pearson to do the same thing.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Mrs. Fitzgerald, we must change back now— we really must...

MRS PEARSON: [rising] Why?

MRS FITZGERALD: Because this has gone far enough. I can see they’re all miserable—and I can’t bear it...

MRS PEARSON: A bit more of the same would do ‘em good. Making a great difference already... [She moves to right of the table and sits.]

MRS FITZGERALD: No, I can’t stand any more of it—I really can’t. We must change back. Hurry up, please, Mrs. Fitzgerald.

MRS PEARSON: Well—if you insist...

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—I do—please—please. [She stretches her hands across the table eagerly. Mrs Pearson takes them.]

MRS PEARSON: Quiet now. Relax. [Mrs Pearson and Mrs Fitzgerald stare at each other. Muttering; exactly as before. Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta lamdumbona... They carry out the same action as before, going lax and then coming to life. But this time, of course, they become their proper personalities.]

MRS FITZGERALD: Ah well—I enjoyed that.

MRS PEARSON: I didn’t.

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, you ought to have done. Now—listen, Mrs Pearson. Don’t go soft on ’em again, else it’ll all have been wasted...

MRS PEARSON: I’ll try not to, Mrs Fitzgerald.

MRS FITZGERALD: They’ve not had as long as I’d like to have given ’em—another hour or two’s rough treatment might have made it certain...

MRS PEARSON: I’m sure they’ll do better now—though I don’t know how I’m going to explain...

MRS FITZGERALD: [severely] Don’t you start any explaining or apologising—or you’re done for.

MRS PEARSON: [with spirit] It’s all right for you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. After all, they aren’t your husband and children...

MRS FITZGERALD: [impressively] Now you listen to me. You admitted yourself you were spoiling ’em— and they didn’t appreciate you. Any apologies—any explanations—an’ you’ll be straight back where you were. I’m warning you, dear. Just give ’em a look—a tone of voice—now an’ again, to suggest you might be tough with ’em if you wanted to be—an’ it ought to work. Anyhow, we can test it.

MRS PEARSON: How?

MRS FITZGERALD: Well, what is it you’d like ’em to do that they don’t do? Stop at home for once?

MRS PEARSON: Yes—and give me a hand with supper...

MRS FITZGERALD: Anything you’d like ’em to do—that you enjoy whether they do or not?

MRS PEARSON: [hesitating] Well—yes. I—like a nice game of rummy—but, of course, I hardly ever have one—except at Christmas...

MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up] That’ll do then. [She moves towards the door left then turns] But remember—keep firm—or you’ve had it. [She opens the door. Calling] Hoy! You can come in now.  [Coming away from the door, and moving right slightly. Quietly] But remember—remember—a firm hand. [George, Doris and Cyril file in through the doorway, looking apprehensively at Mrs. Pearson.] I’m just off. To let you enjoy yourself. 52 Snapshots [The family looks anxiously at Mrs. Pearson, who smiles. Much relieved, they smile back at her.]

DORIS: [anxiously] Yes, Mother?

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Seeing that you don’t want to go out, I tell you what I thought we’d do.

MRS FITZGERALD: [giving a final warning] Remember!

MRS PEARSON: [nodding, then looking sharply at the family] No objections, I hope?

GEORGE: [humbly] No, Mother—whatever you say...

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] I thought we’d have a nice family game of rummy—and then you children could get the supper ready while I have a talk with your father...

GEORGE: [firmly] Suits me. [He looks challengingly at the children.] What about you two?

CYRIL: [hastily] Yes—that’s all right.

DORIS: [hesitating] Well—I...

MRS PEARSON: [sharply] What? Speak up!

DORIS: [hastily] Oh—I think it would be lovely...

MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Good-bye, Mrs Fitzgerald. Come again soon.

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes, dear. ’Night all—have a nice time. [Mrs Fitzgerald exits left and the family cluster round Mother as— the curtain falls.

*****

  

The Worship of the Wealthy – G K Chesterton

The Worship of the Wealthy – G K Chesterton

G K Chesterton born in London on 29^th May 1874 educated at St Paul’s School, later obtained degree of English Literature from a University College London. He chose to be a writer, as his tastes were literary and journalistic. As Journalist, he wrote essays on social criticism. The present essay ‘The Worship of the Wealthy’ is an excellent example of social criticism. The scintillating wit and paradoxical style sparkle with the with glow of glamour and novelty make the common reader peep through his paradoxical style and wit in describing day to day incidents which are left unnoticed.

‘The Worship of the Wealthy’ is about how he journalists and literary people falsely praising the people those who are wealthy and great. The author also says some examples how the poor and common people praise the wealthy persons. The author says that he noticed in literature and journalism this type of falsehood is silently creeping as a tradition praising the wealthy people. The common people are wishing to please a rich man for their personal gains simply saying all types of flattering words. The courtiers sang that their king almost resembles the sun at noonday, that they should shade their eyes when he enters the court. Further, they say that they could not breathe without him. He is one who conquered all continents with his single sword.

The moderns have invented a much more poisonous kind of eulogy. The modern method of flattery is to take the prince or rich man to give a credible picture of his type of personality by enormously exaggerating his natural qualities. The newer and cleverer flatterer takes for granted that he is extraordinary, and therefore even ordinary things into extraordinary flattering.

Thus, the author G K Chesterton has tried to give his paradoxical instances how poor and common people are always flattering the rich and the great for the personal gains and benefits.

*****

A PASSER BY – ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES

A PASSER BY – ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES

Robert Seymour Bridges was born on 23 October 1844. He was educated at Eton and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He also studied medicine and practised it for some time, but later settled to a full-time literary career. In 1913, one year before the World War broke outhe was made Poet Laureate of England. “The Testament of Beauty’, published in 1929, was printed fourteen times in the very first year. He died on 21 April 1930.

Poem:

Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,

     Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,

That fearest nor sea rising, not sky clouding,

     Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?

Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest.

     When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,

Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest

     In summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling?

I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest,

     Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air:

I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,

     And anchor queen of the strange shipping there,

Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare;

     Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest

Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair

     Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest.

And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless,

     I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine

That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,

Thy port assured in a happier land than mine.

      But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine,

As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding,

      From the proud nostril curve of a prow’s line

In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding.

‘A Passer By’ is one of Robert Bridges’ short but beautiful poems. In fact Robert Bridges is at his best in lyrics of this kind.

The poet is watching a ship that sails before him. From its movement he gathers the impression that the ship is not afraid of the troublesome winter which is fast approaching. When the poet and his fellowmen are subjected to the miseries of winter the ‘passer by’ will be on the peaceful Pacific Ocean. Or else it would have reached its destination in some distant land where it is summer.

The poet has reached the foreign harbour in imagination, and is watching the ship entering it without any difficulty. The sails have been removed and the masts are all bare again. The background, with the foaming reef, the snow covered peaks and the feathery palm trees, is no doubt beautiful. But nothing in the entire area is more beautiful than the ship itself, because it is so silent, upright and majestic.

The poet returns from the world of imagination to reality, and rakes a second look at the ship He cannot read its name, as the ship is sailing at a distance. All the same it is evident to him that it is inspired by a noble purpose, a blameless courage, and a sure hope of reaching is destination. The very appearance of the of the ship with so many sails, masts, ropes and other mechanical devices is really very impressive. Equally impressive is its majestic movement.

In this beautiful poem, Robert Bridges, with the colouring of his imagination, has immortalized a familiar sight of a ship sailing on the sea. The description is so realistic that the reader can visualize the scene without straining his imagination. The poem also reveals the poet’s familiarity with ships and sailing equipments.

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Demonetisation – The Dawn of a new Era of Indian Economy

Demonetisation –   The Dawn of a new Era of Indian Economy

Stronger the ills, stronger the pills! It was in line with this thought that on November 8, 2016 the Prime Minister gave a call for Demonetisation of high value Indian currency. As he exhorted the masses to participate in the Mahayajna to weed out black money and join the “festival of honesty and celebration of integrity,” the Indian economy looked at the dawn of a new and cleaner era. For the time being, the demonetization may be a bitter pill but it is a pill that is likely to cure many ills plaguing our economy.

The decision of demonetisation is expected to go a long way in nullifying black money hoarded in cash, corruption, terror financing and fake currency. Despite some temporary hiccups and downsides, the move is generally seen as provider of a big boost to national interests by discouraging parallel economy on one hand and giving a much-needed push to the cashless economy on the other. If a significant amount of black money held in cash comes into the banking system, the government will be able to utilize the resultant trail to boost tax collections in the longer run. As per one reliable estimate, demonetisation could lead to disclosure of 1 – 2% of GDP.

But, some economists point out to some short-term risks, particularly including a dip in the December quarter GDP growth and corporate performance. In the first policy review on post demonetisation, the Reserve Bank of India has already lowered the GDP growth forecast to 7.1% from 7.6%. Moreover, if money supply declines temporarily because of the demonetisation, then assuming no immediate change in velocity of circulation, we would see either some deflationary tendencies or lowering of real demand (economic activity). The demonetisation could rewrite some macro parameters.  

However, largely the economists believe that the demonetisation is likely to have several spin-offs for Asia’s third largest economy. It could lead to lower interest rates, lower inflation, improved tax to GDP ratio, rising public investments and healthy public finance. In fact, it could change the face of Indian economy; improve the government’s fiscal position and tax compliance. According to rating agency Crisil, the size of the cash economy will significantly shrink, as will black money generation avenues because of better trails of money flow.

Once the size of the parallel economy shrinks, the tax base will automatically widen. This will allow the government to reduce rates and boost consumption. A World Bank estimate says that the parallel economy was made up of about one-fourth of the total economy. According to Department of Economic Affairs Press release, “the world Bank in July 2010 estimated the size of the shadow economy for India was at 20.7% of the GDP in 1999 and rose to 23.2% in 2007…. A parallel shadow economy corrodes and eats into the vitals of the country’s economy… It generates inflation, which adversely affects the poor and the middle classes more than others. It deprives Government of its legitimate revenues which could have been otherwise used for welfare and development activities.”

It is significant part of economic activity lies beyond government’s size, an unfair burden is imposed on honest tax payers. Therefore, the demonetisation can catalyze long-term reform and gains.

Against this backdrop, our Union Finance Minister, Shri Arun Jaitley also says: “This is a big reform as it expands the GDP and makes it cleaner. It pushes revenues, pushes economy, pushes money into banking systems, curbs parallel economy, boosts Tax compliance ….. and is an effective way to make this country cashless…. Tax collections would increase, deposits will increase in banks and their capacity to support the economy will increase.”

As such, success of demonetization is being seen as the key to a more progressive and vibrant Indian economy. And the government and its various agencies are sparing no efforts to block all escape routes for the tax evaders. Large scale seizures of unaccounted money, necessary amendments to the Income-tax Act, 1961 through the Taxation Laws (Second Amendment) Bill, 2016 and the alternative scheme to disclose black money namely Pradhan Mantri Garib Kalyan Yojana 2016 are all oriented to that cause.

The forthcoming GST regime also impedes generation of black money in view of the enhanced transaction trail. Let us continue to be an effective partner in nation building and conscience keepers of national economy.

----- courtesy ICAI

*****

DEMONETISATION

On 8th November 2016, the Government of India announced the demonetisation of all ₹500 and ₹1000 banknotes of the Mahatma Gandhi Series. The Government claimed that the action would curtail the shadow economy and crack down the use of illicit and counterfeit cash to fund illegal activity and terrorism. The sudden nature of the announcement — and the prolonged cash shortages in the weeks that followed — created significant disruption throughout the economy, threatening economic output. The move was heavily criticized as poorly planned and unfair, and was met with protests, litigations and strikes.  

Prime Minister of India Narendra Modi announced the demonetization in an unscheduled live television address at 20.00 Indian Standard Time (IST) on 8^th of November. In the announcement, Modi declared that the use of ₹500 and ₹1000 banknotes of the Mahatma Gandhi series would be invalid past midnight, and announced the issuance of new ₹500 and ₹2000 banknotes of Mahatma Gandhi series in exchange for the old banknotes.

The BSE Sensex and NIFTY stock indices tell over 6 percent on the very next day after the announcement. In the days following the demonetization, the country faced severe cash shortages with severe detrimental effects across the economy. People seeking to exchange their banknotes had to stand in lengthy queues, and several deaths were linked to the inconveniences caused due to the rush to exchange cash.

Initially, the move received support from several bankers as well as from some international commentators. It was heavily criticized by members of the opposition parties, leading to debates in both houses of parliament and triggering organized. Protested against the government in several places across India. The move is considered to reduce the country’s GDP and industrial production. As the cash shortages grew in the weeks following the move, the demonetization was heavily criticized by prominent economists and by the world media.

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More Than 100 Million Women Are Missing – Amartya Sen (II Semester Basic English)

More Than 100 Million Women Are Missing – Amartya Sen

The article “More Than 100 Million Women Are Missing” by Amartya Sen is an elaborate analysis of women’s condition in almost all countries all over the world. In order to show the gender inequality among different societies, at first the writer, Amartya Sen, starts with the arguments of ‘mistaken belief’ of women being more than the half of the world population. He says that the truth is the number of women is less than the number of men and he introduces the term ‘missing women’ for pointing out the disparity in gender equality. Based on this argument, Amartya Sen establishes his idea of women’s inferior condition by showing the reasons behind the gender imbalance in population.

The writer has divided his arguments into different sections and in each section; he has used a lot of a data and statistical evidence for strengthening his claims. At first, he talks about the fact of less number of women in various countries and regions and also gives us a hint of the reasons behind this differences in brief. Then, he thoroughly explains each reason and uses relevant evidences. He says that it is not necessarily true that the deprivation of women’s rights of education, proper medical care and many others are always based on the economic status of a country or a region.

Further, Amartya Sen claims that the social structure plays more important role in gender discrimination. The illiteracy and ignorance cause the increase in the mortality rate among girl children that keeps affecting the ratio between boys and girls to greater imbalance. He says that the deficit of women / girls is concentrated in South Asia and South East Asia because the tendency of son-preference is stronger in Asia than in most of the western countries due to their cultural, religious beliefs and economical differences. Sons are expected to take certain, previously decided roles in the families, such as taking care of their parents’ life after their retirement in South and South-East Asian Countries, which leads parents to invest much money and much care on their sons rather than their daughters.

The development of technology that enables parents to know the gender of their child before birth. It also enhances the deficit of girls because if the unborn baby is a girl, they (parents) would commit infanticide either commonly or legally or both. In order to fix this problem of “missing girls”, it is very important for people to be aware of this problem and try to bring change in their negative attitude towards girl children. Involvement of government would also be required as well to bring change in this respect. Most importantly, girls themselves should increase their level of self-esteem and parents of a child / children must take equal and loving care to their kids, whether they are sons or daughters.  Thus, Amartya Sen uses some examples of gender equality in some regions and explains why in those societies women enjoy same position as men. In such cases only, gender equality will be maintained and it sets forth for healthy society.

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Swami and Friends - R. K. Narayan

 Swami and Friends - R. K. Narayan

Swami and Friends, set in British-colonial India in the year 1930, begins with an introduction to Swaminathan and his four principal friends: Somu, Sankar, Mani, and the Pea. Swaminathan appreciates his friends’ dramatically different personalities, and these differences only strengthen their powerful bond.

The arrival of Rajam, who is the son of Malgudi’s new police superintendent, changes everything. Initially, Swaminathan and Mani despise Rajam, but the three boys become best friends after confronting him. Likewise, Swaminathan’s friendship with Rajam also initially infuriates Somu, Sankar, and the Pea, but Rajam convinces all six of the boys to be friends, becoming the de-facto leader of their group in the process.

When Swaminathan joins a mob protesting the recent arrest of a prominent Indian politician in Malgudi, his life changes forever. Inflamed and intoxicated by the mob’s nationalist fervor, Swaminathan shatters the windows of his headmaster’s office with a thrown rock. Though the crowd is dispersed by Rajam’s father, there are grave consequences. Several people are injured in the violence, and Swaminathan’s participation in the violence not only forces him to switch schools, but upsets Rajam, creating a rift in their friendship. Ultimately, Swaminathan atones for his regretful actions, earning Rajam’s forgiveness. Seeking a less destructive means to channel his passions, Swaminathan decides to join Rajam in founding a new cricket team, called the M.C.C.

A match is scheduled between the M.C.C. and another local youth team called the Y.M.U, but new tensions mount between Rajam and Swaminathan in the buildup to the match. Swaminathan misses several practices due to the heavy homework load at his new school, and his truancy infuriates Rajam, who threatens to never speak to him again if he misses the Y.M.U. match.

Swaminathan fails to persuade his stern headmaster at the new school into allowing him an early dismissal to attend M.C.C’s practices. Forbidden from participating with M.C.C., Swaminathan loses his cool, and throws his headmaster’s cane out the window. Terrified of the consequences, Swaminathan decides to flee Malgudi for good.

Swaminathan becomes lost during his from Malgudi. By the time he is rescued, he has already missed the M.C.C.’s match and ruined his friendship with Rajam. He learns from Mani that Rajam’s father has been transferred to a new city, and that the boy will be departing for good on the following morning. Swaminathan decides to say goodbye to Rajam at the train station, and plans to give him a book as a parting gift

Unfortunately, on the morning of Rajam’s departure, the train station is hectic and Swaminathan cannot reach Rajam before he boards the train. As the train prepares to depart, Mani pulls Swaminathan through the crowd, and up to the window of Rajam’s compartment. When Rajam refuses to speak to Swaminathan, Mani hands Swaminathan’s book to Rajam as the train departs. Mani attempts to console Swaminathan, reassuring him that Rajam intends to write and that he accepted his book; however, Swaminathan does not believe Mani, and the novel ends on a note of ambiguity and uncertainly, represented by Mani’s indecipherable facial expression.

*****

The Selfish Giant - Oscar Wilde (II Semester Additional English)

A Selfish Giant - Oscar Wilde

A giant had a beautiful garden. It had soft green grass and twelve peach-trees. Schoolchildren used to visit it to play there in the evening when they came from school. Once, the giant went out to see his friend, Cornish Ogre. He stayed at his house for seven years. After seven years, he returned to his own castle. To his surprise, he found the children playing in his garden.

“My garden is my own garden”, he said to himself. Therefore, he built a high wall around it.Then he put up a notice board declaring “TRESSPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED”. It was clear that he had become selfish.

Now the Children felt very sad. They had no place to play. So, they played outside the garden around the wall.Time went on. In the spring, flowers grew all over, but in the Giant’s garden, there was no spring. There was no summer also.It was always winter there. Neither birds nor flowers could be seen there. Only snow and frost covered the trees. The Giant wondered as to why there was no spring in his garden.

Once the Giant lay in his bed awake. He heard a sweet music.A little linnet (a bird) sang outside his window. The music appealed to him. The sweet smell of flowers passed through his nostrils.He saw the most wonderful sight. Children had crept in through a hole.Children sat on branches.The trees were covered with flowers.In the farthest corner of the garden a little boy was sitting.He was too small to climb on the branch. He cried bitterly. The giant went up to him and kissed him. He picked him up and placed him on a branch.

Now the Giant knocked down the garden wall. He felt sorry for building it. When children saw him, they ran away. The garden became winter like again. He called out the children and said, “It is your garden. Come and play freely.”

In the evening, when they came to him to say goodbye, he asked them about the little child. They said they did not know. The Giant loved him the most. Now due to children’s frequent visits the spring returned.

Many years passed. The Giant had become old. He could not play anymore. One day suddenly he saw the little child he had loved. He went downstairs and walked near him. However, he felt angry to see his wounded palms and feet. On asking who had wounded him, he replied, “These are the wounds of love.”At this, the Giant fell on his feet, “I’ll let you play in my garden which is paradise” said the little child, “Because you let me play in your garden once.”

In the evening, when the children visited the garden, they saw the Giant lying dead and flowers were showered upon him. At last, the little boy took the giant to his own garden, the Paradise as a reward.

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On Possession – A. G. Gardiner (II Semester Additional English)

On Possession – A. G. Gardiner

According to A G Gardiner ‘Possession’ is a kind of itch to own something for the mere pride. Possession is a disease of the petty and vulgar minds. Once Gardiner had come across a woman, who talked very vivaciously about her experiences of places, acquaintances of persons, books she read and other rare things she possessed. He noticed that she was only interested in them as long as they were her exclusive property.  She felt unhappy and changes her topic on some other topic in a moment when she came to know that someone had already seen the place or possessed same thing that she had possessed or met a person with whom she had acquaintance. Similarly, her enthusiasm disappeared about the Hon’ble Ulik De Tompkins when she found that Gardiner himself had the honour of meeting that eminent person. Thus, she had the itch of possession. The value of a thing of somebody’s possession ceases when some other person also possess the same kind of thing. She ceases to enjoy either the person or the place. She could not have Tangier (an international tourist place in Morocco) all to herself but she felt it as is it is her own. So also, many people have the mania or madness of owning things that really do not need to be owned in order to enjoy.

In general, his or her experiences must be exclusive or they have no pleasure in them. The man countermanded his order with a designer who produce a design on metal or glass with chemical action for taking a same order from some other person. Hence, Gardiner said that it was a petty and childish notion to possess something that no one had got it.

Thus, he goes on quoting several examples of exclusive possessions. Here an another person who hangs in his house a picture of Ghirlandaio, a Florentine Painter, though it is duplicate copy but it gave him unexplainable pleasure. Though Ghirlandaio painted portraits of many of his contemporaries though he did not possess any picture of his but bottle nosed old man looking at his grandchild. This portrait is rarest of the rare kind that was hung in his room gave him more pleasure as it was an imponderable treasure stored in the galleries of the mind with memorable sunsets he had seen and the books he had read and beautiful actions or faces that he remembered. He could enjoy more pleasure whenever he recalled all the tenderness of humanity was seen in the face of the bottle nosed old man by the painter long centuries ago. In case of, William Wordsworth was not exceptional. He did not feel happy when De Quincy wrote poem, adoring nature, because he believed that he was the high priest of the Nature.

A. G. Gardiner concludes by stating that he cannot conceive a society in which private property will not be a necessary condition of life though he may be wrong since the war has poured human society into melting pot. Hence, he said that he would be a daring person who could venture to forecast the shape in which it will emerge after a generation or two.  According to Decalogue, the private property is only a human arrangement. The remedy is not abolishing private property altogether, but the idea of equal justice for the purpose of community.  The idea of private property is not to be permitted to override with its selfishness to the common good of humanity. The private property is in the words of a great preacher, our hands are full but our souls are empty. Empty souls make empty world.

*****

Tight Corners – E. V. Lucas (II Semester Additional English)

Tight Corners – E V Lucas

The talk was running on the critical situations in which we had found ourselves –those of us whose lives were adventurous enough to comprise any.  

One man had been caught by the tide in Brittany and escaped by the skin of his teeth. Another had been on an elephant when a wounded tiger charged at it. A third had been on the top storey of burning house. A fourth was torpedoed in the war.

‘But you all talk,’ said one of company, ‘as though tight corners were always physical affairs. Surely they can be tighter when they are mental. The tightest corner I was ever in was at Christie’s!’

‘Christie’s!’                      

“Yes, I had been launching rather well at a club in St. James’ Street with an old friend from abroad, and, passing along King Street afterwards, he persuaded me to look in at the saleroom. The place was full. They were selling Barbizon pictures, and getting tremendous sums for each: two thousand, three thousand, for little bits of things – forest scenes, pools at evening, shepherdesses, the regular subjects. Nothing went as low as three figures at all. Well, we watched for a little while and then I found myself bidding too – just for fun. I had exactly sixty-three pounds in the bank and not enough securities to borrow five hundred on, and here I was nothing away to the auctioneer like a bloatocrat.

“You’ll get caught,” my friend said to me.

“No, I shan’t”, I said. “I’m not going to run any risks.”

‘And for a long time I didn’t. And then a picture was put up and a short red-faced man in a new top hat – some well-known dealer – who had bought quite number, electrified the room by starting the bidding at a figure a little higher than any that he had yet given or that anything had reached.

Although the previous lots had run into four figures they had all been modestly started at fifty guineas or a hundred guineas, with a gradual crescendo to which I had often been a safe contributor. But no sooner was the new picture displayed than the dealer made his sensational bid. ‘Four thousand guineas,’ he said.

‘There was a rustle of excitement, and at the end of it I heard my own voice saying, “And fifty!”

‘A terrible silence followed, during which the auctioneer looked inquiringly first at the opener and then at the company generally. To my surprise and horror the red-faced dealer gave no sign of life. I realized now, as I ought to have done at first, that he had shot his bolt.

“Four thousand and fifty guineas offered,” said the auctioneer, again searching the room.

‘My heart stopped; my blood congealed. There was no sound but a curious smothered noise from my friend.

“Four thousand and fifty guineas. Any Advance on four thousand and fifty guineas?” – and the hammer fell.

‘That was a nice pickle to be in! Here was I, with sixty-three pounds in the world and not five hundred pounds’ worth of securities, the purchaser of a picture which I didn’t want, for four thousand and fifty guineas, the top price of the day. Turning for some kindly support to my friend I found that he had left me; but not, as I feared at the moment, from baseness, but, as I afterwards discovered, in order to find a remote place in which to lean against that wall and laugh.

‘Stunned and dazed as I was, I pulled myself together sufficiently to hand my card, nonchalantly (I hope), to the clerk who came for the millionaire collector’s name, and then I set to pondering on the problem of what to do next. Picture after picture was put up and sold, but I saw none of them. I was running over the names of uncles and other persons from whom it might be possible to borrow, but wasn’t; wondering if the money-lenders who talk so glibly about “note of hand only” really mean it; speculating on the possibility of confessing my poverty to one of Christie’s staff and having the picture up again. Perhaps that was the best way – and yet having could I do it after all the other bids I had made? The Staff looked so prosperous and unsympathetic, and no one would believe it was a mistake. A genuine mistake of such a kind would have been rectified at once.

‘Meanwhile the sale came to and end. I stood on the outskirts of the little knot of buyers round the desk who were writing cheques and giving instructions. Naturally I preferred to be the last. It was there that I was joined by my friend; but only for a moment, for upon a look at my face he rammed his handkerchief in his mouth and again disappeared. Alone I was to dree this awful weird. I have never felt such a fool or bad colder feet. I believe I should have welcomed a firing party.

‘And then the unexpected happened, and I realized that a career of rectitude sometimes has rewards beyond the mere consciousness of virtue. A Voice at my ear suddenly said, “Beg pardon, sir, but was you the gent that bought the big Daubigny?” 

‘I admitted it.’

“Well, the gent who offered four thousand guineas wants to know if you’ll take fifty guineas for your bid.”

‘I ever a messenger of gods wore a green baize apron and spoke in husky cockney tones this was he. I could have embraced him and wept for joy. Would I take fifty guineas? Why I would have taken fifty farthings.

‘But how near the surface and ready, even in the best of us, is worldly guile! “Is that the most he would offer?” I had the presence of mind to ask.

“It’s not for me to say,” he replied. “No ‘arm in trying for a bit more is there?”

“Tell him I’ll take a hundred.” I said.

‘And I got it’.

‘When I found my friend I was laughing too but he became grave at once on seeing the cheque.

“Well, I’m hanged!” he said. “Of all the luck! Well, I’m hanged.”

‘Then he said, “Don’t forget that if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have come into Christie’s at all.

“I shall never forget it,” I said. “Nor your deplorable mirth. Both are indelibly branded in letters of fire on my heart. My hair hasn’t gone white, has it?”  

----000----

Tight Corners – E. V. Lucas (Summary)

In the humorous essay “Tight Corners” E. V. Lucas points out that tight corners can be both mental as well as physical but the mental tight corners are too difficult to bear.

Once the narrator went with his friend to Christie’s, an Art Gallery and an auction-sale hall, where Barbizon pictures were put up. The narrator has neither knowledge about art pictures nor had enough money to participate in the bidding. He had only sixty-three pounds that too in the bank. He had no securities either. The auction was started and the narrator, not understanding the seriousness, started raising the bid amount marginally. By that time, a Daubingy picture was put on for sale. A Rich man bade four thousand guineas for it. As usual, the narrator, just for fun raised the bid by fifty guineas more.

Lucas thought that someone would raise the bid further. But, to his surprise, nobody else bade after that. The narrator was panic-stricken. No doubt, he unwittingly got into a (mental) tight corner. He could not find ways as how to raise such a huge amount. Sensing the impending danger his friend had already left the place. Finally, the narrator decided to confess his foolishness to the auctioneer himself and get rid of the critical situation.

Intermittently luck favours someone. In this case, also our narrator is favoured by the luck. All of a sudden, the unexpected incident happened. At that time of critical condition, a rich bidder’s agent approached the narrator and offered fifty guineas, provided he passed on the art picture to the bidder. The narrator was immensely relieved. He was about to weep in joy. Yet, he had the presence of the mind to demand a hundred guineas. When a cheque for that amount was given to him, then his joy doubled.

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The Verger – Somerset Maugham

The Verger – Somerset Maugham

Part – 1

Albert Edward Foreman was a verger at St. Peter’s Neville Square. He served as a verger of the church for sixteen years efficiently and promptly to fulfill the duties of his office to the satisfaction of everybody concerned to the church.

The new Vicar of the church was so energetic and wanted everything to be proper and correct. The Vicar discovered that the Verger, Albert Edward Foreman was an illiterate who could neither read nor write. He made it clear to Albert that his work was quite satisfactory and that he had the highest opinion both of his character and of his capacity.  But he did not want to take any risk of some accident that might happen owing to his lamentable ignorance. He explained that it was a matter of prudence as well as of principle.

It was a great blow to Albert and he could digest the insult. The Vicar gave him three months’ time to learn to read and write. Albert resisted the proposal, as it was somehow he did not like the new Vicar. When he rejected the proposal, the Vicar asked Albert that he would have to leave the church.

Thus, Albert Edward Foreman lost his job as a Verger of the church. His inability to read or write made him ineligible for the post. After his appointment sixteen years ago as a verger he had thought that the appointment was for life. But suddenly he became unemployed after a long service of sixteen years.

Part – 2

When Albert Edward Forman left the church, he was upset and deeply distressed. He strolled across the Square. He was sad and in deep thought. He did not take the street that led him home. He took the wrong turning. He walked slowly along. His heart was heavy. He did not know what he should do. He could not think of going back to domestic service after as a verger. He had saved a small sum but not enough to meet all his family requirements without doing anything.  He was a non-smoker but when he was tired, he used to enjoy a cigarette. It occurred to him now that a cigarette would comfort him. He could not find cigarette shop in the long street. It sounded strange to him. A tobacco shop in such a place would be profitable, he thought. The new idea that just occurred made him reflect seriously. He them turned and walked home. He considered the matter from every point of view. The next day he went along the street and by good luck found a little shop to let. It exactly suited him. The very next day he took the shop. He became business man. His wife said it was a dreadful to come down after being verger of St. Peter’s. But Albert had decided to move with the times to come. He did so well that in a year he began to think of taking a second shop. He got a good shop in another long street and started the business there. He put a manager in it. When the second shop was also a success, he searched all streets to find suitable places for his shops. Within the next ten years, he ran ten shops and made money. He went round to all of them himself every Monday, collected the week’s takings and took them to the bank.

Within short time, Albert had kept thirty thousand pounds in his savings account. One-day the manager of the bank called him and advised him to invest his amount in some safe securities. Albert said that he did not want to take risk and wanted his money safe in the bank. The manager told him that there were safe securities and he could invest his money without least fear. Albert said that he did not know how and in which securities he could invest. The manager said to him that the bank would do it for him and he had merely to put his signature. After setting up the business, Albert had learnt to sign. He asked the manager how he could know where he was investing. The manager said that he could read the document and then put his signature on that. Albert confessed that he could not read or write. It was a great surprise for the manager. It sounded him an extra-ordinary thing. Without knowing how to read or write Albert had amassed a huge sum. What he could have done had been a literate and educated. But Albert calmly answered him that if he knew to read and write he would have been the verger at St. Peter’s Neville Square and nothing more.

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BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF MARRIED PEOPLE -- Charles Lamb

BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT OF THE BEHAVIOUR OF MARRIED PEOPLE

Charles Lamb

As a confirmed bachelor, Lamb has discovered a number of weaknesses in married people and has therefore found much consolation in his state of bachelor-hood. It is not the quarrels of husbands and wives that console him for having remained unmarried.  What offends him at the houses of married persons is that they are pretending as they are in love. He has found that a husband and a wife constantly try to produce the impression that they are very fond of each other.  This display of married happiness is an insult to a bachelor. If a man enjoys some monopoly, he should keep it as much out of sight as possible so that others may not question his right to the monopoly. But married people go out of their way to make bachelors conscious of the monopoly of marriage, which they enjoy. They air of complete satisfaction which a newly married couple wear on their faces is especially offensive to Lamb.

Married people often put on an expression of exaggerated self-importance. They regard bachelors a ignorant and incompetent persons. A young married lady once mocked at Lamb because he happened to offer an opinion about the most appropriate method of breeding oysters for the London market. She seemed to think that a bachelor could not be expected to have any knowledge of such matters.

Lamb does not understand why married people should be excessively proud of their children. After all, children are not a rarity. In fact, the poorest people have the largest number of children. Besides, children often go wrong and prove to be a cause of much disappointment to their parents. Married people's pride in their children is, therefore, hardly justified.  Married people are still less justified in expecting a bachelor to show a fond attention to their children. Why should a bachelor shower his affection on children? If a bachelor shows too much interest in children, their parents quickly send them out of the room. A bachelor therefore, finds himself on the horns of a dilemma in dealing with towards children. Should he or should he no, adopt a loving attitude towards children? If he should, what is to be the degree of the affection to all their eight, nine or ten children. There is certainly a proverb: "Love me, love my dog". But while it is possible to love a friend's dog or any other article that reminds a man of his friend, it may not be possible always to love a friend's children because children have a separate existence of their individual natures and temperaments. Lamb says that it has never been possible for him to feel affection for women and children indiscriminately.

Very soon after getting married, a man tends to become in different to a bachelor-friend no matter how long was the duration of friendship before the marriage. No wife can tolerate her husband's bachelor-friend if the friendship dates back to her pre-marriage days. No matter how long a man had been friendly with her husband before her marriage, she will so manage that her husband will before long become cool and distant towards him.

Women adopt different ways to bring to an end the friendship between their husbands and the bachelors with whom they may have had intimate relations before marriage.  A wife may laugh with a kind of wonder at everything that her husband's bachelor-friend may say. By her laughter she may produce the impression that her husband's friend is an oddity or a humorist, not fit to be introduced to ladies. Or, a wife may keep exaggerating the particular qualities of her husband's fiend in such a way that the husband's enthusiasm for his friend cools down. There is irony in this kind of exaggeration on the part of a wife. Another technique employed by a wife is to ask with a kind of innocent towards him. And became the basis of the friendship. By this method a wife tries to make her husband feel that he was mistaken in his assessment of his friend's qualities.

Bachelors invariably receive degrading treatment from married ladies. There was the case of a wife who kept Lamb, though he was invited as a guest, waiting several hours for dinner because her husband had been detained somewhere. This lady should have been considerate enough to serve dinner to Lamb if the husband had been detained for two or three hours beyond the usual hour of dinner. Then there was the case of a lady who passed on an excellent dish of morellos to her husband and recommended a less savoury dish of gooseberries to Lamb who was guest at the house. Lamb protests against such discourteous treatment from wives and threatens to disclose their names if they do not amend and improve their manners in future.  A wife ought to be informal with her husband, but she ought to show formal politeness to her husband's bachelor-friend.

Morellos: a type of dark cherry

Savoury: having a taste that is salty not sweet.

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