At such times these people forgot all about unemployment and starvation, and became enthusiastic about “Grand old Flags”. Their devotion to this flag was so great that so long as they were able to carry it to victory, they did not mind being poverty stricken and hungry and ragged; all that mattered was to score off their hated “enemies” their fellow countrymen the Tories, and carry the grand old flag to victory. The fact that they had carried the flag to victory so often in the past without obtaining any of the spoils, did not seem to damp their ardour in the least. Being philanthropists, they were content—after winning the victory—that their masters should always do the looting.
At the conclusion of Sweater’s remarks the philanthropists gave three frantic cheers and then someone in the crowd shouted “What’s the colour?” After a hasty consultation with Rushton, who being a “master” decorator, was thought to be an authority on colours—green—grass green—was decided upon, and the information was shouted down to the crowd, who cheered again. Then a rush was made to Sweater’s Emporium and several yards of cheap green ribbon were bought, and divided up into little pieces, which they tied into their buttonholes, and thus appropriately decorated, formed themselves into military order, four deep, and marched through all the principal streets, up and down the Grand Parade, round and round the Fountain, and finally over the hill to Windley, singing to the tune of “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the Boys are marching”:
“Vote, Vote, Vote for Adam Sweater!
Hang old Closeland on a tree!
Adam Sweater is our man,
And we’ll have him if we can,
Then we’ll always have the biggest loaf for tea.”
The spectacle presented by these men—some of them with grey heads and beards—as they marked time or tramped along singing this childish twaddle, would have been amusing if it had not been disgusting.
By way of variety they sang several other things, including:
“We’ll hang ole Closeland
On a sour apple tree,”
and
“Rally, Rally, men of Windley
For Sweater’s sure to win.”
As they passed the big church in Quality Street, the clock began to strike. It was one of those that strike four chimes at each quarter of the hour. It was now ten o’clock so there were sixteen musical chimes:
Ding, dong! Ding Dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!