“My name is Mary ----. I live in ---- yard. I live with a person of the
name of ----, in the back attic; she gets her living by selling flowers
in pots in the street, but she is now doing badly. I pay her a shilling
a-week.
“My parents were Welsh. I was in service, or maid-of-all-work, till I
got married. My husband was a seafaring man when I married him. After
we were married, he got his living by selling memorandum-almanack
books, and the like, about the streets. He was driven to that because
he had no trade in his hand, and he was obliged to do something for
a living. He did not make much, and over-exertion, with want of
nourishment, brought on a paralytic stroke. He had the first fit about
two years before he had the second; the third fit, which was the last,
he had on the Monday, and died on the Wednesday week. I have two
children still living. One of them is married to a poor man, who gets
his living in the streets; but as far as lays in his power he makes a
good husband and father. My other daughter is living with a niece of
mine, for I can’t keep her, sir; she minds the children.
“My father was a journeyman shoemaker. He was killed; but I cannot
remember how--I was too young. I can’t recollect my mother. I was
brought up by an uncle and aunt till I was able to go to service. I
went out to service at five, to mind children under a nurse, and I was
in service till I got married. I had a great many situations; you see,
sir, I was forced to keep in place, because I had nowhere to go to, my
uncle and aunt not being able to keep me. I was never in noblemen’s
families, only trades-people’s. Service was very hard, sir, and so I
believe it continues.
“I am fifty-five years of age, and I have been on the crossing fourteen
years; but just now it is very poor work indeed. Well, if I wishes for
bad weather, I’m only like other people, I suppose. I have no regular
customers at all; the only one I had left has lost his senses, sir.
Mr. H----, he used to allow us sixpence a-week; but he went mad, and
we don’t get it now. By us, I mean the three crossing-sweepers in the
square where I work.
“Indeed, I like the winter-time, for the families is in. Though the
weather is more severe, yet you _do_ get a few more ha’pence. I take
more from the staid elderly people than from the young. At Christmas, I
think I took about eleven shillings, but certainly not more. The most
I ever made at that season was fourteen shillings. The worst about
Christmas is, that those who give much then generally hold their hand
for a week or two.
“A shilling a-day would be as much as I want, sir. I have stood in the
square all day for a ha’penny, and I have stood here for nothing. One
week with another, I make two shillings in the seven days, after paying
for my broom. I have taken threppence ha’penny to-day. Yesterday--let
me see--well, it was threppence ha’penny, too; Monday I don’t remember;
but Sunday I recollect--it was fippence ha’penny. Years ago I made a
great deal more--nearly three times as much.
“I come about eight o’clock in the morning, and go away about six or
seven; I am here every day. The boys used to come at one time with
their brooms, but they’re not allowed here now by the police.
“I should not think crossings worth purchasing, unless people made a
better living on them than I do.”
I gave the poor creature a small piece of silver for her trouble, and
asked her if that, with the threepence halfpenny, made a good day. She
answered heartily--
“I should like to see such another day to-morrow, sir.
“Yes, winter is very much better than summer, only for the trial of
standing in the frost and snow, but we certainly _do_ get more then.
The families won’t be in town for three months to come yet. Ah! this
neighbourhood is nothing to what it was. By God’s removal, and by their
own removal, the good families are all gone. The present families are
not so liberal nor so wealthy. It is not the richest people that give
the most. Tradespeople, and ’specially gentlefolks who have situations,
are better to me than the nobleman who rides in his carriage.
“I always go to Trinity Church, Gray’s-inn-road, about two doors from
the Welsh School--the Rev. Dr. Witherington preaches there. I always go
on Sunday afternoon and evening, for I can’t go in the morning; I can’t
get away from my crossing in time. I never omit a day in coming here,
unless I’m ill, or the snow is too heavy, or the weather too bad, and
then I’m obligated to resign.
“I have no friends, sir, only my children; my uncle and aunt have been
dead a long time. I go to see my children on Sunday, or in the evening,
when I leave here.
“After I leave I have a cup of tea, and after that I go to bed; very
frequently I’m in bed at nine o’clock. I have my cup of tea if I can
anyway get it; but I’m forced to go without _that_ sometimes.
“When my sight was better, I used to be very partial to reading; but
I can’t see the print, sir, now. I used to read the Bible, and the
newspaper. Story-books I have read, too, but not many novels. Yes,
_Robinson Crusoe_ I know, but not the _Pilgrim’s Progress_. I’ve heard
of it; they tell me it is a very interesting book to read, but I never
had it. We never have any ladies or Scripture-readers come to our
lodgings; you see, we’re so out, they might come a dozen times and not
find us at home.
“I wear out three brooms in a-week; but in the summer one will
last a fortnight. I give threepence ha’penny for them; there are
twopenny-ha’penny brooms, but they are not so good, they are liable
to have their handles come out. It is very fatiguing standing so many
hours; my legs aches with pain, and swells. I was once in Middlesex
Hospital for sixteen weeks with my legs. My eyes have been weak from a
child. I have got a gathering in my head from catching cold standing on
the crossing. I had the fever this time twelvemonth. I laid a fortnight
and four days at home, and seven weeks in the hospital. I took the
diarrhœa after that, and was six weeks under the doctor’s hands. I
used to do odd jobs, but my health won’t permit me now. I used to make
two or three shillings a-week by ’em, and get scraps and things. But I
get no broken victuals now.
“I never get anything from servants; they don’t get more than they know
what to do with.
“I don’t get a drop of beer once in a month.
“I don’t know but what this being out may be the best thing, after all;
for if I was at home all my time, it would not agree with me.”
STATEMENT OF “OLD JOHN,” THE WATERMAN AT THE FARRINGDON-STREET
CAB-STAND, CONCERNING THE OLD BLACK CROSSING-SWEEPER WHO LEFT £800 TO
MISS WAITHMAN.
“Yes, sir, I knew him for many year, though I never spoke to him in all
my life. He was a stoutish, thickset man, about my build, and used to
walk with his broom up and down--so.”
Here “Old John” imitated the halt and stoop of an old man.
“He used to touch his hat continually,” he went on. “‘Please remember
the poor black man,’ was his cry, never anything else. Oh yes, he
made a great deal of money. People gave more then than they do now.
Where they give one sixpence now, they _used_ to give ten. It’s just
the same by our calling. Lived humbly? Yes, I think he did; at all
events, he seemed to do so when he was on his crossing. He got plenty
of odds-and-ends from the corner _there_--Alderman Waithman’s, I mean;
he was a very sober, quiet sort of man. No, sir, nothing peculiar in
his dress. Some blacks are peculiar in their dress; but he would wear
anything he could get give him. They used to call him Romeo, I think.
Cur’ous name, sir; but the best man I ever knew was called Romeo, and
he was a black.
“The crossing-sweeper had his regular customers; he knew their times,
and was there to the moment. Oh yes, he was always. Hail, rain, or
snow, he never missed. I don’t know how long he had the crossing.
I remember him ever since I was a postboy in Doctors’ Commons; I
knew him when I lived in Holborn, and I haven’t been away from this
neighbourhood since 1809.
“No, sir, there’s no doubt about his leaving the money to Miss
Waithman. Everybody round about here knows it; just ask them, sir. Miss
Waithman (an old maid she were, sir) used to be very kind to him. He
used to sweep from Alderman Waithman’s (it’s the _Sunday Times_ now)
across to the opposite side of the way.
“When he died, an old man, as had been a soldier, took possession
of the crossing. How did he get it? Why, I say, he _took it_. First
come, first sarved, sir; that’s their way. They never sell crossings.
Sometimes (for a lark) they shift, and then one stands treat--a gallon
of beer, or something of that sort. The perlice interfered with the
soldier--you know the sweepers is all forced to go if the perlice
interfere; now with us, sir, we are licensed, and they can’t make us
move on. They interfered, I say, with the old soldier, because he
used to get so drunk. Why, at a public-house close at hand, he would
spent seven, eight, and ten shillings on a night, three or four days
together. He used to gather so many blackguards round the crossing,
they were forced to move him at last. A young man has got it now; he
has had it three year. He is not always here, sometimes away for a week
at a stretch; but, you see, he knows the best times to come, and then
he is _sure_ to be here. The little boys come with their brooms now and
then, but the perlice always drive them away.”