Excruciatingly beautiful and sad book: on a situation that nowadays no longer exists – the mining field in England or Europe in general (but it has to be remembered that the Marcinelle disaster, sadly known (?) to Italian memory was in 1956, almost 30 years after the one here described). But the life of workers all over the world – but in Europe as well, not only India or China, mind you – is not so better as they want us to believe.
Excruciatingly sad because it looks as all that’s good is doomed to fail, and only the worst characters succeed and prosper. Still, going down in the pit, after having been in Parliament, David still hope to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I only hoped I could see it as well, from my “privileged” position…
P.S Great character Hilda, a female doctor…
I want you to let me go away and do something.”
He uncovered his eyes and measured her curiously. He repeated:
“Do something?”
“Yes, do something,” she said violently. “ Let me train for something. Get some position.”
“Some position?” The same remote tone of wonder. “ What position?”
“Any position. To be your secretary. To be a nurse. Or let me go in for medicine. I’d like that best of all.”
He studied her again, still pleasantly ironic.
“And what,” he said, “ is to happen when you marry?” - My grandfather, in 1957, when my mom wanted to study medicine, answer the same way. She persisted, and finally became a great doctor... but it has been hard, even after almost 50 years from Cronin's times
I’m not educating myself to teach. I’m not cut out for teaching—too impatient, I suppose. I’m educating myself to fight. What I honestly want to do is different, and it’s hard, terribly hard to explain. But it just amounts to this. I want to do something for my own kind, for the men who work in the pits.
Grace and Dan began to go out regularly. They went to the oddest places and they enjoyed themselves—oh, how they enjoyed themselves! They walked on the Chelsea Embankment, took the steamboat to Putney and the bus to Richmond, they found out queer little tea shops, they had macaroni and minestrone in Soho—it was all banal and beautiful, it had happened a million times before and yet it had never happened to Grace and Dan.
To begin with, Hetty was, in her own phrase, a good girl. Actually she had no morality; she was pure by design, saved from sin by the marketable value of her virginity.
Two hundred thousand pounds: the magnitude of the total, the loving neatness, the smug complacency that ran through the rows and rows of figures, maddened him. Money, money, money; money sweated and bled from the bodies of men. Men didn’t matter; it was money that mattered, money, money, money. Death, destruction, famine, war—all were as nothing so long as these sleek money bags were safe.
They had accused him of preaching Revolution. But the only Revolution he demanded was in the heart of man, an escape from meanness, cruelty and self-interest towards that devotion and nobility of which the human heart was capable. Without that, all other change was futile [...] Ever since his return to the Neptune, David felt this moment deeply. He had failed, perhaps, to lead the van in battle, but at least he was marching with the men. He had not betrayed himself or them. Their lot remained bound to his lot, their future to his future. Courage came to him from the thought. Perhaps one day he would rise again from the pit, one day, perhaps, help this plodding army towards a new freedom. Instinctively he lifted his head.
“What I want is to see this Bill amended to the form when it implements our pledge and satisfies the conscience of every man inside the party. Then take it to the House. If we’re defeated we go to the country on our Bill. Then the men know than we fought for them. We could not have a better case.”
Another cry of” Hear, hear,” from the far end of the room; but in the main a murmur of disapproval went up from around the table. Chalmers bent slowly forward.
“I’ve been put here,” he said, prodding the table with one forefinger to emphasise his words, “ and I’m going to stay put.”
“Don’t you realise,” Dudgeon resumed affably, “we’ve got to show the country our ability to govern. We’re winnin’ golden opinions for the way we’re handlin’ affairs.”
“Don’t delude yourself,” David retumed bitterly. “They’re laughing at us. Read the Tory papers! The lower class aping their betters. The tame menagerie. According to them we’re not governing, we’re performing. And if we run away from them over this Bill they’ll have nothing but contempt for us! ”