2 Oliver Twist - Read By Stephanie Poppins
Oliver Twist, written by Charles Dickens in the 19th Century, tells the story of an orphan boy and his adventures in London's slums. Oliver is captured by, and forced to work among, pickpockets and thieves until redeemed by a gentleman who has taken an interest in him. In this episode, we learn that because the parish determines that the workhouse does not have a woman in place to care for Oliver, he is "farmed" to a branch workhouse three miles away, and is nursed by hand, or with a bottle.
Transcript
Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
That's it.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 2.
Treats of Oliver Twist's Growth,
Education and Bored.
For the next eight or ten months,
Oliver was the victim of a systematic course of treachery and deception.
He was brought up by hand.
He was a very good boy.
The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities.
The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities whether there was no female then domiciled in the house who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need.
The workhouse authorities replied with humility that there was not.
Upon this,
The parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved that Oliver should be farmed,
Or in other words,
That he should be dispatched to a branch workhouse some three miles off,
Where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor laws rolled about the floor all day,
Without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing,
Under the parental superintendence of an elderly female who received the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence ha'penny per small head per week.
Sevenpence ha'penny's worth per week is a good round diet for a child.
A great deal may be got for sevenpence ha'penny,
Quite enough to overload its stomach and make it uncomfortable.
The elderly female was a woman of wisdom and experience.
She knew what was good for children,
And she had a very accurate perception of what was good for herself,
So she appropriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use,
And consigned the rising pariochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally provided for them,
Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper still,
And proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.
Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who had a great theory about a horse being able to live without eating,
And who demonstrated it so well that he got his own horse down to a straw a day,
And would unquestionably have rendered him a very spirited and rampageous animal,
Or nothing at all,
If he had not died four and twenty hours before he was to have had his first comfortable bait of air.
Unfortunately for the experimental philosophy of the female,
To whose protecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over,
A similar result usually attended the operation of her system,
For at the very moment when the child had contrived to exist upon the smallest portion of the weakest possible food,
It did perversely happen in eight and half cases out of ten,
Either it sickened from want and cold,
Or fell into the fire from neglect,
Or got half smothered by the accident,
In any one of which cases the miserable little being was usually summoned into another world,
And there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.
Occasionally,
When there was some more than usually interesting inquest,
Upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead,
Or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to be a washing,
Though the latter accident was very scarce,
Anything approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm,
The jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions,
Or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to remonstrance.
But these impertinences were speedily checked by the evidence of the surgeon,
And the testimony of the beadle,
The former of whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside,
And the latter of whom invariably swore whatever the parish wanted,
Which was very self-devotional.
Besides,
The board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm,
And always sent the beadle the day before to say they were going.
The children were neat and clean to behold when they went,
And what more would the people have?
It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant crop.
Oliver Twist's ninth birthday found him a pale,
Thin child,
Somewhat diminutive in stature and decidedly small in circumference,
But nature or inheritance had implanted a good,
Sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast.
It had had plenty of room to expand,
Thanks to the spare diet of the establishment,
And perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any ninth birthday at all.
Be this as it may,
However,
It was his ninth birthday,
And he was keeping it in the coal cellar with a select party of two other young gentlemen,
Who,
After participating with him in a sound thrashing,
Had been looked up for atrociously presuming to be hungry when Mrs.
Mann,
The good lady of the house,
Was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr.
Bumble,
The beadle,
Striving to undo the wicket of the garden gate.
"'Goodness gracious!
Is that you,
Mr.
Bumble,
Sir?
' said Mrs.
Mann,
Thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of joys.
"'Susan,
Take Oliver and them two brats upstairs and wash them directly.
' "'My heart alive,
Mr.
Bumble!
How glad I am to see you,
Surely!
' Now,
Mr.
Bumble was a fat man and a choleric,
So instead of responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit,
He gave the little wicket a tremendous shake,
And then bestowed upon it a kick which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.
"'Lord,
Only think,
' said Mrs.
Mann,
Running out,
"'for the three boys have been removed by this time.
Only think of that,
That I should have forgotten that the gate was bolted in on the inside,
On account of them dear children.
Walk in,
Sir,
Walk in,
Pray Mr.
Bumble do,
Sir.
' Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsy that might have softened the heart of a church warden,
It by no means mollified the beadle.
"'Do you think this respectable or proper conduct,
Mrs.
Mann?
' inquired Mr.
Bumble,
Grasping his cane.
"'To keep the parish officers awaiting at your garden gate,
When they come here upon parochial business with the parochial orphans.
Are you aware,
Mrs.
Mann,
That you are,
As I may say,
A parochial delegate and a stipendiary?
' "'I'm sure,
Mr.
Bumble,
I was only telling one or two of the dear children who is this so fond of you that it was you were coming,
' replied Mrs.
Mann with great humility.
Mr.
Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his importance.
He had displayed the one and vindicated the other.
' He relaxed.
"'Well,
Well,
Mrs.
Mann,
' he replied in a calmer tone,
"'it may be as you say it may be.
Lead the way in,
Mrs.
Mann,
For I come on business and I have something to say.
' Mrs.
Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick floor,
Placed a seat for him,
And officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table before him.
Mr.
Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered,
Glanced complacently at the cocked hat,
And smiled.
Yes,
He smiled.
Beadles are but men,
And Mr.
Bumble smiled.
"'Now don't you be offended at what I'm gonna say.
Observed Mrs.
Mann with captivating sweetness.
"'You've had a long walk,
You know,
Or I wouldn't mention it.
Now will you take a little drop of something,
Mr.
Bumble?
' "'Not a drop,
Not a drop,
' said Mr.
Bumble,
Waving his right hand in a dignified but classic manner.
"'I think you will,
' said Mrs.
Mann,
Who had noticed the tone of the refusal and the gesture that had accompanied it.
"'Just a little drop,
With a little cold water and a lump of sugar.
' Mr.
Bumble coughed.
"'Now,
Just a little drop,
' said Mrs.
Mann persuasively.
"'What is it?
' inquired the beadle.
"'Why,
It's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house,
To put it into the blessed infant's daffy when they ain't well,
Mr.
Bumble,
' replied Mrs.
Mann,
As she opened a corner cupboard and took down a bottle and glass.
"'It's gin.
I'll not deceive you,
Mr.
B,
It's gin.
' "'Do you give the children daffy,
Mrs.
Mann?
' inquired Mr.
Bumble,
Following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.
"'Oh,
Bless him that I do,
Dear as it is,
' replied the nurse.
"'I couldn't see him suffer before my very eyes now,
Could I,
Sir?
' "'No,
' said Mr.
Bumble approvingly.
"'No,
You could not.
You are a humane woman,
Mrs.
Mann.
' She set down the glass.
"'I shall take an early opportunity of mentioning it to the board,
Mrs.
Mann.
' Mr.
Bumble drew it towards him.
"'You feel as a mother,
Mrs.
Mann.
' He stirred the gin water.
"'I drink your health with cheerfulness,
Mrs.
Mann.
' And he swallowed down half of it.
"'And now about business,
' said the beadle,
Taking out a leathern pocket-book.
"'The child that was half-baptised Oliver Twist is nine years old today.
' "'Bless him,
' interposed Mrs.
Mann,
Inflaming her left eye with a corner of her apron.
"'And notwithstanding an offered reward of ten pound,
Which was afterwards increased to twenty pound,
Notwithstanding the most superlative and,
May I say,
Supernatural exertions on the part of this parish,
' said Bumble,
''we have never been able to discover who is his father or what was his mother's settlement,
Name or condition.
' Mrs.
Mann raised her hands in astonishment,
But added,
After a moment's reflection,
"'How comes he to have any name at all,
Then?
' The beadle drew himself up with great pride and said,
"'I invented it.
' "'You,
Mr.
Bumble?
' "'I,
Mrs.
Mann.
We name our fondlings in alphabetical order.
The last was an S,
Swabble,
I named him.
This was a T,
Twist,
I named him.
The next one comes will be Unwin and the next Bilkins.
I've got names ready made to the end of the alphabet and all the way through it again when we come to Z.
' "'Why,
You're quite a literary character,
Sir,
' said Mrs.
Mann.
"'Well,
Well,
' said the beadle,
Evidently gratified with a compliment.
"'Perhaps I may be.
Perhaps I may be,
Mrs.
Mann.
' He finished the gin and water and added,
"'Oliver being now too old to remain here,
The board have determined to have him back into the house.
I've come out myself to take him there,
So let me see him at once.
' "'I'll fetch him directly,
' said Mrs.
Mann,
Leaving the room for that purpose.
"'And Oliver,
Having by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands removed,
As could be scrubbed off in one washing,
Was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.
'"
