Facing Unpleasant Facts by George Orwell Read Free Book Online Page B

interested me greatly. When I was being taken to my cell I had seen two dirty-looking ruffians, much dirtier than myself and presumably drunks or obstruction cases, being put into another cell in the row. Here, in the waiting room, these two were at work with note-books in their hands, interrogating prisoners. It appeared that they were "splits," and were put into the cells disguised as prisoners, to pick up any information that was going—for there is complete freemasonry between prisoners, and they talk without reserve in front of one another. It was a dingy trick, I thought.
    All the while the prisoners were being taken by ones & twos along a corridor to the court. Presently a sergeant shouted "Come on the drunks!" and four or five of us filed along the corridor and stood waiting at the entrance of the court. A young constable on duty there advised me—
    "Take your cap off when you go in, plead guilty and don't give back answers. Got any previous convictions?"
    "No."
    "Six bob you'll get. Going to pay it?"
    "I can't, I've only twopence."
    "Ah well, it don't matter. Lucky for you Mr. Brown isn't on the bench this morning. Teetotaller he is. He don't half give it to the drunks. Coo!"
    The drunk cases were dealt with so rapidly that I had not even time to notice what the court was like. I only had a vague impression of a raised platform with a coat of arms over it, clerks sitting at tables below, and a railing. We filed past the railing like people passing through a turnstile, & the proceedings in each case sounded like this—
    "Edward-Burton-drunk-and-incapable-Drunk?-Yes-Six-shillings-move-on-NEXT!"
    All this in the space of about five seconds. At the other side of the court we reached a room where a sergeant was sitting at a desk with a ledger.
    "Six shillings?" he said.
    "Yes."
    "Going to pay it?"
    "I can't."
    "All right, back you go to your cell."
    And they took me back and locked me in the cell from which I had come, about ten minutes after I had left it.
    The publican had also been brought back, his case having been postponed, and the Belgian youth, who, like me, could not pay his fine. The Jew was gone, whether released or sentenced we did not know. Throughout the day prisoners were coming and going, some waiting trial, some until the Black Maria was available to take them off to prison. It was cold, and the nasty faecal stench in the cell became unbearable. They gave us our dinner at about two o'clock—it consisted of a mug of tea and two slices of
bread and marg. for each man. Apparently this was the regulation meal. One could, if one had friends outside get food sent in, but it struck me as damnably unfair that a penniless man must face his trial with only bread and marg. in his belly; also unshaven—I, at this time, had had no chance of shaving for over forty-eight hours—which is likely to prejudice the magistrates against him.
    Among the prisoners who were put temporarily in the cell were two friends or partners named apparently Snouter and Charlie, who had been arrested for some street offence—obstruction with a barrow, I dare say. Snouter was a thin, red-faced, malignant-looking man, and Charlie a short, powerful, jolly man. Their conversation was rather interesting.
    Charlie:
"Cripes, it ain't 'alf fucking cold in 'ere. Lucky for us ole Brown ain't on to-day. Give you a month as soon as look at yer."
    Snouter
(bored, and singing):
"Tap, tap, tapetty tap,
I'm a perfect devil at that;
Tapping 'em 'ere, tapping 'em there,
I
bin tapping 'em everywhere—"
    Charlie:
"Oh, fuck off with yer tapping! Scrumping's what yer want this time of year. All them rows of turkeys in the winders, like rows of fucking soldiers with no clo'es on—don't it make yer fucking mouth water to look at 'em. Bet yer a tanner I 'ave one of 'em afore tonight."
    Snouter:
"What's 'a good? Can't cook the bugger over the kip-'ouse fire, can you?"
    Charlie:
"Oo wants to cook it? I know where I can flog (sell)