Returning to the little shop mentioned in my last--the "little
provision shop," where there was nothing left to eat--nothing,
indeed, of any kind, except one mug of buttermilk, and a miserable
remnant of little empty things, which nobody would buy; four or five
glass bottles in the window, two or three poor deal shelves, and a
doleful little counter, rudely put together, and looking as if it
felt, now, that there was nothing in the world left for it but to
become chips at no distant date. Everything in the place had a sad,
subdued look, and seemed conscious of having come down in the world,
without hope of ever rising again; even the stript walls appeared to
look at one another with a stony gaze of settled despair. But there
was a clean, matronly woman in the place, gliding about from side to
side with a cloth in her hands, and wiping first one, then another,
of these poor little relics of better days in a caressing way. The
shop had been her special care when times were good, and she clung
affectionately to its ruins still. Besides, going about cleaning and
arranging the little empty things in this way looked almost like
doing business. But, nevertheless, the woman had a cheerful, good-
humoured countenance. The sunshine of hope was still warm in her
heart; though there was a touch of pathos in the way she gave the
little rough counter another kindly wipe now and then, as if she
wished to keep its spirits up; and in the way she looked, now at the
buttermilk mug, then at the open door, and then at the four glass
bottles in the window, which had been gazed at so oft and so eagerly
by little children outside, in the days when spice was in them. . .
. The husband came in from the little back room. He was a hardy,
frank-looking man, and, like his wife, a trifle past middle age, I
thought; but he had nothing to say, as he stood there with his wife,
by the counter side. She answered our questions freely and simply,
and in an uncomplaining way, not making any attempt to awaken
sympathy by enlarging upon the facts of their condition. Theirs was
a family of seven--man, wife, and five children. The man was a
spinner; and his thrifty wife had managed the little shop, whilst he
worked at the mill. There are many striving people among the factory
operatives, who help up the family earnings by keeping a little shop
in this way. But this family was another of those instances in which
working people have been pulled down by misfortune before the
present crisis came on. Just previous to the mills beginning to work
short time, four of their five children had been lying ill, all at
once, for five months; and, before that trouble befell them, one of
the lads had two of his fingers taken off, whilst working at the
factory, and so was disabled a good while. It takes little
additional weight to sink those whose chins are only just above
water; and these untoward circumstances oiled the way of this
struggling family to the ground, before the mills stopped. A few
months' want of work, with their little stock of shop stuff oozing
away--partly on credit to their poor neighbours, and partly to live
upon themselves --and they become destitute of all, except a few
beggarly remnants of empty shop furniture. Looking round the place,
I said," Well, missis, how's trade?" "Oh, brisk," said she; and then
the man and his wife smiled at one another. "Well," said I, "yo'n
sowd up, I see, heawever." "Ay," answered she, "we'n sowd up, for
sure--a good while sin';" and then she smiled again, as if she
thought she had said a clever thing. They had been receiving relief
from the parish several weeks; but she told me that some ill-natured
neighbour had "set it eawt," that they had sold off their stock out
of the shop, and put the money into the bank. Through this report,
the Board of Guardians had "knocked off" their relief for a
fortnight, until the falsity of the report was made clear. After
that, the Board gave orders for the man and his wife and three of
the children to be admitted to the workhouse, leaving the other two
lads, who were working at the "Stone Yard," to "fend for theirsels,"
and find new nests wherever they could. This, however, was overruled
afterwards; and the family is still holding together in the empty
shop,--receiving from all sources, work and relief, about 13s. a
week for the seven,--not bad, compared with the income of very many
others. It is sad to think how many poor families get sundered and
scattered about the world in a time like this, never to meet again.
And the false report respecting this family in the little shop,
reminds me that the poor are not always kind to the poor. I learnt,
from a gentleman who is Secretary to the Relief Committee of one of
the wards, that it is not uncommon for the committees to receive
anonymous letters, saying that so and so is unworthy of relief, on
some ground or other. These complaints were generally found to be
either wholly false, or founded upon some mistake. I have three such
letters now before me. The first, written on a torn scrap of ruled
paper, runs thus:--"May 19th, 1862.--If you please be so kind as to
look after __ Back Newton Street Formerly a Resident of __ as i
think he is not Deserving Relief.--A Ratepayer." In each case I give
the spelling, and everything else, exactly as in the originals
before me, except the names. The next of these epistles says:--
"Preston, May 29th.--Sir, I beg to inform you that __, of Park Road,
in receipt from the Relief Fund, is a very unworthy person, having
worked two days since the 16 and drunk the remainder and his wife
also; for the most part, he has plenty of work for himself his wife
and a journeyman but that is their regular course of life. And the
S___s have all their family working full time. Yours respectfully."
These last two are anonymous. The next is written in a very good
hand, upon a square piece of very blue writing paper. It has a name
attached, but no address:--"Preston, June 2nd, 1862.--Mr. Dunn,--
Dear Sir, Would you please to inquire into the case of __, of __.
the are a family of 3 the man work four or more days per week on the
moor the woman works 6 days per week at Messrs Simpsons North Road
the third is a daughter 13 or 14 should be a weaver but to lasey she
has good places such as Mr. Hollins and Horrocks and Millers as been
sent a way for being to lasey. the man and woman very fond of drink.
I as a Nabour and a subscriber do not think this a proper case for
your charity. Yours truly, __." The committee could not find out the
writer of this, although a name is given. Such things as these need
no comment.
The next house we called at was inhabited by an old widow and her
only daughter. The daughter had been grievously afflicted with
disease of the heart, and quite incapable of helping herself during
the last eleven years. The poor worn girl sat upon an old tattered
kind of sofa, near the fire, panting for breath in the close
atmosphere. She sat there in feverish helplessness, sallow and
shrunken, and unable to bear up her head. It was a painful thing to
look at her. She had great difficulty in uttering a few words. I can
hardly guess what her age may be now; I should think about twenty-
five. Mr Toulmin, one of the visitors who accompanied me to the
place, reminded the young woman of his having called upon them there
more than four years ago, to leave some bedding which had been
bestowed upon an old woman by a certain charity in the town. He saw
no more of them after that, until the present hard times began, when
he was deputed by the Relief Committee to call at that distressed
corner amongst others in his own neighbourhood; and when he first
opened the door, after a lapse of four years, he was surprised to
find the same young woman, sitting in the same place, gasping
painfully for breath, as he had last seen her. The old widow had
just been able to earn what kept soul and body together in her sick
girl and herself, during the last eleven years, by washing and such
like work. But even this resource had fallen away a good deal during
these bad times; there are so many poor creatures like herself,
driven to extremity, and glad to grasp at any little bit of
employment which can be had. In addition to what the old woman could
get by a day's washing now and then, she received 1s. 6d. a week
from the parish. Think of the poor old soul trailing about the
world, trying to "scratch a living" for herself and her daughter by
washing; and having to hurry home from her labour to attend to that
sick girl through eleven long years. Such a life is a good deal like
a slow funeral. It is struggling for a few breaths more, with the
worms crawling over you. And yet I am told that the old woman was
not accustomed to "make a poor mouth," as the saying goes. How true
it is that "a great many people in this world have only one form of
rhetoric for their profoundest experiences, namely--to waste away
and die."
Our next visit was to an Irish family. There was an old woman in,
and a flaxen-headed lad about ten years of age. She was sitting upon
a low chair,--the only seat in the place,--and the tattered lad was
kneeling on the ground before her, whilst she combed his hair out.
"Well, missis, how are you getting on amongst it?" "Oh, well, then,
just middlin', Mr T. Ye see, I am busy combin' this boy's hair a
bit, for 'tis gettin' like a wisp o' hay." There was not a vestige
of furniture in the cottage, except the chair the old woman sat on.
She said, "I did sell the childer's bedstead for 2s. 6d.; an' after
that I sold the bed from under them for 1s. 6d., just to keep them
from starvin' to death. The childer had been two days without mate
then, an' faith I couldn't bear it any longer. After that I did sell
the big pan, an' then the new rockin' chair, an' so on, one thing
after another, till all wint entirely, barrin' this I am sittin' on,
an' they wint for next to nothin' too. Sure, I paid 9s. 6d. for the
bed itself, which was sold for 1s. 6d. We all sleep on straw now."
This family was seven in number. The mill at which they used to work
had been stopped about ten months. One of the family had found
employment at another mill, three months out of the ten, and the old
man himself had got a few days' work in that time. The rest of the
family had been wholly unemployed, during the ten months. Except the
little money this work brought in, and a trifle raised now and then
by the sale of a bit of furniture when hunger and cold pressed them
hard, the whole family had been living upon 5s. a week for the last
ten months. The rent was running on. The eldest daughter was twenty-
eight years of age. As we came away Mr Toulmin said to me, "Well, I
have called at that house regularly for the last sixteen weeks, and
this is the first time I ever saw a fire in the place. But the old
man has got two days' work this week--that may account for the
fire."
It was now close upon half-past seven in the evening, at which time
I had promised to call upon the Secretary of the Trinity Ward Relief
Committee, whose admirable letter in the London Times, attracted so
much attention about a month ago. I met several members of the
committee at his lodgings, and we had an hour's interesting
conversation. I learnt that, in cases of sickness arising from mere
weakness, from poorness of diet, or from unsuitableness of the food
commonly provided by the committee, orders were now issued for such
kind of "kitchen physic" as was recommended by the doctors. The
committee had many cases of this kind. One instance was mentioned,
in which, by the doctor's advice, four ounces of mutton chop daily
had been ordered to be given to a certain sick man, until further
notice. The thing went on and was forgotten, until one day, when the
distributor of food said to the committeeman who had issued the
order, "I suppose I must continue that daily mutton chop to so-and-
so?" "Eh, no; he's been quite well two months?" The chop had been
going on for ninety-five days. We had some talk with that class of
operatives who are both clean, provident, and "heawse-preawd," as
Lancashire folk call it. The Secretary told me that he was averse to
such people living upon the sale of their furniture; and the
committee had generally relieved the distress of such people, just
as if they had no furniture, at all. He mentioned the case of a
family of factory operatives, who were all fervent lovers of music,
as so many of the working people of Lancashire are. Whilst in full
work, they had scraped up money to buy a piano; and, long after the
ploughshare of ruin had begun to drive over the little household,
they clung to the darling instrument, which was such a source of
pure pleasure to them, and they were advised to keep it by the
committee which relieved them. "Yes," said another member of the
committee," but I called there lately, and the piano's gone at
last." Many interesting things came out in the course of our
conversation. One mentioned a house he had called at, where there
was neither chair, table, nor bed; and one of the little lads had to
hold up a piece of board for him to write upon. Another spoke of the
difficulties which "lone women" have to encounter in these hard
times. "I knocked so-and-so off my list," said one of the committee,
"till I had inquired into an ill report I heard of her. But she came
crying to me; and I found out that the woman had been grossly
belied." Another (Mr Nowell) told of a house on his list, where they
had no less than one hundred and fifty pawn tickets. He told, also,
of a moulder's family, who had been all out of work and starving so
long, that their poor neighbours came at last and recommended the
committee to relieve them, as they would not apply for relief
themselves. They accepted relief just one week, and then the man
came and said that he had a PROSPECT of work; and he shouldn't need
relief tickets any longer. It was here that I heard so much about
anonymous letters, of which I have given you three samples. Having
said that I should like to see the soup kitchen, one of the
committee offered to go with me thither at six o'clock the next
morning; and so I came away from the meeting in the cool twilight.
Old Preston looked fine to me in the clear air of that declining
day. I stood a while at the end of the "Bull" gateway. There was a
comical-looking little knock-kneed fellow in the middle of the
street --a wandering minstrel, well known in Preston by the name of
"Whistling Jack." There he stood, warbling and waving his band, and
looking from side to side,--in vain. At last I got him to whistle
the "Flowers of Edinburgh." He did it, vigorously; and earned his
penny well. But even "Whistling Jack" complained of the times. He
said Preston folk had "no taste for music." But he assured me the
time would come when there would be a monument to him in that town.