television set?), and you would not dream
of giving up your £7.10.0 a week job.
5. Finally, in this Age of
Prosperity you simply must play the Stock Exchange. You have to learn a few new
expressions for the occasion, such as ‘stock’, and ‘day of settlement’, and
‘consideration’ and ‘unit trust’. You must remember that your stockbroker will
call the market ‘easy’ when it is very difficult. When reading the financial
columns you must bear in mind that when the journalist says that ‘steels shine
today’ he is using the one and only joke permitted to a poor City Editor and
you’d better smile. Otherwise the very simple basic idea is that you buy shares
rather cheaply, wait until they go up and up and up then sell them. It is no
good to buy shares (I beg your pardon, I mean stock) at a high price and wait
until they go down and down and down.
I personally do not play
the Stock Exchange, because it is immoral. I lend my money, most morally, to my
bank, let them play with it and make 120 per cent profit for themselves
and pay me 2% fixed interest out of which I can pay income tax and feel a
virtuous and useful member of the community.
ON TRYING TO REMAIN POOR
It is much more
difficult to try and remain poor. Indeed, one has to ask oneself: is it worth
while? Let’s face it: the joy has gone out of poverty.
It was soon after the war
that the suddenly impoverished classes gained much in prestige. These New Poor
were loud and boastful — real nouveaux pauvres. There was no end to
their swaggering about, claiming how poor they were. As soon as you suggested a
coach-trip to Hitchin or just the idea of buying a chocolate ice-cream, their
eyes gleamed with pleasure and they told you with glittering pride: ‘We can’t
afford it.’ Their poverty was as ostentatious and vulgar as a gold-plated
Daimler with leopard skin upholstery would be at the other pole of the
financial globe, but while the display of commercial riches was vieu jeu, the New Poor were, at least, a new social phenomenon. Not being able to afford
anything made them happy; jeering at other people’s pleasures cheered them up
no end. Their eyes and their trousers shone with pride.
Then the Prosperity of the
early fifties descended on us and ruined it all. It took the Poor unawares and
disorganized their legions. For a year or two they accepted Prosperity with a
sigh. Gone were the book-keepers who dressed like bohemians; every bohemian now
dressed like a book-keeper. Then, a few years after the initial blow, the
revolt against respectability broke out.
The flag-bearers, the most
conspicuous an ociferous avant-garde, were the Teddy Boys but they were
not alone. Everybody who mattered protested in his own way. Filth, dirty
pullovers and unshaven faces became the fashion once again; others greeted the
convulsions and hoarse groans of graceless teenagers as a new art; angry young
men spat at the middle classes; others, again, hurriedly exchanged their
antique furniture for new and uncomfortable chairs and sofas. And a few people
gave two months’ holiday to their uniformed chauffeurs and went on a
hitch-hiking tour in France and lived in tents.
But there was no getting
away from it. That damned Prosperity had caught up with all of us. The angry young
men went on spitting at the middle classes and made a tidy little fortune on
the proceeds; the convulsive young singers began to shake their manes while
they groaned, and that made them even richer than the angry young men; the
hitch-hikers and tent-dwellers returned and money kept pouring in to all and
sundry.
How to remain poor? — the
worried practitioner asks himself. It is not easy. The New Poor of yesteryear
are fighting a losing battle. To remain poor needs the utmost skill and
ingenuity. (And only old-age pensioners and a few other unwilling people manage
to achieve it — to our shame). Everything, really, is conspiring against the
poor and trying to deprive them of their
of giving up your £7.10.0 a week job.
5. Finally, in this Age of
Prosperity you simply must play the Stock Exchange. You have to learn a few new
expressions for the occasion, such as ‘stock’, and ‘day of settlement’, and
‘consideration’ and ‘unit trust’. You must remember that your stockbroker will
call the market ‘easy’ when it is very difficult. When reading the financial
columns you must bear in mind that when the journalist says that ‘steels shine
today’ he is using the one and only joke permitted to a poor City Editor and
you’d better smile. Otherwise the very simple basic idea is that you buy shares
rather cheaply, wait until they go up and up and up then sell them. It is no
good to buy shares (I beg your pardon, I mean stock) at a high price and wait
until they go down and down and down.
I personally do not play
the Stock Exchange, because it is immoral. I lend my money, most morally, to my
bank, let them play with it and make 120 per cent profit for themselves
and pay me 2% fixed interest out of which I can pay income tax and feel a
virtuous and useful member of the community.
ON TRYING TO REMAIN POOR
It is much more
difficult to try and remain poor. Indeed, one has to ask oneself: is it worth
while? Let’s face it: the joy has gone out of poverty.
It was soon after the war
that the suddenly impoverished classes gained much in prestige. These New Poor
were loud and boastful — real nouveaux pauvres. There was no end to
their swaggering about, claiming how poor they were. As soon as you suggested a
coach-trip to Hitchin or just the idea of buying a chocolate ice-cream, their
eyes gleamed with pleasure and they told you with glittering pride: ‘We can’t
afford it.’ Their poverty was as ostentatious and vulgar as a gold-plated
Daimler with leopard skin upholstery would be at the other pole of the
financial globe, but while the display of commercial riches was vieu jeu, the New Poor were, at least, a new social phenomenon. Not being able to afford
anything made them happy; jeering at other people’s pleasures cheered them up
no end. Their eyes and their trousers shone with pride.
Then the Prosperity of the
early fifties descended on us and ruined it all. It took the Poor unawares and
disorganized their legions. For a year or two they accepted Prosperity with a
sigh. Gone were the book-keepers who dressed like bohemians; every bohemian now
dressed like a book-keeper. Then, a few years after the initial blow, the
revolt against respectability broke out.
The flag-bearers, the most
conspicuous an ociferous avant-garde, were the Teddy Boys but they were
not alone. Everybody who mattered protested in his own way. Filth, dirty
pullovers and unshaven faces became the fashion once again; others greeted the
convulsions and hoarse groans of graceless teenagers as a new art; angry young
men spat at the middle classes; others, again, hurriedly exchanged their
antique furniture for new and uncomfortable chairs and sofas. And a few people
gave two months’ holiday to their uniformed chauffeurs and went on a
hitch-hiking tour in France and lived in tents.
But there was no getting
away from it. That damned Prosperity had caught up with all of us. The angry young
men went on spitting at the middle classes and made a tidy little fortune on
the proceeds; the convulsive young singers began to shake their manes while
they groaned, and that made them even richer than the angry young men; the
hitch-hikers and tent-dwellers returned and money kept pouring in to all and
sundry.
How to remain poor? — the
worried practitioner asks himself. It is not easy. The New Poor of yesteryear
are fighting a losing battle. To remain poor needs the utmost skill and
ingenuity. (And only old-age pensioners and a few other unwilling people manage
to achieve it — to our shame). Everything, really, is conspiring against the
poor and trying to deprive them of their
Similar Books
