War For The White House Blog
Pip was orphaned at age three when his parents died of cholera. He resides at the Bethnal Green Workhouse in London, and is ever so excited for this year's election in America. See his posts from the beginning, or return to the main blog.
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Oi! The Americans 'ave Picked A President!
POSTED BY: Pip Dawkins, 19th Century Street Urchin
Nov 07, 2008, 11:27 am
Well bless my 'eart and call me Cromwell! The yank election 'as come to an end at last. Isn't it wonderful? A new leader across the pond. And without even cutting off the 'ead of the old president! Blimey, those Americans sure know 'ow to pick a ruler, don't they? Did it with class they did. I only wish I knew 'oo they picked.
It's my own fault, that is. Time and time again Mr. Greystone 'e told me not to bleed on 'is things, but I never listen. So until I clean every last speck off 'is brick, 'e won't utter one word to me about a winner. In my defense, chaps, I didn't know I was bleedin' at the time, as I'd made the unwise decision to faint on the sidewalk in front of 'is 'ouse. I don't see why 'e should 'old it against me. The front stoop is 'ardly inside the 'ouse. And my blood can't be that 'ard to clean off, being as though I'm right iron deficient.
No bother. I'll 'ave my 'appy news soon enough. Mr. Greystone won't lend me even a toothbrush what to clean with, but I'm doing just fine with my finger and spit and good 'ard scrubbing. Except my finger 'urts like 'ell and there seems to be more blood than before now.
To 'appier days, America! Enjoy your new president, 'ooever 'e is!
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Bloody 'ell! Voter Registration Deadlines Are Nearly 'ere!
POSTED BY: Pip Dawkins, 19th Century Street Urchin
Oct 13, 2008, 10:09 pm
Why 'ello, 'ello! I've found an empty sack of flour what to write on, and not a moment too soon. Mr. Greystone 'as just informed me that, across the pond, the fat 'as really hit the fryer —the Americans finish their last month before the big vote! After 'e said that, Mr. Greystone said an 'ole mess of things about registering and polling districts, but I didn't 'ear a word. I just couldn't stop thinking about that delicious fat 'e mentioned. Mmmm…what I wouldn't give to 'ave a nice morsel of fat to chew on for supper. I'd 'ave some now and, if'n it was big enough for two meals, I'd save the rest for Christmas Day. Or per'aps I'd use a corner of it to trap a rat, what to train 'im to be my friend always and forever.
Begging your pardon, friends. I've let me stomach run riot again. Back to the matter at 'and. Voter registration deadlines are coming up faster than the railway to Greenwich, so if you 'aven't gone and signed yourself up for the wondrous 'onor of casting a vote—lads, now's the time! It won't cost you a six-p'nce, and I 'ear they send you a lovely bit of paper for your trouble. Seems they even put your name onnit. Imagine! Why I didn't see me name writt'n out 'til I was near 10 years old and they discharged me from the orphanage with nothing but an empty tin can and me dirty ole breetches! Still the happiest day of my life, that. Was the day I found out I had a last name. And a father.
So, get out there and vote, yanks! Or at least get yourselves your rightful bit of paper!
An' do save me some a that delicious fat if you wouldn't mind. All this political analyzing 'as made me terribly faint.
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Begging Your Pardon, Chaps, No Blog Today
POSTED BY: Pip Dawkins, 19th Century Street Urchin
Oct 03, 2008, 8:37 am
I've gone and eaten me very last piece of paper to stop the rumblings in me gullet, so I'm afraid I've nothin' what to write about the economic bailout on. 'ad only this tiny scrap of paper in me pocket. If it wouldn't be too much trouble returning it, please. It's the only photo I 'ave left of me brother.
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I've 'eard Me First Debate, I 'ave!
POSTED BY: Pip Dawkins, 19th Century Street Urchin
Oct 02, 2008, 11:57 am
Well call me Sir Francis bloody Beacon, what a debate the Americans just 'ad! Mr. Greystone, 'e don't much prefer my smelling up 'is parlor with "the stink of society's refuse"—'is words, not mine—but 'e let me listen outside the door while I was blacking 'is boots and boy! I never 'eard anything so wonderful in all me life. All the clapping and the calling each other "mister" and "Senator," it was like I image a glorious big party must be like. One with food and 'ot cakes and mmm… mince meat pies.
Oh, I've let me stomach run off with me 'ead again, 'aven't I? And I've no excuse. I ate just two days ago.
Listening to those two talk about the economy and the war, (please, owner of this 'ere internet, do us a kindness and put a link here, if you please?) why it made me poor sooty 'eart soar.
Cuz 'ere these two blokes are, smart as whips and each with enough money besides to keep all their own children, and out of the kindness of their own 'earts they take the time to answer questions and say all manner of nice things about Americans. Yes, sir, if I was ever fortunate enough to meet the lord 'oo bought me in an alleyway, I wouldn't dream of asking 'im a question. I reckon I would consider it an honor just to have 'im spit in me face.
Would remind me of me own mum, that.
But it seems to me the only thing these two most respectable gentlemen can agree on is 'ow much they love Americans. You all must feel so flattered, 'aving grown men argue about 'oo loves you more.
Why I don't doubt 'ooever you elect will be so thankful for the position, 'e'll invite everyone in America over for a big supper of baked goose with all the trimmings. And then, 'e might just give you 'ealth care, you lucky devils.
As for me, it's time to clean out me blood bucket and 'ave a good long stand in the sunlight. I've a terrible sensation in me chest, like a wee mouse gnawing away in there.
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'ave A Wonderful Election, America!
POSTED BY: Pip Dawkins, 19th Century Street Urchin
Oct 01, 2008, 1:13 pm
Why 'ello, friends! Looks like 'appy days are upon us again. Mr. Greystone, the master of the 'ouse, 'as gone and entrusted to me my very own pencil, what to write down anything I wish. At first, I thought it was me birthday! I've never 'ad so much as a farthing in all my life and now look at me: a pencil owner. Why I must look like the King 'imself! But after he given it to me, Mr. Greystone, 'e said I'm meant to write about the American presidential election. "Yes, sir!" I said to 'im. "I'll do my very best, sir!"
This might lead to a crust of bread, I shouldn't wonder.
In one month and seven days, the Americans will 'ave a new president of their very own choosing! Now, I've never been to America, or anywhere outside the East End, but I imagine they must be 'appy as clams. Two 'ole candidates to choose from? And not one of 'em the son of the monarch? 'ave you ever imagined something so wonderful in your life? You yanks must be right near pinching yourselves saying, "Am I dreamin'?"
Why I 'ear they're even given people their very own ballots this year! What I'd give to 'old one of them, even just for a moment. Probably printed on silk, they are. Printed on silk and flavored like the sweetest licorice you ever did taste, I bet.
Well, that's all I 'ave for you this morning. I 'ope this pencil lasts long enough for me to write a letter to my mum. I'm so very interested to know if she's still alive.
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