The Great Acceptance: The Life Story of F. N. Charrington

But "The Running Grouse" 'ave done it —
With its dirty Private Bar!'
He shook his fist out of the window – 'We don't want it 'ere.
My wife was a sober woman, and it's ruined her in a year!
A curse on the 'ouse, an' the landlord!
An' I'll say it till I'm dead…'

John Donaldson gave him a sovereign,
And went out with a hanging head.

He haunted that part of London
For three whole months and more;
And he saw what Brewers seldom see,
What he'd never faced before.
He saw the truth stark naked – not glossed or veiled or hid,
He saw with his own eye open that harm that his own beer did.

He saw for himself – John Sidney,
Wherever his Houses stood,
A Force that worked for evil,
That did not work for good.

He saw – he was bound to see it – in the slums the drink-shops made,
Christ's flag torn down and trampled by the brute heel of the Trade.
He saw, laid bare as murder
Done in the broad daylight,
The base and ceaseless tempting
That goes on day and night.
The tempting of men and women already weak in will,
And poor enough in pocket, to be poorer and weaker still.

'We didn't want it 'ere!'… No!
And they didn't want it there!
Yet here it was, and there it was,
For ever! Everywhere!
The Tied House in the open,
The Hidden Drinking lair,
The Spirit Vault, the Cellars, the Private Bar and seat,
Calling from every corner and tempting from every street!

The cries, the blows, the curses,
Entered into his ears.
He saw his golden profits
Blackened with blood and tears.
He saw – as angels see them – the facts of what has grown
The saddest money-making the world has ever known.
And when he'd seen it fairly,
He didn't turn and run!
In a hurry to forget it!
As many would have done.
He wasn't built that way,
John Sidney Donaldson.
He took and thought for over half a year.
And then he made his mind up – steady and firm and clear —
To sacrifice his fortune and say good-bye to Beer!

'You're a fool,' said brother Brewers.
'And mad!' said the world outside.
'I've seen … and I can't unsee it,'
John Donaldson replied.
'There are other ways of business that are happier ways and higher,
And I won't make another shilling out of Donaldson's Entire!'

I don't say he turned pauper
And slept upon the boards!
But instead of a man with millions
Heading straight for the House of Lords,

He dropped to a man with hundreds – just heading for nothing at all
But the prize that falls to the conscience which has answered a noble call.
He is living now in London,
Careless of blame or praise.
Working to help the People
In a hundred splendid ways.
Pledged to the cause of Temperance
To the ending of his days.
What he did may be forgotten, or labelled a mistake!
But the sacrifice of riches is a mighty one to make.
I'm proud of this little Island that gave John Donaldson birth
And I place him right in the forefront of the bravest men on earth!"

Since I am quoting a few verses in this chapter, I may perhaps give, as a final specimen, a few sternly vigorous lines which were handed to me by my friend the other day. They express, he told me, his whole sentiments upon the drink question in a nut-shell. They are not in the least my own, but that is not the point – their interest lies in the fact that they represent Frederick Charrington's unalterable convictions in a succinct form.

"LICENSED – TO DO WHAT?

Licensed to make the strong man weak;
Licensed to lay the wise man low;
Licensed a wife's fond heart to break,
And make her children's tears to flow.
Licensed to do thy neighbour harm;
Licensed to kindle hate and strife;
Licensed to nerve the robber's arm;
Licensed to whet the murderer's knife.
Licensed thy neighbour's purse to drain,
And rob him of his very last;
Licensed to heat his feverish brain,
Till madness crown thy work at last.
Licensed, like a spider for a fly,
To spread thy nets for man, thy prey;
To mock his struggles —suck him dry,