This year marks the 80th anniversary of the publication of George Orwell’s Animal Farm, his celebrated ‘fairy tale’ allegory of the Russian Revolution and its aftermath under Stalin. So what might be happening down on the farm today?
COCKERELS crowed, geese honked and pigeons flapped hither and thither, summoning the excited animals to a mass gathering in the main yard of Animal Farm. There, on a platform in front of the farmhouse, they saw their leader, the great boar called Kneeler, reclining on a chaise longue. With a bemused smile and a vacant gaze, he was flanked by six vicious-looking dogs.
Kneeler was the 18th pig to rule Animal Farm since Napoleon, who had claimed the credit for the revolution in 1945 which had ousted the cruel Farmer Jones. The farm had then been renamed Animal Farm, but eventually reverted to its original name of Manor Farm. However, Kneeler had lately U-turned and decreed that it should once again be known as Animal Farm.
Today though, he did not speak. Instead, it was the sinister pig called Squealer Ed who took charge of proceedings. With his bulging eyes and twitchy demeanour, he skipped from side to side and whisked his tail, unsettling the animals even before he opened his mouth. Occasionally he sent darting glances to the side of the platform, where 20 sheep stood in a docile group, guarded by two dogs.
The farmyard fell silent as Squealer Ed spoke. ‘It is 80 years today since the great revolution took place which put us animals in charge of the farm – and to mark the occasion I have wonderful news!’ he said. ‘No longer will you cows have to tramp the fields in the wind and rain chewing the cud, or you sheep spend your lives endlessly grazing the pastures. No longer will you hens be scratching about in the dust, having your eggs taken from you. No longer will you horses have to huddle in the stables on damp straw. Instead, all livestock will soon leave Animal Farm and be transferred to Net Zero Farm, a paradise for all creatures great and small, with every luxury imaginable.’
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but was silenced by the growling of the dogs. Squealer Ed continued: ‘We’re worried about fossil fuels such as oil and gas pumping out carbon dioxide and overheating the planet. So instead of growing wheat and barley and grazing pasture, the fields of Animal Farm will from now on be covered with solar panels and wind turbines. These will supply endless reliable electricity to the whole world, including Net Zero Farm, providing warmth and light for the barns and byres, stables, sheds and coops there, where you will all live in comfort, with fodder in abundance. You will have everything and be happy.’
A louder hubbub rose from the animals, then above the noise a bull could be heard bellowing: ‘But where is this Net Zero Farm? Is it near Animal Farm?’ Other voices then rang out: ‘Yes, where is it? How do we get there?’ Squealer Ed was nonplussed. For half a minute he stood dumbly, then he stuttered: ‘N-Net Zero Farm is, er, not far away . . .’ He then frantically signalled with his trotter towards the sheep at the side of the platform and – as he had earlier taught them – they started bleating loudly: ‘Fossil fuels bad, Net Zero good! Fossil fuels bad, Net Zero good!’ The whole flock of 100 sheep mindlessly joined in with the chant, endlessly repeating it, and – because no one could hear anything else – the meeting broke up.
That evening, the animals were puzzled to hear singing coming from the Great Barn. It sounded like the old anthem of the revolution, Beasts of England, which was sung to the tune of Clementine. But that had long ago fallen out of use, condemned by the ruling pigs as anachronistic. No music had since been heard on Animal Farm. Now, as the animals timidly peeped into the barn, they saw Squealer Ed conducting a choir of songbirds. However, the original lyrics of Beasts of England had been rewritten and now went:
Beasts of Britain and the EU
Beasts of every land and clime,
Harken to my joyful tidings
Of the great Net Zero time.
Soon the glorious day is coming,
With fossil fuels overthrown,
Then the fallow fields of Britain
With clean power will be sown.
Bright will shine our native pastures
Sunlit every waking hour,
Sweeter yet shall blow our breezes
Turning turbines, bringing power.
Fearing they might be seen, the animals retreated to the end wall of the Great Barn, where the Seven Commandments of Animalism had been painted in the early days of the revolution, including All animals are equal. It was now a digital message board, which changed according to the diktats of the pigs, and tonight it read: All animals are equal, but those that support Net Zero are more equal than others.
More worried than ever, the animals went to the stables, where they consulted Randolph, a horse who was one of the more intelligent creatures on the farm. He was descended from Clover, who with her fellow carthorse Boxer had striven through the most turbulent times of the revolution. After listening to the animals, Randolph said: ‘I don’t think we should go along yet with this move to Net Zero Farm – we need to know a lot more about it before we make a decision. Tomorrow I’ll approach Squealer Ed and tell him of our concerns.’
The animals filed out of the barn and a raven who had been watching the meeting from the rafters flew off towards the farmhouse where the pigs lived. Next morning, Randolph was nowhere to be seen. Then Squealer Ed announced that the horse had regrettably become ill during the night and had been taken to the veterinary hospital in nearby Willingdon, where he had unfortunately died.
A few days later, a fleet of livestock trucks rumbled into the farmyard. There was a festive atmosphere among the sheep, who were delighted to be the first of the animals to be sent to Net Zero Farm. They laughed, joked and playfully baa-ed as they climbed the ramps and were clamped inside by worker pigs. As they looked out over Animal Farm for the last time, the sheep started bleating a new song which Squealer Ed had taught them:
Come and join us
Come and join us
Come and share our good luck charm
We’re happy in that place of plenty
Happy in Net Zero Farm.
Being stupid, gullible and illiterate, they could not read the writing on the side of the wagons, which said: Alfred Simmonds, Slaughterer and Glue Boiler. Dealer in Fleeces, Hides, Meat and Bonemeal.
