In India they die by the
roadside. What's the good of it all: your science and your art and your
religion! How can you help men's souls if their bodies are starving? A
hungry man's a hungry beast.
"I spent a week at Grimsby, some years ago, organizing a fisherman's
union. They used to throw the fish back into the sea, tons upon tons of
it, that men had risked their lives to catch, that would have fed half
London's poor. There was a 'glut' of it, they said. The 'market' didn't
want it. Funny, isn't it, a 'glut' of food: and the kiddies can't learn
their lessons for want of it. I was talking with a farmer down in Kent.
The plums were rotting on his trees. There were too many of them: that
was the trouble. The railway carriage alone would cost him more than he
could get for them. They were too cheap. So nobody could have them.
It's the muddle of the thing that makes me mad--the ghastly muddle-headed
way the chief business of the world is managed. There's enough food
could be grown in this country to feed all the people and then of the
fragments each man might gather his ten basketsful.
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