I now treat of--the sellers of articles made by others. Twelve or
fourteen years back, there was a considerable sale in what was a branch
of duffing. Waistcoats were sold to countrymen, generally graziers’
servants, under the pretence that they were of fine silk plush, which
was then rather an object of rustic Sunday finery. A drover told me
that a good many years ago he saw a countryman, with whom he was
conversing at the time, pay 10_s._ 6_d._ for a “silk plush waistcoat,”
the vendor having asked 15_s._, and having walked away--no doubt
remarking the eagerness of his victim--when the countryman refused to
give more than 10_s._ “He had a customer set for it,” he said, “at
half-a-guinea.” On the first day the waistcoat was worn--the drover was
afterwards told by the purchaser--it was utterly spoiled by a shower of
rain; and when its possessor asked the village tailor the value of the
garment, he was told that it had no value at all; the tailor could not
even tell what it was made of, but he never saw anything so badly made
in his life; never. Some little may be allowed for the natural glee
of a village tailor on finding one of his customers, who no doubt was
proud of his London bargain, completely taken in; but these waistcoats,
I am assured by a tailor who had seen them, were the veriest rubbish.
The trade, however, has been unknown, unless with a few rare exceptions
at a very busy time--such as the market for the show and sale of the
Christmas stock--since the time specified.
The waistcoats now sold in Smithfield market, or in the public-houses
connected with it, are, I am told, and also by a tailor, very paltry
things; but the price asked removes the trade from the imputation of
duffing. These garments are sold at from 1_s._ to 4_s._ 6_d._ each;
but very rarely 4_s_. 6_d_. The shilling waistcoats are only fit for
boys--or “youths,” as the slop-tailors prefer styling them--but 1_s._
6_d._ is a common price enough; and seven-eighths of the trade, I am
informed, is for prices under, or not exceeding, 2_s._ The trade is,
moreover, very small. There are sometimes no waistcoat-sellers at all;
but generally two, and not unfrequently three. The profits of these men
are 1_s._ on a bad, and 2_s._ 6_d._ on a good day. As, at intervals,
these street-sellers dispose of a sleeve-waistcoat (waistcoat with
sleeves) at from 4_s._ 6_d._ to 6_s._, we may estimate the average
earnings in the trade at 5_s._ per market day, or 10_s._ in the week.
This shows an outlay of 78_l._ in the year, as the profits of these
street traders may be taken at 33 per cent.; or, as it is almost
invariably worded by such classes, “4_d._ in the 1_s._” The material is
of a kind of cotton made to look as stout as possible, the back, &c.,
being the commonest stuff. They are supplied by a slop-house at the
East End, and are made by women, or rather girls.
The sale of waistcoats in the street, markets, &c., is of second-hand
goods, or otherwise in the hands of a distinct class. There are other
belts, and other portions of wearing apparel, which, though not of
textile fabrics, as they are often sold by the same persons as I have
just treated of, may be described here. These are children’s “patent
leather” belts, trowser-straps, and garters.
The sellers of children’s and men’s belts and trowser-straps are less
numerous than they were, for both these things, I am told, but only
on street authority, are going out of fashion. From one elderly man
who had “dropped belts, and straps, and all that, for oranges,” I
heard bitter complaints of the conduct of the swag shop-keepers who
supplied these wares. The substance of his garrulous and not very lucid
complaint was that when boys’ patent leather belts came into fashion,
eleven, twelve, or thirteen years back, he could not remember which,
the usual price in the shops was 1_s._, and they were soon to be had in
the streets for 6_d._ each. The belt-sellers “did well” for a while.
But the “swags” who, according to my informant, at first supplied belts
of patent horse-leather, came to substitute patent sheep-leather for
them, which were softer, and looked as well. The consequence was, that
whenever the sheep-leather belts were wet, or when there was any “pull”
upon them, they stretched, and “the polish went to cracks.” After
having been wet a few times, too, they were easily torn, and so the
street trade became distrusted. It was the same with trowser-straps.
The belt trade is now almost extinct in the streets, and the strap
trade, which was chiefly in the hands of old and infirm, and young
people, is now confined to the sellers of dog-collars, &c. The
trowser-straps are not glazed or patent-leather, now, but “plain calf;”
sold at 2_d._ a pair generally, and bought at from 1_s._ 2_d._ to 1_s._
4_d._ the dozen pairs. Many readers will remember how often they used
to hear the cry, “Three pair for sixpence! Three pair for sixpence!” A
cry now, I believe, never heard.
Among the belt and strap-sellers were some blind persons. One man
counted to me three blind men whom he knew selling them, and one sells
them still, attached to the rails by St. Botolph’s church, Bishopsgate.
The same persons who sold straps, &c., not including the present
sellers, the dog-collar men, &c., had lately no small traffic in the
vending of garters. The garter-sellers were, however, far more numerous
than ever were the strap-sellers. At one time, I am told, there were
200 garter sellers; all old or infirm, or poor women, or children,
and chiefly Irish children. As these children were often stockingless
and shoeless, their cry of “Penny a pair! India-rubber garters, penny
a pair!” was sometimes pitiful enough, as they were offering a cheap
article, unused by themselves. The sudden influx of garters, so to
speak, was owing, I am told, to a manufacturer having discovered a
cheap way of “working the India-rubber threads,” and having “thrown
a lot into the market through the swag shops.” The price was at
first 8_s._ a gross (8_d._ a dozen), but as the demand increased, it
was raised to 9_s._ and 9_s._ 6_d._ The trade continued about six
weeks, but has now almost entirely ceased. The stock of garters still
offered for sale is what stall-keepers have on hand, or what swag
shop-keepers tempt street-sellers to buy by reducing the price. The
leather garter-trade, 1_d._ a pair being the usual price for sheep-skin
garters, is now almost unknown. It was somewhat extensive.
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF BOOT AND STAY-LACES, &C.
Like many street-callings which can be started on the smallest means,
and without any previous knowledge of the article sold being necessary
to the street-vendor, the boot and stay-lace trade has very many
followers. I here speak of those who _sell_ boot-laces, and subsist, or
endeavour to subsist, by the sale, without mixing it up with begging.
The majority, indeed the great majority, of these street traders are
women advanced in years, and, perhaps, I may say the whole of them are
very poor. An old woman said to me, “I just drag on, sir, half-starving
on a few boot-laces, rather than go into the workhouse, and I know
numbers doing the same.”
The laces are bought at the haberdashery swag-shops I have spoken of,
and amongst these old women I found the term “swag-shop” as common as
among men who buy largely at such establishments. The usual price for
boot-laces to be sold in the streets is 1_d._ a dozen. Each lace is
tagged at both ends, sufficing for a pair of boots. The regular retail
price is three a penny, but the lace-sellers are not unfrequently
compelled to give four, or lose a customer. A better quality is sold
at 1-1/2_d._ and 2_d._ a dozen, but these are seldom meddled with by
the street lace-sellers. It is often a matter of strong endeavour for a
poor woman to make herself mistress of 11_d._, the whole of which she
can devote to the purchase of boot-laces, as for 11_d._ she can procure
a gross, so saving 1_d._ in twelve dozen.
The stay-laces, which are bought at the same places, and usually sold
by the same street-traders, are 2_d._ and 2-1/2_d._ the dozen. I am
told that there are as many of the higher as of the lower priced
stay-laces bought for street sale, “because,” one of the street-sellers
told me “there’s a great many servant girls, and others too, that’s
very particular about their stay-laces.” The stay-laces are retailed at
1/2_d._ each.
These articles are vended at street-stalls, along with other things
for female use; but the most numerous portion of the lace-sellers are
itinerant, walking up and down a street market, or going on a round in
the suburbs, calling at every house where they are known, or where, as
one woman expressed it, “we make bold to venture.” Those frequenting
the street-markets, or other streets or thoroughfares, usually carry
the boot-laces in their hands, and the stay-laces round their necks,
and offer them to the females passing. Their principal customers are
the working-classes, the wives and daughters of small shop-keepers, and
servant-maids. “Ladies, of course,” said one lace-seller, “won’t buy of
us.” Another old woman whom I questioned on the subject, and who had
sold laces for about fourteen years, gave me a similar account; but she
added:--“I’ve sold to high-up people though. Only two or three weeks
back, a fine-dressed servant maid stopped me and said, ‘Here, I must
have a dozen boot-laces for mistress, and she says, she’ll only give
3_d._ for them, as it’s a dozen at once. A mean cretur she is. It’s
grand doings before faces, and pinchings behind backs, at our house.’”
Among the lace-sellers having rounds in the suburbs are some who
“have known better days.” One old woman had been companion and
housekeeper to a lady, who died in her arms, and whose legacy to her
companion-servant enabled her to furnish a house handsomely. This she
let out in apartments at “high-figures,” and anything like a regular
payment by her lodgers would have supplied her with a comfortable
maintenance. But fine gentlemen, and fine ladies too, went away in her
debt; she became involved, her furniture was seized, and step by step
she was reduced to boot-lace selling. Her appearance is still that of
“the old school;” she wears a very large bonnet of faded black silk, a
shawl of good material, but old and faded, and always a black gown. The
poor woman told me that she never ventured to call even at the houses
where she was best received if she saw any tax-gatherer go to or from
the house: “I know very well what it is,” she continued, “it’s no use
my calling; they’re sure to be cross, and the servants will be cross
too, because their masters or mistresses are cross with them. If the
tax-gatherer’s not paid, they’re cross at being asked; if he is paid,
they’re cross at having had to part with their money. I’ve paid taxes
myself.”
The dress of the boot lace-sellers generally is that of poor elderly
women, for the most part perhaps a black chip, or old straw bonnet
(often broken) and a dark-coloured cotton gown. Their abodes are in
the localities in all parts of the metropolis, which I have frequently
specified as the abodes of the poor. They live most frequently in
their own rooms, but the younger, and perhaps I may add, coarser, of
the number, resort to lodging-houses. It is not very uncommon, I was
told by one of the class, for two poor women, boot-lace sellers or in
some similar line, “to join” in a room, so saving half the usual rent
of 1_s._ 6_d._ for an unfurnished room. This arrangement, however, is
often of short duration. There is always arising some question, I was
told, about the use or wear of this utensil or the other, or about
washing, or about wood and coals, if one street-seller returned an
hour or two before her companion. This is not to be wondered at, when
we bear in mind that to these people every farthing is of consequence.
From all that I can learn, the boot-lace sellers (I speak of the
women) are poor and honest, and that, as a body, they are little mixed
up with dishonest characters and dishonest ways. The exceptions are,
I understand, among some hale persons, such as I have alluded to as
sojourning in the lodging-houses. Some of these traders receive a
little parochial relief.
One intelligent woman could count up 100 persons depending chiefly
upon the sale of boot and stay-laces, in what she called her own
neighbourhood. This comprised Leather-lane, Holborn, Tottenham
Court-road, the Hampstead-road, and all the adjacent streets. From
the best data at my command, I believe there are not fewer than 500
individuals _selling_ these wares in London. Several lace-sellers
agreed in stating that they sold a dozen boot-laces a-day, and a dozen
stay-laces, and 2 dozen extra on Saturday nights; but the drawbacks of
bad weather, &c., reduce the average sale to not more than 6 dozen a
week, or 1,872,000 boot-laces in a year, at an outlay to the public of
3,900_l._ yearly; from a half to three-fourths of the receipts being
the profit of the street-sellers.
The same quantity of stay-laces sold at 6_d._ a dozen shows an outlay
of 3,900_l._, with about an equally proportional profit to the sellers.
Most of these traders sell tapes and other articles as well as laces.
The tapes cost 3_d._ and 3-1/2_d._ the dozen, and are sold at 1/2_d._
a knot. A dozen in 2 days is an average sale, but I have treated more
expressly of those who depend principally upon boot-lace selling for
their livelihood. Their average profits are about 3_s._ a week, on
laces alone. The trade, I am told, was much more remunerative a few
years back, and the decline was attributed “to so many getting into the
trade, and the button boots becoming as fashionable as the Adelaides.”
OF A BLIND FEMALE SELLER OF “SMALL-WARES.”
I now give an account of the street-trade, the feelings, and the life
of a poor blind woman, who may be seen nearly every fine day, selling
what is technically termed “small-ware,” in Leather-lane, Holborn. The
street “small-wares” are now understood to be cotton-tapes, pins, and
sewing cotton; sometimes with the addition of boot and stay-laces, and
shirt-buttons.
I saw the blind small-ware seller enter her own apartment, which was on
the first floor of a small house in a court contiguous to her “pitch.”
The entrance into the court was low and narrow; a tall man would be
compelled to stoop as he entered the passage leading into the court.
Here were unmistakeable signs of the poverty of the inhabitants.
Soapsuds stood in the choked gutter, old clothes were hung out to dry
across the court, one side being a dead wall, and the windows were
patched with paper, sometimes itself patched with other paper. In front
of one window, however, was a rude gate-work, behind which stood a root
of lavender, and a campanula, thriving not at all, but yet, with all
their dinginess, presenting a relief to the eye.
The room of the blind woman is reached by a very narrow staircase,
on which two slim persons could not pass each other, and up old and
worn stairs. Her apartment may be about ten feet square. The window
had both small and large panes, with abundance of putty plastering.
The furniture consisted of a small round deal table (on which lay the
poor woman’s stock of black and white tapes, of shirt-buttons, &c.),
and of four broken or patched chairs. There were a few motley-looking
“pot” ornaments on the mantel-shelf, in the middle of which stood a
doctor’s bottle. The bust of a female was also conspicuous, as was a
tobacco-pipe. Above the mantel-piece hung some pictureless frames,
while a pair of spectacles were suspended above a little looking-glass.
Over a cupboard was a picture of the Ethiopian serenaders, and on
the uncoloured walls were engravings of animals apparently from some
work on natural history. There were two thin beds, on one of which
was stowed a few costermonger’s old baskets and old clothes (women’s
and boys’), as if stowed away there to make room to stir about. All
the furniture was dilapidated. An iron rod for a poker, a pair of old
tongs, and a sheet-iron shovel, were by the grate, in which glimmered
a mere handful of fire. All showed poverty. The rent was 1_s._ a week
(it had been 1_s._ 9_d._), and the blind woman and a lodger (paying
6_d._ of the rent) slept in one bed, while a boy occupied the other.
A wiry-haired dog, neither handsome nor fat, received a stranger (for
the blind woman, and her guide and lodger, left their street trade
at my request for their own room) with a few querulous yelps, which
subsided into a sort of whining welcome to me, when the animal saw his
mistress was at ease. The pleasure with which this poor woman received
and returned the caresses of her dog was expressed in her face. I may
add that owing to a change of street names in that neighbourhood, I had
some difficulty in finding the small-ware seller, and heard her poor
neighbours speak well of her as I inquired her abode; usually a good
sign among the poor.
The blind tape-seller is a tall and somewhat strongly-formed woman,
with a good-humoured and not a melancholy expression of face, though
her manner was exceedingly quiet and subdued and her voice low. Her
age is about 50. She wore, what I understand is called a “half-widow’s
cap;” this was very clean, as indeed was her attire generally, though
worn and old.
I have already given an account of a female small-ware seller (which
account formerly appeared in one of my letters in the _Morning
Chronicle_) strongly illustrating the vicissitudes of a street life.
It was the statement, however, of one who is no longer in the streets,
and the account given by the blind tape and pin seller is further
interesting as furnishing other habitudes or idiosyncracies of the
blind (or of an individual blind woman), in addition to those before
detailed; more especially in its narrative of the feelings of a perhaps
not very sensitive woman who became “dark” (as she always called it) in
mature age.
“It’s five years, sir,” she said, “since I have been quite dark, but
for two years before that I had lost the sight of one eye. Oh, yes,
I had doctors but they couldn’t save my eyesight. I lost it after
illnesses and rheumatics, and from want and being miserable. I felt
_very_ miserable when I first found myself quite dark, as if everything
was lost to me. I felt as if I’d no more place in the world; but one
gets reconciled to most things, thank God, in time; but I’m often low
and sad now. Living poorly and having a sickly boy to care about may be
one reason, as well as my blindness and being so bad off.
“I was brought up to service, and was sent before that to St. Andrew’s
school. I lost my parents and friends (relatives) when I were young.
I was in my first place eighteen months, and was eight or nine years
in service altogether, mostly as maid of all work. I saved a little
money and married. My husband was a costermonger, and we didn’t do
well. Oh, dear no, sir, because he was addicted to drinking. We often
suffered great pinching. I can’t say as he was unkind to me. He died
nine years or more since. After that I supported myself, and two sons
we had, by going out to wash and ‘chair.’ I did that when my husband
was living. I had tidy work, as I ‘chaired’ and washed for one family
in Clerkenwell for ten years, and might again if I wasn’t dark. My
eldest son’s now a soldier and is with his regiment at Dover. He’s
only eighteen, but he could get nothing to do as hard as he tried; I
couldn’t help him; he knew no trade; and so he ’listed. Poor fellow!
perhaps I shall never see him again. Oh, _see_ him! That I couldn’t
if he was sitting as near me as you are, sir; but perhaps I may never
hear his voice again. Perhaps he’ll have to go abroad and be killed.
It’s a sad thought that for a blind widow; I think of it both up and in
bed. Blind people thinks a great deal, I feel they does. My youngest
son--he’s now fourteen--is asthmatical; but he’s such a good lad, so
easily satisfied. He likes to read if he can get hold of a penny book,
and has time to read it. He’s at a paper-stainer’s and works on fancy
satin paper, which is very obnicious” (the word she used twice for
pernicious or obnoxious) “to such a delicate boy. He has 5_s._ a week,
but, oh dear me, it takes all that for his bit of clothes, and soap
for washing, and for shoes, and then he must carry his dinner with him
every day, which I makes ready, and as he has to work hard, poor thing,
he requires a little meat. I often frets about his being so weakly;
often, as I stands with my tapes and pins, and thinks, and thinks. But,
thank God, I can still wash for him and myself, and does so regularly.
No, I can’t clean my room myself, but a poor woman who lives by selling
boot-laces in the streets has lodged with me for many years, and she
helps me.”
“Lives!” interrupted the poor boot-lace woman, who was present,
“starves, you mean; for all yesterday I only took a farthing. But
anything’s better than the house. I’ll live on 4_d._ a day, and pay
rent and all, and starve half my time, rather nor the great house” (the
Union).
“Yes, indeed,” resumed the blind woman, “for when I first went dark,
I was forced to send to my parish, and had 6_d._ twice a week, and a
half-quartern loaf, and that was only allowed for three weeks, and then
there was the house for me. Oh dear, after that I didn’t know what
I could do to get a bit of bread. At first I was so frightened and
nervous, I was afraid of every noise. That was when I was quite dark;
and I am often frightened at nothing still, and tremble as I stand
in the lane. I was at first greatly distressed, and in pain, and was
very down-hearted. I was so put about that I felt as if I was a burden
to myself, and to everybody else. If you lose your sight as I did,
sir, when you’re not young, it’s a long time _before you learns to be
blind_. [So she very expressly worded it.] A friend advised me to sell
tapes and cottons, and boot-laces, in the street, as better than doing
nothing; and so I did. But at first I was sure every minute I should
be run on. The poor woman that lodges with me bought some things for
me where she buys her own--at Albion-house, in the Borough. O, I does
very badly in my trade, very badly. I now clear only 2_d._, 3_d._, or
4_d._ a day; no, I think not more than 1_s._ 6_d._ a week; that is all.
Why, one day this week I only sold a ha’porth of pins. But what I make
more than pays my rent, and it’s a sort of employment; something to do,
and make one feel one’s not quite idle. I hopes to make more now that
nights are getting long, for I can then go into the lane (Leather-lane)
of an evening, and make 1_d._ or 2_d._ extra. I daren’t go out when
it’s long dark evenings, for the boys teases me, and sometimes comes
and snatches my tapes and things out of my hands, and runs away, and
leaves me there robbed of my little stock. I’m sure I don’t know
whether it’s young thieves as does it, or for what they calls a lark. I
only knows I loses my tapes. Do I complain to the police, do you say,
sir? I don’t know when a policeman’s passing, in such a crowded place.
Oh yes, I could get people to complain for me, but perhaps it would be
no good; and then I’m afraid of the police; they’re so arbitry. [Her
word.] It’s not very long since one of them--and I was told afterwards
he was a sergeant, too--ordered me to move on. ‘I can’t move on, sir,’
said I, ‘I wish I could, but I must stand still, for I’m blind.’ ‘I
know that,’ says he, ‘but you’re begging.’ ‘No, I’m not,’ says I,
‘I’m only a trying to sell a few little things, to keep me out of the
work’us.’ ‘Then what’s that thing you have tied over your breast?’
says he. ‘If you give me any more of your nonsense, I’ll lock you up;’
and then he went away. I’m terrified to think of being taken to the
station.”
The matter which called forth the officer’s wrath, was a large card,
tied from the poor woman’s shoulders, on which was printed, in large
letters, “PLEASE TO BUY OF THE POOR BLIND.” “Ay,” said the blind
woman’s companion, with a bitterness not uncommon on the part of
street-sellers on such occasions, “and any shopkeeper can put what
notice he likes in his window, that he can, if it’s ever such a lie,
and nothing’s said if _he_ collects a crowd; oh dear, no. But _we_
mus’n’t say our lives is our own.”