In one serial now running in the
SKIPPER he is always portrayed ominously enough, swinging a rubber truncheon.
SKIPPER he is always portrayed ominously enough, swinging a rubber truncheon.
Orwell
He
is the ‘knut’ of the early twentieth century or even the ‘masher’ of the nineties (‘Bai Jove,
deah boy! ’ and ‘Weally, I shall be obliged to give you a feahful thwashin’! ’), the
monocled idiot who made good on the fields of Mons and Le Gateau. And his evident
popularity goes to show how deep the snob-appeal of this type is. English people are
extremely fond of the titled ass (cf. Lord Peter Wimscy) who always turns up trumps in
the moment of emergency. Here is a letter from one of Gussy’s girl admirers;
I think you’re too hard on Gussy. I wonder he’s still In existence, the way you treat him.
He’s my hero. Did you know I write lyrics? How’s this — to the tune of Goody Goody’?
Gonna get my gas-mask, join the ARP.
’Cos I’m wise to all those bombs you drop on me.
Gonna dig myself a trench Inside the garden fence;
Gonna seal my windows up with tin
So the tear gas can’t get in;
Gonna park my cannon right outside the kerb
With a note to Adolf Hitler: ‘Don’t disturb! ’
And if I never fall in Nazi hands
That’s soon enough for me
Gonna get my gas-mask, join the ARP.
P. S. — Do you get on well with girls?
I quote this in full because (dated April 1939) it is interesting as being probably the
earliest mention of Hitler in the GEM. In the GEM there is also a heroic fat boy. Fatty
Wynn, as a set-off against Bunter. Vemon-Smith, ‘the Bounder of the Remove’, a
Byronic character, always on the verge of the sack, is another great favourite. And even
some of the cads probably have their following. Loder, for instance, ‘the rotter of the
Sixth’, is a cad, but he is also a highbrow and given to saying sarcastic things about
football and the team spirit. The boys of the Remove only think him all the more of a cad
for this, but a certain type of boy would probably identify with him. Even Racke, Grooke
& Co. are probably admired by small boys who think it diabolically wicked to smoke
cigarettes. (A frequent question in the correspondence column; ‘What brand of cigarettes
does Racke smoke? ’)
Naturally the politics of the GEM and MAGNET are Conservative, but in a completely
pre-1914 style, with no Fascist tinge. In reality their basic political assumptions are two:
nothing ever changes, and foreigners are funny. In the GEM of 1939 Frenchmen are still
Froggies and Italians are still Dagoes. Mossoo, the French master at Greyfriars, is the
usual comic-paper Frog, with pointed beard, pegtop trousers, etc. Inky, the Indian boy,
though a rajah, and therefore possessing snob-appeal, is also the comic babu of the
PUNCH tradition. (“The rowfulness is not the proper caper, my esteemed Bob,” said
Inky. “Let dogs delight in the barkfulness and bitefulness, but the soft answer is the
cracked pitcher that goes longest to a bird in the bush, as the English proverb remarks. ”)
Fisher T. Fish is the old-style stage Yankee (“Waal, I guess”, etc. ) dating from a peroid of
Anglo-American jealousy. Wun Lung, the Chinese boy (he has rather faded out of late,
no doubt because some of the MAGNET’S readers are Straits Chinese), is the nineteenth-
century pantomime Chinaman, with saucer-shaped hat, pigtail and pidgin-English. The
assumption all along is not only that foreigners are comics who are put there for us to
laugh at, but that they can be classified in much the same way as insects. That is why in
all boys’ papers, not only the GEM and MAGNET, a Chinese is invariably portrayed
with a pigtail. It is the thing you recognize him by, like the Frenchman’s beard or the
Italian’s barrel-organ. In papers of this kind it occasionally happens that when the setting
of a story is in a foreign country some attempt is made to describe the natives as
individual human beings, but as a rule it is assumed that foreigners of any one race are all
alike and will conform more or less exactly to the following patterns:
FRENCHMAN: Excitable. Wears beard, gesticulates wildly. SPANIARD, Mexican, etc. :
Sinister, treacherous. ARAB, Afghan, etc. : Sinister, treacherous. CHINESE: Sinister,
treacherous. Wears pigtail. ITALIAN: Excitable. Grinds barrel-organ or carries stiletto.
SWEDE, Dane, etc. : Kind-hearted, stupid. NEGRO: Comic, very faithful.
The working classes only enter into the GEM and MAGNET as comics or semi-villains
(race-course touts, etc. ). As for class-friction, trade unionism, strikes, slumps,
unemployment, Fascism and civil war — not a mention. Somewhere or other in the thirty
years’ issue of the two papers you might perhaps find the word ‘Socialism’, but you
would have to look a long time for it. If the Russian Revolution is anywhere referred to, it
will be indirectly, in the word ‘Bolshy’ (meaning a person of violent disagreeable habits).
Hitler and the Nazis are just beginning to make their appearance, in the sort of reference I
quoted above. The war-crisis of September 1938 made just enough impression to produce
a story in which Mr Vemon-Smith, the Bounder’s millionaire father, cashed in on the
general panic by buying up country houses in order to sell them to ‘crisis scuttlers’. But
that is probably as near to noticing the European situation as the GEM and MAGNET
will come, until the war actually starts. That does not mean that these papers are
unpatriotic — quite the contrary! Throughout the Great War the GEM and MAGNET were
perhaps the most consistently and cheerfully patriotic papers in England. Almost every
week the boys caught a spy or pushed a conchy into the army, and during the rationing
period ‘EAT LESS BREAD’ was printed in large type on every page. But their patriotism
has nothing whatever to do with power-politics or ‘ideological’ warfare. It is more akin to
family loyalty, and actually it gives one a valuable clue to the attitude of ordinary people,
especially the huge untouched block of the middle class and the better-off working class.
These people are patriotic to the middle of their bones, but they do not feel that what
happens in foreign countries is any of their business. When England is in danger they
rally to its defence as a matter of course, but in between-times they are not interested.
After all, England is always in the right and England always wins, so why worry? It is an
attitude that has been shaken during the past twenty years, but not so deeply as is
sometimes supposed. Failure to understand it is one of the reasons why Left Wing
political parties are seldom able to produce an acceptable foreign policy.
The mental world of the GEM and MAGNET, therefore, is something like this:
The year is 1910 — or 1940, but it is all the same. You are at Greyfriars, a rosy-cheeked
boy of fourteen in posh tailor-made clothes, sitting down to tea in your study on the
Remove passage after an exciting game of football which was won by an odd goal in the
last half-minute. There is a cosy fire in the study, and outside the wind is whistling. The
ivy clusters thickly round the old grey stones. The King is on his throne and the pound is
worth a pound. Over in Europe the comic foreigners are jabbering and gesticulating, but
the grim grey battleships of the British Fleet are steaming up the Channel and at the
outposts of Empire the monocled Englishmen are holding the niggers at bay. Lord
Mauleverer has just got another fiver and we are all settling down to a tremendous tea of
sausages, sardines, crumpets, potted meat, jam and doughnuts. After tea we shall sit
round the study fire having a good laugh at Billy Bunter and discussing the team for next
week’s match against Rook-wood. Everything is safe, solid and unquestionable.
Everything will be the same for ever and ever. That approximately is the atmosphere.
But now turn from the GEM and MAGNET to the more up-to-date papers which have
appeared since the Great War. The truly significant thing is that they have more points of
resemblance to the GEM and MAGNET than points of difference. But it is better to
consider the differences first.
There are eight of these newer papers, the MODEM BOY, TRIUMPH, CHAMPION,
WIZARD, ROVER, SKIPPER, HOTSPUR and ADVENTURE. All of these have
appeared since the Great War, but except for the MODERN BOY none of them is less
than five years old. Two papers which ought also to be mentioned briefly here; though
they are not strictly in the same class as the rest, are the DETECTIVE WEEKLY and the
THRILLER, both owned by the Amalgamated Press. The DETECTIVE WEEKLY has
taken over Sexton Blake. Both of these papers admit a certain amount of sex-interest into
their stories, and though certainly read by boys; they are not aimed at them exclusively.
All the others are boys’ papers pure and simple, and they are sufficiently alike to be
considered together. There does not seem to be any notable difference between
Thomson’s publications and those of the Amalgamated Press.
As soon as one looks at these papers one sees their technical superiority to the GEM and
MAGNET. To begin with, they have the great advantage of not being written entirely by
one person. Instead of one long complete story, a number of the WIZARD or HOTSPUR
consists of half a dozen or more serials, none of which goes on for ever. Consequently
there is far more variety and far less padding, and none of the tiresome stylization and
facetiousness of the GEM and MAGNET. Look at these two extracts, for example:
Billy Bunter groaned.
A quarter of an hour had elapsed out of the two hours that Bunter was booked for extra
French.
In a quarter of an hour there were only fifteen minutes! But every one of those minutes
seemed inordinately long to Bunter. They seemed to crawl by like tired snails.
Looking at the clock in Classroom No. 10 the fat Owl could hardly believe that only
fifteen minutes had passed. It seemed more like fifteen hours, if not fifteen days!
Other fellows were in extra French as well as Bunter. They did not matter. Bunter did!
(The Magnet)
After a terrible climb, hacking out handholds in the smooth ice every step of the way up.
Sergeant Lionheart Logan of the Mounties was now clinging like a human fly to the face
of an icy cliff, as smooth and treacherous as a giant pane of glass.
An Arctic blizzard, in all its fury, was buffeting his body, driving the blinding snow into
his face, seeking to tear his fingers loose from their handholds and dash him to death on
the jagged boulders which lay at the foot of the cliff a hundred feet below.
Crouching among those boulders were eleven villainous trappers who had done their best
to shoot down Lionheart and his companion, Constable Jim Rogers — until the blizzard
had blotted the two Mounties out of sight from below. (The Wizard)
The second extract gets you some distance with the story, the first takes a hundred words
to tell you that Bunter is in the detention class. Moreover, by not concentrating on school
stories (in point of numbers the school story slightly predominates in all these papers,
except the THRILLER and DETECTIVE WEEKLY), the WIZARD, HOTSPUR, etc. ,
have far greater opportunities for sensationalism. Merely looking at the cover illustrations
of the papers which I have on the table in front of me, here are some of the things I see.
On one a cowboy is clinging by his toes to the wing of an aeroplane in mid-air and
shooting down another aeroplane with his revolver. On another a Chinese is swimming
for his life down a sewer with a swarm of ravenous-looking rats swimming after him. On
another an engineer is lighting a stick of dynamite while a steel robot feels for him with
its claws. On another a man in airman’s costume is fighting barehanded against a rat
somewhat larger than a donkey. On another a nearly naked man of terrific muscular
development has just seized a lion by the tail and flung it thirty yards over the wall of an
arena, with the words, ‘Take back your blooming lion! ’ Clearly no school story can
compete with this kind of thing. From time to time the school buildings may catch fire or
the French master may turn out to be the head of an international anarchist gang, but in a
general way the interest must centre round cricket, school rivalries, practical jokes, etc.
There is not much room for bombs, death-rays, sub-machine guns, aeroplanes, mustangs,
octopuses, grizzly bears or gangsters.
Examination of a large number of these papers shows that, putting aside school stories,
the favourite subjects are Wild West, Frozen North, Foreign Fegion, crime (always from
the detective’s angle), the Great War (Air Force or Secret Service, not the infantry), the
Tarzan motif in varying forms, professional football, tropical exploration, historical
romance (Robin Hood, Cavaliers and Round-heads, etc. ) and scientific invention. The
Wild West still leads, at any rate as a setting, though the Red Indian seems to be fading
out. The one theme that is really new is the scientific one. Death-rays, Martians, invisible
men, robots, helicopters and interplanetary rockets figure largely: here and there there are
even far-off rumours of psychotherapy and ductless glands. Whereas the GEM and
MAGNET derive from Dickens and Kipling, the WIZARD, CHAMPION, MODEM
BOY, etc. , owe a great deal to H. G. Wells, who, rather than Jules Veme, is the father of
‘Scientifiction’. Naturally it is the magical Martian aspect of science that is most
exploited, but one or two papers include serious articles on scientific subjects, besides
quantities of informative snippets. (Examples: ‘A Kauri tree in Queensland, Australia, is
over 12,000 years old’; ‘Nearly 50,000 thunderstonns occur every day’; ‘Helium gas
costs £1 per 1000 cubic feet’; ‘There are over 500 varieties of spiders in Great Britain’;
‘London firemen use 14,000,000 gallons of water annually’, etc. , etc. ) There is a marked
advance in intellectual curiosity and, on the whole, in the demand made on the reader’s
attention. In practice the GEM and MAGNET and the post-war papers are read by much
the same public, but the mental age aimed at seems to have risen by a year or two years —
an improvement probably corresponding to the improvement in elementary education
since 1909.
The other thing that has emerged in the post-war boys’ papers, though not to anything
like the extent one would expect, is bully-worship and the cult of violence.
If one compares the GEM and MAGNET with a genuinely modern paper, the thing that
immediately strikes one is the absence of the leader-principle. There is no central
dominating character; instead there are fifteen or twenty characters, all more or less on an
equality, with whom readers of different types can identify. In the more modem papers
this is not usually the case. Instead of identifying with a schoolboy of more or less his
own age, the reader of the SKIPPER, HOTSPUR, etc. , is led to identify with a G-man,
with a Foreign Legionary, with some variant of Tarzan, with an air ace, a master spy, an
explorer, a pugilist — at any rate with some single all-powerful character who dominates
everyone about him and whose usual method of solving any problem is a sock on the jaw.
This character is intended as a superman, and as physical strength is the form of power
that boys can best understand, he is usually a sort of human gorilla; in the Tarzan type of
story he is sometimes actually a giant, eight or ten feet high. At the same time the scenes
of violence in nearly all these stories are remarkably harmless and unconvincing. There is
a great difference in tone between even the most bloodthirsty English paper and the
threepenny Yank Mags, FIGHT STORIES, ACTION STORIES, etc. (not strictly boys’
papers, but largely read by boys). In the Yank Mags you get real blood-lust, really gory
descriptions of the all-in, jump-on-his-testicles style fighting, written in a jargon that has
been perfected by people who brood end-lessly on violence. A paper like FIGHT
STORIES, for instance, would have very little appeal except to sadists and masochists.
You can see the comparative gentleness of the English civilization by the amateurish way
in which prize-fighting is always described in the boys’ weeklies. There is no specialized
vocabulary. Look at these four extracts, two English, two American;
When the gong sounded, both men were breathing heavily and each had great red marks
on his chest. Bill’s chin was bleeding, and Ben had a cut over his right eye.
Into their comers they sank, but when the gong clanged again they were up swiftly, and
they went like tigers at each other. (ROVER)
H= * *
He walked in stolidly and smashed a clublike right to my face. Blood spattered and I
went back on my heels, but surged in and ripped my right under the heart. Another right
smashed full on Ben’s already battered mouth, and, spitting out the fragments of a tooth,
he crashed a flailing left to my body. (FIGHT STORIES)
* * *
It was amazing to watch the Black Panther at work. His muscles rippled and slid under
his dark skin. There was all the power and grace of a giant cat in his swift and terrible
onslaught.
He volleyed blows with a bewildering speed for so huge a fellow. In a moment Ben was
simply blocking with his gloves as well as he could. Ben was really a past-master of
defence. He had many fine victories behind him. But the Negro’s rights and lefts crashed
through openings that hardly any other fighter could have found. (WIZARD)
* * *
Haymakers which packed the bludgeoning weight of forest monarchs crashing down
under the ax hurled into the bodies of the two heavies as they swapped punches. (FIGHT
STORIES)
Notice how much more knowledgeable the American extracts sound. They are written for
devotees of the prize-ring, the others are not. Also, it ought to be emphasized that on its
level the moral code of the English boys’ papers is a decent one. Crime and dishonesty
are never held up to admiration, there is none of the cynicism and corruption of the
American gangster story. The huge sale of the Ya nk Mags in England shows that there is
a demand for that kind of thing, but very few English writers seem able to produce it.
When hatred of Hitler became a major emotion in America, it was interesting to see how
promptly ‘anti-Fascism’ was adapted to pornographic purposes by the editors of the Yank
Mags. One magazine which I have in front of me is given up to a long, complete story,
‘When Hell Game to America’, in which the agents of a ‘blood-maddened European
dictator’ are trying to conquer the U. S. A. with death-rays and invisible aeroplanes. There
is the fra nk est appeal to sadism, scenes in which the Nazis tie bombs to women’s backs
and fling them off heights to watch them blown to pieces in mid-air, others in which they
tie naked girls together by their hair and prod them with knives to make them dance, etc. ,
etc. The editor comments solemnly on all this, and uses it as a plea for tightening up
restrictions against immigrants. On another page of the same paper: ‘LIVES OF THE
HOTCHA CHORUS GIRLS. Reveals all the intimate secrets and fascinating pastimes of
the famous Broadway Hotcha girls. NOTHING IS OMITTED. Price 10c. ’ ‘HOW TO
LOVE. 10c. ’ ‘FRENCH PHOTO RING. 25c. ’ ‘NAUGHTY NUDIES TRANSFERS.
From the outside of the glass you see a beautiful girl, innocently dressed. Turn it around
and look through the glass and oh! what a difference! Set of 3 transfers 25c. ,’ etc. , etc. ,
etc. There is nothing at all like this in any English paper likely to be read by boys. But the
process of Americanization is going on all the same. The American ideal, the ‘he-man’,
the ‘tough guy’, the gorilla who puts everything right by socking everybody on the jaw,
now figures in probably a majority of boys’ papers.
In one serial now running in the
SKIPPER he is always portrayed ominously enough, swinging a rubber truncheon.
The development of the WIZARD, HOTSPUR, etc. , as against the earlier boys’ papers,
boils down to this: better technique, more scientific interest, more bloodshed, more
leader-worship. But, after all, it is the LACK of development that is the really striking
thing.
To begin with, there is no political development whatever. The world of the SKIPPER
and the CHAMPION is still the pre-1914 world of the MAGNET and the GEM. The
Wild West story, for instance, with its cattle-rustlers, lynch-law and other paraphernalia
belonging to the eighties, is a curiously archaic thing. It is worth noticing that in papers of
this type it is always taken for granted that adventures only happen at the ends of the
earth, in tropical forests, in Arctic wastes, in African deserts, on Western prairies, in
Chinese opium dens — everywhere in fact, except the places where things really DO
happen. That is a belief dating from thirty or forty years ago, when the new continents
were in process of being opened up. Nowadays, of course, if you really want adventure,
the place to look for it is in Europe. But apart from the picturesque side of the Great War,
contemporary history is carefully excluded. And except that Americans are now admired
instead of being laughed at, foreigners are exactly the same figures of fun that they
always were. If a Chinese character appears, he is still the sinister pigtailed opium-
smuggler of Sax Rohmer; no indication that things have been happening in China since
1912 — no indication that a war is going on there, for instance. If a Spaniard appears, he is
still a ‘dago’ or ‘greaser’ who rolls cigarettes and stabs people in the back; no indication
that things have been happening in Spain. Hitler and the Nazis have not yet appeared, or
are barely making their appearance. There will be plenty about them in a little while, but
it will be from a strictly patriotic angle (Britain versus Gennany), with the real meaning
of the struggle kept out of sight as much as possible. As for the Russian Revolution, it is
extremely difficult to find any reference to it in any of these papers. When Russia is
mentioned at all it is usually in an infonnation snippet (example: ‘There are 29,000
centenarians in the USSR. ’), and any reference to the Revolution is indirect and twenty
years out of date. In one story in the ROVER, for instance, somebody has a tame bear,
and as it is a Russian bear, it is nicknamed Trotsky — obviously an echo of the 1917-23
period and not of recent controversies. The clock has stopped at 1910. Britannia rules the
waves, and no one has heard of slumps, booms, unemployment, dictatorships, purges or
concentration camps.
And in social outlook there is hardly any advance. The snobbishness is somewhat less
open than in the GEM and MAGNET — that is the most one can possibly say. To begin
with, the school story, always partly dependent on snob-appeal, is by no means
eliminated. Every number of a boys’ paper includes at least one school story, these stories
slightly outnumbering the Wild Westerns. The very elaborate fantasy-life of the GEM
and MAGNET is not imitated and there is more emphasis on extraneous adventure, but
the social atmosphere (old grey stones) is much the same. When a new school is
introduced at the beginning of a story we are often told in just those words that ‘it was a
very posh school’. From time to time a story appears which is ostensibly directed
AGAINST snobbery. The scholarship-boy (cf. Tom Redwing in the MAGNET) makes
fairly frequent appearances, and what is essentially the same theme is sometimes
presented in this form: there is great rivalry between two schools, one of which considers
itself more ‘posh’ than the other, and there are fights, practical jokes, football matches,
etc. , always ending in the discomfiture of the snobs. If one glances very superficially at
some of these stories it is possible to imagine that a democratic spirit has crept into the
boys’ weeklies, but when one looks more closely one sees that they merely reflect the
bitter jealousies that exist within the white-collar class. Their real function is to allow the
boy who goes to a cheap private school (NOT a Council school) to feel that his school is
just as ‘posh’ in the sight of God as Winchester or Eton. The sentiment of school loyalty
(‘We’re better than the fellows down the road’), a thing almost unknown to the real
working class, is still kept up. As these stories are written by many different hands, they
do, of course, vary a good deal in tone. Some are reasonably free from snobbishness, in
others money and pedigree are exploited even more shamelessly than in the GEM and
MAGNET. In one that I came across an actual MAJORITY of the boys mentioned were
titled.
Where working-class characters appear, it is usually either as comics (jokes about tramps,
convicts, etc. ), or as prize-fighters, acrobats, cowboys, professional footballers and
Foreign Legionaries — in other words, as adventurers. There is no facing of the facts
about working-class life, or, indeed, about WORKING life of any description. Very
occasionally one may come across a realistic description of, say, work in a coal-mine, but
in all probability it will only be there as the background of some lurid adventure. In any
case the central character is not likely to be a coal-miner. Nearly all the time the boy who
reads these papers — in nine cases out often a boy who is going to spend his life working
in a shop, in a factory or in some subordinate job in an office — is led to identify with
people in positions of command, above all with people who are never troubled by
shortage of money. The Lord Peter Wimsey figure, the seeming idiot who drawls and
wears a monocle but is always to the fore in moments of danger, turns up over and over
again. (This character is a great favourite in Secret Service stories. ) And, as usual, the
heroic characters all have to talk B. B. C. ; they may talk Scottish or Irish or American, but
no one in a star part is ever permitted to drop an aitch. Here it is worth comparing the
social atmosphere of the boys’ weeklies with that of the women’s weeklies, the
ORACLE, the FAMILY STAR, PEG’S PAPER, etc.
The women’s papers are aimed at an older public and are read for the most part by girls
who are working for a living. Consequently they are on the surface much more realistic.
It is taken for granted, for example, that nearly everyone has to live in a big town and
work at a more or less dull job. Sex, so far from being taboo, is THE subject. The short,
complete stories, the special feature of these papers, are generally of the ‘came the dawn’
type: the heroine narrowly escapes losing her ‘boy’ to a designing rival, or the ‘boy’ loses
his job and has to postpone marriage, but presently gets a better job. The changeling-
fantasy (a girl brought up in a poor home is ‘really’ the child of rich parents) is another
favourite. Where sensationalism comes in, usually in the serials, it arises out of the more
domestic type of crime, such as bigamy, forgery or sometimes murder; no Martians,
death-rays or international anarchist gangs. These papers are at any rate aiming at
credibility, and they have a link with real life in their correspondence columns, where
genuine problems are being discussed. Ruby M. Ayres’s column of advice in the
ORACLE, for instance, is extremely sensible and well written. And yet the world of the
ORACLE and PEG’S PAPER is a pure fantasy- world. It is the same fantasy all the time;
pretending to be richer than you are. The chief impression that one carries away from
almost every story in these papers is of a frightful, overwhelming ‘refinement’.
Ostensibly the characters are working-class people, but their habits, the interiors of their
houses, their clothes, their outlook and, above all, their speech arc entirely middle class.
They are all living at several pounds a week above their income. And needless to say, that
is just the impression that is intended. The idea is to give the bored factory-girl or worn-
out mother of five a dream-life in which she pictures herself — not actually as a duchess
(that convention has gone out) but as, say, the wife of a bank-manager. Not only is a five-
to-six-pound-a-week standard of life set up as the ideal, but it is tacitly assumed that that
is how working-class people really DO live. The major facts arc simply not faced. It is
admitted, for instance, that people sometimes lose their jobs; but then the dark clouds roll
away and they get better jobs instead. No mention of un-employment as something
pennanent and inevitable, no mention of the dole, no mention of trade unionism. No
suggestion anywhere that there can be anything wrong with the system AS A SYSTEM;
there arc only individual misfortunes, which are generally due to somebody’s wickedness
and can in any case be put right in the last chapter. Always the dark clouds roll away, the
kind employer raises Alfred’s wages, and there are jobs for everybody except the drunks.
It is still the world of the WIZARD and the GEM, except that there are orange-blossoms
instead of machine-guns.
The outlook inculcated by all these papers is that of a rather exceptionally stupid member
of the Navy League in the year 1910. Yes, it may be said, but what does it matter? And in
any case, what else do you expect?
Of course no one in his senses would want to turn the so-called penny dreadful into a
realistic novel or a Socialist tract. An adventure story must of its nature be more or less
remote from real life. But, as I have tried to make clear, the unreality of the WIZARD
and the GEM is not so artless as it looks. These papers exist because of a specialized
demand, because boys at certain ages find it necessary to read about Martians, death-rays,
grizzly bears and gangsters. They get what they are looking for, but they get it wrapped
up in the illusions which their future employers think suitable for them. To what extent
people draw their ideas from fiction is disputable. Personally I believe that most people
are influenced far more than they would care to admit by novels, serial stories, films and
so forth, and that from this point of view the worst books are often the most important,
because they are usually the ones that are read earliest in life. It is probable that many
people who would consider themselves extremely sophisticated and ‘advanced’ are
actually carrying through life an imaginative background which they acquired in
childhood from (for instance) Sapper and lan Hay. If that is so, the boys’ twopenny
weeklies are of the deepest importance. Here is the stuff that is read somewhere between
the ages of twelve and eighteen by a very large proportion, perhaps an actual majority, of
English boys, including many who will never read anything else except newspapers; and
along with it they are absorbing a set of beliefs which would be regarded as hopelessly
out of date in the Central Office of the Conservative Party. All the better because it is
done indirectly, there is being pumped into them the conviction that the major problems
of our time do not exist, that there is nothing wrong with LAISSEZ-FAIRE capitalism,
that foreigners are un-important comics and that the British Empire is a sort of charity-
concern which will last for ever. Considering who owns these papers, it is difficult to
believe that this is un-intentional. Of the twelve papers I have been discussing (i. e. twelve
including the THRILLER and DETECTIVE WEEKLY) seven are the property of the
Amalgamated Press, which is one of the biggest press-combines in the world and controls
more than a hundred different papers. The GEM and MAGNET, therefore, are closely
linked up with the DAILY TELEGRAPH and the FINANCIAL TIMES. This in itself
would be enough to rouse certain suspicions, even if it were not obvious that the stories
in the boys’ weeklies are politically vetted. So it appears that if you feel the need of a
fantasy-life in which you travel to Mars and fight lions bare -handed (and what boy
doesn’t? ), you can only have it by delivering yourself over, mentally, to people like Lord
Camrose. For there is no competition. Throughout the whole of this run of papers the
differences are negligible, and on this level no others exist. This raises the question, why
is there no such thing as a left-wing boys’ paper?
At first glance such an idea merely makes one slightly sick. It is so horribly easy to
imagine what a left-wing boys’ paper would be like, if it existed. I remember in 1920 or
1921 some optimistic person handing round Communist tracts among a crowd of public-
school boys. The tract I received was of the question-and-answer kind:
Q,. ‘Can a Boy Communist be a Boy Scout, Comrade? ’ A. ‘No, Comrade. ’ Q,. ‘Why,
Comrade? ’ A. ‘Because, Comrade, a Boy Scout must salute the Union Jack, which is the
symbol of tyranny and oppression,’ etc. , etc.
Now suppose that at this moment somebody started a left-wing paper deliberately aimed
at boys of twelve or fourteen. I do not suggest that the whole of its contents would be
exactly like the tract I have quoted above, but does anyone doubt that they would be
SOMETHING like it? Inevitably such a paper would either consist of dreary up-lift or it
would be under Communist influence and given over to adulation of Soviet Russia; in
either case no normal boy would ever look at it. Highbrow literature apart, the whole of
the existing left-wing Press, in so far as it is at all vigorously ‘left’, is one long tract. The
one Socialist paper in England which could live a week on its merits AS A PAPER is the
DAILY HERALD: and how much Socialism is there in the DAILY HERALD? At this
moment, therefore, a paper with a ‘left’ slant and at the same time likely to have an
appeal to ordinary boys in their teens is something almost beyond hoping for.
But it does not follow that it is impossible. There is no clear reason why every adventure
story should necessarily be mixed up with snobbishness and gutter patriotism. For, after
all, the stories in the HOTSPUR and the MODERN BOY are not Conservative tracts;
they are merely adventure stories with a Conservative bias. It is fairly easy to imagine the
process being reversed. It is possible, for instance, to imagine a paper as thrilling and
lively as the HOTSPUR, but with subject-matter and ‘ideology’ a little more up to date. It
is even possible (though this raises other difficulties) to imagine a women’s paper at the
same literary level as the ORACLE, dealing in approximately the same kind of story, but
taking rather more account of the realities of working-class life. Such things have been
done before, though not in England. In the last years of the Spanish monarchy there was a
large output in Spain of left-wing novelettes, some of them evidently of anarchist origin.
Unfortunately at the time when they were appearing I did not see their social
significance, and I lost the collection of them that I had, but no doubt copies would still
be procurable. In get-up and style of story they were very similar to the English
fourpcnny novelette, except that their inspiration was ‘left’. If, for instance, a story
described police pursuing anarchists through the mountains, it would be from the point of
view of the anarchist and not of the police. An example nearer to hand is the Soviet film
CHAPAIEV, which has been shown a number of times in London. Technically, by the
standards of the time when it was made, CHAPAIEV is a first-rate film, but mentally, in
spite of the unfamiliar Russian background, it is not so very remote from Hollywood. The
one thing that lifts it out of the ordinary is the remarkable perfonnance by the actor who
takes the part of the White officer (the fat one) — a performance which looks very like an
inspired piece of gagging. Otherwise the atmosphere is familiar. All the usual
paraphernalia is there — heroic fight against odds, escape at the last moment, shots of
galloping horses, love interest, comic relief. The film is in fact a fairly ordinary one,
except that its tendency is ‘left’. In a Hollywood film of the Russian Civil War the
Whites would probably be angels and the Reds demons. In the Russian version the Reds
are angels and the Whites demons. That is also a lie, but, taking the long view, it is a less
pernicious lie than the other.
Here several difficult problems present themselves. Their general nature is obvious
enough, and I do not want to discuss them. I am merely pointing to the fact that, in
England, popular imaginative literature is a field that left-wing thought has never begun
to enter. ALL fiction from the novels in the mushroom libraries downwards is censored
in the interests of the ruling class. And boys’ fiction above all, the blood-and-thunder
stuff which nearly every boy devours at some time or other, is sodden in the worst
illusions of 1910. The fact is only unimportant if one believes that what is read in
childhood leaves no impression behind. Lord Camrose and his colleagues evidently
believe nothing of the kind, and, after all, Lord Camrose ought to know.
CHARLES DICKENS (1940)
I
Dickens is one of those writers who are well worth stealing. Even the burial of his body
in Westminster Abbey was a species of theft, if you come to think of it.
When Chesterton wrote his introductions to the Everyman Edition of Dickens’s works, it
seemed quite natural to him to credit Dickens with his own highly individual brand of
medievalism, and more recently a Marxist writer, Mr. T. A. Jackson, has made spirited
efforts to turn Dickens into a blood-thirsty revolutionary. The Marxist claims him as
‘almost’ a Marxist, the Catholic claims him as ‘almost’ a Catholic, and both claim him as
a champion of the proletariat (or ‘the poor’, as Chesterton would have put it). On the
other hand, Nadezhda Krupskaya, in her little book on Lenin, relates that towards the end
of his life Lenin went to see a dramatized version of THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH,
and found Dickens’s ‘middle-class sentimentality’ so intolerable that he walked out in the
middle of a scene.
Taking ‘middle-class’ to mean what Krupskaya might be expected to mean by it, this was
probably a truer judgement than those of Chesterton and Jackson. But it is worth noticing
that the dislike of Dickens implied in this remark is something unusual. Plenty of people
have found him unreadable, but very few seem to have felt any hostility towards the
general spirit of his work. Some years later Mr. Bechhofer Roberts published a full-
length attack on Dickens in the form of a novel (THIS SIDE IDOLATRY), but it was a
merely personal attack, concerned for the most part with Dickens’s treatment of his wife.
It dealt with incidents which not one in a thousand of Dickens’s readers would ever hear
about, and which no more invalidates his work than the second-best bed invalidates
HAMLET. All that the book really demonstrated was that a writer’s literary personality
has little or nothing to do with his private character. It is quite possible that in private life
Dickens was just the kind of insensitive egoist that Mr. Bechhofer Roberts makes him
appear. But in his published work there is implied a personality quite different from this,
a personality which has won him far more friends than enemies. It might well have been
otherwise, for even if Dickens was a bourgeois, he was certainly a subversive writer, a
radical, one might truthfully say a rebel. Everyone who has read widely in his work has
felt this. Gissing, for instance, the best of the writers on Dickens, was anything but a
radical himself, and he disapproved of this strain in Dickens and wished it were not there,
but it never occurred to him to deny it. In OLIVER TWIST, HARD TIMES, BLEAK
HOUSE, LITTLE DORRIT, Dickens attacked English institutions with a ferocity that has
never since been approached. Yet he managed to do it without making himself hated,
and, more than this, the very people he attacked have swallowed him so completely that
he has become a national institution himself. In its attitude towards Dickens the English
public has always been a little like the elephant which feels a blow with a walking-stick
as a delightful tickling. Before I was ten years old I was having Dickens ladled down my
throat by schoolmasters in whom even at that age I could see a strong resemblance to Mr.
Creakle, and one knows without needing to be told that lawyers delight in Sergeant
Buzfuz and that LITTLE DORRIT is a favourite in the Home Office. Dickens seems to
have succeeded in attacking everybody and antagonizing nobody. Naturally this makes
one wonder whether after all there was something unreal in his attack upon society.
Where exactly does he stand, socially, morally, and politically? As usual, one can define
his position more easily if one starts by deciding what he was NOT.
In the first place he was NOT, as Messrs. Chesterton and Jackson seem to imply, a
‘proletarian’ writer. To begin with, he does not write about the proletariat, in which he
merely resembles the overwhelming majority of novelists, past and present. If you look
for the working classes in fiction, and especially English fiction, all you find is a hole.
This statement needs qualifying, perhaps. For reasons that are easy enough to see, the
agricultural labourer (in England a proletarian) gets a fairly good showing in fiction, and
a great deal has been written about criminals, derelicts and, more recently, the working-
class intelligentsia. But the ordinary town proletariat, the people who make the wheels go
round, have always been ignored by novelists. When they do find their way between the
covers of a book, it is nearly always as objects of pity or as comic relief. The central
action of Dickens’s stories almost invariably takes place in middle-class surroundings. If
one examines his novels in detail one finds that his real subject-matter is the London
commercial bourgeoisie and their hangers-on — lawyers, clerks, tradesmen, innkeepers,
small craftsmen, and servants. He has no portrait of an agricultural worker, and only one
(Stephen Blackpool in HARD TIMES) of an industrial worker. The Plomishes in
LITTLE DORRIT are probably his best picture of a working-class family — the
Peggottys, for instance, hardly belong to the working class — but on the whole he is not
successful with this type of character. If you ask any ordinary reader which of Dickens’s
proletarian characters he can remember, the three he is almost certain to mention are Bill
Sykes, Sam Weller, and Mrs. Gamp. A burglar, a valet, and a drunken midwife — not
exactly a representative cross-section of the English working class.
Secondly, in the ordinarily accepted sense of the word, Dickens is not a ‘revolutionary’
writer. But his position here needs some defining.
Whatever else Dickens may have been, he was not a hole-and-comer soul-saver, the kind
of well-meaning idiot who thinks that the world will be perfect if you amend a few
bylaws and abolish a few anomalies. It is worth comparing him with Charles Reade, for
instance. Reade was a much better-informed man than Dickens, and in some ways more
public-spirited. He really hated the abuses he could understand, he showed them up in a
series of novels which for all their absurdity are extremely readable, and he probably
helped to alter public opinion on a few minor but important points. But it was quite
beyond him to grasp that, given the existing form of society, certain evils CANNOT be
remedied. Fasten upon this or that minor abuse, expose it, drag it into the open, bring it
before a British jury, and all will be well that is how he sees it. Dickens at any rate never
imagined that you can cure pimples by cutting them off. In every page of his work one
can see a consciousness that society is wrong somewhere at the root. It is when one asks
‘Which root?
is the ‘knut’ of the early twentieth century or even the ‘masher’ of the nineties (‘Bai Jove,
deah boy! ’ and ‘Weally, I shall be obliged to give you a feahful thwashin’! ’), the
monocled idiot who made good on the fields of Mons and Le Gateau. And his evident
popularity goes to show how deep the snob-appeal of this type is. English people are
extremely fond of the titled ass (cf. Lord Peter Wimscy) who always turns up trumps in
the moment of emergency. Here is a letter from one of Gussy’s girl admirers;
I think you’re too hard on Gussy. I wonder he’s still In existence, the way you treat him.
He’s my hero. Did you know I write lyrics? How’s this — to the tune of Goody Goody’?
Gonna get my gas-mask, join the ARP.
’Cos I’m wise to all those bombs you drop on me.
Gonna dig myself a trench Inside the garden fence;
Gonna seal my windows up with tin
So the tear gas can’t get in;
Gonna park my cannon right outside the kerb
With a note to Adolf Hitler: ‘Don’t disturb! ’
And if I never fall in Nazi hands
That’s soon enough for me
Gonna get my gas-mask, join the ARP.
P. S. — Do you get on well with girls?
I quote this in full because (dated April 1939) it is interesting as being probably the
earliest mention of Hitler in the GEM. In the GEM there is also a heroic fat boy. Fatty
Wynn, as a set-off against Bunter. Vemon-Smith, ‘the Bounder of the Remove’, a
Byronic character, always on the verge of the sack, is another great favourite. And even
some of the cads probably have their following. Loder, for instance, ‘the rotter of the
Sixth’, is a cad, but he is also a highbrow and given to saying sarcastic things about
football and the team spirit. The boys of the Remove only think him all the more of a cad
for this, but a certain type of boy would probably identify with him. Even Racke, Grooke
& Co. are probably admired by small boys who think it diabolically wicked to smoke
cigarettes. (A frequent question in the correspondence column; ‘What brand of cigarettes
does Racke smoke? ’)
Naturally the politics of the GEM and MAGNET are Conservative, but in a completely
pre-1914 style, with no Fascist tinge. In reality their basic political assumptions are two:
nothing ever changes, and foreigners are funny. In the GEM of 1939 Frenchmen are still
Froggies and Italians are still Dagoes. Mossoo, the French master at Greyfriars, is the
usual comic-paper Frog, with pointed beard, pegtop trousers, etc. Inky, the Indian boy,
though a rajah, and therefore possessing snob-appeal, is also the comic babu of the
PUNCH tradition. (“The rowfulness is not the proper caper, my esteemed Bob,” said
Inky. “Let dogs delight in the barkfulness and bitefulness, but the soft answer is the
cracked pitcher that goes longest to a bird in the bush, as the English proverb remarks. ”)
Fisher T. Fish is the old-style stage Yankee (“Waal, I guess”, etc. ) dating from a peroid of
Anglo-American jealousy. Wun Lung, the Chinese boy (he has rather faded out of late,
no doubt because some of the MAGNET’S readers are Straits Chinese), is the nineteenth-
century pantomime Chinaman, with saucer-shaped hat, pigtail and pidgin-English. The
assumption all along is not only that foreigners are comics who are put there for us to
laugh at, but that they can be classified in much the same way as insects. That is why in
all boys’ papers, not only the GEM and MAGNET, a Chinese is invariably portrayed
with a pigtail. It is the thing you recognize him by, like the Frenchman’s beard or the
Italian’s barrel-organ. In papers of this kind it occasionally happens that when the setting
of a story is in a foreign country some attempt is made to describe the natives as
individual human beings, but as a rule it is assumed that foreigners of any one race are all
alike and will conform more or less exactly to the following patterns:
FRENCHMAN: Excitable. Wears beard, gesticulates wildly. SPANIARD, Mexican, etc. :
Sinister, treacherous. ARAB, Afghan, etc. : Sinister, treacherous. CHINESE: Sinister,
treacherous. Wears pigtail. ITALIAN: Excitable. Grinds barrel-organ or carries stiletto.
SWEDE, Dane, etc. : Kind-hearted, stupid. NEGRO: Comic, very faithful.
The working classes only enter into the GEM and MAGNET as comics or semi-villains
(race-course touts, etc. ). As for class-friction, trade unionism, strikes, slumps,
unemployment, Fascism and civil war — not a mention. Somewhere or other in the thirty
years’ issue of the two papers you might perhaps find the word ‘Socialism’, but you
would have to look a long time for it. If the Russian Revolution is anywhere referred to, it
will be indirectly, in the word ‘Bolshy’ (meaning a person of violent disagreeable habits).
Hitler and the Nazis are just beginning to make their appearance, in the sort of reference I
quoted above. The war-crisis of September 1938 made just enough impression to produce
a story in which Mr Vemon-Smith, the Bounder’s millionaire father, cashed in on the
general panic by buying up country houses in order to sell them to ‘crisis scuttlers’. But
that is probably as near to noticing the European situation as the GEM and MAGNET
will come, until the war actually starts. That does not mean that these papers are
unpatriotic — quite the contrary! Throughout the Great War the GEM and MAGNET were
perhaps the most consistently and cheerfully patriotic papers in England. Almost every
week the boys caught a spy or pushed a conchy into the army, and during the rationing
period ‘EAT LESS BREAD’ was printed in large type on every page. But their patriotism
has nothing whatever to do with power-politics or ‘ideological’ warfare. It is more akin to
family loyalty, and actually it gives one a valuable clue to the attitude of ordinary people,
especially the huge untouched block of the middle class and the better-off working class.
These people are patriotic to the middle of their bones, but they do not feel that what
happens in foreign countries is any of their business. When England is in danger they
rally to its defence as a matter of course, but in between-times they are not interested.
After all, England is always in the right and England always wins, so why worry? It is an
attitude that has been shaken during the past twenty years, but not so deeply as is
sometimes supposed. Failure to understand it is one of the reasons why Left Wing
political parties are seldom able to produce an acceptable foreign policy.
The mental world of the GEM and MAGNET, therefore, is something like this:
The year is 1910 — or 1940, but it is all the same. You are at Greyfriars, a rosy-cheeked
boy of fourteen in posh tailor-made clothes, sitting down to tea in your study on the
Remove passage after an exciting game of football which was won by an odd goal in the
last half-minute. There is a cosy fire in the study, and outside the wind is whistling. The
ivy clusters thickly round the old grey stones. The King is on his throne and the pound is
worth a pound. Over in Europe the comic foreigners are jabbering and gesticulating, but
the grim grey battleships of the British Fleet are steaming up the Channel and at the
outposts of Empire the monocled Englishmen are holding the niggers at bay. Lord
Mauleverer has just got another fiver and we are all settling down to a tremendous tea of
sausages, sardines, crumpets, potted meat, jam and doughnuts. After tea we shall sit
round the study fire having a good laugh at Billy Bunter and discussing the team for next
week’s match against Rook-wood. Everything is safe, solid and unquestionable.
Everything will be the same for ever and ever. That approximately is the atmosphere.
But now turn from the GEM and MAGNET to the more up-to-date papers which have
appeared since the Great War. The truly significant thing is that they have more points of
resemblance to the GEM and MAGNET than points of difference. But it is better to
consider the differences first.
There are eight of these newer papers, the MODEM BOY, TRIUMPH, CHAMPION,
WIZARD, ROVER, SKIPPER, HOTSPUR and ADVENTURE. All of these have
appeared since the Great War, but except for the MODERN BOY none of them is less
than five years old. Two papers which ought also to be mentioned briefly here; though
they are not strictly in the same class as the rest, are the DETECTIVE WEEKLY and the
THRILLER, both owned by the Amalgamated Press. The DETECTIVE WEEKLY has
taken over Sexton Blake. Both of these papers admit a certain amount of sex-interest into
their stories, and though certainly read by boys; they are not aimed at them exclusively.
All the others are boys’ papers pure and simple, and they are sufficiently alike to be
considered together. There does not seem to be any notable difference between
Thomson’s publications and those of the Amalgamated Press.
As soon as one looks at these papers one sees their technical superiority to the GEM and
MAGNET. To begin with, they have the great advantage of not being written entirely by
one person. Instead of one long complete story, a number of the WIZARD or HOTSPUR
consists of half a dozen or more serials, none of which goes on for ever. Consequently
there is far more variety and far less padding, and none of the tiresome stylization and
facetiousness of the GEM and MAGNET. Look at these two extracts, for example:
Billy Bunter groaned.
A quarter of an hour had elapsed out of the two hours that Bunter was booked for extra
French.
In a quarter of an hour there were only fifteen minutes! But every one of those minutes
seemed inordinately long to Bunter. They seemed to crawl by like tired snails.
Looking at the clock in Classroom No. 10 the fat Owl could hardly believe that only
fifteen minutes had passed. It seemed more like fifteen hours, if not fifteen days!
Other fellows were in extra French as well as Bunter. They did not matter. Bunter did!
(The Magnet)
After a terrible climb, hacking out handholds in the smooth ice every step of the way up.
Sergeant Lionheart Logan of the Mounties was now clinging like a human fly to the face
of an icy cliff, as smooth and treacherous as a giant pane of glass.
An Arctic blizzard, in all its fury, was buffeting his body, driving the blinding snow into
his face, seeking to tear his fingers loose from their handholds and dash him to death on
the jagged boulders which lay at the foot of the cliff a hundred feet below.
Crouching among those boulders were eleven villainous trappers who had done their best
to shoot down Lionheart and his companion, Constable Jim Rogers — until the blizzard
had blotted the two Mounties out of sight from below. (The Wizard)
The second extract gets you some distance with the story, the first takes a hundred words
to tell you that Bunter is in the detention class. Moreover, by not concentrating on school
stories (in point of numbers the school story slightly predominates in all these papers,
except the THRILLER and DETECTIVE WEEKLY), the WIZARD, HOTSPUR, etc. ,
have far greater opportunities for sensationalism. Merely looking at the cover illustrations
of the papers which I have on the table in front of me, here are some of the things I see.
On one a cowboy is clinging by his toes to the wing of an aeroplane in mid-air and
shooting down another aeroplane with his revolver. On another a Chinese is swimming
for his life down a sewer with a swarm of ravenous-looking rats swimming after him. On
another an engineer is lighting a stick of dynamite while a steel robot feels for him with
its claws. On another a man in airman’s costume is fighting barehanded against a rat
somewhat larger than a donkey. On another a nearly naked man of terrific muscular
development has just seized a lion by the tail and flung it thirty yards over the wall of an
arena, with the words, ‘Take back your blooming lion! ’ Clearly no school story can
compete with this kind of thing. From time to time the school buildings may catch fire or
the French master may turn out to be the head of an international anarchist gang, but in a
general way the interest must centre round cricket, school rivalries, practical jokes, etc.
There is not much room for bombs, death-rays, sub-machine guns, aeroplanes, mustangs,
octopuses, grizzly bears or gangsters.
Examination of a large number of these papers shows that, putting aside school stories,
the favourite subjects are Wild West, Frozen North, Foreign Fegion, crime (always from
the detective’s angle), the Great War (Air Force or Secret Service, not the infantry), the
Tarzan motif in varying forms, professional football, tropical exploration, historical
romance (Robin Hood, Cavaliers and Round-heads, etc. ) and scientific invention. The
Wild West still leads, at any rate as a setting, though the Red Indian seems to be fading
out. The one theme that is really new is the scientific one. Death-rays, Martians, invisible
men, robots, helicopters and interplanetary rockets figure largely: here and there there are
even far-off rumours of psychotherapy and ductless glands. Whereas the GEM and
MAGNET derive from Dickens and Kipling, the WIZARD, CHAMPION, MODEM
BOY, etc. , owe a great deal to H. G. Wells, who, rather than Jules Veme, is the father of
‘Scientifiction’. Naturally it is the magical Martian aspect of science that is most
exploited, but one or two papers include serious articles on scientific subjects, besides
quantities of informative snippets. (Examples: ‘A Kauri tree in Queensland, Australia, is
over 12,000 years old’; ‘Nearly 50,000 thunderstonns occur every day’; ‘Helium gas
costs £1 per 1000 cubic feet’; ‘There are over 500 varieties of spiders in Great Britain’;
‘London firemen use 14,000,000 gallons of water annually’, etc. , etc. ) There is a marked
advance in intellectual curiosity and, on the whole, in the demand made on the reader’s
attention. In practice the GEM and MAGNET and the post-war papers are read by much
the same public, but the mental age aimed at seems to have risen by a year or two years —
an improvement probably corresponding to the improvement in elementary education
since 1909.
The other thing that has emerged in the post-war boys’ papers, though not to anything
like the extent one would expect, is bully-worship and the cult of violence.
If one compares the GEM and MAGNET with a genuinely modern paper, the thing that
immediately strikes one is the absence of the leader-principle. There is no central
dominating character; instead there are fifteen or twenty characters, all more or less on an
equality, with whom readers of different types can identify. In the more modem papers
this is not usually the case. Instead of identifying with a schoolboy of more or less his
own age, the reader of the SKIPPER, HOTSPUR, etc. , is led to identify with a G-man,
with a Foreign Legionary, with some variant of Tarzan, with an air ace, a master spy, an
explorer, a pugilist — at any rate with some single all-powerful character who dominates
everyone about him and whose usual method of solving any problem is a sock on the jaw.
This character is intended as a superman, and as physical strength is the form of power
that boys can best understand, he is usually a sort of human gorilla; in the Tarzan type of
story he is sometimes actually a giant, eight or ten feet high. At the same time the scenes
of violence in nearly all these stories are remarkably harmless and unconvincing. There is
a great difference in tone between even the most bloodthirsty English paper and the
threepenny Yank Mags, FIGHT STORIES, ACTION STORIES, etc. (not strictly boys’
papers, but largely read by boys). In the Yank Mags you get real blood-lust, really gory
descriptions of the all-in, jump-on-his-testicles style fighting, written in a jargon that has
been perfected by people who brood end-lessly on violence. A paper like FIGHT
STORIES, for instance, would have very little appeal except to sadists and masochists.
You can see the comparative gentleness of the English civilization by the amateurish way
in which prize-fighting is always described in the boys’ weeklies. There is no specialized
vocabulary. Look at these four extracts, two English, two American;
When the gong sounded, both men were breathing heavily and each had great red marks
on his chest. Bill’s chin was bleeding, and Ben had a cut over his right eye.
Into their comers they sank, but when the gong clanged again they were up swiftly, and
they went like tigers at each other. (ROVER)
H= * *
He walked in stolidly and smashed a clublike right to my face. Blood spattered and I
went back on my heels, but surged in and ripped my right under the heart. Another right
smashed full on Ben’s already battered mouth, and, spitting out the fragments of a tooth,
he crashed a flailing left to my body. (FIGHT STORIES)
* * *
It was amazing to watch the Black Panther at work. His muscles rippled and slid under
his dark skin. There was all the power and grace of a giant cat in his swift and terrible
onslaught.
He volleyed blows with a bewildering speed for so huge a fellow. In a moment Ben was
simply blocking with his gloves as well as he could. Ben was really a past-master of
defence. He had many fine victories behind him. But the Negro’s rights and lefts crashed
through openings that hardly any other fighter could have found. (WIZARD)
* * *
Haymakers which packed the bludgeoning weight of forest monarchs crashing down
under the ax hurled into the bodies of the two heavies as they swapped punches. (FIGHT
STORIES)
Notice how much more knowledgeable the American extracts sound. They are written for
devotees of the prize-ring, the others are not. Also, it ought to be emphasized that on its
level the moral code of the English boys’ papers is a decent one. Crime and dishonesty
are never held up to admiration, there is none of the cynicism and corruption of the
American gangster story. The huge sale of the Ya nk Mags in England shows that there is
a demand for that kind of thing, but very few English writers seem able to produce it.
When hatred of Hitler became a major emotion in America, it was interesting to see how
promptly ‘anti-Fascism’ was adapted to pornographic purposes by the editors of the Yank
Mags. One magazine which I have in front of me is given up to a long, complete story,
‘When Hell Game to America’, in which the agents of a ‘blood-maddened European
dictator’ are trying to conquer the U. S. A. with death-rays and invisible aeroplanes. There
is the fra nk est appeal to sadism, scenes in which the Nazis tie bombs to women’s backs
and fling them off heights to watch them blown to pieces in mid-air, others in which they
tie naked girls together by their hair and prod them with knives to make them dance, etc. ,
etc. The editor comments solemnly on all this, and uses it as a plea for tightening up
restrictions against immigrants. On another page of the same paper: ‘LIVES OF THE
HOTCHA CHORUS GIRLS. Reveals all the intimate secrets and fascinating pastimes of
the famous Broadway Hotcha girls. NOTHING IS OMITTED. Price 10c. ’ ‘HOW TO
LOVE. 10c. ’ ‘FRENCH PHOTO RING. 25c. ’ ‘NAUGHTY NUDIES TRANSFERS.
From the outside of the glass you see a beautiful girl, innocently dressed. Turn it around
and look through the glass and oh! what a difference! Set of 3 transfers 25c. ,’ etc. , etc. ,
etc. There is nothing at all like this in any English paper likely to be read by boys. But the
process of Americanization is going on all the same. The American ideal, the ‘he-man’,
the ‘tough guy’, the gorilla who puts everything right by socking everybody on the jaw,
now figures in probably a majority of boys’ papers.
In one serial now running in the
SKIPPER he is always portrayed ominously enough, swinging a rubber truncheon.
The development of the WIZARD, HOTSPUR, etc. , as against the earlier boys’ papers,
boils down to this: better technique, more scientific interest, more bloodshed, more
leader-worship. But, after all, it is the LACK of development that is the really striking
thing.
To begin with, there is no political development whatever. The world of the SKIPPER
and the CHAMPION is still the pre-1914 world of the MAGNET and the GEM. The
Wild West story, for instance, with its cattle-rustlers, lynch-law and other paraphernalia
belonging to the eighties, is a curiously archaic thing. It is worth noticing that in papers of
this type it is always taken for granted that adventures only happen at the ends of the
earth, in tropical forests, in Arctic wastes, in African deserts, on Western prairies, in
Chinese opium dens — everywhere in fact, except the places where things really DO
happen. That is a belief dating from thirty or forty years ago, when the new continents
were in process of being opened up. Nowadays, of course, if you really want adventure,
the place to look for it is in Europe. But apart from the picturesque side of the Great War,
contemporary history is carefully excluded. And except that Americans are now admired
instead of being laughed at, foreigners are exactly the same figures of fun that they
always were. If a Chinese character appears, he is still the sinister pigtailed opium-
smuggler of Sax Rohmer; no indication that things have been happening in China since
1912 — no indication that a war is going on there, for instance. If a Spaniard appears, he is
still a ‘dago’ or ‘greaser’ who rolls cigarettes and stabs people in the back; no indication
that things have been happening in Spain. Hitler and the Nazis have not yet appeared, or
are barely making their appearance. There will be plenty about them in a little while, but
it will be from a strictly patriotic angle (Britain versus Gennany), with the real meaning
of the struggle kept out of sight as much as possible. As for the Russian Revolution, it is
extremely difficult to find any reference to it in any of these papers. When Russia is
mentioned at all it is usually in an infonnation snippet (example: ‘There are 29,000
centenarians in the USSR. ’), and any reference to the Revolution is indirect and twenty
years out of date. In one story in the ROVER, for instance, somebody has a tame bear,
and as it is a Russian bear, it is nicknamed Trotsky — obviously an echo of the 1917-23
period and not of recent controversies. The clock has stopped at 1910. Britannia rules the
waves, and no one has heard of slumps, booms, unemployment, dictatorships, purges or
concentration camps.
And in social outlook there is hardly any advance. The snobbishness is somewhat less
open than in the GEM and MAGNET — that is the most one can possibly say. To begin
with, the school story, always partly dependent on snob-appeal, is by no means
eliminated. Every number of a boys’ paper includes at least one school story, these stories
slightly outnumbering the Wild Westerns. The very elaborate fantasy-life of the GEM
and MAGNET is not imitated and there is more emphasis on extraneous adventure, but
the social atmosphere (old grey stones) is much the same. When a new school is
introduced at the beginning of a story we are often told in just those words that ‘it was a
very posh school’. From time to time a story appears which is ostensibly directed
AGAINST snobbery. The scholarship-boy (cf. Tom Redwing in the MAGNET) makes
fairly frequent appearances, and what is essentially the same theme is sometimes
presented in this form: there is great rivalry between two schools, one of which considers
itself more ‘posh’ than the other, and there are fights, practical jokes, football matches,
etc. , always ending in the discomfiture of the snobs. If one glances very superficially at
some of these stories it is possible to imagine that a democratic spirit has crept into the
boys’ weeklies, but when one looks more closely one sees that they merely reflect the
bitter jealousies that exist within the white-collar class. Their real function is to allow the
boy who goes to a cheap private school (NOT a Council school) to feel that his school is
just as ‘posh’ in the sight of God as Winchester or Eton. The sentiment of school loyalty
(‘We’re better than the fellows down the road’), a thing almost unknown to the real
working class, is still kept up. As these stories are written by many different hands, they
do, of course, vary a good deal in tone. Some are reasonably free from snobbishness, in
others money and pedigree are exploited even more shamelessly than in the GEM and
MAGNET. In one that I came across an actual MAJORITY of the boys mentioned were
titled.
Where working-class characters appear, it is usually either as comics (jokes about tramps,
convicts, etc. ), or as prize-fighters, acrobats, cowboys, professional footballers and
Foreign Legionaries — in other words, as adventurers. There is no facing of the facts
about working-class life, or, indeed, about WORKING life of any description. Very
occasionally one may come across a realistic description of, say, work in a coal-mine, but
in all probability it will only be there as the background of some lurid adventure. In any
case the central character is not likely to be a coal-miner. Nearly all the time the boy who
reads these papers — in nine cases out often a boy who is going to spend his life working
in a shop, in a factory or in some subordinate job in an office — is led to identify with
people in positions of command, above all with people who are never troubled by
shortage of money. The Lord Peter Wimsey figure, the seeming idiot who drawls and
wears a monocle but is always to the fore in moments of danger, turns up over and over
again. (This character is a great favourite in Secret Service stories. ) And, as usual, the
heroic characters all have to talk B. B. C. ; they may talk Scottish or Irish or American, but
no one in a star part is ever permitted to drop an aitch. Here it is worth comparing the
social atmosphere of the boys’ weeklies with that of the women’s weeklies, the
ORACLE, the FAMILY STAR, PEG’S PAPER, etc.
The women’s papers are aimed at an older public and are read for the most part by girls
who are working for a living. Consequently they are on the surface much more realistic.
It is taken for granted, for example, that nearly everyone has to live in a big town and
work at a more or less dull job. Sex, so far from being taboo, is THE subject. The short,
complete stories, the special feature of these papers, are generally of the ‘came the dawn’
type: the heroine narrowly escapes losing her ‘boy’ to a designing rival, or the ‘boy’ loses
his job and has to postpone marriage, but presently gets a better job. The changeling-
fantasy (a girl brought up in a poor home is ‘really’ the child of rich parents) is another
favourite. Where sensationalism comes in, usually in the serials, it arises out of the more
domestic type of crime, such as bigamy, forgery or sometimes murder; no Martians,
death-rays or international anarchist gangs. These papers are at any rate aiming at
credibility, and they have a link with real life in their correspondence columns, where
genuine problems are being discussed. Ruby M. Ayres’s column of advice in the
ORACLE, for instance, is extremely sensible and well written. And yet the world of the
ORACLE and PEG’S PAPER is a pure fantasy- world. It is the same fantasy all the time;
pretending to be richer than you are. The chief impression that one carries away from
almost every story in these papers is of a frightful, overwhelming ‘refinement’.
Ostensibly the characters are working-class people, but their habits, the interiors of their
houses, their clothes, their outlook and, above all, their speech arc entirely middle class.
They are all living at several pounds a week above their income. And needless to say, that
is just the impression that is intended. The idea is to give the bored factory-girl or worn-
out mother of five a dream-life in which she pictures herself — not actually as a duchess
(that convention has gone out) but as, say, the wife of a bank-manager. Not only is a five-
to-six-pound-a-week standard of life set up as the ideal, but it is tacitly assumed that that
is how working-class people really DO live. The major facts arc simply not faced. It is
admitted, for instance, that people sometimes lose their jobs; but then the dark clouds roll
away and they get better jobs instead. No mention of un-employment as something
pennanent and inevitable, no mention of the dole, no mention of trade unionism. No
suggestion anywhere that there can be anything wrong with the system AS A SYSTEM;
there arc only individual misfortunes, which are generally due to somebody’s wickedness
and can in any case be put right in the last chapter. Always the dark clouds roll away, the
kind employer raises Alfred’s wages, and there are jobs for everybody except the drunks.
It is still the world of the WIZARD and the GEM, except that there are orange-blossoms
instead of machine-guns.
The outlook inculcated by all these papers is that of a rather exceptionally stupid member
of the Navy League in the year 1910. Yes, it may be said, but what does it matter? And in
any case, what else do you expect?
Of course no one in his senses would want to turn the so-called penny dreadful into a
realistic novel or a Socialist tract. An adventure story must of its nature be more or less
remote from real life. But, as I have tried to make clear, the unreality of the WIZARD
and the GEM is not so artless as it looks. These papers exist because of a specialized
demand, because boys at certain ages find it necessary to read about Martians, death-rays,
grizzly bears and gangsters. They get what they are looking for, but they get it wrapped
up in the illusions which their future employers think suitable for them. To what extent
people draw their ideas from fiction is disputable. Personally I believe that most people
are influenced far more than they would care to admit by novels, serial stories, films and
so forth, and that from this point of view the worst books are often the most important,
because they are usually the ones that are read earliest in life. It is probable that many
people who would consider themselves extremely sophisticated and ‘advanced’ are
actually carrying through life an imaginative background which they acquired in
childhood from (for instance) Sapper and lan Hay. If that is so, the boys’ twopenny
weeklies are of the deepest importance. Here is the stuff that is read somewhere between
the ages of twelve and eighteen by a very large proportion, perhaps an actual majority, of
English boys, including many who will never read anything else except newspapers; and
along with it they are absorbing a set of beliefs which would be regarded as hopelessly
out of date in the Central Office of the Conservative Party. All the better because it is
done indirectly, there is being pumped into them the conviction that the major problems
of our time do not exist, that there is nothing wrong with LAISSEZ-FAIRE capitalism,
that foreigners are un-important comics and that the British Empire is a sort of charity-
concern which will last for ever. Considering who owns these papers, it is difficult to
believe that this is un-intentional. Of the twelve papers I have been discussing (i. e. twelve
including the THRILLER and DETECTIVE WEEKLY) seven are the property of the
Amalgamated Press, which is one of the biggest press-combines in the world and controls
more than a hundred different papers. The GEM and MAGNET, therefore, are closely
linked up with the DAILY TELEGRAPH and the FINANCIAL TIMES. This in itself
would be enough to rouse certain suspicions, even if it were not obvious that the stories
in the boys’ weeklies are politically vetted. So it appears that if you feel the need of a
fantasy-life in which you travel to Mars and fight lions bare -handed (and what boy
doesn’t? ), you can only have it by delivering yourself over, mentally, to people like Lord
Camrose. For there is no competition. Throughout the whole of this run of papers the
differences are negligible, and on this level no others exist. This raises the question, why
is there no such thing as a left-wing boys’ paper?
At first glance such an idea merely makes one slightly sick. It is so horribly easy to
imagine what a left-wing boys’ paper would be like, if it existed. I remember in 1920 or
1921 some optimistic person handing round Communist tracts among a crowd of public-
school boys. The tract I received was of the question-and-answer kind:
Q,. ‘Can a Boy Communist be a Boy Scout, Comrade? ’ A. ‘No, Comrade. ’ Q,. ‘Why,
Comrade? ’ A. ‘Because, Comrade, a Boy Scout must salute the Union Jack, which is the
symbol of tyranny and oppression,’ etc. , etc.
Now suppose that at this moment somebody started a left-wing paper deliberately aimed
at boys of twelve or fourteen. I do not suggest that the whole of its contents would be
exactly like the tract I have quoted above, but does anyone doubt that they would be
SOMETHING like it? Inevitably such a paper would either consist of dreary up-lift or it
would be under Communist influence and given over to adulation of Soviet Russia; in
either case no normal boy would ever look at it. Highbrow literature apart, the whole of
the existing left-wing Press, in so far as it is at all vigorously ‘left’, is one long tract. The
one Socialist paper in England which could live a week on its merits AS A PAPER is the
DAILY HERALD: and how much Socialism is there in the DAILY HERALD? At this
moment, therefore, a paper with a ‘left’ slant and at the same time likely to have an
appeal to ordinary boys in their teens is something almost beyond hoping for.
But it does not follow that it is impossible. There is no clear reason why every adventure
story should necessarily be mixed up with snobbishness and gutter patriotism. For, after
all, the stories in the HOTSPUR and the MODERN BOY are not Conservative tracts;
they are merely adventure stories with a Conservative bias. It is fairly easy to imagine the
process being reversed. It is possible, for instance, to imagine a paper as thrilling and
lively as the HOTSPUR, but with subject-matter and ‘ideology’ a little more up to date. It
is even possible (though this raises other difficulties) to imagine a women’s paper at the
same literary level as the ORACLE, dealing in approximately the same kind of story, but
taking rather more account of the realities of working-class life. Such things have been
done before, though not in England. In the last years of the Spanish monarchy there was a
large output in Spain of left-wing novelettes, some of them evidently of anarchist origin.
Unfortunately at the time when they were appearing I did not see their social
significance, and I lost the collection of them that I had, but no doubt copies would still
be procurable. In get-up and style of story they were very similar to the English
fourpcnny novelette, except that their inspiration was ‘left’. If, for instance, a story
described police pursuing anarchists through the mountains, it would be from the point of
view of the anarchist and not of the police. An example nearer to hand is the Soviet film
CHAPAIEV, which has been shown a number of times in London. Technically, by the
standards of the time when it was made, CHAPAIEV is a first-rate film, but mentally, in
spite of the unfamiliar Russian background, it is not so very remote from Hollywood. The
one thing that lifts it out of the ordinary is the remarkable perfonnance by the actor who
takes the part of the White officer (the fat one) — a performance which looks very like an
inspired piece of gagging. Otherwise the atmosphere is familiar. All the usual
paraphernalia is there — heroic fight against odds, escape at the last moment, shots of
galloping horses, love interest, comic relief. The film is in fact a fairly ordinary one,
except that its tendency is ‘left’. In a Hollywood film of the Russian Civil War the
Whites would probably be angels and the Reds demons. In the Russian version the Reds
are angels and the Whites demons. That is also a lie, but, taking the long view, it is a less
pernicious lie than the other.
Here several difficult problems present themselves. Their general nature is obvious
enough, and I do not want to discuss them. I am merely pointing to the fact that, in
England, popular imaginative literature is a field that left-wing thought has never begun
to enter. ALL fiction from the novels in the mushroom libraries downwards is censored
in the interests of the ruling class. And boys’ fiction above all, the blood-and-thunder
stuff which nearly every boy devours at some time or other, is sodden in the worst
illusions of 1910. The fact is only unimportant if one believes that what is read in
childhood leaves no impression behind. Lord Camrose and his colleagues evidently
believe nothing of the kind, and, after all, Lord Camrose ought to know.
CHARLES DICKENS (1940)
I
Dickens is one of those writers who are well worth stealing. Even the burial of his body
in Westminster Abbey was a species of theft, if you come to think of it.
When Chesterton wrote his introductions to the Everyman Edition of Dickens’s works, it
seemed quite natural to him to credit Dickens with his own highly individual brand of
medievalism, and more recently a Marxist writer, Mr. T. A. Jackson, has made spirited
efforts to turn Dickens into a blood-thirsty revolutionary. The Marxist claims him as
‘almost’ a Marxist, the Catholic claims him as ‘almost’ a Catholic, and both claim him as
a champion of the proletariat (or ‘the poor’, as Chesterton would have put it). On the
other hand, Nadezhda Krupskaya, in her little book on Lenin, relates that towards the end
of his life Lenin went to see a dramatized version of THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH,
and found Dickens’s ‘middle-class sentimentality’ so intolerable that he walked out in the
middle of a scene.
Taking ‘middle-class’ to mean what Krupskaya might be expected to mean by it, this was
probably a truer judgement than those of Chesterton and Jackson. But it is worth noticing
that the dislike of Dickens implied in this remark is something unusual. Plenty of people
have found him unreadable, but very few seem to have felt any hostility towards the
general spirit of his work. Some years later Mr. Bechhofer Roberts published a full-
length attack on Dickens in the form of a novel (THIS SIDE IDOLATRY), but it was a
merely personal attack, concerned for the most part with Dickens’s treatment of his wife.
It dealt with incidents which not one in a thousand of Dickens’s readers would ever hear
about, and which no more invalidates his work than the second-best bed invalidates
HAMLET. All that the book really demonstrated was that a writer’s literary personality
has little or nothing to do with his private character. It is quite possible that in private life
Dickens was just the kind of insensitive egoist that Mr. Bechhofer Roberts makes him
appear. But in his published work there is implied a personality quite different from this,
a personality which has won him far more friends than enemies. It might well have been
otherwise, for even if Dickens was a bourgeois, he was certainly a subversive writer, a
radical, one might truthfully say a rebel. Everyone who has read widely in his work has
felt this. Gissing, for instance, the best of the writers on Dickens, was anything but a
radical himself, and he disapproved of this strain in Dickens and wished it were not there,
but it never occurred to him to deny it. In OLIVER TWIST, HARD TIMES, BLEAK
HOUSE, LITTLE DORRIT, Dickens attacked English institutions with a ferocity that has
never since been approached. Yet he managed to do it without making himself hated,
and, more than this, the very people he attacked have swallowed him so completely that
he has become a national institution himself. In its attitude towards Dickens the English
public has always been a little like the elephant which feels a blow with a walking-stick
as a delightful tickling. Before I was ten years old I was having Dickens ladled down my
throat by schoolmasters in whom even at that age I could see a strong resemblance to Mr.
Creakle, and one knows without needing to be told that lawyers delight in Sergeant
Buzfuz and that LITTLE DORRIT is a favourite in the Home Office. Dickens seems to
have succeeded in attacking everybody and antagonizing nobody. Naturally this makes
one wonder whether after all there was something unreal in his attack upon society.
Where exactly does he stand, socially, morally, and politically? As usual, one can define
his position more easily if one starts by deciding what he was NOT.
In the first place he was NOT, as Messrs. Chesterton and Jackson seem to imply, a
‘proletarian’ writer. To begin with, he does not write about the proletariat, in which he
merely resembles the overwhelming majority of novelists, past and present. If you look
for the working classes in fiction, and especially English fiction, all you find is a hole.
This statement needs qualifying, perhaps. For reasons that are easy enough to see, the
agricultural labourer (in England a proletarian) gets a fairly good showing in fiction, and
a great deal has been written about criminals, derelicts and, more recently, the working-
class intelligentsia. But the ordinary town proletariat, the people who make the wheels go
round, have always been ignored by novelists. When they do find their way between the
covers of a book, it is nearly always as objects of pity or as comic relief. The central
action of Dickens’s stories almost invariably takes place in middle-class surroundings. If
one examines his novels in detail one finds that his real subject-matter is the London
commercial bourgeoisie and their hangers-on — lawyers, clerks, tradesmen, innkeepers,
small craftsmen, and servants. He has no portrait of an agricultural worker, and only one
(Stephen Blackpool in HARD TIMES) of an industrial worker. The Plomishes in
LITTLE DORRIT are probably his best picture of a working-class family — the
Peggottys, for instance, hardly belong to the working class — but on the whole he is not
successful with this type of character. If you ask any ordinary reader which of Dickens’s
proletarian characters he can remember, the three he is almost certain to mention are Bill
Sykes, Sam Weller, and Mrs. Gamp. A burglar, a valet, and a drunken midwife — not
exactly a representative cross-section of the English working class.
Secondly, in the ordinarily accepted sense of the word, Dickens is not a ‘revolutionary’
writer. But his position here needs some defining.
Whatever else Dickens may have been, he was not a hole-and-comer soul-saver, the kind
of well-meaning idiot who thinks that the world will be perfect if you amend a few
bylaws and abolish a few anomalies. It is worth comparing him with Charles Reade, for
instance. Reade was a much better-informed man than Dickens, and in some ways more
public-spirited. He really hated the abuses he could understand, he showed them up in a
series of novels which for all their absurdity are extremely readable, and he probably
helped to alter public opinion on a few minor but important points. But it was quite
beyond him to grasp that, given the existing form of society, certain evils CANNOT be
remedied. Fasten upon this or that minor abuse, expose it, drag it into the open, bring it
before a British jury, and all will be well that is how he sees it. Dickens at any rate never
imagined that you can cure pimples by cutting them off. In every page of his work one
can see a consciousness that society is wrong somewhere at the root. It is when one asks
‘Which root?
