[_From a Daguerreotype by_ BEARD.]]
2nd. The gangers or collectors are generally paid 8_d._ per load for
every load they bring into the yard. This is, of course, piece work,
for the more hours the men work the more loads will they be enabled to
bring, and the more pay will they receive. There are some yards where
the carters get only 6_d._ per load, as, for instance, at Paddington.
The Paddington men, however, are not considered inferior workmen to
the rest of their fellows, but merely to be worse paid. In 1826, or
25 years ago, the carters had 1_s._ 6_d._ per load; but at that time
the contractors were able to get 1_l._ per chaldron for the soil and
“brieze” or cinders; then it began to fall in value, and according
to the decrease in the price of these commodities, so have the wages
of the dust-collectors been reduced. It will be at once seen that
the reduction in the wages of the dustmen bears no proportion to the
reduction in the price of soil and cinders, but it must be borne in
mind that whereas the contractors formerly paid large sums for liberty
to collect the dust, they now are paid large sums to remove it. This
in some measure helps to account for the apparent disproportion, and
tends, perhaps, to equalize the matter. The gangers, therefore, have
4_d._ each, per load when best paid. They consider from four to six
loads a good day’s work, for where the contract is large, extending
over several parishes, they often have to travel a long way for a
load. It thus happens that while the men employed by the Whitechapel
contractor can, when doing their utmost, manage to bring only four
loads a day to the yard, which is situated in a place called the
“ruins” in Lower Shadwell, the men employed by the Shadwell contractor
can easily get eight or nine loads in a day. Five loads are about an
average day’s work, and this gives them 1_s._ 8-1/2_d._ per day each,
or 10_s._ per week. In addition to this, the men have their perquisites
“in aid of wages.” The collectors are in the habit of getting beer or
money in lieu thereof, at nearly all the houses from which they remove
the dust, the public being thus in a manner compelled to make up the
rate of wages, which should be paid by the employer, so that what is
given to benefit the men really goes to the master, who invariably
reduces the wages to the precise amount of the perquisites obtained.
This is the main evil of the “perquisite system of payment” (a system
of which the mode of paying waiters may be taken as the special type).
As an instance of the injurious effects of this mode of payment in
connection with the London dustmen, the collectors are forced, as it
were, to extort from the public that portion of their fair earnings of
which their master deprives them; hence, how can we wonder that they
make it a rule when they receive neither beer nor money from a house to
make as great a mess as possible the next time they come, scattering
the dust and cinders about in such a manner, that, sooner than have
any trouble with them, people mostly give them what they look for?
One of the most intelligent men with whom I have spoken, gave me the
following account of his perquisites for the last week, viz.: Monday,
5-1/2_d._; Tuesday, 6_d._; Wednesday, 4-1/2_d._; Thursday, 7_d._;
Friday, 5-1/2_d._; and Saturday, 5_d._ This he received in money, and
was independent of beer. He had on the same week drawn rather more than
five loads each day, to the yard, which made his gross earnings for the
week, wages and perquisites together, to be 14_s._ 0-1/2_d._ which he
considers to be a fair average of his weekly earnings as connected with
dust.
3rd. The loaders of the carts for shipment are the same persons as
those who collect the dust, but thus employed for the time being. The
pay for this work is by the “piece” also, 2_d._ per chaldron between
four persons being the usual rate, or 1/2_d._ per man. The men so
engaged have no perquisites. The barges into which they shoot the soil
or “brieze,” as the case may be, hold from 50 to 70 chaldrons, and they
consider the loading of one of these barges a good day’s work. The
average cargo is about 60 chaldrons, which gives them 2_s._ 6_d._ per
day, or somewhat more than their average earnings when collecting.
4th. The carriers of cinders to the cinder heap. I have mentioned that,
ranged round the sifters in the dust-yard, are a number of baskets,
into which are put the various things found among the dust, some of
these being the property of the master, and others the perquisites of
the hill man or woman, as the case may be. The cinders and old bricks
are the property of the master, and to remove them to their proper
heaps boys are employed by him at 1_s._ per day. These boys are almost
universally the children of dustmen and sifters at work in the yard,
and thus not only help to increase the earnings of the family, but
qualify themselves to become the dustmen of a future day.
5th. The hill-man or hill-woman. The hill-man enters into an agreement
with the contractor to sift _all_ the dust in the yard throughout
the year at so much per load and perquisites. The usual sum per
load is 6_d._, nor have I been able to ascertain that any of these
people undertake to do it at a less price. Such is the amount paid
by the contractor for Whitechapel. The perquisites of the hill-man
or hill-woman, are rags, bones, pieces of old metal, old tin or iron
vessels, old boots and shoes, and one-half of the money, jewellery, or
other valuables that may be found by the sifters.
The hill-man or hill-woman employs the following persons, and pays them
at the following rates.
1st. The sifters are paid 1_s._ per day when employed, but the
employment is not constant. The work cannot be pursued in wet weather,
and the services of the sifters are required only when a large heap
has accumulated, as they can sift much faster than the dust can be
collected. The employment is therefore precarious; the payment has
not, for the last 30 years at least, been more than 1_s._ per day, but
the perquisites were greater. They formerly were allowed one-half of
whatever was found; of late years, however, the hill-man has gradually
reduced the perquisites “first one thing and then another,” until
the only one they have now remaining is half of whatever money or
other valuable article may be found in the process of sifting. These
valuables the sifters often pocket, if able to do so unperceived, but
if discovered in the attempt, they are immediately discharged.
2nd. “The fillers-in,” or shovellers of dust into the sieves of
sifters, are in general any poor fellows who may be straggling about in
search of employment. They are sometimes, however, the grown-up boys
of dustmen, not yet permanently engaged by the contractor. These are
paid 2_s._ per day for their labour, but they are considered more as
casualty men, though it often happens, if “hands” are wanted, that they
are regularly engaged by the contractors, and become regular dustmen
for the remainder of their lives.
3rd. The little fellows, the children of the dustmen, who follow their
mothers to the yard, and help them to pick rags, bones, &c., out of the
sieve and put them into the baskets, as soon as they are able to carry
a basket between two of them to the separate heaps, are paid 3_d._ or
4_d._ per day for this work by the hill-man.
The wages of the dustmen have been increased within the last seven
years from 6_d._ per load to 8_d._ among the large contractors--the
“small masters,” however, still continue to pay 6_d._ per load. This
increase in the rate of remuneration was owing to the men complaining
to the commissioners that they were not able to live upon what they
earned at 6_d._; an enquiry was made into the truth of the men’s
assertion, and the result was that the commissioners decided upon
letting the contracts to such parties only as would undertake to pay a
fair price to their workmen. The contractors, accordingly, increased
the remuneration of the labourers; since then the principal masters
have paid 8_d._ per load to the collectors. It is right I should
add, that I could not hear--though I made special enquiries on the
subject--that the wages had been in any one instance reduced since
Free-trade has come into operation.
The usual hours of labour vary according to the mode of payment. The
“collectors,” or men out with the cart, being paid by the load, work
as long as the light lasts; the “fillers-in” and sifters, on the other
hand, being paid by the day, work the ordinary hours, viz., from six to
six, with the regular intervals for meals.
The summer is the worst time for all hands, for then the dust decreases
in quantity; the collectors, however, make up for the “slackness” at
this period by nightwork, and, being paid by the “piece” or load at the
dust business, are not discharged when their employment is less brisk.
It has been shown that the dustmen who perambulate the streets usually
collect five loads in a day; this, at 8_d._ per load, leaves them
about 1_s._ 8_d._ each, and so makes their weekly earnings amount to
about 10_s._ per week. Moreover, there are the “perquisites” from the
houses whence they remove the dust; and further, the dust-collectors
are frequently employed at the night-work, which is always a distinct
matter from the dust-collecting, &c., and paid for independent of their
regular weekly wages, so that, from all I can gather, the average wages
of the men appear to be rather more than 15_s._ Some admitted to me,
that in busy times they often earned 25_s._ a week.
Then, again, dustwork, as with the weaving of silk, is a kind of
family work. The husband, wife, and children (unfortunately) all work
at it. The consequence is, that the earnings of the whole have to be
added together in order to arrive at a notion of the aggregate gains.
The following may therefore be taken as a fair average of the earnings
of a dustman and his family _when in full employment_. The elder boys
when able to earn 1_s._ a day set up for themselves, and do not allow
their wages to go into the common purse.
£. _s._ _d._ £. _s._ _d._
Man, 5 loads per day,
or 30 loads per week, at
4_d._ per load 0 10 0
Perquisites, or beer
money 0 2 9-1/2
Night-work for 2 nights
a week 0 5 0
------------ 0 17 9-1/2
Woman, or sifter, per
week, at 1_s._ per day 0 6 0
Perquisites, say 3_d._ a
day 0 1 6
------------ 0 7 6
Child, 3_d._ per day,
carrying rags, bones, &c. ------------ 0 1 6
-----------------
Total 1 6 9-1/2
These are the earnings, it should be borne in mind, of a family in full
employment. Perhaps it may be fairly said that the earnings of the
single men are, on an average, 15_s._ a week, and 1_l._ for the family
men all the year round.
Now, when we remember that the wages of many agricultural labourers are
but 8_s._ a week, and the earnings of many needlewomen not 6_d._ a day,
it must be confessed that the remuneration of the dustmen, and even of
the dustwomen, is _comparatively_ high. This certainly is not due to
what Adam Smith, in his chapter on the Difference of Wages, terms the
“disagreeableness of the employment.” “The wages of labour,” he says,
“vary with the ease or hardship, the cleanliness or dirtiness, the
honourableness or dishonourableness, of the employment.” It will be
seen--when we come to treat of the nightmen--that the most offensive,
and perhaps the least honourable, of all trades, is far from ranking
among the best paid, as it should, if the above principle held good.
That the disagreeableness of the occupation may in a measure tend to
decrease the competition among the labourers, there cannot be the least
doubt, but that it will consequently induce, as political economy would
have us believe, a larger amount of wages to accrue to each of the
labourers, is certainly another of the many assertions of that science
which must be pronounced “not proven.” For the dustmen are paid, if
anything, less, and certainly not more, than the usual rate of payment
to the London labourers; and if the earnings rank high, as times go, it
is because all the members of the family, from the very earliest age,
are able to work at the business, and so add to the general gains.
The dustmen are, generally speaking, an hereditary race; when
children they are reared in the dust-yard, and are habituated to the
work gradually as they grow up, after which, almost as a natural
consequence, they follow the business for the remainder of their lives.
These may be said to be born-and-bred dustmen. The numbers of the
regular men are, however, from time to time recruited from the ranks
of the many ill-paid labourers with which London abounds. When hands
are wanted for any special occasion an employer has only to go to any
of the dock-gates, to find at all times hundreds of starving wretches
anxiously watching for the chance of getting something to do, even at
the rate of 4_d._ per hour. As the operation of emptying a dust-bin
requires only the ability to handle a shovel, which every labouring man
can manage, all workmen, however unskilled, can at once engage in the
occupation; and it often happens that the men thus casually employed
remain at the calling for the remainder of their lives. There are no
houses of call whence the men are taken on when wanting work. There are
certainly public-houses, which are denominated houses of call, in the
neighbourhood of every dust-yard, but these are merely the drinking
shops of the men, whither they resort of an evening after the labour of
the day is accomplished, and whence they are furnished in the course of
the afternoon with beer; but such houses cannot be said to constitute
the dustman’s “labour-market,” as in the tailoring and other trades,
they being never resorted to as hiring-places, but rather used by the
men only when hired. If a master have not enough “hands” he usually
inquires among his men, who mostly know some who--owing, perhaps, to
the failure of their previous master in getting his usual contract--are
only casually employed at other places. Such men are immediately
engaged in preference to others; but if these cannot be found, the
contractors at once have recourse to the system already stated.
The manner in which the dust is collected is very simple. The “filler”
and the “carrier” perambulate the streets with a heavily-built high
box cart, which is mostly coated with a thick crust of filth, and
drawn by a clumsy-looking horse. These men used, before the passing
of the late Street Act, to ring a dull-sounding bell so as to give
notice to housekeepers of their approach, but now they merely cry, in
a hoarse unmusical voice, “Dust oy-eh!” Two men accompany the cart,
which is furnished with a short ladder and two shovels and baskets.
These baskets one of the men fills from the dust-bin, and then helps
them alternately, as fast as they are filled, upon the shoulder of the
other man, who carries them one by one to the cart, which is placed
immediately alongside the pavement in front of the house where they are
at work. The carrier mounts up the side of the cart by means of the
ladder, discharges into it the contents of the basket on his shoulder,
and then returns below for the other basket which his mate has filled
for him in the interim. This process is pursued till all is cleared
away, and repeated at different houses till the cart is fully loaded;
then the men make the best of their way to the dust-yard, where they
shoot the contents of the cart on to the heap, and again proceed on
their regular rounds.
The dustmen, in their appearance, very much resemble the waggoners
of the coal-merchants. They generally wear knee-breeches, with ancle
boots or gaiters, short dirty smockfrocks or coarse gray jackets, and
fantail hats. In one particular, however, they are at first sight
distinguishable from the coal-merchants’ men, for the latter are
invariably black from coal dust, while the dustmen, on the contrary,
are gray with ashes.
In their personal appearance the dustmen are mostly tall stalwart
fellows; there is nothing sickly-looking about them, and yet a
considerable part of their time is passed in the yards and in the midst
of effluvia most offensive, and, if we believe “zymotic theorists,” as
unhealthy to those unaccustomed to them; nevertheless, the children,
who may be said to be reared in the yard and to have inhaled the stench
of the dust-heap with their first breath, are healthy and strong. It
is said, moreover, that during the plague in London the dustmen were
the persons who carted away the dead, and it remains a tradition among
the class to the present day, that not one of them died of the plague,
even during its greatest ravages. In Paris, too, it is well known,
that, during the cholera of 1849, the quarter of Belleville, where the
night-soil and refuse of the city is deposited, escaped the freest from
the pestilence; and in London the dustmen boast that, during both the
recent visitations of the cholera, they were altogether exempt from the
disease. “Look at that fellow, sir!” said one of the dust-contractors
to me, pointing to his son, who was a stout red-cheeked young man of
about twenty. “Do you see anything ailing about him? Well, he has been
in the yard since he was born. There stands my house just at the gate,
so you see he hadn’t far to travel, and when quite a child he used to
play and root away here among the dust all his time. I don’t think he
ever had a day’s illness in his life. The people about the yard are
all used to the smell and don’t complain about it. It’s all stuff and
nonsense, all this talk about dust-yards being unhealthy. I’ve never
done anything else all my days and I don’t think I look very ill. I
shouldn’t wonder now but what I’d be set down as being fresh from
the sea-side by those very fellows that write all this trash about a
matter that they don’t know just _that_ about;” and he snapped his
fingers contemptuously in the air, and, thrusting both hands into his
breeches pockets, strutted about, apparently satisfied that he had the
best of the argument. He was, in fact, a stout, jolly, red-faced man.
Indeed, the dustmen, as a class, appear to be healthy, strong men, and
extraordinary instances of longevity are common among them. I heard of
one dustman who lived to be 115 years; another, named Wood, died at
100; and the well-known Richard Tyrrell died only a short time back at
the advanced age of 97. The misfortune is, that we have no large series
of facts on this subject, so that the longevity and health of the
dustmen might be compared with those of other classes.
In almost all their habits the Dustmen are similar to the
Costermongers, with the exception that they seem to want their cunning
and natural quickness, and that they have little or no predilection
for gaming. Costermongers, however, are essentially traders, and all
trade is a species of gambling--the risking of a certain sum of money
to obtain more; hence spring, perhaps, the gambling propensities of low
traders, such as costers, and Jew clothes-men; and hence, too, that
natural sharpness which characterizes the same classes. The dustmen, on
the contrary, have regular employment and something like regular wages,
and therefore rest content with what they can earn in their usual way
of business.
Very few of them understand cards, and I could not learn that they ever
play at “pitch and toss.” I remarked, however, a number of parallel
lines such as are used for playing “shove halfpenny,” on a deal table
in the tap-room frequented by them. The great amusement of their
evenings seems to be, to smoke as many pipes of tobacco and drink as
many pots of beer as possible.
I believe it will be found that all persons in the habit of driving
horses, such as cabmen, ’busmen, stage-coach drivers, &c., are
peculiarly partial to intoxicating drinks. The cause of this I
leave others to determine, merely observing that there would seem
to be two reasons for it: the first is, their frequent stopping at
public-houses to water or change their horses, so that the idea of
drinking is repeatedly suggested to their minds even if the practice
be not _expected_ of them; while the second reason is, that being
out continually in the wet, they resort to stimulating liquors as a
preventive to “colds” until at length a habit of drinking is formed.
Moreover, from the mere fact of passing continually through the
air, they are enabled to drink a greater quantity with comparative
impunity. Be the cause, however, what it may, the dustmen spend a
large proportion of their earnings in drink. There is always some
public-house in the neighbourhood of the dust-yard, where they obtain
credit from one week to another, and here they may be found every night
from the moment their work is done, drinking, and smoking their long
pipes--their principal amusement consisting in “chaffing” each other.
This “chaffing” consists of a species of scurrilous jokes supposed to
be given and taken in good part, and the noise and uproar occasioned
thereby increases as the night advances, and as the men get heated
with liquor. Sometimes the joking ends in a general quarrel; the next
morning, however, they are all as good friends as ever, and mutually
agree in laying the blame on the “cussed drink.”
One-half, at least, of the dustmen’s earnings, is, I am assured,
expended in drink, both man and woman assisting in squandering their
money in this way. They usually live in rooms for which they pay
from 1_s._ 6_d._ to 2_s._ per week rent, three or four dust-men and
their wives frequently lodging in the same house. These rooms are
cheerless-looking, and almost unfurnished--and are always situate
in some low street or lane not far from the dust-yard. The men have
rarely any clothes but those in which they work. For their breakfast
the dustmen on their rounds mostly go to some cheap coffee-house, where
they get a pint or half-pint of coffee, taking their bread with them as
a matter of economy. Their midday meal is taken in the public-house,
and is almost always bread and cheese and beer, or else a saveloy or a
piece of fat pork or bacon, and at night they mostly “wind up” by deep
potations at their favourite house of call.
There are many dustmen now advanced in years born and reared at the
East-end of London, who have never in the whole course of their
lives been as far west as Temple-bar, who know nothing whatever of
the affairs of the country, and who have never attended a place of
worship. As an instance of the extreme ignorance of these people, I
may mention that I was furnished by one of the contractors with the
address of a dustman whom his master considered to be one of the most
intelligent men in his employ. Being desirous of hearing his statement
from his own lips I sent for the man, and after some conversation
with him was proceeding to note down what he said, when the moment I
opened my note-book and took the pencil in my hand, he started up,
exclaiming,--“No, no! I’ll have none of that there work--I’m not such
a b---- fool as you takes me to be--I doesn’t understand it, I tells
you, and I’ll not have it, now that’s plain;”--and so saying he ran out
of the room, and descended the entire flight of stairs in two jumps. I
followed him to explain, but unfortunately the pencil was still in one
hand and the book in the other, and immediately I made my appearance
at the door he took to his heels, again with three others who seemed
to be waiting for him there. One of the most difficult points in my
labours is to make such men as these comprehend the object or use of my
investigations.
Among 20 men whom I met in one yard, there were only five who could
read, and only two out of that five could write, even imperfectly.
These two are looked up to by their companions as prodigies of learning
and are listened to as oracles, on all occasions, being believed to
understand every subject thoroughly. It need hardly be added, however,
that their acquirements are of the most meagre character.
The dustmen are very partial to a song, and always prefer one of the
doggrel street ballads, with what they call a “jolly chorus” in which,
during their festivities, they all join with stentorian voices. At the
conclusion there is usually a loud stamping of feet and rattling of
quart pots on the table, expressive of their approbation.
The dustmen never frequent the twopenny hops, but sometimes make up
a party for the “theaytre.” They generally go in a body with their
wives, if married, and their “gals,” if single. They are always to
be found in the gallery, and greatly enjoy the melodramas performed
at the second-class minor theatres, especially if there be plenty of
murdering scenes in them. The Garrick, previous to its being burnt, was
a favourite resort of the East-end dustmen. Since that period they
have patronized the Pavilion and the City of London.
The politics of the dustmen are on a par with their literary
attainments--they cannot be said to have any. I cannot say that they
are Chartists, for they have no very clear knowledge of what “the
charter” requires. They certainly have a confused notion that it is
something against the Government, and that the enactment of it would
make them all right; but as to the nature of the benefits which it
would confer upon them, or in what manner it would be likely to operate
upon their interest, they have not, as a body, the slightest idea.
They have a deep-rooted antipathy to the police, the magistrates, and
all connected with the administration of justice, looking upon them as
their natural enemies. They associate with none but themselves; and in
the public-houses where they resort there is a room set apart for the
special use of the “dusties,” as they are called, where no others are
allowed to intrude, except introduced by one of themselves, or at the
special desire of the majority of the party, and on such occasions the
stranger is treated with great respect and consideration.
As to the morals of these people, it may easily be supposed that they
are not of an over-strict character. One of the contractors said to
me, “I’d just trust one of them as far as I could fling a bull by the
tail; _but then_,” he added, with a callousness that proved the laxity
of discipline among the men was due more to his neglect of his duty to
them than from any special perversity on their parts, “_that’s none of
my business; they do my work, and that’s all I want with them, and all
I care about_. You see they’re not like other people, they’re reared to
it. Their fathers before them were dustmen, and when lads they go into
the yard as sifters, and when they grow up they take to the shovel,
and go out with the carts. They learn all they know in the dust-yards,
and you may judge from that what their learning is likely to be. If
they find anything among the dust you may be sure that neither you
nor I will ever hear anything about it; ignorant as they are, they
know a little too much for that. They know, as well as here and there
one, where the dolly-shop is; _but, as I said before, that’s none of
my business. Let every one look out for themselves, as I do, and then
they need not care for any one_.” [With such masters professing such
principles--though it should be stated that the sentiments expressed
on this occasion are but similar to what I hear from the lower class
of traders every day--how can it be expected that these poor fellows
can be above the level of the mere beasts of burden that they use.] “As
to their women,” continued the master, “I don’t trouble my head about
such things. I believe the dustmen are as good to them as other men;
and I’m sure their wives would be as good as other women, if they only
had the chance of the best. But you see they’re all such fellows for
drink that they spend most of their money that way, and then starve the
poor women, and knock them about at a shocking rate, so that they have
the life of dogs, or worse. I don’t wonder at anything they do. Yes,
they’re all married, as far as I know; that is, they live together as
man and wife, though they’re not very particular, certainly, about the
ceremony. The fact is, a regular dustman don’t understand much about
such matters, and, I believe, don’t care much, either.”
From all I could learn on this subject, it would appear that, for one
dustman that is married, 20 live with women, but remain constant to
them; indeed, both men and women abide faithfully by each other, and
for this reason--the woman earns nearly half as much as the man. If the
men and women were careful and prudent, they might, I am assured, live
well and comfortable; but by far the greater portion of the earnings
of both go to the publican, for I am informed, on competent authority,
that a dustman will not think of sitting down for a spree without his
woman. The children, as soon as they are able to go into the yard, help
their mothers in picking out the rags, bones, &c., from the sieve,
and in putting them in the basket. They are never sent to school, and
as soon as they are sufficiently strong are mostly employed in some
capacity or other by the contractor, and in due time become dustmen
themselves. Some of the children, in the neighbourhood of the river,
are mud-larks, and others are bone-grubbers and rag-gatherers, on a
small scale; neglected and thrown on their own resources at an early
age, without any but the most depraved to guide them, it is no wonder
to find that many of them turn thieves. To this state of the case there
are, however, some few exceptions.
Some of the dustmen are prudent well-behaved men and have decent homes;
many of this class have been agricultural labourers, who by distress,
or from some other cause, have found their way to London. This was the
case with one whom I talked with: he had been a labourer in Essex,
employed by a farmer named Izzod, whom he spoke of as being a kind good
man. Mr. Izzod had a large farm on the Earl of Mornington’s estate,
and after he had sunk his capital in the improvement of the land, and
was about to reap the fruits of his labour and his money, the farmer
was ejected at a moment’s notice, beggared and broken-hearted. This
occurred near Roydon, in Essex. The labourer, finding it difficult to
obtain work in the country, came to London, and, discovering a cousin
of his engaged in a dust-yard, got employed through him at the same
place, where he remains to the present day. This man was well clothed,
he had good strong lace boots, gray worsted stockings, a stout pair of
corduroy breeches, a short smockfrock and fantail. He has kept himself
aloof, I am told, from the drunkenness and dissipation of the dustmen.
He says that many of the new hands that get to dustwork are mechanics
or people who have been “better off,” and that these get thinking about
what they have been, till to drown their care they take to drinking,
and often become, in the course of a year or so, worse than the “old
hands” who have been reared to the business and have “nothing at all to
think about.”
Among the dustmen there is no “Society” nor “Benefit Club,” specially
devoted to the class--no provident institution whence they can obtain
“relief” in the event of sickness or accident. The consequence is that,
when ill or injured, they are obliged to obtain letters of admission
to some of the hospitals, and there remain till cured. In cases of
total incapacity for labour, their invariable refuge is the workhouse;
indeed they look forward (whenever they foresee at all) to this asylum
as their resting-place in old age, with the greatest equanimity, and
talk of it as “the house” par excellence, or as “the big house,” “the
great house,” or “the old house.” There are, however, scattered about
in every part of London numerous benefit clubs made up of working-men
of every description, such as Old Friends, Odd Fellows, Foresters, and
Birmingham societies, and with some one or other of these the better
class of dustmen are connected. The general rule, however, is, that
the men engaged in this trade belong to no benefit club whatever, and
that in the season of their adversity they are utterly unprovided for,
and consequently become burdens to the parishes wherein they happen to
reside.
I visited a large dust-yard at the east end of London, for the purpose
of getting a statement from one of the men. My informant was, at the
time of my visit, shovelling the sifted soil from one of the lesser
heaps, and, by a great effort of strength and activity, pitching each
shovel-full to the top of a lofty mound, somewhat resembling a pyramid.
Opposite to him stood a little woman, stoutly made, and with her arms
bare above the elbow; she was his partner in the work, and was pitching
shovel-full for shovel-full with him to the summit of the heap. She
wore an old soiled cotton gown, open in front, and tucked up behind in
the fashion of the last century. She had clouts of old rags tied round
her ancles to prevent the dust from getting into her shoes, a sort of
coarse towel fastened in front for an apron, and a red handkerchief
bound tightly round her head. In this trim she worked away, and not
only kept pace with the man, but often threw two shovels for his one,
although he was a tall, powerful fellow. She smiled when she saw me
noticing her, and seemed to continue her work with greater assiduity. I
learned that she was deaf, and spoke so indistinctly that no stranger
could understand her. She had also a defect in her sight, which latter
circumstance had compelled her to abandon the sifting, as she could not
well distinguish the various articles found in the dust-heap. The poor
creature had therefore taken to the shovel, and now works with it every
day, doing the labour of the strongest men.
From the man above referred to I obtained the following
statement:--“Father vos a dustie;--vos at it all his life, and
grandfather afore him for I can’t tell how long. Father vos allus a rum
’un;--sich a beggar for lush. Vhy I’m blowed if he vouldn’t lush as
much as half-a-dozen on ’em can lush now; somehow the dusties hasn’t
got the stuff in ’em as they used to have. A few year ago the fellers
’u’d think nothink o’ lushin avay for five or six days without niver
going anigh their home. I niver vos at a school in all my life; I don’t
know what it’s good for. It may be wery well for the likes o’ you, but
I doesn’t know it ’u’d do a dustie any good. You see, ven I’m not out
with the cart, I digs here all day; and p’raps I’m up all night, and
digs avay agen the next day. Vot does I care for reading, or anythink
of that there kind, ven I gets home arter my vork? I tell you vot I
likes, though! vhy, I jist likes two or three pipes o’ baccer, and a
pot or two of good heavy and a song, and then I tumbles in with my
Sall, and I’m as happy as here and there von. That there Sall of mine’s
a stunner--a riglar stunner. There ain’t never a voman can sift a heap
quickerer nor my Sall. Sometimes she yarns as much as I does; the only
thing is, she’s sitch a beggar for lush, that there Sall of mine, and
then she kicks up sitch jolly rows, you niver see the like in your
life. That there’s the only fault, as I know on, in Sall; but, barring
that, she’s a hout-and-houter, and worth a half-a-dozen of t’ other
sifters--pick ’em out vare you likes. No, we ain’t married ’zactly,
though it’s all one for all that. I sticks to Sall, and Sall sticks
to I, and there’s an end on’t:--vot is it to any von? I rec’lects
a-picking the rags and things out of mother’s sieve, when I were a
young ’un, and a putting ’em all in the heap jist as it might be there.
I vos allus in a dust-yard. I don’t think I could do no how in no other
place. You see I vouldn’t be ’appy like; I only knows how to vork at
the dust ’cause I’m used to it, and so vos father afore me, and I’ll
stick to it as long as I can. I yarns about half-a-bull [2_s._ 6_d._] a
day, take one day with another. Sall sometimes yarns as much, and ven I
goes out at night I yarns a bob or two more, and so I gits along pretty
tidy; sometimes yarnin more and sometimes yarnin less. I niver vos sick
as I knows on; I’ve been queerish of a morning a good many times, but
I doesn’t call that sickness; it’s only the lush and nothink more. The
smells nothink at all, ven you gits used to it. Lor’ bless you! you’d
think nothink on it in a veek’s time,--no, no more nor I do. There’s
tventy on us vorks here--riglar. I don’t think there’s von on ’em ’cept
Scratchey Jack can read, but he can do it stunning; he’s out vith the
cart now, but he’s the chap as can patter to you as long as he likes.”
Concerning the capital and income of the London dust business, the
following estimate may be given as to the amount of property invested
in and accruing to the trade.
It has been computed that there are 90 contractors, large and small;
of these upwards of two-thirds, or about 35, may be said to be in a
considerable way of business, possessing many carts and horses, as well
as employing a large body of people; some yards have as many as 150
hands connected with them. The remaining 55 masters are composed of
“small men,” some of whom are known as “running dustmen,” that is to
say, persons who collect the dust without any sanction from the parish;
but the number belonging to this class has considerably diminished
since the great deterioration in the price of “brieze.” Assuming, then,
that the great and little master dustmen employ on an average between
six and seven carts each, we have the following statement as to the