Tan-turf is oak bark made into turf after its virtues have been
exhausted in the tan-pits. To make it into turf the manufacturers have
a mill which is turned by horse-power, in which they grind the bark to
a considerable degree of fineness, after which it is shaped by a mould
into thin cakes about six inches square, put out to dry and harden, and
when thoroughly hardened it is fit for sale and for all the uses for
which it is intended.
There is only one place in London or its neighbourhood where there
are tan-pits--in Bermondsey--and there only is the turf made. There
are not more than a dozen persons in London engaged in the sale of
this commodity in the streets, and they are all of the tribe of the
costermongers. The usual capital necessary for starting in the line
being a donkey and cart, with 9_s._ or 10_s._ to purchase a few
hundreds of the turf.
There is a tradition extant, even at the present day, that during the
prevalence of the plague in London the houses where the tan-turf was
used in a great measure escaped that awful visitation; and to this
moment many people purchase and burn it in their houses on account of
the peculiar smell, and under the belief that it is efficacious in
repelling infectious diseases from the localities in which it is used.
The other purposes for which it is used are for forming a sort of
compost or manure for plants of the heath kind, which delight in a soil
of this description, growing naturally among mosses and bogs where the
peat fuel is obtained. It is used also by small bakers for heating
their ovens, as preferable for their purposes, and more economical
than any other description of fuel. Sometimes it is used for burning
under coppers; and very often for keeping alight during the night, on
account of the slowness of its decomposition by fire, for a single cake
will continue burning for a whole night, will be found in the morning
completely enveloped in a white ash, which, on being removed, discovers
the live embers in the centre.
The rate at which the tan turf is sold to the dealers, at the tan-pits,
is from 6_d._ to 9_d._ per hundred cakes. Those at 9_d._ per hundred
are perfect and unbroken, while those at 6_d._ have been injured in
some way or other. The quality of the article, however, remains the
same, and by purchasing some of each sort the vendors are able to make
somewhat more profit, which may be, on an average, about 4-1/2_d._ per
hundred, as they sell it at 1_s._
While seeking information on this subject I obtained the address of a
person in T---- mews, T---- square, engaged in the business. Running
out of the square is a narrow street, which, about mid-way through,
leads on the right-hand side to a narrow alley, at the bottom of which
is the mews, consisting of merely an oblong court, surrounded by
stables of the very smallest dimensions, not one of them being more
than twelve feet square. Three or four men, in the long waistcoats and
full breeches peculiar to persons engaged among horses, were lounging
about, and, with the exception of the horses, appeared to be the only
inhabitants of the place. On inquiring of one of the loungers, I was
shown a stable in one corner of the court, the wide door of which stood
open. On entering I found it occupied by a donkey-cart, containing a
couple of hundred cakes of tan-turf; another old donkey-cart was turned
up opposite, the tailboard resting on the ground, the shafts pointing
to the ceiling, while a cock and two or three draggle-tailed hens were
composing themselves to roost on the front portion of the cart between
the shafts. Within the space thus inclosed by the two carts lay a
donkey and two dogs, that seemed keeping him company, and were busily
engaged in mumbling and crunching some old bones. On the wall hung
“Jack’s harness.” In one corner of the ceiling was an opening giving
access to the place above, which was reached by means of a long ladder.
On ascending this I found myself in a very small attic, with a sloping
ceiling on both sides. In the highest part, the middle of the room,
it was not more than six feet high, but at the sides it was not more
than three feet. In this confined apartment stood a stump bedstead,
taking up the greater portion of the floor. In a corner alongside the
fire-place I noticed what appeared to be a small turn-up bedstead. A
little ricketty deal table, an old smoke dried Dutch clock, and a poor
old woman, withered and worn, were the only other things to be seen in
the place. The old woman had been better off, and, as is not uncommon
under such circumstances, she endeavoured to make her circumstances
appear better than they really were. She made the following statement:--
“My husband was 23 years selling the tan turf. There used to be a great
deal more of it sold than there is now; people don’t seem to think so
much of it now, as they once did, but there are some who still use it.
There’s an old lady in Kentish-town, who must have it regularly; she
burns it on account of the smell, and has burned it for many years:
my husband used to serve her. There’s an old doctor at Hampstead--or
rather he was there, for he died a few days ago--he always bought a
deal of it, but I don’t know whether he burned it or not; he used to
buy 500 or 600 at a time, he was a very good customer, and we miss him
now. The gardeners buy some of it, for their plants, they say it makes
good manure, though you wouldn’t think so to look at it, it’s so hard
and dry. My husband is dead three years; we were better off when he was
alive; he was a very sober and careful man, and never put anything to
waste. My youngest son goes with the cart now; he don’t do as well as
his father, poor little fellow! he’s only fourteen years of age, but he
does very well for a boy of his age. He sometimes travels 30 miles of
a day, and can’t sell a load--sometimes not half a load; and then he
comes home of a night so footsore that you’d pity him. Sometimes he’s
not able to stir out, for a day or two, but he must do something for
a living; there’s nothing to be got by idleness. The cart will hold
1000 or 1200, and if he could sell that every day we’d do very well; it
would leave us about 3_s._ 6_d._ profit, after keeping the donkey. It
costs 9_d._ a day to keep our donkey; he’s young yet, but he promises
to be a good strong animal, and I like to keep him well, even if I
go short myself, for what could we do without him? I believe there
are one or two persons selling tan-turf who use trucks, but they’re
strong; besides they can’t do much with a truck, they can’t travel as
far with a truck as a donkey can, and they can’t take as much out with
them. My son goes of a morning to Bermondsey for a load, and is back by
breakfast time; from this to Bermondsey is a long way--then he goes out
and travels all round Kentish-town and Hampstead, and what with going
up one street and down another, by the time he comes home at night, he
don’t travel less than from 25 to 30 miles a day. I have another son,
the eldest. He used to go with his father when he was alive; he was
reared to the business, but after he died he thought it was useless for
both to go out with the cart, so he left it to the little fellow, and
now the eldest works among horses. He don’t do much, only gets an odd
job now and then among the ostlers, and earns a shilling now and then.
They’re both good lads, and would do well if they could; they do as
well as they can, and I have a right to be thankful for it.”
The poor woman, notwithstanding the extraordinary place in which
she lived, and the confined dimensions of her single apartment (I
ascertained that the two sons slept in the stump bedstead, while she
used the turn-up), was nevertheless cleanly in her person and apparel,
and superior in many respects to persons of the same class, and I give
her statement verbatim, as it corroborates, in almost every particular,
the statement of the unfortunate seller of salt, who is afflicted with
a drunken disorderly wife, and who is also a man superior to the people
with whom he is compelled to associate, but who in evident bitterness
of spirit made this assertion: “Bad as I’m off now, if I had only a
careful partner, I wouldn’t want for anything.”
Concerning the dogs that I have spoken of as being with the donkey,
there is a curious story. During his rounds the donkey frequently met
the bitch, and an extraordinary friendship grew up between the two
animals, so that the dog at last forsook its owner, and followed the
donkey in all his travels. For some time back she has accompanied him
home, together with her puppy, and they all sleep cozily together
during the night, Jack taking especial care not to hurt the young one.
In the morning, when about to go out for the day’s work, it is of no
use to expect Jack to go without his friends, as he will not budge an
inch, so he is humoured in his whim. The puppy, when tired, is put into
the cart, and the mother forages for her living along the way; the poor
woman not being able to feed them. The owner of the dogs came to see
them on the day previous to my visit.