A number of dilapidated and antique females were sitting about in the
rooms, talking or sewing. One old lady was doing crochet work. She
told me that she made her living by it, and by flower-selling. Another
informed me that it was years since she had slept anywhere else, and
that she did not know what poor women like her would do without this
place. Another was cooking the broth. Her husband was a sea captain,
and when he died, her father had allowed her _£1_ a week until he
died. Afterwards she took to drink, and drifted here, where, I was
informed, she is doing well. And so on, and so on, _ad infinitum_. The
Hanbury Street Women's Shelter is not a cheerful spot to visit on a
dull and rainy evening.
THE SLUM SETTLEMENT
HACKNEY ROAD
Slum work is an important branch of the Social labours of the
Salvation Army, Thus last year the Slum Sisters visited over 105,000
families, over 20,000 sick, and over 32,000 public-houses, in which
work they spent more than 90,000 hours of time. Also they attended 482
births, and paid nearly 9,000 visits in connexion with them.
There are nine Slum Settlements and Posts in London, and nineteen
others in England, Scotland, and Ireland. The old system used to be
for the Sisters and Nurses to live among the lowest class of the poor,
lodging in the actual tenements in which their work was carried out.
This, however, was abandoned as far as possible, because it was found
that after the arduous toil of the day these ladies could get little
rest at night, owing to the noise that went on about them, a
circumstance that caused their health to suffer and made them
inefficient. Now out of the 117 Officers engaged in Slum work in Great
Britain, about one-half who labour in London live in five houses set
apart for them in different quarters of the city; fifteen Officers
being the usual complement to each house.
The particular dwelling of which I write is a good specimen of them
all, and from it the Sisters and Nurses who live there work
Shoreditch, Bethnal Green, Whitechapel, and the Hoxton and Hackney
Road districts. It is decently furnished and a comfortable place in
its way, although, of course, it stands in a poor neighbourhood. I
remember that there was even the finishing touch of a canary in the
window. I should add that no cases are attended in the house itself,
which is purely a residence.
To this particular Settlement two qualified midwives and a nurse are
attached. While I was there one of the midwives came in, very tired,
at about half-past eleven in the morning. Since three o'clock on that
same morning she had attended three confinements, so no wonder she was
tired. She said that one of her cases was utterly unprovided with
anything needful as the father was out of work, although on the
occasion of a previous confinement they had all they wanted. Now they
lived in a little room in which there was not space 'to swing a cat,'
and were without a single bite of food or bit of clothing, so that the
baby when it came had to be wrapped up in an old shawl and the woman
sent to the Infirmary. The Sister in charge informed me that if they
had them they could find employment for twice their strength of nurses
without overlapping the work of any other charity.
The people with whom they deal are for the most part those who have a
rooted objection to infirmaries, although the hospitals are much more
used than was formerly the case. The system of the Army is to make a
charge of 6_s_. 6_d_. for attending a confinement, which, if paid, is
generally collected in instalments of 3_d_. or 6_d_. a week. Often,
however, it is not paid, and the charge remains a mere formality. She
added that many of these poor people are most improvident, and make no
provision whatsoever for these events, even if they can afford to do
so. The result is that the Army has to lend them baby garments and
other things.
The Sister said in answer to my questions that there was a great deal
of poverty in their district where many men were out of work, a number
of them because they could find nothing to do. She thought that things
were certainly no better in this respect; indeed, the state of
depression was chronic. Owing to the bad summer of 1909, which
affected the hop-picking and other businesses, the destitution that
year was as great during the warm months as it usually is in the
winter.
The poor of this district, she said, 'generally live upon fried fish
and chips. You know they cannot cook, anyway they don't, and what they
do cook is all done in the frying-pan, which is also a very convenient
article to pawn. They don't understand economy, for when they have a
bit of money they will buy in food and have a big feast, not thinking
of the days when there will be little or nothing. Then, again, they
buy their goods in small portions; for instance, their coal by the
ha'p'orth or their wood by the farthing's-worth, which, in fact, works
out at a great profit to the dealers. Or they buy a farthing's-worth
of tea, which is boiled up again and again till it is awful-looking
stuff.'
I asked her what she considered to be the main underlying cause of
this misery. She answered that she thought it was due 'to the people
flocking from the country to the city,' thereby confirming an opinion
that I have long held and advanced. She added that the overcrowding in
the district was terrible, the regulations of the Public Health
Authorities designed to check it being 'a dead letter.' In one case
with which she had to do, a father, mother, and nine children lived in
a room that measured 9 ft. by 9 ft., and the baby came into the world
with the children looking on!
The general weekly rent for a room containing a family is 5_s_., or if
it is furnished, 7_s_. 6_d_. The Sister described to me the furniture
of one for the use of which this extra half-crown is charged. It
consisted of a rickety bed, two chairs, one without a back and one
without a seat, and a little shaky table. The floor was bare, and she
estimated the total value of these articles at about their weekly rent
of 2_s_. 6_d_., if, indeed, they were worth carrying away. In this
chamber dwelt a coachman who was out of place, his wife, and three or
four children, I wonder what arrangement these poor folk make as to
the use of the one chair that has a bottom. To occupy the other must
be an empty honour. With reference to this man the Sister remarked
that as a result of the introduction of motor vehicles, busmen,
cabmen, and blacksmiths were joining the ranks of her melancholy
clientele in numbers.
This and some similar stories caused me to reflect on the remarkable
contrast between rents in the country and in town. For instance, I own
about a dozen cottages in this village in which I write, and the
highest rent that I receive is 2_s_. 5_d_. a week. This is paid for a
large double dwelling, on which I had to spend over £100 quite
recently to convert two cottages into one. Also, there is a large
double garden thrown in, so large that a man can scarcely manage it in
his spare time, a pigsty, fruit trees, etc. All this for 1_d_. a week
less than is charged for the two broken chairs, the rickety bed, and
the shaky table! Again, for £10 a year, I let a comfortable farmhouse;
that is, £3 a year less than the out-of-work coachman pays for his
single room without the furniture. And yet, as the Sister said, people
continue to rush from the country to the towns!
Nor, it seems, do they always make the best of things when they get
there. Thus the Sister mentioned that the education which the girls
receive in the schools causes them to desire a more exalted lot in
life than that of a servant. So they try to find places in shops, or
jam factories, etc. Some get them, but many fail; and of those who
fail, a large proportion go to swell the mass of the unemployed, or to
recruit the ranks of an undesirable profession. She went so far as to
say that most of the domestic servants in London are not Cockneys at
all, but come from the country; adding, that the sad part of it was
that thousands of these poor girls, after proper training, could find
comfortable and remunerative employment without displacing others, as
the demand for domestic servants is much greater than the supply.
These are cold facts which seem to suggest that our system of free
education is capable of improvement.
It appears that all this district is a great centre of what is known
as 'sweating.' Thus artificial flowers, of which I was shown a fine
specimen, a marguerite, are made at a price of 1_s_. per gross, the
workers supplying their own glue. An expert hand, beginning at eight
in the morning and continuing till ten at night, can produce a gross
and a half of these flowers, and thus net 1_s_. 6_d_., minus the cost
of the glue, scissors, and sundries. The Officers of the Army find it
extremely difficult to talk to these poor people, who are invariably
too busy to listen. Therefore, some of them have learnt how to make
artificial flowers themselves, so that when they call they can join in
the family manufacture, and, while doing so, carry on their
conversation.
For the making of match-boxes and the sticking on of the labels the
pay is 2-1/2_d_. per gross. Few of us, I think, would care to
manufacture 144 matchboxes for 2-1/2_d_. I learned that it is not
unusual to find little children of four years of age helping their
mothers to make these boxes.
The Slum Sisters attached to the Settlement, who are distinct from the
Maternity Nurses, visit the very poorest and worst neighbourhoods, for
the purpose of helping the sick and afflicted, and incidentally of
cleaning their homes. Also, they find out persons who are about
sixty-nine years of age, and contribute to their maintenance, so as to
save them from being forced to receive poor-law relief, which would
prevent them from obtaining their old-age pensions when they come to
seventy.
Here is an illustration of the sort of case with which these Slum
Sisters have to deal; perhaps, I should say, the easiest sort of case.
An old man and his wife whom they visited, lived in a clean room. The
old woman fell sick, and before she died the Slum Sisters gave her a
bath, which, as these poor people much object to washing, caused all
the neighbours to say that they had killed her. After his wife's
death, the husband, who earned his living by selling laces on London
Bridge, went down in the world, and his room became filthy. The Slum
Sisters told him that they would clean up the place, but he forbade
them to touch the bed, which, he said, was full of mice and beetles.
As he knew that women dread mice and beetles, he thought that this
statement would frighten them. When he was out selling his laces, they
descended upon his room, where the first thing that they did was to
remove the said bed into the yard and burn it, replacing it with
another. On his return, the old man exclaimed: 'Oh, my darlings,
whatever _have_ you been doing?'
They still clean this room once a week.
The general impression left upon my mind, after visiting this place at
Hackney Road and conversing with its guardian angels, is, that in some
of its aspects, if not in all, civilization is a failure. Probably
thoughtful people made the same remark in ancient Rome, and in every
other city since cities were. The truth is, that so soon as its
children desert the land which bore them for the towns, these horrors
follow as surely as the night follows the day.
THE PICCADILLY MIDNIGHT WORK
GREAT TICHFIELD STREET
I visited this place a little before twelve o'clock on a summer night.
It is a small flat near Oxford Street, in which live two
women-Officers of the Army, who are engaged in the work of reclaiming
prostitutes. I may mention that for the last fourteen years the Major
in charge, night by night, has tramped the streets with this object.
The Titchfield Street flat is not in any sense a Home, but I saw a
small room in it, with two beds, where cases who may be rescued from
the streets, or come here in a time of trouble, can sleep until
arrangements are made for them to proceed to one of the Rescue
Institutions of the Army.
This work is one of the most difficult and comparatively unproductive
of any that the Army undertakes. The careers of these unfortunate
street women, who are nearly all of them very fine specimens of female
humanity, for the most part follow a rocket-like curve. The majority
of them begin by getting into trouble, at the end of which, perhaps,
they find themselves with a child upon their hands. Or they may have
been turned out of their homes, or some sudden misfortune may have
reduced them to destitution. At any rate, the result is that they take
to a loose life, and mayhap, after living under the protection of one
or two men, find themselves upon the streets. Sometimes, it may be
said to their credit, if that word can be used in this connexion, they
adopt this mode of life in order to support their child or children.
The Major informed me that if they are handsome they generally begin
with a period of great prosperity. One whom she knew earned about £30
a week, and a good many of them make as much as £1,000 a year, and pay
perhaps £6 weekly in rent.
A certain proportion of them are careful, open a bank account, save
money, retire, and get married. Generally, these keep their bank-books
in their stockings, which, in their peculiar mode of life, they find
to be the safest place, as they are very suspicious of each other, and
much afraid of being robbed. The majority of them, however, are not so
provident. They live in and for the moment, and spend their ill-gotten
gains as fast as they receive them.
Gradually they drift downwards. They begin in Piccadilly, and
progress, or rather retrogress, through Leicester Square on to
Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street, and thence to the Euston Road,
ending their sad careers in Bishopsgate and Whitechapel. The Major
informed me that there are but very few in the Piccadilly
neighbourhood whom she knew when she took up this work, and that, as a
rule, they cannot stand the life for long. The irregular hours, the
exposure, the excitement, and above all the drink in which most of
them indulge, kill them out or send them to a poorhouse or the
hospital.
She said, however, that as a class they have many virtues. For
instance, they are very kind-hearted, and will always help each other
in trouble. Also, most of them have affection for their children,
being careful to keep them, if possible, from any knowledge of their
mode of life. Further, they are charitable to the poor, and, in a way,
religious; or, perhaps, superstitious would be a better term. Thus,
they often go to church on Sundays, and do not follow their avocation
on Sunday nights. On New Year's Eve, their practice is to attend the
Watch Night services, where, doubtless, poor people, they make those
good resolutions that form the proverbial pavement of the road to
Hell. Nearly all of them drink more or less, as they say that they
could not live their life without stimulant. Moreover, their
profession necessitates their walking some miles every night.
For the most part these women lodge in pairs in their own flats, where
they pay about 35_s_. a week for three unfurnished rooms. The Officer
told me that often some despicable man, who is called a 'bully,' lives
on them, following them round the streets, and watching them. Even the
smartest girls are not infrequently the victims of such a man, who
knocks them about and takes money from them. Occasionally he may be a
husband or a relative. She added that as a class they are much better
behaved and less noisy than they used to be. This improvement,
however, is largely due to the increased strictness of the police.
These women do not decrease in number. In the Major's opinion, there
are as many or more of them on the streets as there were fourteen
years ago, although the brothels and the procuresses are less
numerous, and their quarters have shifted from Piccadilly to other
neighbourhoods.
The Army methods of dealing, or rather of attempting to deal with this
utterly insoluble problem are simple enough. The Officers walk the
streets every night from about twelve to two and distribute cards in
three languages according to the nationality of the girl to whom these
are offered. Here they are in English, French, and German:--
Mrs. Booth will gladly help any Girl
or Woman in need of a friend.
_APPLY AT_
79 Great Titchfield Street,
or 259 Mare Street, Hackney, N.E.
[Illustration: BONNES NOUVELLS.]
Vous avez une amie
qui est disposée à
vous aider.
(S addresser)
Madame Booth
79 Great Titchfield Street,
Oxford Street,
Londres, W.
MADAM BOOTH will herzlich gerne Jedem
Mädchen oder Jeder Frau helfen, die sich
in Noth auf eine Freundin befinden.
259 Mare Street, Hackney,
70 Great Titchfield Street, W.
Most of the girls to whom they are offered will not take them, but a
good number do and, occasionally, the seed thus sown bears fruit. Thus
the woman who takes the card may come to Great Titchfield Street and
be rescued in due course. More frequently, however, she will give a
false address, or make an appointment which she does not keep, or will
say that it is too late for her to change her life. But this fact does
not always prevent such a woman from trying to help others by sending
young girls who have recently taken to the trade to the Titchfield
Street Refuge in the hope that they may be induced to abandon their
evil courses.
Occasionally the Army has midnight suppers in its Regent Hall for
these women, who attend in large numbers, perhaps out of curiosity. At
the last supper nearly 300 'swell girls' were present and listened to
the prayers and the exhortations to amend their lives. Sometimes, too,
the Officers attend them when they are sick or dying. Once they buried
one of the women, who died whilst under their care, holding a midnight
funeral over her at their hall in Oxford Street.
It was attended by hundreds of the sisterhood, and the Major described
the scene as terrible. The women were seized with hysterics, and burst
into shrieks and sobs. They even tried to open the coffin in order to
kiss the dead girl who lay within.
Amongst many other cases, I was informed of a black girl called
Diamond, so named because she wore real diamonds on her dresses, which
dresses cost over £100 apiece. The Army tried to help her in vain, and
wrote her many letters. In the end she died in an Infirmary, when all
the letters were found carefully hidden away among her belongings and
returned to the Major.
The average number of rescues compassed, directly or indirectly, by
the Piccadilly Midnight work is about fifty a year. This is not a very
great result; but after all the taking of even a few people from this
hellish life and their restoration to decency and self-respect is well
worth the cost and labour of the mission. The Officers told me that
they meet with but little success in the case of those women who are
in their bloom and earning great incomes. It can scarcely be
otherwise, for what has the Army to offer them in place of their
gaudy, glittering life of luxury and excitement?
The way of transgressors is hard, but the way of repentance is harder;
at any rate, while the transgressor is doing well. On the one hand
jewels and champagne, furs and motors, and on the other prayers that
talk of death and judgment, plain garments made by the wearer's
labour, and at the end the drudgery of earning an honest livelihood,
perhaps as a servant. Human nature being what it is, it seems scarcely
wonderful that these children of pleasure cling to the path of 'roses'
and turn from that of 'thorns.'
With those that are growing old and find themselves broken in body and
in spirit, who are thrust aside in the fierce competition of their
trade in favour of younger rivals; those who find the wine in their
tinsel cup turning, or turned, to gall, the case is different. They
are sometimes, not always, glad to creep to such shelter from the
storms of life as the Army can offer, and there work out their moral
and physical salvation. For what bitterness is there like to that
which must be endured by the poor, broken woman of the streets, as
scorned, spat on, thrust aside, she sinks from depth to depth into the
last depth of all, striving to drown her miseries with drugs or drink,
if so she may win forgetfulness even for an hour?
Sometimes, too, these patient toilers in the deep of midnight sin
succeed in dragging from the brink those that have but dipped their
feet in its dark waters. _Nemo repente fuit turpissimus_--no one
becomes altogether filthy in an hour--runs the old Roman saying, which
is as true to-day as it was 2,000 years ago, and whether it be spoken
of body or of soul, it is easier to wash the feet than the whole
being. When they understand what lies before them certain of the young
shrink back and grasp Mercy's outstretched arms.
One night about twelve o'clock, together with Lieut.-Colonel Jolliffe,
an Officer of the Army who was dressed in plain clothes, I accompanied
the Major and the lady who is her colleague, to Leicester Square and
its neighbourhood, and there watched their methods of work, following
them at a little distance. Dressed in their uniform they mingled with
the women who marched the pavements, and now and again, with curiously
swift and decisive steps glided up to one of them, whispered a few
earnest words into her ear, and proffered a printed ticket. Most of
those spoken to walked on stonily as people do when they meet an
undesirable acquaintance whom they do not wish to recognize. Some
thrust past them rudely; some hesitated and with a hard laugh went
their way; but a few took the tickets and hid them among their laces.
So far as the work was concerned that was all there was to see.
Nothing dramatic happened; no girl fled to them imploring help or
asking to be saved from the persecutions of a man; no girl even
insulted them--for these Officers to be insulted is a thing unknown.
All I saw was the sowing of the seed in very stony ground, where not
one kern out of a thousand is like to germinate and much less to grow.
Yet as experience proves, occasionally it does both germinate and
grow, yes, and bloom and come to the harvest of repentance and
redemption. It is for this that these unwearying labourers scatter
their grain from night to night, that at length they may garner into
their bosoms a scanty but a priceless harvest.
It was a strange scene. The air was hot and heavy, the sky was filled
with black and lowering clouds already laced with lightnings. The
music-halls and restaurants had given out their crowds, the midnight
mart was open. Everywhere were women, all finely dressed, most of them
painted, as could be seen in the glare of the electric lights, some of
them more or less excited with drink, but none turbulent or noisy.
Mixed up with these were the bargainers, men of every degree, the most
of them with faces unpleasant to consider.
Some had made their pact and were departing. I noticed one young girl
whose looks would have drawn attention anywhere, whispering an address
from beneath an enormous feathered hat to the driver of a taxicab,
while her companion, a pleasant-looking, fresh-coloured boy, for he
was scarcely more, entered the vehicle, a self-satisfied air upon his
face. She sprang in also, and the cab with its occupants glided away
out of my ken for ever.
Here and there stalwart, quiet policemen requested loiterers to move
on, and the loiterers obeyed and re-formed in groups behind them; here
and there a respectable woman pushed her way through the throng,
gathering up her skirts as she did so and glancing covertly at this
unaccustomed company out of the corners of her eyes.
While watching all these sights we lost touch of the Salvation Army
ladies, who wormed their way through the crowd as easily and quickly
as a snake does through undergrowth, and set out to find them. Big
drops began to fall, the thunder growled, and in a moment the
concourse commenced to melt. Five minutes later the rain was falling
fast and the streets had emptied. That night's market was at an end.
No farmer watches the weather more anxiously than do these painted
women in their muslins and gold-laced shoes.
Meanwhile, their night's work done, the Salvation Army ladies were
tramping through the wet back to Titchfield Street, for they do not
spend money on cabs, and the buses had ceased to run.
THE ANTI-SUICIDE BUREAU
This is a branch of the Army's work with which I have been more or
less acquainted for some years.