Talking of farming, Alexander McCall Smith had the following published in today’s iPaper and The Scotsman: (Can’t think who he has in mind)
The inhabitants of George Orwell’s Animal Farm are facing new problems, according to an addendum to the famous book that may or may not have been unearthed by Alexander McCall Smith.
George Orwell wrote Animal Farm during the Second World War. It was unambiguously aimed at the Soviet Union and its excesses, and this made it difficult for Orwell to find a publisher – Stalin was, after all, the West’s wartime ally, and people still liked Uncle Joe. When it was eventually published in 1945, though, it rapidly became one of the great allegories of 20th-century literature. And it has not dated: Animal Farm contains perennial truths about the exercise of power.
Perennial truths … What if we were to discover that when Orwell was at Barnhill on Jura, writing his other great political novel, 1984, he was also composing an addendum to Animal Farm? What if this manuscript were to turn up at a farm displenishing sale near Oban, in an old leather trunk marked with the initials E.B. – Orwell’s real initials? And what if this manuscript, mildewed but still legible, were to be bought for £15 (the cost of the trunk), transcribed and then published? Or if only part of it were to be published, because by extraordinary co-incidence certain paragraphs seem to speak to us with particular immediacy – as in this excerpt below:
“The first four words are illegible, but are probably:[One of the goats] addressed the gathering of animals. He was more eloquent than the others – a billy goat of elegant appearance but with eyes that were suggestive of wisdom. He had seen a great deal, or at least enough to know the pitfalls that the animals faced in creating the sort of society in which they might be at ease.
The goat said: “Well, my dears, we have had the election now, and we have chosen our leader. Or that is what we think we have done – there are those who say that the real leader is not the leader we have chosen, who has been anointed, but one who stands behind him.”
The animals shifted uneasily. The hens looked at one another in confusion; the sheep huddled together, as they always did when they feared bad news. Some of the animals had difficulty in understanding what he meant by this – after all, they had seen the leader on the steps of the farmhouse, waving to those who had congregated there. That was the leader, was it not? What was this talk of another who could not be seen, or who was only spotted scurrying in and out of the farmhouse? What did the goat mean by that? Have we missed something? they asked themselves.
The goat continued, “There is, you see, one behind the leader. He is the one who is making many of the decisions as to what will be done. He is the one whose bidding is often done by the elected leader, who is a jovial animal who likes the company of the farmyard. And many in the farmyard do like him. This other one does not care so much about such things.”
“Now the important thing,” the goat went on, “is the one behind was not elected by any of us. He may have many talents and merits – I do not wish to be unfair to him, for I am sure that he has his useful ideas. But he does not have to answer to us or to the farmyard council that we chose when we went to cast our votes. They are the ones who have the moral authority to speak for us but today it seems they may yield to another.”
Some of the animals looked shocked. “Even the horses?” one of the pigs asked. “I thought that everyone respected the independence of the horses.”
“Not everyone,” said the goat. “And even the horses can be made to toe the line.”
The goat looked out over the assembled animals. His tone was grave now – the tone of one who is mourning the loss of something. “We have always believed that power in the farmyard should be exercised by animals whom we have chosen. It is a simple thing to make a mark on a piece of paper and say, Yes, this is the animal who may lead us. It is a simple thing, yes, but a vital thing. And nobody…” and here the goat’s voice became grave, “… and nobody who has not been chosen in that way should take it upon himself to try to run the farmyard. He may suggest how to run the farmyard, but he should not be the one who makes the decisions.”
This brought nods of agreement from most of the animals present.
Then one of the ducks asked, “How is it done? Why do other animals allow it?”
“Because they are concerned they will be put out of their stalls. They have to eat, you see.”
The listening animals were silent now. Not a grunt nor snort, not a clucking nor a crowing, nor any sound could be heard in the farmyard. All listened intently as the goat spoke, and his words hung in the crisp air like a great warning sign.
“All animals deserve courteous, considerate treatment, even those who are just farmyard assistants,” said the goat. “If we disagree with other animals we do not dismiss their views as being of no importance. We do not discourage them so that they will not speak what is in their minds.”
The goat was quiet for a moment before he delivered his final oration. “Dear fellow animals, throughout the world those who notice these things are saddened by the decline of the civility that animals used to show one another. Kindness and courtesy are everywhere diminished. A certain unkindness claims the stage in farmyards and barns not only here, but everywhere you look. Rudeness to others has become the coin of our public transactions. That is what has happened, my fellow animals; that is what has happened.”
The animals looked at one another. They looked at one another for reassurance. They sighed.”
And that is where Orwell stopped. I closed the trunk. I thought: how strange that he should speak to us in this way after more than 70 years. But Orwell’s writing is like that: it resonates.
