Instalment Twenty Nine

“The Ranks of the Unemployed are swelling sir,” he was told.
“It is as I feared,” replied the Prime Minister, “This could well spell the end of our Government.”

The unemployed numbered more everyday. Factories closing, spewing forth overalled workers rather than goods. Banks were bankrupt, their broke brokers recommending floor staff face the axe. Cleaners, sweepers and sandwich hands. More and more they came from all across the country and they flooded into London. They weren’t just looking for answers, they were looking for a leader. They found one. Underground.

“Did I not tell you,” Pauper boomed, “Did I not tell them all? The End is Nigh.”
“You did Sir.”
“We must gather our forces, our numbers have never been stronger. Now is our time. Bludger, Beggar, Street Arab take young Vagabond and Guttersnipe to count or numbers in the Almshouse and Shantytown. Raise the Ranks – Tonight we march!”

Assembled The Ranks of the Unemployed were a formidible if shabby sight.

“Recite Pauper’s Oath,” someone yelled. “I do solemnly swear that I have not any property, real or personal,” they all intoned. “I will fight. So help me God.”

“Onward to Whitehall,” Pauper comanded, “We fight The Class War.”