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Littered on the grass, we seemed dingy, urban riff-raff.We defiled the scene, like sardine-tins and paper bags on the seashore.The woman was sent off to the workhouse, and we others into the spike.It was a gloomy, chilly, limewashed place, consisting only of a bathroom and dining-room and about a hundred narrow stone cells.Then we set about smuggling our matches and tobacco, for it is forbidden to take these into nearly all spikes, and one is supposed to surrender them at the gate.We hid them in our socks, except for the twenty or so per cent who had no socks, and had to carry the tobacco in their boots, even under their very toes.
But is an unwritten law that even the sternest Tramp Majors do not search below the knee, and in the end only one man was caught.
CIGARETTES (1946) CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK REVIEWER (1946) DECLINE OF THE ENGLISH MURDER (1946) HOW THE POOR DIE (1946) JAMES BURNHAM AND THE MANAGERIAL REVOLUTION (1946) PLEASURE SPOTS (1946) POLITICS AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1946) POLITICS VS.
LITERATURE: AN EXAMINATION OF GULLIVER’S TRAVELS (1946) RIDING DOWN FROM BANGOR (1946) SOME THOUGHTS ON THE COMMON TOAD (1946) THE PREVENTION OF LITERATURE (1946) WHY I WRITE (1946) LEAR, TOLSTOY AND THE FOOL (1947) SUCH, SUCH WERE THE JOYS (1947) WRITERS AND LEVIATHAN (1948) REFLECTIONS ON GANDHI (1949) It was late-afternoon.
But when he came to myself, he looked hard at me, and said: 'You are a gentleman? The room became a press of steaming nudity, the sweaty odours of the tramps competing with the sickly, sub-faecal stench native to the spike.
Some of the men refused the bath, and washed only their 'toe-rags', the horrid, greasy little clouts which tramps bind round their feet.
The terrible Tramp Major met us at the door and herded us into the bathroom to be stripped and searched.