“A Hanging” by George Orwell

It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light, like yellow

tinfoil, was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard. We were waiting

outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds fronted with double bars, like

small animal cages. Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was

quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water. In

some of them brown silent men were squatting at the inner bars, with their

blankets draped round them. These were the condemned men, due to be

hanged within the next week or two.

One prisoner had been brought out of his cell. He was a Hindu, a puny wisp

of a man, with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes. He had a thick,

sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather like the

moustache of a comic man on the films. Six tall Indian warders were

guarding him and getting him ready for the gallows. Two of them stood by

with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others handcuffed him, passed a

chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms

tight to his sides. They crowded very close about him, with their hands

always on him in a careful, caressing grip, as though all the while feeling

him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling a fish which is still

alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting,

yielding his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was

happening.

Eight o'clock struck and a bugle call, desolately thin in the wet air, floated

from the distant barracks. The superintendent of the jail, who was standing

apart from the rest of us, moodily prodding the gravel with his stick, raised

his head at the sound. He was an army doctor, with a grey toothbrush

moustache and a gruff voice. ‘For God's sake hurry up, Francis,’ he said

irritably. ‘The man ought to have been dead by this time. Aren't you ready

yet?’

Francis, the head jailer, a fat Dravidian in a white drill suit and gold

spectacles, waved his black hand. ‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ he bubbled. ‘All iss

satisfactorily prepared. The hangman iss waiting. We shall proceed.’

‘Well, quick march, then. The prisoners can't get their breakfast till this job's

over.’

We set out for the gallows. Two warders marched on either side of the

prisoner, with their rifles at the slope; two others marched close against

him, gripping him by arm and shoulder, as though at once pushing and

supporting him. The rest of us, magistrates and the like, followed behind.

Suddenly, when we had gone ten yards, the procession stopped short

without any order or warning. A dreadful thing had happened — a dog,

Part of the British

Empire - now known

as Myanmar. Orwell

worked here as

Assistant District

Superintendent in the

Indian Imperial

Police.

Rain has negative connotations. “sodden” has

connotations of discomfort - could reflect prisoners’

feelings.

“sickly” has connotations of poor health -

reflects prisoners. Simile highlights the

glinting sun and the off-colour sky - suggests

something is wrong.

Suggests being trapped

with no glimpse of the

outside world

Personification -

suggests that the

prisoners have just

become numbers

and have no identity

Simile highlights the

inhumane

conditions - not

being treated fairly -

basic human rights

Basic conditions to

be trapped in -

nothing exciting left

in their lives - trying

to break their spirit.

“wisp” suggests he

is barely there -

malnourishment

and neglect.

Shaven head

suggests they all

have had their

identity taken

away and all look

the same. “vague”

suggests lack of

purpose.

Comic image

further emphasises

the prisoner’s frailty.

Alliteration shows

us that the people

in charge of him

had complete

control. “tall”

shows they’re

healthy - clear

contrast.

Suggests threat.

“lashing” has

connotations of

repetitive pain -

torture - shows

how little care

they had.

Oxymoron - grip

shouldn’t be a

caress

Simile - idea of

something

desperate to get

away or

struggling

helplessly -

evokes sympathy.

WC suggests prisoner has given up and accepted his fate.

WC suggests lack

of life/vitality in the

prison - “desolate”

has connotations

of bleak

emptiness

Either bored or

trying to avoid

the guilt of what

he’s about to do.

Casual - strange

to be so relaxed

about someone’s

death. Just wants

to get the job done

- no consideration.

Contrast to thin, weak prisoners

Short sentence to

add drama and

tension to the act.

Partial preview of the text

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“A Hanging” by George Orwell

It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light, like yellow

tinfoil, was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard. We were waiting

outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds fronted with double bars, like

small animal cages. Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was

quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water. In

some of them brown silent men were squatting at the inner bars, with their

blankets draped round them. These were the condemned men, due to be

hanged within the next week or two.

One prisoner had been brought out of his cell. He was a Hindu, a puny wisp

of a man, with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes. He had a thick,

sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather like the

moustache of a comic man on the films. Six tall Indian warders were

guarding him and getting him ready for the gallows. Two of them stood by

with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others handcuffed him, passed a

chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms

tight to his sides. They crowded very close about him, with their hands

always on him in a careful, caressing grip, as though all the while feeling

him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling a fish which is still

alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting,

yielding his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was

happening.

Eight o'clock struck and a bugle call, desolately thin in the wet air, floated

from the distant barracks. The superintendent of the jail, who was standing

apart from the rest of us, moodily prodding the gravel with his stick, raised

his head at the sound. He was an army doctor, with a grey toothbrush

moustache and a gruff voice. ‘For God's sake hurry up, Francis,’ he said

irritably. ‘The man ought to have been dead by this time. Aren't you ready

yet?’

Francis, the head jailer, a fat Dravidian in a white drill suit and gold

spectacles, waved his black hand. ‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ he bubbled. ‘All iss

satisfactorily prepared. The hangman iss waiting. We shall proceed.’

‘Well, quick march, then. The prisoners can't get their breakfast till this job's

over.’

We set out for the gallows. Two warders marched on either side of the

prisoner, with their rifles at the slope; two others marched close against

him, gripping him by arm and shoulder, as though at once pushing and

supporting him. The rest of us, magistrates and the like, followed behind.

Suddenly, when we had gone ten yards, the procession stopped short

without any order or warning. A dreadful thing had happened — a dog,

Part of the British Empire - now known as Myanmar. Orwell worked here as Assistant District Superintendent in the Indian Imperial Police. Rain has negative connotations. “sodden” has connotations of discomfort - could reflect prisoners’ feelings. “sickly” has connotations of poor health - reflects prisoners. Simile highlights the glinting sun and the off-colour sky - suggests something is wrong. Suggests being trapped with no glimpse of the outside world Personification - suggests that the prisoners have just become numbers and have no identity Simile highlights the inhumane conditions - not being treated fairly - basic human rights Basic conditions to be trapped in - nothing exciting left in their lives - trying to break their spirit. “wisp” suggests he is barely there - malnourishment and neglect. Shaven head suggests they all have had their identity taken away and all look the same. “vague” suggests lack of purpose. Comic image further emphasises the prisoner’s frailty. Alliteration shows us that the people in charge of him had complete control. “tall” shows they’re healthy - clear contrast. Suggests threat. “lashing” has connotations of repetitive pain - torture - shows how little care they had. Oxymoron - grip shouldn’t be a caress Simile - idea of something desperate to get away or struggling helplessly - evokes sympathy. WC suggests prisoner has given up and accepted his fate. WC suggests lack of life/vitality in the prison - “desolate” has connotations of bleak emptiness Either bored or trying to avoid the guilt of what he’s about to do. Casual - strange to be so relaxed about someone’s death. Just wants to get the job done

no consideration. Contrast to thin, weak prisoners Short sentence to add drama and tension to the act.

come goodness knows whence, had appeared in the yard. It came

bounding among us with a loud volley of barks, and leapt round us wagging

its whole body, wild with glee at finding so many human beings together. It

was a large woolly dog, half Airedale, half pariah. For a moment it pranced

round us, and then, before anyone could stop it, it had made a dash for the

prisoner, and jumping up tried to lick his face. Everyone stood aghast, too

taken aback even to grab at the dog.

‘Who let that bloody brute in here?’ said the superintendent angrily. ‘Catch

it, someone!’

A warder, detached from the escort, charged clumsily after the dog, but it

danced and gambolled just out of his reach, taking everything as part of the

game. A young Eurasian jailer picked up a handful of gravel and tried to

stone the dog away, but it dodged the stones and came after us again. Its

yaps echoed from the jail wails. The prisoner, in the grasp of the two

warders, looked on incuriously, as though this was another formality of the

hanging. It was several minutes before someone managed to catch the

dog. Then we put my handkerchief through its collar and moved off once

more, with the dog still straining and whimpering.

It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of

the prisoner marching in front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound

arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never

straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the

lock of hair on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves

on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each

shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.

It is curious, but till that moment I had never realised what it means to

destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to

avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting

a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just

as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working — bowels

digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming — all

toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he

stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a

second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his

brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned — reasoned even about

puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing,

feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden

snap, one of us would be gone — one mind less, one world less.

The gallows stood in a small yard, separate from the main grounds of the

prison, and overgrown with tall prickly weeds. It was a brick erection like

three sides of a shed, with planking on top, and above that two beams and

a crossbar with the rope dangling. The hangman, a grey-haired convict in

Dog has no awareness of what’s going on and is a contrast to the prisoners’ feelings Symbolism - dog goes straight to prisoner showing that all people are equal regardless of their circumstance Shows their underlying discomfort at having to take a life - symbolises the fact it’s against human nature to kill another Dog adds life to the quiet, subdued surroundings - reminds guards of what they are about to take away. Nothing can shake prisoner out of his haze of sadness and despair Again, short sentence to add tension as the event is approaching Reminder of the life he still has and that he is still a worthy soul. Despite being led to his death, he instinctively avoids a puddle in order to minimise his discomfort - a seemingly futile action - symbolises human survival instinct Reflective tone as Orwell ponders what it is to actually kill Frankness leaves us in no doubt about Orwell’s opinion on capital punishment. Comparison makes it harder to accept. List of bodily functions reminds the reader that the prisoner is a healthy human being who is not ready to die. Creates a sense of significant loss by pausing on this moment. Orwell feels a human connection with the prisoner. Anaphora - repetition of one or more words at the beginning of two balanced clauses - makes the loss seem more significant. Authorities task the prisoners with killing other prisoners - passing the burden of responsibility

the gallows yard, past the condemned cells with their waiting prisoners, into

the big central yard of the prison. The convicts, under the command of

warders armed with lathis, were already receiving their breakfast. They

squatted in long rows, each man holding a tin pannikin, while two warders

with buckets marched round ladling out rice; it seemed quite a homely, jolly

scene, after the hanging. An enormous relief had come upon us now that

the job was done. One felt an impulse to sing, to break into a run, to

snigger. All at once everyone began chattering gaily.

The Eurasian boy walking beside me nodded towards the way we had

come, with a knowing smile: ‘Do you know, sir, our friend (he meant the

dead man), when he heard his appeal had been dismissed, he pissed on

the floor of his cell. From fright. — Kindly take one of my cigarettes, sir. Do

you not admire my new silver case, sir? From the boxwallah, two rupees

eight annas. Classy European style.’

Several people laughed — at what, nobody seemed certain.

Francis was walking by the superintendent, talking garrulously. ‘Well, sir, all

hass passed off with the utmost satisfactoriness. It wass all finished — flick!

like that. It iss not always so — oah, no! I have known cases where the

doctor wass obliged to go beneath the gallows and pull the prisoner's legs

to ensure decease. Most disagreeable!’

‘Wriggling about, eh? That's bad,’ said the superintendent.

‘Ach, sir, it iss worse when they become refractory! One man, I recall, clung

to the bars of hiss cage when we went to take him out. You will scarcely

credit, sir, that it took six warders to dislodge him, three pulling at each leg.

We reasoned with him. “My dear fellow,” we said, “think of all the pain and

trouble you are causing to us!” But no, he would not listen! Ach, he wass

very troublesome!’

I found that I was laughing quite loudly. Everyone was laughing. Even the

superintendent grinned in a tolerant way. ‘You'd better all come out and

have a drink,’ he said quite genially. ‘I've got a bottle of whisky in the car.

We could do with it.’

We went through the big double gates of the prison, into the road. ‘Pulling

at his legs!’ exclaimed a Burmese magistrate suddenly, and burst into a

loud chuckling. We all began laughing again. At that moment Francis's

anecdote seemed extraordinarily funny. We all had a drink together, native

and European alike, quite amicably. The dead man was a hundred yards

away.

THE END

Long heavy iron-bound bamboo sticks used as weapons. An absurd sentiment indicating the relief of the officials now that the execution has been completed. Strange feeling to have after taking another’s life - they’re so glad they don’t have to think about their guilt anymore Casual mockery of the dead man - poking fun at the dead person’s anguish - followed by a random comment - lack of respect. Don’t know how to react to what they’ve just done. Another callous statement directed at a doomed prisoner - the resulting laughter indicates a lack of comparison. Light hearted atmosphere after the killing is a false emotion and acts as a coping mechanism for the men. Final 2 sentences are designed to get Orwell’s point across clearly. The jovial scene of the penultimate sentence is contrasted with the nearby dead man. Reader is left to contemplate this vulgar scene. At what cost does this camaraderie come? Orwell doesn’t mention the prisoner’s crime as he does not want the reader to make any judgement about whether or not the death penalty was justified -focuses purely on the killing aspect. Story is a reflection on one of the many judicial executions witnessed by Orwell in his post - illustrates the banal reality of death and highlights his strong anti-capital punishment sentiments.

A Hanging (annotated), Study notes of Human Rights

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Download A Hanging (annotated) and more Study notes Human Rights in PDF only on Docsity!

“A Hanging” by George Orwell

It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light, like yellow

tinfoil, was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard. We were waiting

outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds fronted with double bars, like

small animal cages. Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was

quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water. In

some of them brown silent men were squatting at the inner bars, with their

blankets draped round them. These were the condemned men, due to be

hanged within the next week or two.

One prisoner had been brought out of his cell. He was a Hindu, a puny wisp

of a man, with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes. He had a thick,

sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather like the

moustache of a comic man on the films. Six tall Indian warders were

guarding him and getting him ready for the gallows. Two of them stood by

with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others handcuffed him, passed a

chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms

tight to his sides. They crowded very close about him, with their hands

always on him in a careful, caressing grip, as though all the while feeling

him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling a fish which is still

alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting,

yielding his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was

happening.

Eight o'clock struck and a bugle call, desolately thin in the wet air, floated

from the distant barracks. The superintendent of the jail, who was standing

apart from the rest of us, moodily prodding the gravel with his stick, raised

his head at the sound. He was an army doctor, with a grey toothbrush

moustache and a gruff voice. ‘For God's sake hurry up, Francis,’ he said

irritably. ‘The man ought to have been dead by this time. Aren't you ready

yet?’

Francis, the head jailer, a fat Dravidian in a white drill suit and gold

spectacles, waved his black hand. ‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ he bubbled. ‘All iss

satisfactorily prepared. The hangman iss waiting. We shall proceed.’

‘Well, quick march, then. The prisoners can't get their breakfast till this job's

over.’

We set out for the gallows. Two warders marched on either side of the

prisoner, with their rifles at the slope; two others marched close against

him, gripping him by arm and shoulder, as though at once pushing and

supporting him. The rest of us, magistrates and the like, followed behind.

Suddenly, when we had gone ten yards, the procession stopped short

without any order or warning. A dreadful thing had happened — a dog,

come goodness knows whence, had appeared in the yard. It came

bounding among us with a loud volley of barks, and leapt round us wagging

its whole body, wild with glee at finding so many human beings together. It

was a large woolly dog, half Airedale, half pariah. For a moment it pranced

round us, and then, before anyone could stop it, it had made a dash for the

prisoner, and jumping up tried to lick his face. Everyone stood aghast, too

taken aback even to grab at the dog.

‘Who let that bloody brute in here?’ said the superintendent angrily. ‘Catch

it, someone!’

A warder, detached from the escort, charged clumsily after the dog, but it

danced and gambolled just out of his reach, taking everything as part of the

game. A young Eurasian jailer picked up a handful of gravel and tried to

stone the dog away, but it dodged the stones and came after us again. Its

yaps echoed from the jail wails. The prisoner, in the grasp of the two

warders, looked on incuriously, as though this was another formality of the

hanging. It was several minutes before someone managed to catch the

dog. Then we put my handkerchief through its collar and moved off once

more, with the dog still straining and whimpering.

It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of

the prisoner marching in front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound

arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never

straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the

lock of hair on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves

on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each

shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.

It is curious, but till that moment I had never realised what it means to

destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to

avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting

a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just

as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working — bowels

digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming — all

toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he

stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a

second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his

brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned — reasoned even about

puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing,