The Daily Worker Newspaper, October 15, 1927, Page 10

A Study In Oil “ | has SO I REPEAT,” bellowed the street-corner orator. “No Englishman worthy of his salt will buy stolen oil.” The speaker was one of the paid workers of the British Empire League (five pounds a week and all expenses). He had set up his platform outside the gates of a big metal foundry not far from High Holborn. The British Empire League does this sort of thing, spends large sums of money and thinks it is counter-acting Moscow propaganda. It thinks that by getting its speakers to talk to the werkers for half an hour, the workers will forget the exper- ience of eight or nine hours a day at poor wages in the works. The job is not really dangerous, the British workers are good tempered and seldom hit the speakers. “Russian oil is stolen oil. Anyone buying Russian oil is buying stolen goods. The man. that buys bolshevik oil is a receiver of stolen property, a fence. The Russian bolsheviks stole the oil lands, stole the boring. plant, stole the refineries, in fact, they’ve stolen everything they could lay hands on.” It was the dinner hour and a goodly crowd of workers were listening in order to get a bit of amusement before returning to work for the boss. “The rightful owners,” thundered the conserv- ative speaker, banging his gloved hand down on the top of the platform, “are walking about starv- ing. Those that were caught were executed by the Tcheka and their widows are begging bread in the streets of the great cities of Europe. “And now the bolshevik robbers come to this England of ours and expect us to buy their stolen oil, expect us to be a party to their foul crimes.” With a flourisn of his well-tailored arm. “Away with them I say, no Englishman worthy of our great traditions would feed his car on Soviet oil.” The crowd, mostly workers from the foundry re- inforced by a few street cleaners, a sprinkling of errand boys and a contingent of hawkers, had been very patient, but it began to grow restless, A long lean worker interrupted in an affected tone. “Well, bai Jove, did you evah now. I'll speak to my chauffeur about it immediately when I get home.” There was a burst of laughter. “Talk to us about something else guvnor, you’re the only bloke ’ere what’s got a car. The only oil I ever use is in the lamp.” Jeered another worker in the crowd. There was a general laugh, they had all come to be amused. “There goes my blooming car matie!” shouted a street cleaner leaning with one hand on his broom and making a regal motion with his other hand towards a passing omnibus. “But weuld you believe it, I don’t bally well know what oil it uses.” The speaker tried to drown the jeering remarks by bellowing more loudly than ever. “T tell you that all Russian oil is stolen.” “You’ve said that before old man, tell us an- other,” said,a.man munching sandwiches. The speaker ignored the interruption and went on. “And what’s more, ‘there’s no need to buy this stolen oil. There are half a dozen British brands all better. What’s to compare with British oil, I want to know. Oil come by honestly and prepared by British labour?” “That’s what they sent the army to Mesopotamia for wasn’t it, old man, to come by British oil honestly?” interposed a fat little printer. There was more laughter, but the speaker waded on. “No, my dear sir, you don’t understand .. .” The rest of his remarks were drowned in loud guf- faws, the workers understood only too well. “The establishment of the Russian Oil Products Company is an insuJt to the British people. These’ bolshevist murderers and thieves think to find re- eeivers of stolen goods in us Englishmen. The whole company should be expelled from the country, lock, stock and barrel.” “So that the Shell Combine could manipulate the market without competition, eh Mister?” inter- rupted a young worker in blue overalls who, had just joined the crowd. ; “Oh no sir. . .” But his discomfort was too ob- vious and the whole crowd was laughing, even the errand boys who weren’t quite sure what the Shell Combine was. The crowd was beginning to enjoy itself. _ “I understand very well,” persisted the young fellow in the overalls. “Why of course you may, we’re always glad to answer questions,” replied the sweating speaker. “T’ve not noticed the same gladness to answer questions when your people are in a hall with a crowd of hooligans on their side, but never mind, answer me this. Russian oil has been coming into this country now for years. Why is it then that this crusade about stolen Soviet oil has only com- menced in the last few months?” “My dear sir, that’s not true, there have been . those among us who have disagreed with it from the beginning and now we have succeeded in per- suading the more decent of our fellow countrymen “May I ask you a question?” By ANDREW WILLMER (London) to take up the cudgels with us against receiving stolen property.” “That’s all rot,” declared the figure in overalls very emphatically. “I know you old man, I’ve heard you speaking on and off for years, and I’ve never heard you say a word about stolen oil before.” There was laughter and cat-calling from the crowd. The unlucky speaker mopped his forehead with his pocket handkerchief. The determined interrupter went on. “Everybody knows that this campaign started suddenly a few months ago. There was a flourish of trumpets in the press, posters on the hoardings, handbills on the streets and conservative speakers all opened their mouths at the same time up and down the country. That was obviously the organized result of an order. Who ordered the campaign and why? That’s what we want to know.” The speaker squirmed. “I’ve explained to you that we succeeded in convincing ... . ” “Well,” said he in the overalls grimly. won’t tell ’em who did it and why, I will.” The crowd became vocal and expressed its wishes energetically. “Bravo, Matie!” “Go it old man, that’s the stuff to give ’em!” “Tear it off your chest!” “Tell him all about it!” To the trapped speaker who was trying to pre- vent the young worker speaking: “Shut up you, you’ve jawed enough!” “We want to hear what he’s got to say.” “Go it fellow worker!” The young worker went it. “As I said before, Russian oil has been coming into this country for years and nobody ever thought about it being stolen until a month or so ago.” The crowd was listening intently. “And the reason that no one ever thought about it was that the people who are now paying for this anti-Soviet oil campaign, that is the British oil in- dustrialists, were the very people who were hand- ling the oil and making, huge profits ont of it, and they didn’t care a damn whether it was stolen or not.” Turning to the speaker perched above the sea of grinning, mocking faces, ‘Deny it if you ean.” “Since then, however, the Russians have decided to cut out the middle man and go into the retail business on their own.,, And ,so they, formed the Russian Oil Products Company; the so-called ROP and are selling their oil direct on the British mar- ket. The Shell Combine has. been. cut out and Russian oil is now competing directly with Shell | products. That’s why the British oil industrialists have suddenly remembered that the oil has been ‘stolen’ When they were pocketing the profits from retailing it:here, they never thought about it.” There was a Homeric burst of laughter from the crowd which had now swollen to a considerable size. The interfering fellow in the blue overalls went on. “Who’s financing this campaign. Who’s subsidiz- ing the British Empire League, who’s paying for the advertisements in the press and who’s inspiring the leading articles?” There was no answer to the rapid fire of ques- tions and so the questioner answered them himself, triumphantly emphasizing every syllable. “Royal Dutch Shell!” There was a roar of laughter. The crowd was in high good humour. They shouted at the speaker, half a dozen and more voices at once. 18.17 The Voice of Revolt resounded, Lustily where Leningrad lays, All mighty nations were startled in- 1917. e Plutocrats were seized with panic To suppress it, they tried in ways Unwritable; yet fire of Revolt Spread in those October Days cf 1917. : In Hungary and Germany, In dark large cellars without lights, Grim, resolute men silently, Talked about October nights of 1917. Sons of India, Africa, The little race of brown Malays, All slaves of Imperialism, . Yet rejoiced in October Days of 191% —WM. STACHIEV. -_— § — SSF you. “Answer that!” “What have you got to say to that?” “What about it now, cockie?” The speaker didn’t try to answer. He tried to do something still more impossible, he tried to shout his tormentors into silence. “You’re a lot of bolsheviks yourselves,” he roared. But the crowd did not seem in the least insulted at the accusation, it only laughed all the more. “You're supporting robbery, sheer, stark, staring, naked robbery. You’re supporting the robbers of widows and orphans. You’re supporting murder- ers!” The speaker was almost foaming at the mouth and the noise was getting louder and louder. At the corner a policeman put his head round, withdrew it and walked the other way. The young fellow in the overalls made himself heard again above the din and the crowd grew silent to listen to him. “Oh Mr, Speaker, there was just something else I wanted to say. Isn’t it a fact that all such Rus- sian property has been declared the property of the Kussian High Court of Justice, and cannot therefore be stolen? How do you explain that?” The speaker stuttered and the crowd roared with delight at each new hit. “Well, you see, the High Court, of course, had o...What I mean is, the High Court...With a bluster of anger. ‘Who are you coming here, and trying to break up my meeting? Ill give you in charge my fine tellow. Everyone in England has a right to express his or her opinion freely, not like the state of affairs in Bolshevist Russia.” “Then why do you threaten me with the police for daring to express mine?” demanded the imper- turbable young man. 5 The speaker bellowed like a bull to make himself heard. “As I said, all Russian oil is stolen property...” He got no further. There was a storm of laughter and jeering. The crowd had lost patience with him and remarks began to be very distinct and audible advising him to take his departure. “Yah, go home!” “Put on a new record!” “We've heard that before!” ‘Pack up and go whilst the going’s good!” The unfortunate man on the platform took the hint and descended. Buttoning on his chamoix leather gloves he shouted instructions into the ear of a loafer who had sidled up about what was to be done with the platform and then he made ready to depart. He tried to leave the crowd swith dignity, but that was a task not easy to perform. To retreat with dignity through a hostile and contemptuous crowd with a hail of caustic witticisms ringing in one’s ears, is not easy and never will be. But all things both good and bad come to an end in time and finally he shook the crowd off his heels and disappeared round the corner to where his two ‘seated car was waiting. A friend who had witnessed his discomfiture joined him and spoke words of sympathy. “That was a bad meeting, old man.” “Yes, rotten,” answered the other glumly. “The many-headed are getting more and more difficult to reason with.” He cranked up the engine, but it refused to take. “And the trouble is, it’s not an isolated phenome- non. I’ve spoken in al! parts of the country, *Man- chester, Birmingham, Liverpool, Glasgow, and its the same everywhere. I don’t know what the coun- try’s coming to. Blast this engine, what’s the mat- . ter with it.” He cranked away violently and then still getting no result he went to the steering wheel and fumbled about a bit. “Oh what a fool I am. I forgot to fill up the petrol tank before I left this morning. Open up the back will you. You'll find a can of petrol there.” His friend opened the receptacle at the back of the car whilst the speaker unscrewed the cover of the petrol container. The petrol can was duly fished out and handed over. “Ah, thanks old man.” And a thick stream of rich fliud commenced to pour through a funnel into the tank. “Careful with your cigarette, old fellow!” The friend mechanically threw away his cigar- ette. His eyes were glued on to the petrol can. The cause of his surprise was very innocent. It was nothing more than three large letters painted in red on the side of the can, but the letters were {Re On P.” Finally he recovered his voice and spoke. “T say old fellow, but that’s Bolshy petrol you’re using yourself, you know. ucts’,” His friend answered testily. Look ‘Russian Oil Pro- “Well of course it is if it says so on the tin. The © stuff’s the best on the market-and the cheapest. I’ve been using it for years, it gives more mileage and leaves the engine cleaner. You don’t think I take everything I say to the Great Unwashed seri- ously do you? D’you ever hear of a doctor taking his own medicine?”