that runs throughout the whole class. From the father to the youngest
child, all will be found well shod. So strong is their predilection in
this respect, that a costermonger may be immediately known by a glance
at his feet. He will part with everything rather than his boots, and to
wear a pair of second-hand ones, or “translators” (as they are called),
is felt as a bitter degradation by them all. Among the men, this pride
has risen to such a pitch, that many will have their upper-leathers
tastily ornamented, and it is not uncommon to see the younger men of
this class with a heart or a thistle, surrounded by a wreath of roses,
worked below the instep, on their boots. The general costume of the
women or girls is a black velveteen or straw bonnet, with a few ribbons
or flowers, and almost always a net cap fitting closely to the cheek.
The silk “King’s-man” covering their shoulders, is sometimes tucked
into the neck of the printed cotton-gown, and sometimes the ends are
brought down outside to the apron-strings. Silk dresses are never worn
by them--they rather despise such articles. The petticoats are worn
short, ending at the ankles, just high enough to show the whole of the
much-admired boots. Coloured, or “illustrated shirts,” as they are
called, are especially objected to by the men.
On the Sunday no costermonger will, if he can possibly avoid it,
wheel a barrow. If a shilling be an especial object to him, he may,
perhaps, take his shallow and head-basket as far as Chalk-farm, or
some neighbouring resort; but even then he objects strongly to the
Sunday-trading. They leave this to the Jews and Irish, who are always
willing to earn a penny--as they say.
The prosperous coster _will_ have his holiday on the Sunday, and, if
possible, his Sunday suit as well--which usually consists of a rough
beaver hat, brown Petersham, with velvet facings of the same colour,
and cloth trousers, with stripes down the side. The women, generally,
manage to keep by them a cotton gown of a bright showy pattern, and a
new shawl. As one of the craft said to me--“Costers likes to see their
gals and wives look lady-like when they takes them out.” Such of the
costers as are not in a flourishing way of business, seldom make any
alteration in their dress on the Sunday.
There are but five tailors in London who make the garb proper to
costermongers; one of these is considered somewhat “slop,” or as a
coster called him, a “springer-up.”
This springer-up is blamed by some of the costermongers, who
condemn him for employing women at reduced wages. A whole court of
costermongers, I was assured, would withdraw their custom from a
tradesman, if one of their body, who had influence among them, showed
that the tradesman was unjust to his workpeople. The tailor in question
issues bills after the following fashion. I give one verbatim, merely
withholding the address for obvious reasons:
“ONCE TRY YOU’LL COME AGAIN.
_Slap-up Tog and out-and-out Kicksies Builder._
Mr. ---- nabs the chance of putting his customers awake, that he has
just made his escape from Russia, not forgetting to clap his mawleys
upon some of the right sort of Ducks, to make single and double backed
Slops for gentlemen in black, when on his return home he was stunned
to find one of the top manufacturers of Manchester had cut his lucky
and stepped off to the Swan Stream, leaving behind him a valuable stock
of Moleskins, Cords, Velveteens, Plushes, Swandowns, &c., and I having
some ready in my kick, grabbed the chance, and stepped home with my
swag, and am now safe landed at my crib. I can turn out toggery of
every description very slap up, at the following low prices for
_Ready Gilt--Tick being no go._
Upper Benjamins, built on a downey plan, a monarch to half a finnuff.
Slap up Velveteen Togs, lined with the same, 1 pound 1 quarter and
a peg. Moleskin ditto, any colour, lined with the same, 1 couter. A
pair of Kerseymere Kicksies, any colour, built very slap up, with
the artful dodge, a canary. Pair of stout Cord ditto, built in the
‘Melton Mowbray’ style, half a sov. Pair of very good broad Cord ditto,
made very saucy, 9 bob and a kick. Pair of long sleeve Moleskin, all
colours, built hanky-spanky, with a double fakement down the side and
artful buttons at bottom, half a monarch. Pair of stout ditto, built
very serious, 9 times. Pair of out-and-out fancy sleeve Kicksies, cut
to drop down on the trotters, 2 bulls. Waist Togs, cut long, with
moleskin back and sleeves, 10 peg. Blue Cloth ditto, cut slap, with
pearl buttons, 14 peg. Mud Pipes, Knee Caps, and Trotter Cases, built
very low.
“A decent allowance made to Seedy Swells, Tea Kettle Purgers, Head
Robbers, and Flunkeys out of Collar.
“N.B. Gentlemen finding their own Broady can be accommodated.”
OF THE DIET AND DRINK OF COSTERMONGERS.
It is less easy to describe the diet of costermongers than it is to
describe that of many other of the labouring classes, for their diet,
so to speak, is an “out-door diet.” They breakfast at a coffee-stall,
and (if all their means have been expended in purchasing their stock,
and none of it be yet sold) they expend on the meal only 1_d._,
reserved for the purpose. For this sum they can procure a small cup of
coffee, and two “thin” (that is to say two thin slices of bread and
butter). For dinner--which on a week-day is hardly ever eaten at the
costermonger’s abode--they buy “block ornaments,” as they call the
small, dark-coloured pieces of meat exposed on the cheap butchers’
blocks or counters. These they cook in a tap-room; half a pound
costing 2_d._ If time be an object, the coster buys a hot pie or two;
preferring fruit-pies when in season, and next to them meat-pies. “We
never eat eel-pies,” said one man to me, “because we know they’re often
made of large dead eels. _We_, of all people, are not to be had that
way. But the haristocrats eats ’em and never knows the difference.” I
did not hear that these men had any repugnance to meat-pies; but the
use of the dead eel happens to come within the immediate knowledge of
the costermongers, who are, indeed, its purveyors. Saveloys, with a
pint of beer, or a glass of “short” (neat gin) is with them another
common week-day dinner. The costers make all possible purchases of
street-dealers, and pride themselves in thus “sticking to their own.”
On Sunday, the costermonger, when not “cracked up,” enjoys a good
dinner at his own abode. This is always a joint--most frequently a
shoulder or half-shoulder of mutton--and invariably with “lots of good
taturs baked along with it.” In the quality of their potatoes these
people are generally particular.
The costermonger’s usual beverage is beer, and many of them drink hard,
having no other way of spending their leisure but in drinking and
gambling. It is not unusual in “a good time,” for a costermonger to
spend 12_s._ out of every 20_s._ in beer and pleasure.
I ought to add, that the “single fellows,” instead of living on “block
ornaments” and the like, live, when doing well, on the best fare, at
the “spiciest” cook-shops on their rounds, or in the neighbourhood of
their residence.
There are some families of costermongers who have persevered in
carrying out the principles of teetotalism. One man thought there might
be 200 individuals, including men, women, and children, who practised
total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. These parties are nearly
all somewhat better off than their drinking companions. The number of
teetotallers amongst the costers, however, was more numerous three or
four years back.
OF THE CRIES, ROUNDS, AND DAYS OF COSTERMONGERS.
I shall now proceed to treat of the London costermongers’ mode of doing
business.
In the first place all the goods they sell are cried or “hawked,” and
the cries of the costermongers in the present day are as varied as the
articles they sell. The principal ones, uttered in a sort of cadence,
are now, “Ni-ew mackerel, 6 a shilling.” (“I’ve got a good jacketing
many a Sunday morning,” said one dealer, “for waking people up with
crying mackerel, but I’ve said, ‘I must live while you sleep.’”) “Buy a
pair of live soles, 3 pair for 6_d._”--or, with a barrow, “Soles, 1_d._
a pair, 1_d._ a pair;” “Plaice alive, alive, cheap;” “Buy a pound crab,
cheap;” “Pine-apples, 1/2_d._ a slice;” “Mussels a penny a quart;”
“Oysters, a penny a lot;” “Salmon alive, 6_d._ a pound;” “Cod alive,
2_d._ a pound;” “Real Yarmouth bloaters, 2 a penny;” “New herrings
alive, 16 a groat” (this is the loudest cry of any); “Penny a bunch
turnips” (the same with greens, cabbages, &c.); “All new nuts, 1_d._
half-pint;” “Oranges, 2 a penny;” “All large and alive-O, new sprats,
O, 1_d._ a plate;” “Wi-ild Hampshire rabbits, 2 a shilling;” “Cherry
ripe, 2_d._ a pound;” “Fine ripe plums, 1_d._ a pint;” “Ing-uns, a
penny a quart;” “Eels, 3lbs. a shilling--large live eels 3lbs. a
shilling.”
The continual calling in the streets is very distressing to the voice.
One man told me that it had broken his, and that very often while out
he lost his voice altogether. “They seem to have no breath,” the men
say, “after calling for a little while.” The repeated shouting brings
on a hoarseness, which is one of the peculiar characteristics of
hawkers in general. The costers mostly go out with a boy to cry their
goods for them. If they have two or three hallooing together, it makes
more noise than one, and the boys can shout better and louder than
the men. The more noise they can make in a place the better they find
their trade. Street-selling has been so bad lately that many have been
obliged to have a drum for their bloaters, “to drum the fish off,” as
they call it.
In the second place, the costermongers, as I said before, have mostly
their little bit of a “round;” that is, they go only to certain places;
and if they don’t sell their goods they “work back” the same way again.
If they visit a respectable quarter, they confine themselves to the
mews near the gentlemen’s houses. They generally prefer the poorer
neighbourhoods. They go down or through almost all the courts and
alleys--and avoid the better kind of streets, unless with lobsters,
rabbits, or onions. If they have anything inferior, they visit the low
Irish districts--for the Irish people, they say, want only quantity,
and care nothing about quality--_that_ they don’t study. But if they
have anything they wish to make a price of, they seek out the mews, and
try to get it off among the gentlemen’s coachmen, for _they_ will have
what is good; or else they go among the residences of mechanics,--for
their wives, they say, like good-living as well as the coachmen. Some
costers, on the other hand, go chance rounds.
Concerning the busiest days of the week for the coster’s trade, they
say Wednesdays and Fridays are the best, because they are regular fish
days. These two days are considered to be those on which the poorer
classes generally run short of money. Wednesday night is called “draw
night” among some mechanics and labourers--that is, they then get a
portion of their wages in advance, and on Friday they run short as well
as on the Wednesday, and have to make shift for their dinners. With
the few halfpence they have left, they are glad to pick up anything
cheap, and the street-fishmonger never refuses an offer. Besides, he
can supply them with a cheaper dinner than any other person. In the
season the poor generally dine upon herrings. The poorer classes live
mostly on fish, and the “dropped” and “rough” fish is bought chiefly
for the poor. The fish-huckster has no respect for persons, however;
one assured me that if Prince Halbert was to stop him in the street to
buy a pair of soles of him, he’d as soon sell him a “rough pair as any
other man--indeed, I’d take in my own father,” he added, “if he wanted
to deal with me.” Saturday is the worst day of all for fish, for then
the poor people have scarcely anything at all to spend; Saturday night,
however, the street-seller takes more money than at any other time in
the week.
OF THE COSTERMONGERS ON THEIR COUNTRY ROUNDS.
Some costermongers go what they term “country rounds,” and they speak
of their country expeditions as if they were summer excursions of mere
pleasure. They are generally variations from a life growing monotonous.
It was computed for me that at present three out of every twenty
costermongers “take a turn in the country” at least once a year. Before
the prevalence of railways twice as many of these men carried their
speculations in fish, fruit, or vegetables to a country mart. Some did
so well that they never returned to London. Two for instance, after a
country round, settled at Salisbury; they are now regular shopkeepers,
“and very respectable, too,” was said to me, “for I believe they are
both pretty tidy off for money; and are growing rich.” The railway
communication supplies the local-dealer with fish, vegetables, or any
perishable article, with such rapidity and cheapness that the London
itinerant’s occupation in the towns and villages about the metropolis
is now half gone.
In the following statement by a costermonger, the mode of life on
a country round, is detailed with something of an assumption of
metropolitan superiority.
“It was fine times, sir, ten year back, aye, and five year back, in
the country, and it ain’t so bad now, if a man’s known. It depends on
that now far more than it did, and on a man’s knowing how to work a
village. Why, I can tell you if it wasn’t for such as me, there’s many
a man working on a farm would never taste such a nice thing as a fresh
herring--never, sir. It’s a feast at a poor country labourer’s place,
when he springs six-penn’orth of fresh herrings, some for supper, and
some in salt for next day. I’ve taken a shillings’-worth to a farmer’s
door of a darkish night in a cold autumn, and they’d a warm and good
dish for supper, and looked on me as a sort of friend. We carry them
relishes from London; and they like London relishes, for we know how
to set them off. I’ve fresh herringed a whole village near Guildford,
first thing in the morning. I’ve drummed round Guildford too, and done
well. I’ve waked up Kingston with herrings. I’ve been as welcome as
anything to the soldiers in the barracks at Brentwood, and Romford,
and Maidstone with my fresh herrings; for they’re good customers. In
two days I’ve made 2_l._ out of 10_s._ worth of fresh herrings, bought
at Billingsgate. I always lodge at a public-house in the country; so
do all of us, for the publicans are customers. We are well received at
the public-houses; some of us go there for the handiness of the ‘lush.’
I’ve done pretty well with red herrings in the country. A barrel holds
(say) 800. We sell the barrels at 6_d._ a piece, and the old women
fight after them. They pitch and tar them, to make water-barrels. More
of us would settle in the country, only there’s no life there.”
The most frequented round is from Lambeth to Wandsworth, Kingston,
Richmond, Guildford, and Farnham. The costermonger is then “sold out,”
as he calls it,--he has disposed of his stock, and returns by the way
which is most lightly tolled, no matter if the saving of 1_d._ or 2_d._
entail some miles extra travelling. “It cost me 15_d._ for tolls from
Guildford for an empty cart and donkey,” said a costermonger just up
from the country.
Another round is to Croydon, Reigate, and the neighbourhoods; another
to Edgeware, Kilburn, Watford, and Barnet; another to Maidstone; but
the costermonger, if he starts trading at a distance, as he now does
frequently, has his barrow and goods sent down by railway to such towns
as Maidstone, so he saves the delay and cost of a donkey-cart. A “mate”
sees to the transmission of the goods from London, the owner walking
to Maidstone to be in readiness to “work” them immediately he receives
them. “The railway’s an ease and a saving,” I was told; “I’ve got a
stock sent for 2_s._, and a donkey’s keep would cost that for the time
it would be in travelling. There’s 5,000 of us, I think, might get a
living in the country, if we stuck to it entirely.”
If the country enterprise be a failure, the men sometimes abandon it in
“a pet,” sell their goods at any loss, and walk home, generally getting
drunk as the first step to their return. Some have been known to pawn
their barrow on the road for drink. This they call “doing queer.”
In summer the costermongers carry plums, peas, new potatoes, cucumbers,
and quantities of pickling vegetables, especially green walnuts, to
the country. In winter their commodities are onions, fresh and red
herrings, and sprats. “I don’t know how it is,” said one man to me,
“but we sell ing-uns and all sorts of fruits and vegetables, cheaper
than they can buy them where they’re grown; and green walnuts, too,
when you’d think they had only to be knocked off a tree.”
Another costermonger told me that, in the country, he and his
mates attended every dance or other amusement, “if it wasn’t too
respectable.” Another said: “If I’m idle in the country on a Sunday, I
never go to church. I never was in a church; I don’t know why, for my
silk handkerchief’s worth more than one of their smock-frocks, and is
quite as respectable.”
Some costermongers confine their exertions to the fairs and races, and
many of them are connected with the gipsies, who are said to be the
usual receivers of the stolen handkerchiefs at such places.
OF THE EARNINGS OF COSTERMONGERS.
The earnings of the costermonger--the next subject of inquiry that,
in due order, presents itself--vary as much as in more fashionable
callings, for he is greatly dependent on the season, though he may be
little affected by London being full or empty.
Concurrent testimony supplied me with the following estimate of their
earnings. I cite the average earnings (apart from any charges or
drawbacks), of the most staple commodities:
In January and February the costers generally sell fish. In these
months the wealthier of the street fishmongers, or those who can always
command “money to go to market,” enjoy a kind of monopoly. The wintry
season renders the supply of fish dearer and less regular, so that the
poorer dealers cannot buy “at first hand,” and sometimes cannot be
supplied at all; while the others monopolise the fish, more or less,
and will not sell it to any of the other street-dealers until a profit
has been realised out of their own regular customers, and the demand
partially satisfied. “Why, I’ve known one man sell 10_l._ worth of
fish--most of it mackarel--at his stall in Whitecross-street,” said
a costermonger to me, “and all in one snowy day, in last January. It
was very stormy at that time, and fish came in unregular, and he got
a haul. I’ve known him sell 2_l._ worth in an hour, and once 2_l._
10_s._ worth, for I then helped at his stall. If people has dinner
parties they must have fish, and gentlemen’s servants came to buy.” The
_average_ earnings however of those that “go rounds” in these months
are computed not to exceed 8_s._ a week; Monday and Saturday being days
of little trade in fish.
“March is dreadful,” said an itinerant fish seller to me; “we don’t
average, I’m satisfied, more nor 4_s._ a week. I’ve had my barrow idle
for a week sometimes--at home every day, though it had to be paid for,
all the same. At the latter end of March, if it’s fine, it’s 1_s._ a
week better, because there’s flower roots in--‘all a-growing,’ you
know, sir. And that lasts until April, and we then make above 6_s._
a week. I’ve heard people say when I’ve cried ‘all a-growing’ on a
fine-ish day, ‘Aye, now summer’s a-coming.’ I wish you may get it, says
I to myself; for I’ve studied the seasons.”
In May the costermonger’s profit is greater. He vends fresh fish--of
which there is a greater supply and a greater demand, and the fine and
often not very hot weather insures its freshness--and he sells dried
herrings and “roots” (as they are called) such as wall-flowers and
stocks. The average earnings then are from 10_s._ to 12_s._ a week.
In June, new potatoes, peas, and beans tempt the costermongers’
customers, and then his earnings rise to 1_l._ a week. In addition to
this 1_l._, if the season allow, a costermonger at the end of the week,
I was told by an experienced hand, “will earn an extra 10_s._ if he has
anything of a round.” “Why, I’ve cleared thirty shillings myself,” he
added, “on a Saturday night.”
In July cherries are the principal article of traffic, and then the
profit varies from 4_s._ to 8_s._ a day, weather permitting, or 30_s._
a week on a low average. On my inquiry if they did not sell fish in
that month, the answer was, “No, sir; we pitch fish to the ----; we
stick to cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and ripe currants and
gooseberries. Potatoes is getting good and cheap then, and so is peas.
Many a round’s worth a crown every day of the week.”
In August, the chief trading is in Orleans plums, green-gages, apples
and pears, and in this month the earnings are from 5_s._ to 6_s._ a
day. [I may here remark that the costermongers care little to deal in
either vegetables or fish, “when the fruit’s in,” but they usually
carry a certain supply of vegetables all the year round, for those
customers who require them.]
In September apples are vended, and about 2_s._ 6_d._ a day made.
In October “the weather gets cold,” I was told, “and the apples gets
fewer, and the day’s work’s over at four; we then deals most in fish,
such as soles; there’s a good bit done in oysters, and we may make
1_s._ or 1_s._ 6_d._ a day, but it’s uncertain.”
In November fish and vegetables are the chief commodities, and then
from 1_s._ to 1_s._ 6_d._ a day is made; but in the latter part of the
month an extra 6_d._ or 1_s._ a day may be cleared, as sprats come in
and sell well when newly introduced.
In December the trade is still principally in fish, and 12_d._ or
18_d._ a day is the costermonger’s earnings. Towards the close of the
month he makes rather more, as he deals in new oranges and lemons,
holly, ivy, &c., and in Christmas week he makes 3_s._ or 4_s._ a day.
These calculations give an average of about 14_s._ 6_d._ a week, when a
man pursues his trade regularly. One man calculated it for me at 15_s._
average the year through--that is supposing, of course, that the larger
earnings of the summer are carefully put by to eke out the winter’s
income. This, I need hardly say, is never done. Prudence is a virtue,
which is comparatively unknown to the London costermongers. They have
no knowledge of savings’-banks; and to expect that they themselves
should keep their money by them untouched for months (even if they had
the means of so doing) is simply to expect impossibilities--to look for
the continued withstanding of temptation among a class who are unused
to the least moral or prudential restraint.
_Some_ costers, I am told, make upwards of 30_s._ a week all the year
round; but allowing for cessations in the street-trade, through bad
weather, neglect, ill-health, or casualty of any kind, and taking the
more prosperous costers with the less successful--the English with the
Irish--the men with the women--perhaps 10_s._ a week may be a fair
average of the earnings of the entire body the year through.
These earnings, I am assured, were five years ago at least 25 per cent.
higher; some said they made half as much again: “I can’t make it out
how it is,” said one man, “but I remember that I could go out and sell
twelve bushel of fruit in a day, when sugar was dear, and now, when
sugar’s cheap, I can’t sell three bushel on the same round. Perhaps we
want thinning.”
Such is the state of the working-classes; say all the costers, they
have little or no money to spend. “Why, I can assure you,” declared
one of the parties from whom I obtained much important information,
“there’s my missis--she sits at the corner of the street with fruit.
Eight years ago she would have taken 8_s._ out of that street on a
Saturday, and last Saturday week she had one bushel of apples, which
cost 1_s._ 6_d._ She was out from ten in the morning till ten at night,
and all she took that day was 1_s._ 7-1/2_d._ Go to whoever you will,
you will hear much upon the same thing.” Another told me, “The costers
are often obliged to sell the things for what they gave for them. The
people haven’t got money to lay out with them--they tell us so; and
if they are poor we must be poor too. If we can’t get a profit upon
what goods we buy with our stock-money, let it be our own or anybody’s
else, we are compelled to live upon it, and when that’s broken into, we
must either go to the workhouse or starve. If we go to the workhouse,
they’ll give us a piece of dry bread, and abuse us worse than dogs.”
Indeed, the whole course of my narratives shows how the costers
generally--though far from universally--complain of the depressed
state of their trade. The following statement was given to me by a man
who, for twelve years, had been a stall-keeper in a street-market. It
shows to what causes he (and I found others express similar opinions)
attributes the depression:--