Animal Farm Part 2

An attempt to retake the farm fails. 

Included in this episode:
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Author: George Orwell

The Great Emu War
- Article: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-12-10/great-emu-war-90-years-on-army-wheatbelt-battle-history/101752238
- Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejiYxSWrkdY

Contact the pod on: thesolobc@gmail.com 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

Welcome back to Solo Book Club. This is part two of Animal Farm by George Orwell. If you're just joining us, I highly recommend popping back one episode to catch up on part one, the first two chapters of the book. So, quick recap: what happened last time? I mean, we really got into it quite quickly, didn't we? First chapter, we've got old major, the old boar. Basically inciting rebellion. I mean, not really inciting rebellion, but planting the idea of rebellion. There's like this song that everyone sings that's about you know not being oppressed, um, as these farm animals believe they are, they've been maltreated, and they want a better life. Then we come to, I mean, the farmer, he's you know, drunk, doesn't feed the animals, obviously they're not happy about that. That nothing was really planned to a certain extent, but the uprising happens, the rebellion begins, and um the farmers are driven off the farm. The farm is renamed to Animal Farm, and um animalism is in full swing. The pigs are controlling everything, so it seems. Let's get stuck into chapter three to find out what happens next. How they toiled and sweated to get the hay in, but their efforts were rewarded for the harvest was an even bigger success than they had hoped. Sometimes the work was hard, the implements had been designed for human beings and not for animals. Understandable. And it was a great drawback that no animal was able to use any tool that involved standing on his hind legs. But the pigs were so clever that they could think of a way round every difficulty. As for the horses, they knew every inch of the field and in fact understood the business of mowing and raking far better than Jones and his men had ever done. The pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervised the others. We've all known that supervisor, haven't we? With their superior knowledge, it was natural that they should assume the leadership. Boxer and Clover would harness themselves to the cutter or the horse rake, no bits or reins were needed in these days, of course, and tramped steadily round and round the field with a pig walking behind and calling out, Gee up, Conrad, or whirl back, comrade, as the case might be. And every animal down to the humblest worked at turning the hay and gathering it. Even the ducks and hens toiled to and fro all day in the sun, carrying tiny wisps of hay in their beaks. In the end, they finished the harvest in two days less time than it had usually taken Jones and his men. Moreover, it was the biggest harvest that the farm had ever seen. There was no wastage whatever. The hens and ducks with their sharp eyes had gathered up the very last stalk. And not an animal on the farm had stolen so much as a mouthful. All through that summer the work of the farm went like clockwork. The animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be. Every mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them by a grudging master. With the worthless parasitical human beings gone, there was more for everyone to eat. There was more leisure too, inexperienced though the animals were. They met with many difficulties, for instance. Later in the year, when they harvest the corn, they had to tread it out in the ancient style and blow away the chaff with their breath, since the farm possessed no threshing machine. But the pigs with their cleverness and Boxer with his tremendous muscles always pulled them through. Boxer was the admiration of everybody. He had been a hard worker even in Jones' time, but now he seemed more like three horses than one. There were days when the entire work of the farm seemed to rest upon his mighty shoulders. From morning to night he was pushing and pulling, always at the spot where the work was hardest. He had made an arrangement with one of the cockerels to call him in the morning half an hour earlier than anyone else, and would put in some volunteer labour wherever seemed to be most needed before the regular day's work began. His answer to every problem, every setback was I will work harder, which he adopted as his personal motto. Oh Boxer, look at him. He is trying his bloody hardest to make this thing work, and he's loving his life, even though he's doing more of what he was doing with the farmer, so I mean Boxer's life hasn't improved, it's gotten harder. We read on. But everyone worked according to his capacity. The hens and ducks, for instance, saved five bushes of corn at the harvest by gathering up the stray grains. Nobody stole, nobody grumbled over his rations, the quarrelling and biting and jealousy, which had been normal features of life in the old days, had almost disappeared. Nobody shirked, or almost nobody. Molly, it was true, was not good at getting up in the mornings and had a way of leaving work early on the ground that there was a stone in her hoof. And the behaviour of the cat was somewhat peculiar. It was soon noticed that when there was work to be done, the cat could never be found. She would vanish for hours on end and then reappear at mealtimes or in the evening after work was over, as though nothing had happened. But she always made such excellent excuses and purred so affectionately that it was impossible not to believe in her good intentions. Old Benjamin the Donkey seemed quite unchanged since the rebellion. He did his work in the same slow, obstinate way as he had done it in Jones' time, never shirking and never volunteering for extra work either. About the rebellion and its results, he would express no opinion. When asked whether he was happier now that Jones was gone, he would say only, donkeys live a long time. None of you has ever seen a dead donkey. And the others had to be content with this cryptic answer. You know, I feel like old Benjamin is going about it the right way. He's doing his work, but he's not offering anything extra. Right? He's doing the bare minimum, Benjamin. And I think, you know, that works for him. On Sundays there was no work. Breakfast was an hour later than usual, and after breakfast there was a ceremony which was observed every week without fail. First came the hoisting of the flag. Snowball had found in the harness room an old green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones's, and had painted on it a hoof and a horn in white. This was run up the flag stuff in the farmhouse garden every Sunday morning. The flag was green, Snowball explained, to represent the green fields of England, while the hoof and the horn signified the future Republic of the Animals which would arise when the human race had been finally overthrown. You know, I'm just gonna put it out there. Um I'm getting communism vibes. I mean I kinda got it when we first heard comrade, but um yeah. I imagine this is I mean I'm sure we'll get to this when we do our discussion episode, but this really seems to be a comment on communism and how it starts and why it starts, and I'm assuming why it fails. You know, I mean there's no true communist society, or so they say. Anyway, enough digression. Back to the story. After the hoisting of the flag, all the animals trooped into the big barn for a general assembly which was known as the meeting. Here the work of the coming week was planned out and resolutions were put forward and debated. It was always the pigs who put forward the resolutions. The other animals understood how to vote but could never think of any resolutions of their own. Snowball and Napoleon were by far the most active in the debates, but it was noticed that these two were never in agreement. Whatever suggestion either of them made, the other could be counted on to oppose it. Even when it was resolved, a thing no one could object to in itself, to set aside the small paddock behind the orchard as a home of rest for animals who were past work, there was a stormy debate over the correct retiring age for each class of animal. The meeting always ended with the seeing of Beasts of England, and the afternoon was given up to recreation. The pigs had set aside the harness room as a headquarters for themselves. Here in the evenings they studied blacksmithing, carpentering and other necessary arts from books which they had brought out of the farmhouse. Snowball also busied himself with organising the other animals into what he called animal committees. He was indefatigable at this. He formed the Egg Production Committee for the Hens, the Clean Tails League for the cows, the Wild Comrades Re-education Committee, the object of this was to tame the rats and rabbits, the White Wool Movement for the Sheep and various others, besides instituting classes in reading and writing. On the whole, these projects were a failure. The attempt to tame the wild creatures, for instance, broke down almost immediately. They continued to behave very much as before, and when treated with generosity, simply took advantage of it. The cat joined the re-education committee and was very active in it for some days. She was seen one day sitting on a roof and talking to some sparrows who were just out of her reach. She was telling them that all animals were now comrades, that any sparrow who chose could come and perch on her paw, but the sparrows kept their distance. The reading and writing classes, however, were a great success. By the autumn, almost every animal on the farm were literate in some degree. As for the pigs, they could already read and write perfectly. The dogs learned to read fairly well but were not interested in reading anything except the seven commandments. Muriel, the goat, could read somewhat better than the dogs, and sometimes used to read to the others in the evenings from scraps of newspaper which she found on the rubbish heap. Benjamin could read as well as any pig but never exercised his faculty. So far as he knew, he said there was nothing worth reading. Clover learnt the whole alphabet but could not put words together. Boxer could not get beyond the letter D. He would trace out A, B, C, D in the dust with his great hoof, and then would stand staring at the letters with his ears back, sometimes shaking his forelock, trying with all his might to remember what came next and never succeeding. On several occasions indeed he did learn E F G H, but by the time he knew them it was always discovered that he had forgotten A, B, C, and D. Finally, he decided to be content with the first four letters and used to write them out once or twice every day to refresh his memory. Molly refused to learn any but the five letters which spelt her own name. She would form these very neatly out of pieces of twig and would then decorate them with a flower or two and walk round them, admiring them. None of the other animals on the farm could get further than the letter A. It was also found that the stupider animals, such as the sheep, hens, and ducks, were unable to learn the seven commandments by heart. After much thought, Snowball declared that the seven commandments should in effect be reduced to a single maxim: namely, four legs good, two legs bad. This, he said, contained the essential principle of animalism. Whoever had thoroughly grasped it would be safe from human influences. The birds at first objected, since it seemed to them that they also had two legs, but Snowball proved to them that this was not so. A bird's wing, comrades, he said, is an organ of propulsion and not of manipulation. It should therefore be regarded as a lake. The distinguishing mark of man is the hand, the instrument with which he does all his mischief. The birds did not understand Snowball's long words, but they accepted his explanation, and all the humbler animals set to work to learn the new maxim by heart. Four legs good, two legs bad, was inscribed on the end wall of the barn, above the seven commandments and in bigger letters. When they had once got it by heart, the sheet developed a great liking for this maxim, and often as they lay in the field they would all start bleating, four legs good, two legs bad, four legs good, two legs bad, and keep it up for hours on end, never growing tired of it. Napoleon took no interest in Snowball's committees. He said that the education of the young was more important than anything that could be done for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jesse and Bluebell had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder from the harness room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of the farm soon forgot their existence. Okay. This is not. I mean really Oh god. It's just it's not good. This isn't good. The mystery of where the milk went to was soon cleared up. It was mixed every day into the pig's mash. The early apples were now ripening and the grass of the orchard was littered with windfalls. The animals had assumed as a matter of course that these would be shared out equally. One day, however, the order went forth that all the windfalls were to be collected and brought to the harness room for the use of the pigs. At this, some of the other animals murmured, but it was no use. All the pigs were in full agreement on this point, even Snowball and Napoleon. Squealer was sent to make the necessary explanations to the others. Comrades, he cried, you do not imagine, I hope, that we pigs are doing this in a spirit of selfishness and privilege. Many of us actually dislike milk and apples. I dislike them myself. Our sole object in taking these things is to preserve our health. Likely story. Milk and apples, this has been proved by science, comrades, contain substances absolutely necessary to the well-being of a pig. We pigs are brain workers. The whole management and organisation of this farm depend on us. Day and night we are watching over your welfare. It is for your sake that we drink that milk and eat those apples. Do you know what would happen if we pigs failed in our duty? Jones would come back. Yes, Jones would come back. Surely, comrades, cried Squealer almost pleadingly, skipping from side to side and whisking his tail, surely there is no one among you who wants to see Jones come back. Now, if there was one thing that the animals were completely certain of, it was that they did not want Jones back. When it was put to them in this light, they had no more to say. The importance of keeping the pigs in good health was all too obvious, so it was agreed without further argument that the milk and the windfall apples, and also the main crop of apples when they ripened should be preserved for the pigs alone. I think we can all see where this is going. I think we all understand the game the pigs are playing. Crafty little things. I mean things are developing. They're developing quite quickly under like the red flags are up and waving quite aggressively. Alright. On to chapter four. By the late summer, the news of what had happened on Animal Farm had spread across half the country. Every day, Snowball and Napoleon sent out flights of pigeons whose instructions were to mingle with the animals on neighbouring farms, tell them the story of the rebellion, and teach them the tune of Beasts of England. Most of this time Mr. Jones had spent sitting in the taproon of the Red Lion at Willingdon, complaining to anyone who would listen of the monstrous injustice he had suffered in being turned out of his property by a pack of good for nothing animals. The other farmers sympathized in principle, but they did not at first give him much help. At heart, each of them was secretly wondering whether he could not somehow turn Jones' misfortune to his own advantage. It was lucky that the owner of the two farms which adjoined Animal Farm were on permanently bad terms. One of them, which was named Foxwood, was a large, neglected, old-fashioned farm, much overgrown by woodland, with all its pastures worn out and its hedges in a disgraceful condition. Its owner, Mr. Pilkington, was an easy-going gentleman farmer who spent most of his time in fishing or hunting according to the season. The other farm, which was called Pinchfield, was smaller and better kept. Its owner was a Mr. Frederick, a tough, shrewd man perpetually involved in lawsuits and with a name for driving hard bargains. These two disliked each other so much that it was difficult for them to come to any agreement, even in defence of their own interests. These lawsuits that Mr. Frederick is constantly caught up with, I wonder if that is in relation to the lawsuit that Mr. Jones lost, which led to his drinking decline, possibly. Nevertheless, they were both thoroughly frightened by the rebellion on Animal Farm and very anxious to prevent their own animals from learning too much about it. I mean, this really is like just so blatantly showing the masses cannot know what we know. The 1%ers, the higher ups. They can't know what we know. They have to just believe that their only option is to continue work. I mean it's manipulation at its finest, isn't it? At first, they pretended to laugh to scorn the idea of animals managing a farm for themselves. The whole thing would be over in a fortnight, they said. They put it about that the animals on the manor farm, they insisted on calling it the manor farm, they would not tolerate the name Animal Farm, were perpetually fighting among themselves and were also rapidly starving to death. When time passed and the animals had evidently not starved to death, Frederick and Pilkinton changed their tune and began to talk of the terrible wickedness that now flourished on Animal Farm. It was given out that the animals there practiced cannibalism, tortured one another with red-hot horseshoes, and had their females in common. This was what came of rebelling against the laws of nature, Frederick and Pilkinton said. However, these stories were never fully believed. Rumours of a wonderful farm where the human beings had been turned out and the animals managed their own affairs continued to circulate in vague, distorted forms, and throughout that year a wave of rebelliousness ran through the countryside. Bulls which had always been tractable suddenly turned savage. Sheep broke down hedges and devoured the clover. Cows kicked the pail over, hunters refused their fences and shot their riders onto the other side. Above all, the tune and even the words of beasts of England were known everywhere. It had spread with astonishing speed, as we know all catchy songs to do. It had spread with astonishing speed. The human beings could not contain their rage when they heard this song, though they pretended to think it merely ridiculous. They could not understand, they said, how even animals could bring themselves to sing such contemptible rubbish. Any animal caught singing it was given a flogging on the spot, and yet the song was irrepressible. The blackbirds whistled it in the hedges, the pigeons cooed it in the elms, it got into the din of the smithies and the chune of the church bells, and when the human beings listened to it, they secretly trembled, hearing in it a prophecy of their future doom. I mean that is, you know, catchy tunes that just won't go away, that you can get sick of them. Early in October, when the corn was cut and stacked and some of it was already threshed, a flight of pigeons came whirling through the air and alighted in the yard of Animal Farm in the wildest excitement. Jones and all his men, with half a dozen others from Foxwood and Pinchfield, had entered the five-barred gate and were coming up the cart track that led to the farm. They were all carrying sticks except Jones, who was marching ahead with a gun in his hands. Obviously, they were going to attempt the recapture of the farm. Here we go, it's about to get interesting. This had long been expected and all preparations had been made. Snowball, who had studied an old book of Julius Caesar's campaigns, which he had found in the farmhouse, was in charge of the defensive operations. He gave his orders quickly and in a couple of minutes every animal was at his post. As the human beings approached the farm building, Snowball launched his first attack. All the pigeons, to the number of 35, flew to and fro over the men's heads and dropped their dung on them from midair. And while the men were dealing with this, the geese, who had been hiding behind the hedge, rushed out and pecked viciously at the calves of their legs. Okay, well that's pretty I mean we all know how terrifying geese are. However, this was only a light skirmishing manoeuvre intended to create a disorder, and the men easily drove the geese off with their sticks. Snowball now launched his second line of attack, Muriel. Benjamin and all the sheep with Snowball at the head of them rushed forward and prodded and butted the men from every side, while Benjamin turned round and lashed at them with his small hoofs. But once again the men, with their sticks and their hobnailed boots, were too strong for them, and suddenly at a squeal from Snowball, which was the signal for retreat, all the animals turned and fled through the gateway into the yard. The men gave a shout of triumph. They saw, as they imagined, their enemies in flight, and they rushed after them in disorder. This was just what Snowball had intended. As soon as they were well inside the yard, the three horses, the three cows, and the rest of the pigs, who had been lying in ambush in the cowshed, suddenly emerged in their rear, cutting them off. Snowball now gave the signal for the charge. He himself dashed straight for Jones. Jones saw him coming, raised the gun, and fired. The pellet scored bloody streaks along Snowball's back, and sheep dropped dead. Without halting for an instant, Snowball flung his 15-stone against Jones' legs. Jones was hurled into a pile of dung and his gun flew out of his hands, but the most terrifying spectacle of all was Boxer rearing up on his hind legs and striking out with his great iron-shod hoofs like a stallion. His very first blow took a stable lad from Foxwood on the skull and stretched him lifeless in the mud. At the sight, several men dropped their sticks and tried to run. Panic overtook them, and the next moment all the animals together were chasing them round and round the yard. They were gored, kicked, bitten, trampled on. There was not an animal on the farm that did not take vengeance on them after his own fashion. Even the cat suddenly leapt off a roof onto a cowman's shoulders and sank her claws into his neck, at which he yelled horribly. At a moment when the opening was clear, the men were glad enough to rush out of the yard and make a bolt for the main road, and so within five minutes of their invasion, they were in ignominious retreat by the same way as they had come, with a flock of geese hissing after them and pecking at their calves all the way. All the men were gone except one. Back in the yard, Boxer was pouring with his hoof at the stable lad who lay face down in the mud, trying to turn him over. The boy did not stir. He is dead, said Boxer sorrowfully. I had no intention of doing that. I forgot that I was wearing iron shoes. Who will believe that I did not do this on purpose? No sentimentality, comrade, cried Snowball, from whose wounds the blood was still dripping. War is war. The only good human being is a dead one. Okay, that's a bit. That's yeah, that that's yeah. That's escalated quite quickly, hasn't it? I've no wish to take life, not even human life, repeated Boxer, and his eyes were full of tears. Where is Molly? explained somebody. Molly, in fact, was missing. For a moment there was a great alarm. It was feared that the men might have harmed her in some way, or even carried her off with them. In the end, however, she was found hiding in her stall with her head buried among the hay in the manger. She had taken to flight as soon as the gun went off, and when the others came back from looking for her, it was to find that the stable lad, who in fact was only stunned, had already recovered and made off. Well, that's a relief. The animals had now reassembled in the wildest excitement, each recounting his own exploits in the battle at the top of his voice. An impromptu celebration of the victory was held immediately. The flag was run up and beasts of England were sung a number of times. Then the sheep who had been killed was given a solemn funeral, a hawthorn bush being planted on her grave. At the graveside, Snowball made a little speech, emphasizing the need for all animals to be ready to die for Animal Farm if need be again. That's escalated quite quickly, hasn't it? The animals decided unanimously to create a military decoration, Animal Hero First Class, which was conferred there and then on Snowball and Boxer. It consisted of brass medal, they were really some old horse brasses which had been found in the harness room, to be worn on Sundays and holidays. There was also Animal Hero Second Class, which was conferred posthumously on the dead sheep. There was much discussion as to what the battle should be called. In the end, it was named the Battle of the Cowshed, since that was where the ambush had been sprung. Mr. Jones's gun had been found lying in the mud, and it was known that there was a supply of cartridges in the farmhouse. It was decided to set the gun up at the foot of the flagstaff, like a piece of artillery, and to fire it twice a year. Once on October the 12th, the anniversary of the Battle of the Cow Shed, and once on Midsummer Day, the anniversary of the rebellion. Okay, um hmm. A number of thoughts. Uh that's the end of chapter four. Um, and I think where we'll leave it for today. But yeah, I mean, honestly, Orwell is not I mean it's been pretty blatant with the communism parallels. Um, and I just love this idea of these farmers coming up intending to take back the farm and then they lose. It reminds me of the Battle of the E mus in WA where the emus won. I mean, it really, it really, really shows you don't mess with an animal because like at the end of the day, they can kill you if they want to. I mean, I've got a cat, and I mean, I think the only reason he hasn't eaten us in our sleep is because we feed him in the morning. Um, and to be honest, I I wouldn't even put that past him. Alright, well, next week we will continue on with Animal Farm, chapter five. I mean, so much has happened already. Like you you think of these classics, and a lot of the time you're like, oh, they're so dry, and they take so long to for anything to actually happen. But Orwell's right in there. He's like Ed Gallen Poe. They're right in there. And even um Robert Louis Stevenson with Dr. Jack and Mr. Hart, I mean, from the first chapter, things are happening. So we've already we've had the rebellion, we've had the commandments on the side of the barn, we've had an attempt to retake the farm, we've had posthumous honors already assigned to uh dead sheep. I mean, what else is there to do in a in a revolution? I guess we'll find out. I'll see you next week.