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Mesajgönderen TurkmenCopur » 19 Tem 2012, 11:23

The Origins of Animal Farm

George Orwell (25 June 1903-21 January 1950) was born Eric Arthur Blair in Bengal, India, the second child of Richard Walmesley Blair and Ida Mabel Limonzin. His father worked for the Opium Department of the Imperial Civil Service (British monarchy/government drug trafficking) and his mother was the daughter of a tea-merchant in Burma (Burma was a harvest zone for drugs later hidden in tea). He then moved to England with his mother in 1904 and saw his father again for three months in 1907. He described his family as “lower-upper-middle class”.

When he was six he won a scholarship to St Cyprian’s Preparatory School in Eastbourne, Sussex. From here he went to Wellington for a term and then to Eton College where he was a King’s Scholar from 1917-21, essentially a spy training network for MI-6 so it comes naturally and they don’t have to pay them later. Here he made lifetime friendships with a number of future British intellectuals and spies. At Eton, Aldous Huxley was his French teacher for a term.

Orwell failed to win a university scholarship and it was here that his career diverged from his peers. He left England in 1922 and went to his mother’s hometown in Burma and served as an assistant superintendent in the Indian Imperial Police (1922-27). Like his colleagues, he took on a native mistress and then quickly grew to dislike British imperialism. This was the role of Burmese beauties.

With this experience he tried becoming a total immersion author. Between 1928-33 he lived as a tramp, beggar, homeless person and itinerant in England and in France (near his aunt’s pantry) and then stayed with his sister, aunt or parents to bring himself back from the depths of society he had immersed himself in. He even managed to get himself arrested for drunkenness, spending 48 hours in prison just to get the feel of it.

In 1933 he wrote for the New Adelphi and lived in Hayes in Middlesex, where he taught at a private school. Officially, the beginnings of tuberculosis during this time forced him into part-time work, and he became an assistant at a second-hand bookshop - notorious spy networks and the equivalent of the literary underground. He wrote Down and Out in Paris and London (1933) and needed a pseudonym to maintain a cover and save his parents’ embarrassment. He considered ‘Kenneth Miles’ and ‘H. Lewis Allways’, but settled on ‘George Orwell’, a name that reflected the ‘Spies and Traders’ knighthood of the order of St Michael and St George, the reigning monarch (King George V) and the River Orwell that ran through Suffolk. ‘George Orwell’ was a code name that reeked of MI-6 influence.

Orwell then worked as a shopkeeper in Wallington, Hertfordshire (1936-40) and published Burmese Days (1934) and A Clergyman’s Daughter (1935). Meanwhile, his wife-to-be, Eileen O’Shaugnessy, was becoming very accomplished in her own right.

Eileen Maud O’Shaughnessy (25 September 1905-29 March 1945) was born in northeast England, the only daughter of a customs collector. She attended Sunderland Church High School (founded 1884), where she was once a student of J.R.R. Tolkien’s. She studied at Oxford University in the late 1920s and graduated with a degree in psychology. To celebrate the Sunderland Church High School’s 50th anniversary (1934) she looked ahead 50 years to the school’s centenary in 1984 and wrote a collection of poems of what life would be like then. She included mind control and personal freedom eradicated by a police state. She called these “End of the Century, 1984” and was also a big influence on her future husband’s vision in Animal Farm.

In 1935 she met George Orwell and they married in 1936. George was working on a commissioned documentary account of unemployment in Nordy country (North England), which resulted in The Road to Wigan Pier.

The Spanish Civil War broke out in British Intelligence controlled Spain on 16 July 1936, and as an MI-6 agent George was assigned as a war correspondent (like many other writers). Orwell was an uncompromising individualist and political idealist and argued that writers have an obligation to fight social injustice, oppression and the power of totalitarian regimes. The newly married couple arrived in Spain in December 1936. George soon took up arms and joined the struggle against Franco’s fascists becoming a member of the Lenin Division in Barcelona. His wife Eileen was his support and civilian intelligence. She effectively kept him alive and informed.

Orwell looked like a robber chief, being inclined to rough-looking clothing, leather jerkins and high leather boots. He carried a long ex-German Mauser 98 Gewher and topped the outfit off with a large knife. When you think of all the other Poms in Spain dressed up like Christmas trees, it was a practical-looking outfit.

In early January 1937 he was given the rank of corporal, sent from Barcelona to join the offensive at Aragon and from there to the front line of Huesca in February. In early May, he took a week’s leave to be with his new wife in Barcelona and exchange information. He returned on 12 May to be promoted to 2nd lieutenant in command of 30 men, one of which was a Scotsman named Jimmy.

While talking to an American sentry near Huesca at 5 am on 20 May 1937, Orwell was hit in the neck by a Franco sniper bullet leaving him temporarily dumb and his left side paralysed. This enabled him to go to hospital where he heard that his unit had been declared illegal and were in danger of being murdered by the communist comrades within their unit. With this foreknowledge (his wife included) he managed to escape what was the utter chaos of the Spanish Civil War. Much of his unit was either thrown in prison or murdered, depending on food rations.

This was described in Flomage to Catalonia which, after British government interference, was published in 1938. With further government interference it sold less than 100 copies over the next 12 years Orwell was alive.

“I had come to Spain with some notion of writing newspaper articles, but I had joined the militia almost immediately, because at that time and in that atmosphere it seemed the only conceivable thing to do ... It was the first time that I had ever been in a town where the working class was in the saddle. Practically every building of any size had been seized by the workers and was draped with red flags or with the red and black flag of the Anarchists; every wall was scrawled with the hammer and sickle and with the initials of the revolutionary parties; almost every church had been gutted and its images burnt... systematically demolished by gangs of workmen. Every shop and cafe had an inscription saying that it had been collectivized . . . Tipping was forbidden by law . .. There were no private motor cars, they had all been commandeered, and all the trams and taxis and much of the other transport were painted red and black . . . the loud-speakers were bellowing revolutionary songs all day and far into the night. . .

In outward appearance it was a town in which the wealthy classes had practically ceased to exist. Except for a small number of women and foreigners there were no ‘well-dressed’ people at all. Practically everyone wore rough working-class clothes, or blue overalls or some variant of the militia uniform. All this was queer and moving. There was much in it that I did not understand . . . I did not realize that great numbers of well-to-do bourgeois were simply lying low and disguising themselves as proletarians for the time being.”1


The 30-strong Lenin Division that George Orwell led in Barcelona was a particular breed of ragtag rebels that wore a unique uniform with scarves. They had Mauser rifles, more ammunition than most other crowds, and a vacancy ... so the 19-year-old Kiwi joined them, principally because he liked Mauser rifles.

The Kiwi was influenced by a Scottish fella named Jimmy, and Jimmy the Scot clung to a Pom he referred to as ‘George the Spook’ and he accorded absolute authenticity to any pronouncement that came out of George’s mouth. Whatever George said, the Scotsman took as Gospel.

On a Wednesday in June 1937, George jumped up and announced to the Scotsman that he was going back to England and leaving, right then and there. Jimmy the Scott asked him why and George said their unit was going to be slaughtered by the British on the Saturday and they had to leave right away, get to the port and catch a boat back to England.

Jimmy the Scot said, “Right, I’m off then.” The Kiwi was inclined to go with Jimmy and said, “Why are you going off?” and Jimmy said, “Where George the Spook goes, I go. If it’s good enough for me to go, it’s good enough for you to go too.” The Kiwi said, “Well, he is George the Spook, so if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”

So the Kiwi agreed to go and the three of them made their way to the port in Barcelona. They arrived on Friday and wandered around waiting for their travel documents to come through. George the Spook was paranoid that in the time they were wandering around they might come to some grief. He was certain that they should keep a low profile, that they should dress in civilian clothes and not parade their identities before any number of the varying militias that might put them up against the wall and shoot them. All they had to do to stay alive was to stay out of trouble and not stand out.

George wanted to negotiate with the others everywhere they went, and the Kiwi, being young, wanted to go out and wander around and look at things. The Scotsman, although a little bit more cautious, wanted to go out and have a butcher at things as well, so they decided to go for a short walk late on the Saturday afternoon. They walked along the seafront for about 15 or 20 minutes and came upon an auction held down at the beach. The auctioneers were selling all the travelling effects of a circus and the thing that was put on the lot to go next was a largebreasted female orangutan.

The Kiwi was all fired up in righteousness and said, “We should do something noble in our time in Spain and buy this poor fucking gorilla and we should free it.” They were looking hard at the cost of it. In the meantime this English aristocrat came up with a large sum of guineas and made the highest bid on the orangutan.

George the Pommy spook said to the Kiwi, “Now you can’t do anything, it’s been bought fair and square.”
The Kiwi was appalled and said, “That mongrel Pom is going to root that gorilla.” At that stage the Kiwi couldn’t understand the difference between an orangutan and a gorilla.

George the Spook said, “That’s quite likely, but all we can do is go around and pick up the pieces afterwards.”

All they had to do was keep a low profile until their ship set sail, but the Kiwi wanted to have a go at the Englishman and started to scrap with the others. Jimmy the Scot kept knocking the Kiwi to the ground and the Kiwi asked the Scot why he kept beating him, and Jimmy replied: “Any fight is better than no fight.”

So George the MI-6 Spook and Jimmy the Scot carted the Kiwi back to the hotel and tied him up for the rest of the day, all night and into the next day. On the Sunday afternoon, they finally agreed to release him, and when they did the Kiwi was still adamant he should get back to where this Pom had taken the ‘gorilla’.

Very, very reluctantly, George, because he was paranoid about their diplomatic presence in Spain, agreed to go back, but they had nowhere to store their rifles. They were bloody great Mauser 98 Gewhers and stood out like dog’s balls, so they stuffed them in their bags and wrapped both in a carpet. To the Spaniards they were known as “the rug pedlars”.

They went around to this flash hotel, the best hotel in the whole town. The Pom was right up on the top floor. On the way up, George the Spook was going on and on to the Kiwi about how he must not create a fuss, couldn’t damage anything, must say please and thank you, and that they were dealing with a young member of the aristocracy and couldn’t afford to annoy or enrage him.

They found his room and George knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so George went back downstairs to the maitre d’hotel to get the key.

While George was away the Kiwi said, “I’ll fucking ‘enrage’ him, I’ll fucking kill him” and the Scotsman was going, “I’d like to bash his head in too.” Kiwi asked the Scot, “What is this cunt? Is he a Pom or is he a Scotsman?” and Jimmy replied, “He’s a Pom” and the Kiwi said, "Well help me smash the door down.”

So they busted through the door together and the stench that greeted them inside was absolutely horrendous and the room was in a total shambles. There was shit all over the bedding and at the end of the bed the orangutan was sitting all balled up in sheets, deeply distressed and crying into its arms. Jimmy started looking for the Pom to bash and the Kiwi started to clean up the orangutan and run a bath.

Jimmy said, “Oh, I found the fucking Pom,” and the Kiwi said, “Don’t bash him. Leave him for me. I’ll come out and get him in a second.” The Scotsman yelled out, “He’s beyond it.” The Kiwi rushed out and the aristocratic Pom was lying on the floor, dead as a door nail, all covered in shit with his neck broken. The Kiwi was furious.

George the Spook then came back with the hotel staff, and the maitre d’hotel stood up to his full height and read in his best accented English telegrams that the aristocratic Pom had sent to England on the Thursday night before the circus auction. There were three of them and he had requested the hand-in-marriage of the three wealthiest single women in England. Each offer came back accepted.

After the maitre d’hotel had left the Kiwi said, “This story should be written up and told” and Jimmy agreed, “Aye, it should be written up and told.”

After a long and considered pause George said, “No, there is far too much pathos in the story. It cannot be told” and Jimmy reiterated, “Aye, it cannot be told.”

The Kiwi then went back into the bathroom and continued bathing the orangutan. George the Spook and Jimmy the Scot were wondering what to do with the A-list marriage proposals and the dead aristocrat, and when it came to moving the body, the Kiwi shouted out, “Monkey in the bath”.

With the help of the British Consul in Barcelona, George Orwell, Eileen O’Shaughnessy ‘Orwell’ Blair, Jimmy the Scot and the 19-year- old Kiwi were able to escape to France. They narrowly missed being denounced and arrested as ‘Trotskyites’ when the communists moved in to suppress all the militias of their political unit later in June 1937 ... like the next day.

George Orwell returned to England a staunch anti-Stalinist and anti-Communist, with the plight of animals firmly imprinted on his mind. He remained a democratic socialist, all of which defines him as MI-6 trained through and through.
When the Kiwi related this story to his son in the late 1960s, he said that George the Pom was a famous author from northern England, was quite a capable man and knew a lot. He was a working man and you would never suspect he was from the middle class.

The son asked his father why he had thousands of zoo animals in his photo album, everywhere from Cairo, Alexandria and right up into Italy. The 50-year-old Kiwi replied, “In 1936, as an 18-year-old in Wellington, my aunt told me, ‘If you get any free time, I don’t want you drinking or gambling. Go and visit the animals and take them something to eat.’ So I did.

“While in Italy, I asked an Italian zookeeper why the eagles were so well fed and the zookeeper told me: ‘This sturmbannFührer [lieutenant] claiming to represent the SS commander in Italy, General Wolff, had come to see me in 1943, just as the Germans were pulling out of Rome and he said, “Don’t keep anything that looks like a German eagle in a half-starved condition. Feed them properly or don’t show them at all. When the eagle gets hungry, my trigger finger gets itchy. Make sure the eagle gets the best. To cage a half-starved eagle is an insult to Germany. You’ll never know when we’ll be back. If we come back and find the eagle starving, you and all your staff will be shot.” The same German came back the next day and gave me gold coins. The funny thing is they had been stolen from a robbery in Yugoslavia during the German invasion in 1941, two years before I met him.’”

During WWII Orwell was a member of the Home Guard and in 1941 began work for the BBC Eastern Service, mostly working on programmes to gain Indian and East Asian support for Britain’s- war efforts. He was well aware that he was shaping propaganda and wrote that he felt like “an orange that’s been trodden on by a very dirty boot” - just like the orangutan. Despite the good pay, he resigned in 1943 to become literary editor of Tribune, the left-wing weekly where he wrote a regular column, “As I Please”.

Orwell opposed the war with Germany and declared that the British Empire was worse than Hitler. He finished his anti-Stalinist allegory Animal Farm in February 1944 and presented it for publication, which brought him to the attention of the Soviet Secret Police, complete with file.

Orwell adopted a three-week-old boy in June 1944 and used a cigarette to burn the birth date and natural parents’ names off the birth certificate. His son became Richard Horatio Blair, born May 1944.

Nine months later, his wife and MI-6 support died in a routine operation at Newcastle upon Tyne on 29 March 1945. She was 39. They’d been planning to leave London and move to the Scottish island of Jura so he could concentrate on his next book. Upon her death, George Orwell was simultaneously diagnosed with terminal tuberculosis.

WWII ended on 8 May 1945 and Animal Farm was published on 17 August 1945 to immediate critical acclaim and worldwide success.

“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” Soon after, he coined the phrase “Cold War”.

George Orwell was a close friend of The Observer’s editor and owner, David Astor, and from 1945 he was its war correspondent and influenced Astor’s editorial policies. Later he contributed regularly to the Manchester Evening News.

The royalties from Animal Farm provided Orwell with a comfortable income for the first time in his adult life. He had literary friends over to his apartment, pretty much as cover for his MI-6 information gathering, and the beautiful and intelligent fag-hags that came with them. Marriage proposals were not infrequent and he applied the same technique to the very beautiful Sonia Brownell, editorial assistant for Florizon magazine, which belonged to Cyril Connolly, his prep school and Eton buddy.

Sonia Brownell refused and Orwell moved to the remote Scottish island of Jura, two days’ journey from London by train, bus and ferry followed by an eight-mile walk to a large house at the very end of Barnhill. Although a solitary man, he dreaded being alone and asked her to visit, but she refused this as well.

While in a state of loneliness in one of Britain’s most remote locations, he wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four and changed the way the world thinks about itself. He left Jura for the last time in January 1949 and published on 8 June 1949 - “the destruction of language is essential to oppression”.

In 1949 Celia Kirwan started working for the Information Research Department, in the Foreign Office unit. This had been set up by the Labour government to publish pro-democratic and anti-communist propaganda.

As a friend of Orwell’s, Celia Kirwan approached him for names of pro-communist writers and artists. As a competent MI-6 agent Orwell gave her 37 names which have proved accurate through time. These were not published until 2003 and consisted of many journalists including Kingsley Martin (editor of the New Statesman) and the actors Michael Redgrave and Charlie Chaplin - a double agent.

Cyril Connolly came from a wealthy Anglo-Irish family and was 11 weeks younger than George Orwell and his exact comtemporary through school, but continued on to Balliol College in Oxford afterwards.

A regular contributor to the leftist New Statesman in the 1930s, he wrote one satirical novel, The Rock Pool (1935) and the autobiography, Enemies of Promise (1938), where he attempted to explain away his failure to produce the literary masterpiece of which he and others thought him capable.

Connolly went on to co-edit the influential literary magazine Horizon (1939-50) and was the literary editor for The Observer. After Orwell’s death in 1950, Cyril Connolly was promoted to the position of chief book reviewer for the London Sunday Times - highly paid to read other’s works while in control of public perception. He was a fully educated well-funded contemporary of Orwell’s, but the literary inferior. Connolly lived to 1974.

Orwell left Jura for the last time in January 1949 and was hospitalised in the Cranham sanatorium near Gloucester, in the Cotswold Hills, near Wales. With easier access, many of his friends started visiting, including Sonia Brownell (1918-80), the Calcutta-born daughter of a British colonial official, reluctantly educated at a British convent school.

“It was well known at the time, though forgotten now, that people in the last stages of tuberculosis frequently formed very strong emotional attachments, indeed those visiting patients were warned against the danger of taking such relationships at their face value.”3

A relationship ensued and Orwell moved to the closest hospital to where Sonia lived. He moved to the University College Hospital in Gower Street, London and she lived two minutes’ walk away at 18 Percy Street. The move happened on 3/4 September 1949, into a bed in Room 65.

Two days later he wrote to his friend David Astor (editor and owner of The Observer) mentioning his fever, that he was required to limit his visitors, would marry Sonia, and that his doctor, Morland, was very much in favour. Morland wanted Owell to travel to a high-altitude clinic in France or Switzerland where there would be less pressure on his lungs - the sanatorium in Haute Savoi seemed to be the favourite.

Orwell had been in and out of hospitals for the last three years of his life, and the tuberculosis was probably contracted during his immersion period (1928-33) as described in Down and Out in Paris and London. Hospitals were also one of the favourite listening grounds of MI-6 and people had a tendency to talk to those famous.

The very beautiful Sonia Brownell began to take over his routine burdens and Orwell lost control of his life from the moment he entered the University College Hospital. It was a bed from which he was never to leave. The battle for his soul had begun. He had lost the use of his typewriter.

“Opinions among his visitors varied as to whether he was dying. Some took it for granted . . . Other visitors were impressed that he was not so much struggling, but resting quietly to live.”4 “It was fairly clear that he was not going to recover; only the length of time that remained to him in doubt.”

Some commentators have argued that Sonia Brownell helped George Orwell through the painful last months of his life and gave him a hitherto unknown sense of joy. Others saw her as a mercenary, only interested in becoming his literary widow. After his death, she edited the four volumes of his collected essays and was fiercely protective of his estate.

“. . . His marriage took place on 13 October [1949]. Marrying in a hospital involved obtaining a ‘special licence’. But David Astor, his Best Man, handled all the necessary correspondence with the Archbishop of Canterbury... He looked unexpectedly grand and military in a smoking- jacket . . . David Astor entertained Sonia and a small party of mutual friends to a wedding luncheon at the Ritz. The signed menu was brought to Orwell. He was 46 years old, the certificate noted, and she was 31.

“After the wedding, Orwell at first rallied appreciably, then had some bad days, then good, then bad again; his temperature chart undulated greatly. He wrote only two or three letters in November, and in December they ceased entirely ... he was reading ... Dante’s The Divine Comedy . . . What Morland knew could happen before they got him to a high altitude did happen. Orwell’s lung haemorrhaged on the night of 21 January 1950 and he died at once and alone before Sonia could be found . . . The world heard the news on the BBC that morning. As the first sentence of his last book had said, the radios had ‘all struck thirteen’.”

Having requested burial in accordance with the Anglican rite (the religion of MI-6), he was interred in All Saints’ Churchyard,
Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire with the simple epitaph: Here lies Eric Arthur Blair, born June 25th 1903, died January 21st 1950.

Orwell is known for his insights about the political implications of the use of language. In the essay ‘Politics and the English Language’, he abhorred the effects of cliche, bureaucratic euphemism, academic jargon on literary styles and ultimately on thought itself - a lot like Chaplin.

Both were coalface boys.


George Orwell wrote: “The government would have the power to keep its citizens under constant surveillance” . . . “Where freedom dies, slavery thrives” . . . and coined the phrases, “memory hole” . . . “Big Brother” ... “Room 101” ... “doublethink” ... “thought police” ... “unperson”.. . “newspeak” . . . “Cold War” . . . “One cannot really be a Catholic and grown up” ... and ...

“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they don’t want to hear.”


Kitap: Hitler was a British Agent
Yazar: Greg Hallet and the Spymaster
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