§ 54

In dreams, seasons change places. Suddenly it is autumn, harvest time, a festival time when people are gay as they set out to gather the fruit of their ploughing and sowing.

It is the same village, but the aspect is in a degree changed. The repose of summer has given way to the activity of autumn, or rather to the approach of it. The harvest is in full swing. The male population is busy with Sickle and Scythe. I did not see the mechanical cutter; the New Communes find that the old system provides more work for the agricultural class, which has grown numerically since it became evident that Britain must feed itself with its own products as much as possible. This has led to greater importance being attached to agriculture than to industrialism, which is now an aid, not an obstruction to agriculture. The village forge is busy; scythes and sickles are being ground, new ones are in the making, fresh shoes are preparing for farm horses; wheels, of great carts to carry the grain and straw, are being set in order. A merry place is the forge, with its lusty bellows, bright fire and brilliant sparks like stars, dancing up the chimney. Everybody is alert. The parson, the schoolmaster, the doctor and land owner will take part in the great event of cutting and storing the precious products of the soil. I noticed several of “The Order” have come up to lend a hand. The great Barn is prepared to receive the golden result of a fine harvest. It has been a summer of sun; the corn is so ripe it shines like copper. The straw is strong, good for hat makers and those occupied in the use of that precious material.

How they work, the strong fellows; with what a heart they gather their own from the beneficent earth; it shall not be sold elsewhere until enough has been stored for the use of the Parish. The New Communes have an excellent habit of looking after their own people first, a bad commercial economy, according to old habits, but it answers well because it is just. Plenty of pure light beer is brewed, and pure because brewers are not permitted to adulterate it (if they did so here they would be punished as “forgers”); casks of this, and of home-made cider, have been carted to the cornfields. If the workers do stagger a bit no one blames them; anyhow, they have not been drinking poison, as they did in the past. When the golden harvest moon rises full in a purple sky, they fall to dancing and merriment, and sing folk songs, but before midnight they are at rest, for at daylight they must be up and at it again.

When the corn harvest is reaped and stored, the English vintage begins. Hop gardens in plenty are cultivated here. Every woman and child, besides all grown ups, who can be spared from the farms, are engaged in gathering the lovely green fruit. Hop gathering is one of the pleasantest of all agricultural operations. The scent of the fruit produces a charm as the scent of poppies does, a lotus-eating charm of quiet not excitement. The alleys between the stately hop poles bending under the weight of fruit are dotted with tints as of flowers, for the women’s and children’s garments are bright coloured, woven at home and dyed by the village dyers. Here is seen the natural life, for which man was created, from the labour of whose hands bread shall be eaten. No pale, sickly faces are seen here, no discontented looks, no morbid longings for a rich idle life prevail; instead of that are ruddy cheeks, beaming smiles, neighbourly greetings and happy songs are heard “through daylight hours.” Winter comes, no less beautiful than summer, only different. Work changes its character. The fruitfulness of summer depends upon winter labour. Not only labourers plough, the parson, clerk and “Gentlemen” plough. This reminds me that in this Dream of a purified and clean England there is no class of “Gentlemen,” because all who labour are such. A man who did not take part in the manual labour (in some measure, at least) would not be regarded with respect. Even those whose occupations demand care of their hands put in a certain amount of hard labour. Practice being better than precept, and fraternity being best of all, this habit succeeds.