SOUTH LONDON OF TO-DAY
[Illustration: A DOORWAY, CURLEW STREET, BERMONDSEY]
The expansion of London during the Nineteenth Century is in itself a
fact unparalleled in the history of cities. Those who call attention to
this miracle always point to the filling up of the huge area between
Highgate and Hampstead and Clerkenwell in the North, or the extension of
the town to Hammersmith on the West. Perhaps a little consideration of
the South may show a still more remarkable growth. I have before me a
map of the year 1834, only sixty-four years ago, showing South London as
it was. I see a small town or collection of small towns, occupying the
district called the Borough Proper, Lambeth, Newington, Walworth, and
Bermondsey. In some parts this area is densely populated, filled with
narrow courts and lanes; in other parts there are broad fields, open
spaces, unoccupied pieces of ground. At the back of Vauxhall Gardens,
for instance there are open fields; in Walworth there is a certain
place, then notorious for the people who lived there, called Snow's
Fields; in Bermondsey there are also open spaces, some of them gardens,
or recreation grounds, without any buildings. Battersea is a mere
stretch of open country. I myself remember the old Battersea Fields
perfectly well; one shivers at the recollection; they were low, flat,
damp, and, I believe, treeless; they were crossed, like Hackney Marsh,
by paths raised above the level; at no time of year could the Battersea
Fields look anything but dreary. In winter they were inexpressibly
dismal. As a boy I have walked across the fields in order to get to the
embankment or river wall from which one commanded a view of the Thames
with its barges and lighters going up and down--pleasant when the sun
shone on the river, but a mere shadow of the ancient glory when the
pleasure barges and the State barges swept majestically up the river
with the hautboys and the trumpets in the bows; when the swans by
thousands sailed upon the broad bosom of the waters, and in the middle
of the river the fisherman cast his net, as Edric had done fifteen
hundred years before at St. Peter's orders, when he brought out his
famous salmon. One walked along the embankment; the fields on one side
were lower than the waters on the other. Beyond the river were the trees
of Chelsea Hospital. Close to the river bank was an enclosure which was
called the Subscription Ground; here the subscribers came to shoot
pigeons--noble sport. If I remember aright, while the subscribing
sportsmen shot at the pigeons in the enclosure, others of low condition
who were not subscribers lurked about on the outside to shoot down those
birds which escaped from the murderers within. Close by the Subscription
Ground was a certain famous tavern called the Red House. I do not know
why it was famous, but everybody always said it was. I believe it was
much frequented on summer evenings, and that the subscribing sportsmen
close by, whether they hit their pigeon or not, proved excellent
customers for the drinks of the Red House. At that time there were
'famous' taverns all up and down the river on either bank. There are
still Riverside taverns, but the invasion of the new streets and houses
has driven them, considered as 'famous' taverns, either higher up, or
lower down. As mere commonplace public houses they probably remain
still. Duels were conducted on the Battersea Fields, and there were
certain historical associations in connection with these dreary flats.
Here, for instance, the Duke of Wellington fought his duel with Lord
Winchilsea. Other important people were also connected either with the
Fields or the Village of Battersea, but at the time I knew not anything
about them. The Battersea of my boyhood is gone absolutely: no trace of
it remains, except the Church. The Grosvenor Railway Bridge passes over
the site of the famous Red House; the most beautiful of all our Parks
covers the Subscription Shooting Grounds, together with most of the flat
and dreary fields; and houses by the thousand, with streets mean and
monotonous, stand where formerly the pigeons flew wildly, hoping to
escape those who waited outside the grounds as they had escaped those
who potted at them from within.
[Illustration: IN SNOW'S FIELDS, BERMONDSEY]
[Illustration: The Temple from the Surrey Bank]
[Illustration: HOLY TRINITY, ROTHERHITHE]
Let us turn to another part of the map and inquire into Rotherhithe. It
is curious that at one end we get Rotherhithe, the Place of Cattle; and
at the other Lambeth or Lambhythe, if it be the 'Place of Lambs' and not
the 'Place of Mud.' In 1834 the Commercial Docks are already there, but
without prejudice to the ancient and venerable docks of the preceding
century, Acorn Dock and Lavender Dock. A single street runs along the
Embankment, which it hides and covers: at the back of this street there
is a succession of small lanes and courts running back with tiny
houses--two or four rooms to each--on either side, and ending generally
in gardens of greenery--leaves and palings. You may still see, in 1898,
if you are lucky, the bows and bowsprit of a ship in one of the old
docks, sticking across the street, causing a momentary confusion in the
mind between land and water; there are riverside taverns which look as
if at a touch they would yield and slide into the mud below. In 1834
this street with these little lanes was the whole of Rotherhithe.
Inland--or in-marsh--ponds and ditches and creeping streams lay about;
one of the ponds survives to this day; you will find it in the middle of
the pretty garden they call Southwark Park, of which it forms the
ornamental water. And the rest of Rotherhithe, between the Park and
Bermondsey, is one unbroken mass of streets with no green thing and no
open space. All is filled up and built upon.
A little beyond Rotherhithe lies Deptford. On my map of 1834 I see a
little town, lying partly on the bank of the Thames, partly on the bank
of the Ravensbourne, which here widens out and forms Deptford Creek. The
greater part of the area of Deptford is taken up by the Dockyard, not
yet closed. As for the town, which now contains nearly 100,000 people,
about five-and-twenty little streets sufficed for all its people; it
boasted of two churches and two almshouses. One of these Havens of Rest
was so picturesque and so beautiful that it could not be suffered to
remain. Almshouses which are perfectly beautiful are only vouchsafed to
man for a limited period, lest other buildings become intolerable. Their
time expired, they are then carried off Heavenward.
Or turn your eyes further south. London in this direction now
covers--for the most part completely, in some parts leaving spaces and
fields here and there--Greenwich, Blackheath, Brockley, Peckham, Forest
Hill, Dulwich, Brixton, Stockwell, Camberwell, Clapham, Balham,
Wandsworth, Vauxhall, and Penge, and many others.
[Illustration: CZAR PETER'S HOUSE, DEPTFORD.]
It is difficult, now that the whole country south of London has been
covered with villas, roads, streets, and shops, to understand how
wonderful for loveliness it was until the builder seized upon it. When
the ground rose out of the great Lambeth and Bermondsey Marsh--the cliff
or incline is marked still by the names of Battersea Rise, Clapham Rise,
and Brixton Rise--it opened out into one wild heath after
another--Clapham, Wandsworth, Putney, Wimbledon, Barnes, Tooting,
Streatham, Richmond, Thornton, and so south as far as Banstead Downs.
The country was not flat: it rose at Wimbledon to a high plateau; it
rose at Norwood to a chain of hills; between the Heaths stretched
gardens and orchards; between the orchards were pasture lands; on the
hill sides were hanging woods; villages were scattered about, each with
its venerable church and its peaceful churchyard; along the high roads
to Dover, Southampton, and Portsmouth bumped and rolled, all day and
all night, the stage coaches and the waggons; the wayside inns were
crowded with those who halted to drink, those who halted to dine, and
those who halted to sleep: if the village lay off the main road it was
as quiet and as secure as the town of Laish. All this beauty is gone; we
have destroyed it: all this beauty has gone for ever; it cannot be
replaced. And on the south there was so much more beauty than on the
north. On the latter side of London there are the heights with
Hampstead, Highgate, and Hornsey--one row of villages; but there is
little more. The country between Hatfield or St. Albans and Hampstead is
singularly dull and uninteresting: it is not until one reaches Hertford
or Rickmansworth that the explorer comes once more into lovely country.
But the loveliness of South London lay almost at the very doors of
London: one could walk into it; the heaths were within an easy walk, and
the loveliness of Surrey lay upon all.
I have mentioned already some of the heaths, those which remain at the
present moment. It will be a matter of surprise to the reader to hear of
the many waste and wild places which have been appropriated and built
over in the last two hundred years. In the parish of Lambeth alone, an
extensive tract, it is true, there was nearly 500 acres of commons:
namely, Kennington, Norwood, Norwood Common (in another part of
Norwood), Hall Lane, Knight's Hill Green, Half Moon Green, Rush Common,
South Stockwell Common, South Lambeth and North Stockwell Common. With
the exception of the first all these are now gone.
[Illustration: ALLEYN'S ALMSHOUSES, 1840]
Look at Dulwich--the peaceful and picturesque village of Dulwich on this
map of 1834. It lies among its trees, its gardens, and its fields: the
venerable college of Alleyn is the glory of the village--nothing more
beautiful than this almshouse with its hall and its picture gallery. Yet
the people flocked out to Dulwich less for the picture gallery than the
shady walks, the fields, and a certain tavern--the Greyhound--which was
beloved by everybody, and believed to contain a particular brew of beer,
a particular kind of old Jamaica for punch, and a particular vintage of
port not to be found anywhere else, even in a City company's cellars.
There was, in fact, no more favourite place of resort for the better
sort of citizens of London than Dulwich in the summer. For the poorer
sort it was too far off, and cost too much in conveyance. The Dulwich
stage ran two or three times a day: it was not too long a drive from the
city; the young men rode--in those days the young men could all
ride--even John Gilpin thought he could ride; they hired a horse as we
now get into a cab. For those who lived in any suburb on the south,
Dulwich was an easy walk. Not far from the college and the village--Mr.
Pickwick lived there in 1834--were the Dulwich Fields, as beautiful and
interesting as those of Battersea were the contrary: there were, I
think, five of them in succession: the little stream called the Effra
rose somewhere in the neighbourhood, and ran about, winding through the
fields in a deep channel with rustic bridges across. In older days--at
the end of the eighteenth century, for example, the Effra, a bright and
sparkling stream, ran out of the fields above what is now called the
Effra Road, and so along the south side--or was it the north?--of
Brixton Road. Rustic cottages stood on the other side of the stream,
with flowering shrubs--lilac, laburnum, and hawthorn--on the bank, and
beds of the simpler flowers in the summer: the gardens and the cottages
were approached by little wooden bridges, each provided with a single
rail painted green. That, however, was before my time. In the 'fifties
the boys used to play in these fields, jumping over the stream: when
they left the fields and got into the village they looked about for Mr.
Pickwick and for Sam Weller, if haply they might see either. But I do
not learn that either sage or servant ever gratified those eyes of faith
by an incarnation.
Here are three hills close together: Herne Hill, Denmark Hill, and
Champion Hill. On Denmark Hill Ruskin once lived; but in the 'fifties I
was not conscious of that fact or of his greatness. It must be saddening
to a great man to reflect that the schoolboys have no respect for him.
The road up the hill was somewhat gloomy on account of the trees: the
houses, with their gardens and lawns, and carriage drives, and
smoothness and snugness, betokened in those years the institution of
evening prayers. I fear I may be misunderstood. At that time great was
the power and the authority of seriousness. To be serious was
fashionable, if one may say so, in City circles. Respectability was
nearly always serious: it was divided into two classes: that which had
morning prayers only, and that which had evening prayers as well. With
the young, the latter institution was unpopular--no one of the present
younger generation can understand how unpopular it was: a house which
had evening prayers made a deliberate profession of a seriousness which
was something out of the common, which the young people disliked, as a
rule; and it insisted on the sons getting home in time for prayers. This
profession of seriousness generally belonged to a large house, beautiful
gardens, rich conservatories, a large income, and a carriage and pair.
Denmark Hill used to appear to outward view as more especially a suburb
belonging to the serious rich, who could afford a profession of more
than common earnestness.
[Illustration: DULWICH COLLEGE, 1780]
Herne Hill was remarkable for consisting of three houses only, each with
its parklike grounds and gardens and its noble trees. Champion Hill I
remember as a green and grassy slope: there were no houses at all upon
it: but there was a road, and at the bottom of the road a green called
Goose Green--you may still find this tract of grass, but I believe it is
now pinched and attenuated. On Goose Green they kept ponies for hire:
the boys used to ride them up the hill and gallop them down the hill.
Beyond this green there was a much larger expanse called Peckham Rye: so
far as I can remember it was a most uninviting place formerly; not a
wild heath like Putney or Hampstead, not a waste place covered with fern
and gorse and bramble and wild trees; but a barren, dreary expanse of
uncertain grass. Boys would perhaps have played cricket upon it in
summer, but there were then no boys at Peckham Rye. Now, all this
country is covered with houses, and Peckham is like Bloomsbury itself
for streets and terraces and squares.
We have not only destroyed the former beauty of South London: we have
forgotten it. Ask a resident of Penge--one of the many thousands of
Penge--what this suburban town was like seventy years ago. Do you think
he can tell you anything of Penge Common? Has he ever heard of any Penge
Common? Well, it is exactly seventy-one years ago--viz. in May
1827--that Mr. William Hone--the compiler of the 'Every-Day Book,'
climbed up outside the Dulwich stage, proposing to visit the picture
gallery of Dulwich College. Hone was one of the first of those curious
and inquisitive persons who began to employ their summers in exploring
the unknown villages and strange places round London. The picture
gallery he could not see because it was closed; he therefore walked
across the country from Dulwich to a place called Penge. At the top of a
hill he found a choice of three roads. He chose that which led through
Penge Common. The place was thickly wooded: it was, he says, 'a
cathedral of singing birds.' At the mere recollection of that choir he
bursts into verse--other people's verse. Alas! the Common had already,
even then, been ravished from its owners, the people: it was enclosed;
it was doomed; it was about to be built upon. Mr. Hone consoled himself,
however, at the 'Old Crooked Billet,' with eggs and bacon and
home-brewed ale. Again, is there anyone in Penge who now remembers the
hanging woods? They hung over a hillside, and were as beautiful as the
hanging woods of Cliveden. But, like the Common, they are gone.
[Illustration: From the Tower of St. Saviour's]
Or let us ask the resident of Norwood what he remembers of its ancient
glories; whether there were any ancient glories. Has he heard of the
famous Norwood oak? Of the Norwood Spa? Of the gypsies of Norwood? Why,
the Queen of all the gypsies, unless there was a more powerful sovereign
at Jedburgh, held her court and camp at Norwood. Has this resident heard
of the views from the top of the hill, four hundred feet above the level
of the sea, whither the people flocked by hundreds to see the view and
to wander in the woods?
All this beauty is destroyed. Of course, the destruction was inevitable.
One accepts the inevitable with a sigh; we cannot have town and country
together. The woods are gone, the rural life is gone, encroachments have
been made upon the commons, the wayside tavern--the place was full of
wayside taverns--is gone. What remains of all this beauty is a fragment
here and there. Clapham Common, once a heath, now a park; Wimbledon
Common, Tooting Common; these expanses are mercifully left us for
breathing-places. Some of them, like Clapham, are transformed into
imitations of a park, instead of being left as a heath. All of them are
bereft, of course, of their old accompaniments; they have lost the wood
beside the heath, the farm, the ploughed lands, the tinkle of the sheep
bell, the song of the skylark.
We have seen in the course of these chapters some of the associations of
South London. I confess that, for my own part, I am not happy in
considering associations connected with rows of terraces and villas.
Here, you say, was once the house, with the park, of such and such a
great man. Really! I dare say. But it is now covered with gentility. If
I am taken to a slum--such a slum as that on the west of St. Mary
Overies, and am told that in this place was Winchester House, I am at
once interested. Why should the memory of the past appeal to our
imagination more in a slum than in a brand new, spick and span
collection of pleasant country villas? Is it from a feeling that all
things tend to decay, and that the new suburb speaks not of decay? Who,
for instance, stepping from the south-east corner of Tooting Common into
the place which was once Streatham Park, can think of Mrs. Thrale and
Dr. Johnson among these roads and villas? At Tooting itself, one might
remember, were it not for the houses, Daniel De Foe, who founded the
first Independent chapel there. At Wandsworth, if it were not so much
built upon, I might see Voltaire walking about. At Putney, but for the
villas, I should look for Pitt. Oh! there are a thousand people once
living, and walking, and playing their parts in their villages, whose
wraiths and spectres would willingly haunt them still, but cannot for
the bricks and the walls, the chimneys and the smoke, the roads and the
trams.
We have destroyed the beauty of South London: we have also made its
historical associations impossible.
[Illustration: RED CROSS GARDENS, Southwark]
The first settlers or colonisers of this region, apart from its rural
folk, came from London about the time when roads began to be tolerable;
that is to say, late in the seventeenth century; they were the great
folk, the leisured folk, the Quality, who had suburban houses in
addition to their town houses and their country houses. They sought
shelter in the quiet retreats of Clapham, Streatham, or Norwood. These
people did not come, however, to settle, but only remained, as a rule,
for a year or two, for a few months, for a season. When the roads
became so far improved as to make driving easy and pleasant, the city
merchants came and built or bought big houses, and drove in and out
every day in their carriage and pair. They did not buy estates, as a
rule: they bought a substantial house and grounds, and sat down therein.
They had large gardens behind, with greenhouses where they grew early
strawberries; they had in front a broad lawn with a carriage drive; they
liked to have on the lawn two stately cedars, whose branches swept the
grass. They brought their friends down from Saturday to Monday. In
course of time other people came; but the first comers--these
merchants--were the aristocracy, the first families of the suburbs. In
the newer places there are still to be found the first families; in the
older suburbs they have all disappeared from the place. Thus Clapham, I
believe, knows no longer a Macaulay, a Wilberforce, a Venn. These were
people of national distinction. Of course there were not in other
suburbs first families who rose to the giddy heights attained by these
fortunate aristocrats of the suburbs; but there were many which had
among them ex-Lord Mayors and Aldermen; there were many persons among
them of dignity and authority. Alas! the first families are gone: there
is now no aristocracy of the suburb left. It is a pity. There should be
in every community some whose position entitles them to respect and
authority; there should be some to take the lead naturally; there should
be some who should maintain the standards of conduct, ideas, and
principles. Especially is this the case when by far the greater part of
the people in a community are engaged in trade.
[Illustration: ST. SAVIOUR'S DOCK]
I cannot quite avoid the use of figures, because a comparison between
the population of these villages in 1801 with that of these great towns
in 1898 is so startling that it must be recorded. Battersea has risen
from 3,365 to 165,115; Camberwell from 7,059 to 253,076; Lambeth from
27,985 to 295,033; Lewisham from 4,007 to 104,521; Wandsworth from
14,283 to 187,264. Or, taking the whole area of South London, that part
which is covered by the electoral districts, there is now a population
of very nearly two millions; in other words the population, in less than
a hundred years, has been multiplied by ten. That of London itself, in
the same time, the London including the City, Clerkenwell, Whitechapel,
Bloomsbury, and Westminster, has been multiplied during the same time by
five. What has caused this enormous increase in South London? Well,
people must live somewhere; the old limits proved insufficient. First,
places which had been dotted over with fields and gardens and vacant
places, such as Southwark on the west side, and Bermondsey, were
completely built over and inhabited. Then, when it became a problem how
to stow away the people within reach of their work, the 'short stage'
was supplemented by the omnibus. Next South London stretched itself out
farther; it began to include Camberwell, Brixton, Stockwell, Clapham,
and Wandsworth. These were separate suburbs lying each among its own
gardens; the inhabitants were not clerks, but principals and employers,
substantial merchants and flourishing shopkeepers. The clerks lived
nearer London, mostly on the north of the river. Lastly came the
railway, when London made another step outward, so as to take in the
places lying south of Clapham and Brixton. Then the builder began; he
saw that a new class of residents would be attracted by small houses and
low rents. The houses sprang up as if in a single night; streets in a
month, churches and chapels in a quarter. The population of South London
no longer consists of rich merchants, principals, and partners. Clerks,
assistants, and employés of all kinds now crowd the morning and evening
trains.
If you want to form some idea of the South London folk, go stand inside
Cannon Street Station and watch the trains come in, each with its
freight of those who earn their daily bread within the City. See them
pass out--by the hundred--by the thousand--by the fifty thousand. The
brain reels at the mere contemplation of this mighty multitude which
comes in every morning and goes out every afternoon. As they hurry past
you observe on each the same expression, the same set eagerness, with
which the day's work is approached. Employer or employé, principal or
clerk, it matters nothing. The clerk, who will get none of the thousands
he is helping to secure, comes in to town as eager for the fray as his
master; the fighting instinct is in the man; his face means battle,
daily battle, in which the weapons are superior knowledge, earlier
knowledge, keen sight, readiness, ruthlessness, while there is as much
need, for success, or courage tenacity, and bluff as in any battle
between contending armies. The many twinkling feet pass out of the
station by the hundred thousand, every morning, to the field of battle.
The English are a warlike people; they enjoy the field of battle; the
City is like that state of beatitude which the pious Dane desired, in
which there would be fighting every day, and all day, and for ever.
[Illustration: Below Cherry Garden Pier]
In South London there are two millions of people. It is therefore one of
the great cities of the world. It stands upon an area about twelve
miles long and five or six broad--but its limits cannot be laid down
even approximately. It is a city without a municipality, without a
centre, without a civic history; it has no newspapers, magazines, or
journals; it has no university; it has no colleges, apart from medicine;
it has no intellectual, artistic, scientific, musical, literary
centre--unless the Crystal Palace can be considered a centre; its
residents have no local patriotism or enthusiasm--one cannot imagine a
man proud of New Cross; it has no theatres, except of a very popular or
humble kind; it has no clubs, it has no public buildings, it has no West
End. It is argued that although it has none of these things, yet it has
them all by right of being a part of London. That is, in a sense, true.
The theatres, concerts, picture galleries of the West End are accessible
to the South. Far be it from me to deny the culture of Sydenham and the
artistic elevation of Tooting. Yet one feels there must surely be some
disadvantage in being separated from the literary and artistic circles
whose members, it must be confessed, reside for the most part in North
London. It must surely, one thinks, be a disadvantage for a young man
who would pursue a career in art not to live among people who habitually
talk of art and think of art. It must surely be some disadvantage to
live in a place where the people, when they are gathered together,
mostly allow the conversation to turn upon things connected with the
City.
How are these two millions distributed?
There are, in fact, four layers. First, there is the 'submerged'
element, the people of the slums of which mention has been made. Their
numbers and their proportion to the whole I know not. Next, there are
the working people, those for whom the long lines, the endless lines, of
barracks called model lodging-houses, have been built. Here they live by
the hundred thousand--by the million: there are more than a million
working men in South London. For their use are the shops of the
Borough, chiefly provision shops, and the public houses. The third layer
is found on a slip of ground, of which Newington and Kennington may be
taken as representative: it consists principally of lodging-houses for
clerks. The fourth layer is that of the suburban villa, from the little
semi-detached cottage to the stately mansion. The 'High Street,' filled
with shops, is for the villas.
[Illustration: The George Inn
Little Dorrit's Window in the Marshalsea]
Now, the whole of this immense population lives upon the City. The
bread-winners go in and out every day; the local shops provide for the
houses, and are paid out of the money made in the City; the local
doctor, the local house agent, the local schoolmaster, the local
clergyman, all receive their share of the money made in the City; even
if there be, here and there, a literary man, his wares are bought by the
money made in the City; the artist looks for his patron to the City;
the working man, whatever his work, is paid out of the City, so that the
first function of the City is to feed and supply all these millions. If
at any time the trade of the City were to decay, these suburbs would
decay as well; if the decay were gradual, they would slowly cease to
spread, begin to show empty houses and deserted streets; if the decay
were to mean ruin, the suburbs would themselves be speedily deserted.
Then would be seen a deserted city on a scale never before equalled.
Tadmor in the Wilderness would be a mere little wheelbarrow full of
stones compared with suburban London given over to decay and wreck.
Two millions of people, most of whom belong to the working class! The
brain reels at thinking of this teeming multitudinous life; these armies
of men, women, and children living in the slums and in the huge,
unlovely barracks. The very number makes it impossible to grasp the
enormity of the mass; the vastness of the population makes one feel as
if individual effort would be absolutely useless. In a sense it is
useless, because it can only touch one or two, and what are they among
so many? But in another sense, as I will presently show, individual
effort may produce consequences both deep and widespread.
It seems, again, when one contemplates this mass of humanity--this
compact round ball of men and women, to make which two millions have
been brought together--as if any one life was nothing, as if the life of
any one out of the heap--any girl, any lad--was wholly unimportant and
trivial, however that life were spent. That is not so: every heap is
made up of atoms; the influence of the individual is as great in a
densely populated place as in a village. One example is precious--beyond
all price--in a model dwelling-house of Bermondsey as in the most
retired community of rustics. It is very easy to generalise from the
mass: the dweller of the slums stands before the mind's eye, beery,
unwashed, in rags, inarticulate, his brain filled with thoughts which
may better be described as suspicions, desirous of nothing but of food,
drink, and warmth. That is what we think of him. It is because we do not
know him. Ask those who go down among these people habitually, they will
tell you of differences and distinctions among them as among ourselves,
of memories of better things, of resignation rather than despair, and,
at the very worst, of traits of generosity and unselfishness worthy of a
clean cottage and the air of a village green. We must be very careful
how we form general conclusions about men and women.
[Illustration: Alcove from Old London Bridge, now at Guy's]
But--two millions of people! And every one of them wanting all the time
what he thinks will make his life more happy. For the riverside folk the
wants are few, but they are daily wants. With them, literally, it is a
question of daily bread. Happy are the people whose wants are more
numerous and their happiness more complex!
Let me terminate this chapter by a brief account of certain work of a
philanthropic kind which is characteristic of the place and of the time.
Many and various are the attempts and the associations and the machinery
for raising some of these people and for keeping others from sliding
down. There are the parish clergy, of late years better organised than
at any previous time, more active, and more largely assisted; they have
planted evening schools and clubs, for boys and girls. One must put the
Church of England first, not only because her clergy began the work of
rescue, but also because hers is still the larger part. There is, next,
the indirect work of the medical students of Guy's and St. Thomas's, who
go in and out among the worst courts, tolerated because they come to
doctor the sick, and do not ask disagreeable questions about the
children's school. There are, next, places which aim at civilising by
the presentation of things civilised. For instance, there is a very
pleasing institute in Whitecross Street, where a garden, an open air
band, a lecture or concert hall, and a row of cottages beautiful to look
upon are provided as a standard to which the people may rise by degrees.
There are one or two Polytechnics for the lads, and, lastly, there are
the 'Settlements,' college settlements and others. Let me briefly
describe the work and aims of one of these settlements. I have before me
the last Report of the Browning Settlement in Walworth. It is called the
Browning Settlement because its headquarters is the chapel in York
Street in which Robert Browning was christened.
[Illustration: The Entrance Gates to Guy's]
As for their plan of work, perhaps the aims and methods of a
'settlement' are not too well known for repetition. They are not all the
same, but the differences are slight. The directors of this settlement,
for instance, desire to plant a settlement house in every poor street; a
house which shall be inhabited by the workers, men or women, and shall
serve as a model for the other people in the street; example, in fact,
is relied upon as a potent influence. There is, or will be, a large club
house and coffee tavern for men and women, boys and girls. Once a week
there is a concert in the hall. The members of the settlement take as
large a part as possible in the local government; they have laid out a
burial-ground at the back of their hall as a garden; they have a medical
mission which gives consultations free; some of them are poor men's
lawyers; they have introduced the University Extension Lectures; they
have founded thrift agencies; they hold Sunday afternoons for the men;
they have a maternity society; they have a clothes store; they have an
adult school. Classes are held in hygiene, mathematics, and classics;
there have been Shakespeare readings, music, singing, country holidays,
summer camps, children's holidays; there is a boys' brigade; there is
musical drill; there are May Day and Harvest Festivals; and there are,
in addition, works of religion and temperance which I have not
enumerated above.
The keynote of all such work as this is, for the workers, personal
service; for the people, the influence of example, the attraction of
things which they understand at once to be a great deal more pleasant
than the bar and the tap-room; such a variety of work and recreation as
may drag all into the net except the substratum of all, whom nothing can
lift out of the mire.
One or two things have yet to be learned as regards these settlements.
First, how large an area in a densely populated part can be covered by a
single settlement? Next, how many young men can be found to carry on the
work? For instance, if the Browning Settlement can reach--of course it
cannot--all the people of Walworth, which is in the Parish of Newington,
and includes 120,000 people, there ought to be nine other settlements in
South London from Battersea to Greenwich, both included. If we give
20,000 people for each settlement, then there ought to be at least fifty
settlements for the millions of the working class. The Report does not
state how many residents there are, but gives a list of the officers and
managers of departments, from which it would seem that about thirty are
actively engaged from day to day. So that fifteen hundred voluntary
workers in all would be required in order to cover this land of slums
with an effective string of settlements.
[Illustration: A Former Entrance to St. Thomas's Hospital]
There never was a time when more determined efforts have been made for
the elevation of the submerged, and there never was a time when so many
young men and young women have been found ready to give the whole of
their time, or all their spare time, to the work. Whether they will
succeed in effecting a permanent improvement remains to be seen;
whether the attraction of personal devotion which is now passing over
the minds of the young will continue and remain with us has also to be
proved. The directors of the Browning Settlement meantime declare--I
have no intention of questioning the truth of their assertion--that they
find already among the people 'a quickening of spirit, shown in keener
intellectual interest, intenser civic ardour, warmer friendship, and
more avowed piety.' If such are the fruits of a settlement, we cannot
but desire for South London a chain of settlements reaching from
Battersea to Greenwich, both inclusive.
NOTE.--Since this was written several new Theatres have been built
in South London. I should therefore like to correct the passage on
p. 320 which states that the Theatres are humble. Also I would
acknowledge the existence of local newspapers, and instead of saying
that it has no public buildings I would say only one or two old
buildings.
INDEX
Acrensis, Thomas, 161
Actors, Company of, 225-228
Ailwin, Childe, 52
Albion Island, 4
Alfred repairs the Walls, 31
Allectus, Emperor, 18, 26
Alleyn, Edward, 271
Arundell, Archbishop, 114, 116
Asclepiodotus, 29
Awdry, Legend of, 15
Bankside, 217
Battersea Fields, 303, 304
Battle of Clapham Common, 18
-- on London Bridge, 148-150
Bear Garden Alley, 214
'Below Bridge,' 229
Bermondsey, Religious House, 51
-- Spa Gardens, 292
-- Hall, 233
Bill of a Feast, 265
Boadicea, Queen, 26
Boleyn, Anne, 122
Bombardment of London, 153
Borough Compter, 249, 272, 278
-- Society, 260, 261
Bridge across the River, 12
-- at the Barefoot Tavern, 264
-- Construction of, 29
-- Destroyed and repaired, 44, 45
--, The, 25
-- when built, 26
Bridges, Roman Method of Building, 28
Bull and Bear Baiting, 210, 211
Burials and Marriages in St. Mary Overies, 64
Cade's Rebellion, 148
Canal of Cnut, Maitland's Discovery of, 38
Canterbury, Pilgrimages to, 163
-- Tales, 168-176.
Carausius, History of, 18
Causeway across Southwark Marsh, 6, 7
-- the Lie of, 6, 7
Chapel of St. Peter on the Wall, 4
Charles II.'s Restoration, 129
Charlton Fair, 188
Chaucer's Company of Pilgrims, 168-174
Chelsea--'Isle of Shingle,' 6
Christmas at Kennington Palace, 77-79
Clapham Common Battle, 18
-- Rise, 5
Clink Prison, 248
Cnut's Canal, Course of, 40, 41
-- Siege, 38
-- Trench, 38
Commercial Docks, 234, 305
Copt Hall or Vauxhall, 111
Count of the Saxon Shore, 17
Cranmer, Martyrdom of, 65
Cuper's Gardens, 252, 288
Danes defeated, 35
Danish Alliance against London, 32, 33
-- Invasion, Second, 36
Debtors' Prisons, 272
Denmark Hill, 311
Deptford, 234-238, 306
'Dog and Duck,' 289-292
Domesday Book compiled, 72
Dover Road, 25
Dry Ground beyond Kennington, 5
Duels in Battersea Fields, 304
Dulwich Fields, 309
Earl Godwine's Invasion, 42
Earliest Maps of South London, 47
Edmund fights Cnut, 38
Edward the Third's Entertainment at Eltham Palace, 96
Effra River, 310
Elizabeth, Queen, at Greenwich, 103, 105, 108
Elizabeth Woodville, 62
Eltham Palace, 69, 74, 75, 89-97
Eltham Palace, Remains of, 94;
a Royal visit, 94-96
Embankment, Early Repairs of, 12
-- First, of River, 11, 12
Extent of South London, 2;
its Islets or Eyots, 2-3
Fabri, Felix, Pilgrimage of, 176
Fairs of London, 179
Falconbridge, Bastard of, 153
Falcon Stream, 3
Falstaff, Sir John, History of, 134-152
Ferries across Marsh, 26
Field, Nathan, 223
Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, 110
Fleet sent against the Danes, 32
Ford of Thorney, 5
Freemantle, History by, 1
[Transcriber's Note: The reference on page 1 is to Freeman not Freemantle.]
Gildable Manor, 48
Gokstad's ship, 33, 40, 41
Goose Green, 311
Great South Marsh, 2
Green Dragon Inn, 262
Greenwich Fair, 188
-- Hospital, 109
-- Palace, 97-109
Hackney Marsh, 11
-- Marshes, 6
Hanger, Colonel, Memoirs of, 275
Harold Harefoot, 71
Hengist and Æsc, 20
Henry III. at Eltham, 90
-- VI.'s Coronation, 126-129
Herne Hill, 311
High Street, Borough, 10
-- -- Southwark, 254
Hope Theatre, Southwark, 221
Horseferry Road, Origin of Name, 5
Horselydown, 231
-- Fair, 229
Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, 118
Inns of Southwark, 16, 262, 263
Insignia of Pilgrimage, 157
Islands in the Marsh, 2
Isle of Bramble, 9
-- -- or Westminster, 4
Juxon, Archbishop, 120
Katharine of Aragon, Marriage of, 129
Katharine of Valois, 56-60
Kennington, Richard II.'s connection with, 81-88
-- Palace, 69, 73;
owned by Theodric, 72;
Christmas at, 78-80
Kings and Princes connected with Kennington, 81
King's Bench Prison, 272, 274
Lady Fair or Southwark Fair, 179-185
Lambeth Palace, 109
-- -- visited by Royalty, 114
Langton, Stephen, 118
Legend of Awdry, 15
'Le Loke,' 64
'Liberties' of South London, 48
'Liberty' Prisons, 49
London and Southwark, Difference between, 22
-- as a Port, 10
-- attacked by Bastard of Falconbridge, 154-156
-- Original Site of, 23
-- Site of, from the Causeway, 7
-- Third Siege of, by Danes, 36, 37
Long Barn, The, 70, 73, 75
Lord Mayor's Pageants, 133
Maitland's Discovery of Cnut's Canal, 38
Manor of Lambeth, 117
Marian Persecution, St. Mary Overies connected with, 199-204
Marriages and Burials in St. Mary Overies, 64
-- at St. Mary Overies, 192, 193
Marsh, Great South, 2
-- Islands in, 2
Marshalsea, 279
Memories of Greenwich, 98, 99
Mint Street, Southwark, Sanctuary at, 242, 246
Monastic Houses, 50
Montagu Close, Southwark, 242
Monuments in St. Mary Overies, 196-198
Morden College, 239
New Mint Sanctuary, 246
Nonesuch, 77
Norfolk College, 239
-- House, 110
Origin of Settlements in South London, 17
Owen Tudor, 56-60
Paris Gardens, 215
-- -- Baiting at, 212
Parish Clerks, Company of, 210
Parliament at Lambeth Palace, 113
Pax Romana, 17, 43
Payn, John, 147, 151
Peckham Rye, 312
Penge Common, 312
Philanthropic Work, 324
Pilgrimage a Mockery, 165, 166
-- Insignia of, 157
Pilgrimages, Choice of, 159, 160
Pilgrims starting from Southwark, 158
Playhouses in Southwark, 220
Pleasure Gardens, 282-288
Poets of South London, 224, 225
Population, Increase in, 316, 317
Priory of St. Mary Overies, 192
Prisons of the Liberties, 49
Processions in Southwark, 124
Punishments ordered by the Church, 68
Puritan Effect on Theatres, 221, 222
Ravensbourne, 2, 3
Red Cross Gardens, 315
-- House Tavern, 304
Remains of Eltham Palace, 94
Richard II. at Kennington Palace, 81, 82
River, First Embankment of, 11, 12
-- Wall removed, 28
Roger of Wendover's Chronicle, 21
Roman Connection with Causeway, 6
-- Method of Building Bridges, 28
-- Remains in South London, 14-16
-- -- at St. Saviour's Grammar School, 15
-- Trajectus, 10
Rotherhithe, 305
Royal Houses, 69
-- Manor, Valuation of, 72, 73
Royalty at Eltham Palace, 92
Rum, 10
Sanctuaries, Later, 241
Sanctuary at Southwark, 243
-- at New Mint, 246
Savoy Dock, 230
Settlements in South London, Origin of, 17
Show Folk of Bankside, 206
Site of London from Causeway, 7
-- of Original London, 23
Snorro, Thirlesen, 22
Society in the Borough, 261
South London, Extent of, 2
-- -- deserted, 20, 21
-- -- named Southwark by Saxons, 2
-- -- in Ruins and deserted, 31
-- -- Earliest Map of, 47
-- -- of To-day, 301
Southwark, Conditions of Existence, 12, 13
-- and London, Difference between, 22
-- Fair or Lady Fair, 179-185
-- Famous Inns, 16
-- without a Wall, 17
Stage Coaches, Start of, 258, 259
St. Mary Overies, 191
-- -- -- Dock, 10
-- -- -- Marriages at, 192, 193
-- -- -- reconstructed, 195, 196
-- -- -- connected with Marian Persecution, 199-204
-- -- -- in Recent Times, 205
St. Peter-on-the-Wall Chapel, 4
St. Saviour's Abbey, 51
St. Thomas's Hospital, 64
-- -- -- Foundation of, 66
-- -- -- Roman Remains in, 15, 16
'Stonegate,' 6
Stubbs, History by, 1
Swegen and Olaf, Alliance of, 33-37
Tabard Inn, 268
Tabard Inn, Chaucer's Company of Pilgrims, 167
Thames Fishermen, 14
Theatre of Southwark Fair, 185
Thorney, Trade of, 8
-- Island, Trade of, 4
Tournament at Eltham, 94-96
Trade of Thorney, 8
-- Route of South London, 4
Traffic through Southwark, 256, 257
Trench of Cnut, 38
Vauxhall Gardens, 294-299
-- -- Site of, 113
-- or Copt Hall, 111
Walbrook, 8
-- Origin of Name, 3
Walls repaired by Alfred, 31
Walworth, the Name, 23
Wandle, River, 2, 3
Westminster, or Isle of Bramble, 4
White Lyon Prison, 280
William the Conqueror enters London by the Bridge, 43
-- III.'s Entry into London, 131, 132
Willoughby, Sir John, 105
Wyclyf's trial, 84
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