barrows are mostly the property of three individuals, who are not
street-sellers themselves. One of these men has 50 barrows of his own,
and employs 50 men to work them. The barrow proprietor supplies not
only the vehicle, but the stock, and the men’s remuneration is 3_d._ in
the 1_s._ on the amount of sales. Each article they sell is charged to
the public 1_d._ The tin-wares of the swag-barrows are nutmeg-graters,
bread-graters, beer-warmers, fish-slices, goblets, mugs, save-alls,
extinguishers, candle-shades, money-boxes, children’s plates, and
rattles. In addition to the tin-wares, the swag-barrows are stocked
with brooches, rings, pot-ornaments, plates, small crockeryware,
toys, &c., each article being also vended at 1_d._ The trade is so
far stationary, that the men generally confine themselves to one
neighbourhood, if not to one street. The majority of the swag-barrowmen
have been costermongers, and nearly the whole have been engaged in
street avocations all their lives. One man familiar with the trade
thought I might state that the whole were of this description; for
though there was lately a swag-barrowman who had been a tradesman in an
extensive way, there was, he believed, no such exception at the present
time. These barrowmen are nearly all uneducated, and are plodding
and persevering men, though they make few exertions to better their
condition. As the barrow and stock are supplied to them, without any
outlay on their part, their faculties are not even sharpened, as among
many of the costermongers, by the necessity of providing stock-money,
and knowing how to bargain and buy to advantage. They have merely
to sell. Their commission furnishes little or nothing more than the
means of a bare subsistence. The great sale is on Saturday nights at
the street-markets, and to the working people, who then crowd those
places, and, as one said to me, “has a few pennies to lay out.” At such
times as much as 3_l._ has been taken by a swag-barrowman. During the
other days of the week their earnings are small. It is considered a
first-rate week, and there must be all the facilities for street-trade
afforded by fine weather, to take 2_s._ a day (clearing 6_d._), and
3_l._ on a Saturday night. This gives the swag-barrowman a commission
of 18_s._; but I am informed, by competent persons, that the average
of the weekly profits of these street-traders does not exceed 10_s._ a
week. This shows a yearly receipt, by the men working the barrows, of
3900_l._ as their profit or payment, and a gross receipt of 11,700_l._
Of this large amount nearly two-thirds, I am assured, is expended on
tin-wares.
The prime cost, at the tin-shops, of these wares, to the barrow
proprietors, are 7_s._ and 7_s._ 6_d._ the gross, leaving from
1-1/2_d._ to 2_d._ profit on every shilling, over the 3_d._ commission
paid to the salesman. The tins are all made in London. The jewellery,
and other stock of the swag-barrows, are bought at the general
swag-shops, of which I have before spoken.
OF THE LIFE OF A TIN-WARE SELLER.
The following street-biography was communicated to me in writing. It
is, I believe, a striking instance of the vicissitudes and privations
to which a street-life is subject. It forms, moreover, a curious
example of those moral contradictions which make the same individual at
one time give way _hopelessly_ to the force of circumstances, and at
another resolutely control them.
“My object,” says my correspondent, “for writing this, what some folks
no doubt will call a nonsensical epistle, is merely to show how much
human nature is capable of enduring in the shape of privations. People
in easy circumstances will scarcely credit what I am about to relate;
and many of the poor will smile at what I have termed hardships, and at
my folly in endeavouring to paint the misery I have endured, which will
appear slight when compared to what they themselves have suffered.
“I am the son of a mechanic who was accidentally drowned some weeks
previous to my birth. My mother, through industry and perseverance,
endeavoured to support me and my sister till we arrived at the ages
of 15 and 18, I being the younger. I entered a gentleman’s service as
pantry-boy, where I continued until I considered myself competent to
take a higher situation. Still a servant’s life was not the bent of
my inclinations; martial music and viewing soldiers on parade made
me think that a rifle was a more graceful tool than a toasting-fork.
I resolved to serve his Majesty, and for that purpose enlisted in
the 60th Rifles on the route for India, but Providence ordained it
otherwise. On the afternoon on which I ’listed I fell by accident and
broke my leg, and as I was not sworn in I was entitled to no pension.
I was six months confined to my bed, and it was three years before
I could go without my crutch. Grief for my misfortunes had borne my
mother to an early grave, and I was left a cripple and destitute.
Whether by design or accident I do not recollect, but I met with the
lady (Lady M----) in whose service I first entered as pantry-boy;
she took pity on my forlorn condition, and kindly invited me to her
Mansion, where I remained until completely restored to health, but
still crippled. After this I was employed painting and glazing, &c.,
and, considering myself competent to get my living in that line, I
resolved to go to London--the theatre of all my misery to come, for I
was disappointed. On reaching the metropolis my paint-brush was turned
into a shovel, my paint-pot into a dust sieve, for I could only get
employed by a man to work in a dust-yard at 10_s._ a week. From thence
I went to a firm belonging to a friend at Beckenham, near Croydon, as
working time-keeper, or foreman; but during a fair in that village I
neglected to back the time, and being discharged was cast upon the
world again with only 3_s._ in my pocket, which I eat and drank up,
having no idea of street trading. Then came my trials; but having had
sufficient food during the day, I did not feel much the effects of my
first night in the streets. The next day I had no food, and towards
dusk began bitterly to feel my situation; that night I slept, or rather
lay, in an empty house. Towards noon of the next day I felt weak,
and drank large quantities of water, for I had no particular desire
for food. Passing by a shop where old clothes were offered for sale,
I saw a man wretched in appearance disposing of an old vest for a
few pence. I caught the malady and was instantly spoiled of my coat,
having received in exchange for it 2_s._ and an old frock--such as are
generally worn by waggoners or countrymen. I more than once smiled at
my novel appearance. A penny loaf, a drink of water, and a threepenny
lodging was the first assault upon my 2_s._ I regretted, however, the
3_d._ paid for my lodging, and determined not to risk another, for my
bedfellows were so numerous, and of such teazing propensities, that
they would not allow me to sleep; truly indeed is it said that ‘poverty
makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows.’ At this time I formed
an acquaintance with a man whose condition was similar to my own; he
engaged to put me ‘fly to a dodge’ or two; an explanation from him was
necessary to make me acquainted with the sense of his words, which I
soon found simply meant artful manœuvres. One of these dodges was to
snooze (a term for sleeping) in the Adelphi arches; I felt grateful
for such a mark of disinterested friendship, and next day my friend
and me fared sumptuously on the produce of my coat, and at night we
repaired to the Arches in question, and there found a comfortable
lodging in a hay-loft. I lay for some time, but did not sleep. I was
several times addressed by my companion in an under tone, ‘Are you
asleep,’ he whispered, ‘ain’t it a stunning dos?’ (which means a good
bed). I was not in a mood for conversation, and made no reply; to
silence him completely I affected to snore, and this had the desired
effect. For a few minutes he was quite quiet, and then he commenced
with great caution to unlace my boots, with a view to stealing them. I
perceived his object, and immediately left my lodging and companion.
I felt grieved and disappointed at the loss of one in whom I placed
all confidence; but this time wisdom was purchased cheaply, inasmuch
as I suffered no loss except that my money might have lasted me a
little longer. The remainder of that night I strayed about the Strand
and Charing-cross, after a drink of water; I took a seat on a curb
surrounding the pump; many wretched beings came and seated themselves
beside me, and a conversation ensued respecting their several
destinations during the day. One proposed going to Hungerford-market to
do a feed on decayed shrimps or other offal laying about the market;
another proposed going to Covent-garden to do a ‘tightener’ of rotten
oranges, to which I was humorously invited; I accepted the invitation,
and proceeded with my new companion. I fared well; I filled my hat,
took a seat, and made a most delicious breakfast. I remained strolling
about the Garden all day, and towards evening was invited by my
companions to a ‘dos’ in an open shed in Islington; this I declined,
alleging that I had a lodging, but that night I slept amongst a heap
of stones near the pillar at Charing-cross. I continued to attend the
Garden for several weeks, subsisting entirely on the offal of that
market. One day I took notice of a man there selling chestnut leaves;
I enquired how he obtained them: he told me he plucked them from the
trees without hindrance, and directed me to where I could obtain some.
I went to a grove in the vicinity of Kilburn, and lay there all night.
Next morning I found no leaves, so I returned disappointed to town, and
on going through the market a woman employed me to carry a bushel of
pears some little distance for her for a penny. I felt quite elevated
in anticipation of such a treat as a penny loaf, but alas! I fell down
under the weight of the fruit and poverty; my employer, however, kindly
gave me the penny, though some of her pears were injured, and I had
not taken them half the required distance. With the money I purchased
a loaf, and sat on a stone near the pump in Covent Garden and began
my meal. Here I soon had a companion, who after rincing a lettuce at
the pump, began to devour it. I shared my loaf with him. ‘O God!’ said
he, ‘what are we destined to suffer. I have escaped the bullets of
the Carlists in Spain to die in the streets of London with hunger.’ I
felt an interest in the poor fellow, who I discovered in the course of
conversation had been a gentleman’s servant in his time; he assured me
he had been living in the same way for several weeks as I myself had
been. Towards night my companion asked me where I slept. I told him my
different haunts, he told me I’d better go to the straw-yard with him;
this was a place I had not yet heard of; it was the nightly refuge for
the houseless poor. I accompanied him without hesitation; my confidence
was not misplaced; I slept there several nights. Bread was distributed
to us night and morning, and this was fortunate, for the Garden began
to fail. In the course of conversation with some of the inmates of the
Refuge, we found that we could obtain employment at stone-breaking;
this we tried the next morning, and succeeded. We worked all day, and
received 6_d._ each on leaving work. We then made up our minds to go to
lodgings that we might have an opportunity of washing what were once
shirts.
“Misery had not had that wasting influence on my companion as it had on
me. I was at this time a complete skeleton; a puff of wind would cause
me to stagger. I continued stone-breaking, but about noon of the third
day I sunk exhausted on the heap of stones before me. Poverty had done
its work, and I anticipated with pleasure approaching dissolution. I
was assisted to my lodging by my companion, and went to bed. When the
woman at the lodging-house discovered that I was ill, she ordered some
of her domestics to dress me and put me in the street, alleging that
she was under a penalty of 20_l._ were it discovered that she lodged
a sick stranger. I was, therefore, cast into the street at 12 o’clock
at night. My companion then gave me the 3_d._ he had earned that day
to procure me a lodging if possible, and he slept in the streets the
remainder of the night. I went to another lodging, concealing as much
as possible my illness; my money was taken, and I was conducted to bed.
I spent a wretched night, and next morning I was very bad. The landlady
led me to the workhouse; I was admitted directly; had they detained
me asking questions I should have sunk on the floor. My disorder was
pronounced English cholera. I lay three weeks in a precarious state,
but at the end of seven weeks was recovered sufficiently to walk about.
I was then discharged; but on going towards the Abbey in Westminster
I fainted, and on recovery found myself surrounded by a number of
persons. I was advised to return to the house; I did so, and was
admitted for a short time, after which I was again discharged, but
I received out-door relief twice a week; and for some time a small
portion of bread and cheese as well. _I had now lost not only all
hope, but even desire of bettering my condition_; during these trials
I made none acquainted with my privations, save those situated as I
was. I now altered my condition as regards sleeping; I walked about
during the night, and slept a portion of the day on a heap of sand
near Westminster-bridge. I then remembered to have a poor relative in
Kensington; I did not plead distress, but merely asked whether she
knew where I might procure employment. I had a cup of tea, the first I
had tasted since I was in the workhouse, a period of five weeks. Being
asked some question by my relative, I could not help making reference
to some of my sufferings. At this place I found a young man of whom I
had had a previous acquaintance; I told him of my inability to procure
a lodging, and he allowed me without the knowledge of his parents to
sleep in the stable-loft; the bed was hard, but the coal sacks kept me
warm. Here I had many opportunities of earning a few pence, and I began
to regain my spirits. On one occasion, seeing a lad illtreated by a
young man who was much his superior in size and strength, I interposed,
and it may be conjectured in what manner. This circumstance procured
me a friend, for, with the assistance of the lad I had protected, I
was enabled to live tolerably well, and after a short while I got a
situation at a coal-shed at 10_s._ a week. I continued in this place
eighteen months, but, my master giving up the business, I was again
cast on the world. I then began to think seriously of some way of
living, and for the first time asked for the loan of 15_s._ With
this I purchased a few articles of furniture, laid out 7_s._ 6_d._
for two hundred of oranges, with which I walked and hawked about two
days, taking but 4_d._ during the time. I disposed of the remainder
of my stock, wholesale, for 6_s._; with this I purchased a small tin
saucepan, a piece of marble slab, and commenced sugar-boiling. I
retailed my manufacture in the streets. By dint of perseverance and
economy I managed to live this way through the winter and a portion
of the spring; but summer being now come, people needed none of my
compounds to warm their mouths, so it was necessary for me to change
my hand. What should I do? Thoughts came and vanished at their births.
I recollected having seen a person selling rings at a penny each; I
made up my mind to try the same. I laid out 5_s._ in a tray and stock;
after arranging the goods to the best advantage I sallied into the
streets. The glittering baubles took for a while, but when discoloured
were useless. Having once a considerable stock of these soiled rings,
I was prompted to begin “lot selling.” After calculating the profits,
I commenced selling in that line. As this continued for seven weeks I
managed to get a living. The system then became general; every street
in the metropolis contained a lot seller, so I was determined to change
my hand. One day in the street I saw a girl with a bundle of old
umbrellas going towards a marine store shop; I asked if the umbrellas
were for sale; she replied in the affirmative; the price she asked was
4_d._; I became a purchaser. With these old umbrellas I commenced a new
life. I bought some trifling tools necessary for repairing umbrellas,
and, after viewing well the construction of the articles, I commenced
operations. I succeeded, and in a little time could not only mend an
old umbrella, but make a new one. This way of living I followed three
years. In one of my walks through the streets crying old umbrellas
to sell, I saw a street tinker repairing a saucepan; he seemed so
very comfortable with his fire-pan before him, that I resolved from
that moment to become a tinker, and for that purpose I bought a few
tools, prepared a budget, and sallied into the streets with as much
indifference as if I had been at the business since my birth. After a
little practice I fancied I was fit for better things than mending old
saucepans, and flattered myself that I was able to make a new one. This
I resolved to attempt, and succeeded so well, that I at once abandoned
the rainy-day system, and commenced manufacturing articles in tin-ware,
such as are now sold in the streets, namely funnels, nutmeg-graters,
penny mugs, extinguishers, slices, savealls, &c. I soon became known to
the street-sellers and swag-shop proprietors. The prices I get are low,
and I am deficient in some of the tools necessary to forward the work,
with the required speed to procure returns adequate to my expenses; but
thanks to the Lord I am better off than ever I expected to be, with the
difference only of a somewhat shattered constitution. There are many at
the present day suffering as I have done, and they may be found in and
about the different markets of the metropolis.”
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF DOG-COLLARS.
Of these street-traders there are now regularly twelve; one man counted
to me fourteen, but two of these only sold dog-collars occasionally,
when they could not get employment in their trade as journeymen
brass-founders. Of the regular hands, one, two, and sometimes three
sell only dog-collars (with the usual adjuncts of locks, and sometimes
chains, and key-rings), but even these, when their stock-money avails,
prefer uniting to the collars some other trifling article.
Two of the most profitable pitches for the sale of these articles are
in the neighbourhood of the Old Swan Pier, off Thames-street, and at
a corner of the Bank. Neither of these two traders confines his stock
to dog-collars, though they constitute the most valuable portion of
it. The one sells, in addition to his collars, key-rings, keys and
chains, dog-whistles, stamps with letters engraved upon them, printer’s
type, in which any name or initials may be set up, shaving-brushes,
trowser-straps, razors, and a few other light articles. The other sells
little more than “dog” articles, with the addition of brass padlocks
and small whips. But the minor commodities are frequently varied,
according to the season and to the street-seller’s opinion of what may
“sell.”
Some of these traders hang their wares against the rails of any
public or other building in a good situation, where they can obtain
leave. Others have stalls, with “a back,” from the corners of which
hang the strings of dog-collars, one linked within another. The
manner in which one street-seller displays his wares is shown in
the illustration before given. Of the whole number, half are either
itinerant on a round, or walk up and down a thoroughfare and an
adjacent street or two. “Dog-collars,” said one man, “is no good at
Saturday-night markets. People has said to me--for I was flat enough
to try once--‘Dogs! pooh, I’ve hardly grub enough for the kids.’ For
all that, sir, some poor people has dogs, and is very fond of them too;
ay, and I’ve sold them collars, but seldom. I think it’s them as has no
children has dogs.”
The collars most in demand are brass. One man pointed out to me the
merits of his stock, which he retailed from 6_d._ each (for the very
small ones) to 3_s._--for collars seemingly big enough for Pyrenean
sheep dogs. Some of the street-sold collars have black and red rims and
linings; others are of leather, often scarlet, stitched ornamentally
over a sort of jointed iron or wire-work. A few are of strong compact
steel chain-work; “but them’s more the fashion,” said one seller, “for
sporting dogs, like pointers and greyhounds, and is very seldom bought
in the streets. It’s the pet dogs as is our best friends.”
The dog-collar sellers have, as regards perhaps one-half, been
connected in their youth with some mechanical occupation in metal
manufacture. Four, I am told, are or were pensioners to a small amount,
as soldiers or sailors.
Some further particulars of the business will be found in the following
statement given me by a man in the trade. He was sickly-looking, seemed
dispirited at first, but to recover his spirits as he conversed, and
spoke with a provincial (I presume a Warwickshire or Staffordshire)
accent.
“I served my time, sir; my relations put me--for my parents died when
I was a boy--to a harness furniture maker, in Wa’sall (Walsal), who
supplied Mr. Dixon, a saddler’s ironmonger, in a good way. I had fair
makings, and was well treated, and when I was out of my time I worked
for another master, and I then found I could make my pad territs” (the
round loops of the harness pad, through which the reins are passed),
“my hooks, my buckles, my ornaments (some of ’em crests), as well as
any man. I worked only in brass, never plated, but sometimes the body
for plating, and mostly territs and hooks. Thinking I’d better myself,
I came to London. I was between five and six weeks before I got a
stroke of work, and my money had gone. I found that London harness
makers and coachmakers’ names was put on Walsal-made goods, and ‘London
made’ and ‘town made’ was put too. They might be as good, but they
wasn’t town made no more nor I am. I can’t tell what I suffered, and
felt, and thought, as at last I walked the streets. I was afraid to
call at any brass-worker’s--for I can do many sorts of brass work--I
was so shabby. I called once at Mr. A----’s, near Smithfield, and
he, or his foreman perhaps it was, says to me, ‘Give that tug-buckle
a file.’ I’d had nothing to eat but an apple I found in the street
that day, and my hand trembled, and so he told me that drunkards, with
trembling hands, wouldn’t do there. I was never a drinking man; and at
that time hadn’t tasted so much as beer for ten days. My landlady--I
paid her 1_s._ a week for half a bed with a porter--trusted me my rent,
’cause I paid her when I had it; but I walked about, narvussed and
trembling, and frightened at every sudden sound. No, sir, I’ve stood
looking over a bridge, but, though I may have thought of suicide, I
never once had really a notion of it. I don’t know how to tell it,
but I felt stupified like, as much as miserable. _I felt I could do
nothing._ Perhaps I shouldn’t have had power of mind to drown myself
if I’d made up my resolution; besides, it’s a dreadful wickedness. I
always liked reading, and, before I was fairly beaten out, used to read
at home, at shop-windows, and at book-stalls, as long as I dared, but
latterly, when I was starving, I couldn’t fix my mind to read anyhow.
One night I met a Wa’s’ll friend, and he took me to his inn, and gave
me a good beef-steak supper and some beer, and he got me a nice clean
bed in the house. In the morning he gave me what did me most good of
all, a good new shirt, and 5_s._ I got work two days after, and kept
it near five years, with four masters, and married and saved 12_l._ We
had no family to live, and my poor wife died in the cholera in 1849,
and I buried her decently, thank God, for she was a good soul. When I
thought the cholera was gone, I had it myself, and was ill long, and
lost my work, and had the same sufferings as before, and was without
soles to my shoes or a shirt to my back, ’till a gentleman I’d worked
for lent me 1_l._, and then I went into this trade, and pulled up a
little. In six weeks I paid 15_s._ of my debt, and had my own time for
the remaining 5_s._ Now I get an odd job with my master sometimes, and
at others sell my collars, and chains, and key-rings, and locks, and
such like. I’m ashamed of the dog-collar locks; I can buy them at 2_d._
a dozen, or 1_s._ 6_d._ a gross; they’re sad rubbish. In two or three
weeks sometimes, the wire hasp is worn through, just by the rattling of
the collar, and the lock falls off. I make now, one way and another,
about 10_s._ a week. My lodging’s 2_s._ a week for a bed-room--it’s a
closet tho’, for my furniture all went. God’s good, and I’ll see better
days yet. I have sure promise of regular work, and then I can earn
30_s._ to 40_s._ I do best with my collars about the docks. I’m sure I
don’t know why.”
I am told that each of the street-sellers of dog-collars sell on the
average a dozen a week, at a medium receipt of 12_s._ (“sometimes
20_s._, and sometimes 6_s._”), though some will sell three and even
four dozen collars in the week. Any regular dog-collar seller will
undertake to get a name engraved upon it at 1_d._ a letter. The goods
are bought at a swag-shop, or an establishment carried on in the same
way. The retailer’s profit is 35 per cent.
Reckoning 12_s._ weekly taken by twelve men, we find 374_l._ expended
yearly in the streets in dog-collars.
OF THE LIFE OF A STREET-SELLER OF DOG-COLLARS.
From the well-known vendor of these articles whose portrait was given
in No. 10 of this work, I had the following sketch of his history:--