Transcribed from the 1860 James Nisbet edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
[Picture: Tucker’s cottage. The Oldest House in Kensington Potteries]
RAGGED HOMES,
AND
HOW TO MEND THEM.
* * * * *
BY
MRS BAYLY.
* * * * *
“The corner-stone of the commonwealth is the hearth-stone.”
* * * * *
Fifth Thousand.
* * * * *
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET AND CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
M.DCCC.LX.
DEDICATED,
BY PERMISSION,
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.
MY LORD,
I do not inscribe this narrative of facts to you in the expectation of
adding to that acquaintance with the working-classes which you have
gained from personal intercourse with them.
It is for my own satisfaction that I have dedicated this little Volume to
you. An opportunity, which might not otherwise have occurred, now offers
for thanking you in the name of the poor whom you have cheered by your
sympathy, and of the rich whom you have stimulated by your example.
Compliments between fellow-workers are not seemly, however humble the
bestower, however illustrious the receiver.
That you have allowed your name to appear in these pages cannot but be
gratifying to the writer. The reader will rejoice no less, and from
higher than personal motives. He will see in this kindness another proof
of your hearty interest in that class which, if rightly considered, is,
from its very poverty, a blessing to the land, by putting our indolence
and selfishness to shame.
I have the honour to be,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship’s obliged Servant,
MARY BAYLY.
PREFACE.
AMIDST the excitements of political contests at home, with wars and
rumours of wars abroad, the voice of “Social Science” is occasionally
heard, and listened to, with a growing conviction of its importance. The
Politician, the Moralist, and the Christian are impelled by various
reasons to its consideration, and will listen with equal interest to its
details.
Experience is always valued by practical men, and the records of what has
been done are anxiously sought, to assist our judgment in future and more
extended exertions.
The condition of the young, and the education of children, naturally
engaged the earliest attention of Social Reformers. Experience has shewn
the importance of genial influences at home, and that it is _necessary_
to improve the homes of the poor, in order to save the children from
destruction. It has also been found that _much_ can be thus effected.
Poor women, who have been subjected to the severe discipline of a
struggling existence, are often willing and anxious listeners to useful
instruction, and are perhaps more susceptible of good influence than
younger persons who have not felt the necessity for improvement. There
is, therefore, room to hope that the influence which can be brought to
bear upon the mothers of the working-classes will be a most important
element in that general elevation which it is our desire to attain.
It was principally owing to this impression, and also the great desire
which I felt to do something, however feeble, to bring more happiness and
comfort into the houses of my poor neighbours, that induced me, five or
six years ago, to commence a Mothers’ Society. The usual ways of helping
the poor seemed to me to effect little real good. The nice soup sent for
the sick man was spoiled by being smoked in the warming up, or by the
taste infused into it from the dirty saucepan: the sago intended for the
infant was burnt, or only half cooked; and medicine and food alike failed
to be efficacious in the absence of cleanliness, and in the stifling air
which the poor patient was doomed to breathe. The mothers of the little,
thin, fretful babies would complain to me that they could not think why
the child did so badly, for they managed to get a rasher of bacon for it
whenever they could, and always fed it two or three times in the night.
I saw that the wise man was indeed right in saying “that knowledge is the
principal thing;” and that if I could help them in any way to “get
knowledge,” it would be a gift far surpassing in value anything else I
could offer them. The applications constantly made to me for information
on the best modes of establishing and conducting these Societies, induce
me to suppose that they have taken some hold on the public mind, and that
these institutions supply a want that is every day increasingly felt.
The only value that can be attached to any remarks which I have to make
is, that they are the result of some years’ experience; and that the
plans which I have adopted, though capable of great improvement, have
been to some extent successful. But the principal motive in my own mind
for sending these simple narratives forth into the world is, the hope
that more attention than ever may by their means be directed to that
great and difficult subject, the improvement of the homes of the poor.
As a few notes of a bird, the lisping of a child, the sound of the wind
dying away, have sometimes been sufficient to awaken the spirit of
harmony in some master-mind, and so led to the composition of the music
which has thrilled and delighted all who have heard it; so, it is hoped,
the suggestions here made may be of use to many minds, and that anything
already effected may be as the drop to the showers, or as the first buds
of spring to the luxuriance of summer.
8 LANSDOWNE CRESCENT,
_May_ 10, 1859.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER I.
A VILLAGE—NOT PICTURESQUE 19
CHAPTER II.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHARACTER 39
CHAPTER III.
SLOW ADVANCING 61
CHAPTER IV.
SOWING SEED 81
CHAPTER V.
HOMES AND NO HOMES 107
CHAPTER VI.
DIFFICULTIES 125
CHAPTER VII.
GIVING AND RECEIVING 143
CHAPTER VIII.
LIGHT UPON A DARK SUBJECT 157
CHAPTER IX.
OUR MISSIONARIES 175
CHAPTER X.
OUR BABY 195
CHAPTER XI.
LETTERS 213
CHAPTER XII.
OBSTACLES: WHO SHALL REMOVE THEM? 237
APPENDIX 259
INTRODUCTORY.
“Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less and more.”
WORDSWORTH.
A FEW weeks ago I was visiting the Library in the British Museum. Two
gentlemen, who stood near me, appeared very earnest in the pursuit of
something which they wanted. Presently, by an exclamation of delight, I
understood that their search had been successful; they had found what
they had sought. And what had they found? A very old book, so badly
printed as to be read with difficulty, and containing information of what
must have taken place at least two thousand years ago—information very
interesting and important to the old Romans, no doubt; and which would
have been still more so, if they could have foreseen what delight it
would have imparted, centuries later, to two inhabitants of a remote
island in the north, who could not possibly be affected by it. But so it
is: some minds prefer to dwell on the past; others live in the present;
and some seem of opinion that “man never is, but always _to be_, blest.”
This diversity is no doubt necessary; all do some good: the antiquarian
adds to the interest of our libraries, if not of our lives; and we owe
much to those who teach us to look forward, if they will only at the same
time help us to look upward: but to such as wish to _do_ something, who
desire to have an influence on the great living history which every day
is writing afresh, the passing events of the time have the greatest
charm, because they not only present food for reflection, but opportunity
for exertion.
We not unfrequently hear people speak of life in such a way as would lead
us to suppose that there had been some mistake as to the date of their
birth. Had they come a little earlier or a little later, it would have
been different; but the present seems to afford them no object of
interest. They complain of intolerable dulness, the weariness of life;
and in watching the cheerless, the objectless existence of such people,
we wonder that it is recorded of only a single individual, that one
morning he shot himself, for the reason assigned on a slip of paper which
he had left on the dressing-table—“I am tired of living only to
breakfast, dine, and sup.”
I have often thought, when listening to such complaints, of the prayer of
Elisha for his unbelieving servant, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes,
that he may see;” and if the Lord would do for them as He did for this
servant, and open their eyes—not to see “mountains full of horses and
chariots of fire” waiting to deliver them—but alleys, and lanes, and
villages, full of the needy and the sick, waiting for loving hearts and
kind hands to come and help them to rise from their degradation,
wretchedness, and filth,—the strain would be changed; and, in the
contemplation of such a vast amount of labour, followed by such rich
reward, we should rather expect to hear, if it must still be the language
of complaint:—
“O wretched yet inevitable spite
Of our short span! and we must yield our breath,
And wrap us in the lazy coil of death;
So much remaining of unproved delight!”
There are many indications in the present day that the fields are “white
unto harvest.” Several things, that were looked upon some years ago as
experiments, have been so eminently successful, that no unprejudiced mind
can doubt that they are the means which God has blessed, and by which He
intends to accomplish a great work of reformation in this country. It
was a glorious sight at St Martin’s Hall, on the 2d of March, when 567
young persons came forward to claim the prize for having remained a
twelvemonth in a situation; and, were it not for the strictness of the
rules, excluding all apprentices, requiring a written character from a
master or mistress, it was stated that as many as 1500 would have been
present. All these had been rescued from well-nigh certain destruction
by the Ragged School, and had there received the education which
qualified them to take these situations. There must have been joy in the
presence of the angels of God that night, as they witnessed these rescued
ones sitting together, and listening eagerly to words by which their
souls might live; and which, if the prayers of many there were answered,
would prepare them to receive an incorruptible prize, that can never fade
away.
Whilst these facts convey resistless evidence to the mind, that these
poor outcasts _can_ be lifted out of their wretchedness and be saved, the
conviction deepens, that God will hold us responsible to do this work;
and, in all the labour ever required of our hands, it has never been so
necessary that whosoever would engage in it must be taught of the Lord.
We have to pray not only that the Lord of the harvest would send more
labourers into the harvest, but also that He would endow them with just
the spirit and power necessary for this particular work. In noticing the
physical wants and requirements of this country, nothing strikes us more
forcibly than the certainty with which the demand creates the supply. No
matter how intricate and complicated the required machinery may be, heads
are always to be found clever enough to invent, and hands skilful enough
to work it. In fact, the degree of perfection attained in this way is
enough to make us “proud of the age we live in.” If machinery and
steam-power had been the agency required to purify such places as St
Giles’s and Bethnal Green, the work would have been done long ago. These
wretched localities have not remained so long “like blots in this fair
world,” without being thought of and cared for. Many politicians and
scientific men have asked earnestly, “What can be done?” and have turned
away hopelessly, feeling that the mighty intellect which could subdue
air, earth, and sea, had now met with something beyond its power; and
still the question remained unanswered, “What can be done?”
One of the most interesting discoveries of the past few years has been,
that the humblest instead of the grandest agency is required to
accomplish this work which the wisest heads have found so difficult. A
little sketch of the early history of one of God’s most successful agents
will shew that “His thoughts are not as our thoughts;” for it would not
have entered into the heart of man to have suggested such a preparation
for usefulness. “A drunken father, who broke her mother’s heart, had
brought a young girl of fifteen, gradually down, down from the privileges
of a respectable station, to dwell in a low lodging-house in St Giles’s.
The father died shortly afterwards, and left her, and a sister five years
of age, orphans in the midst of pollution, which they, as by miracle,
escaped; often sitting on the stairs or door-step all night, to avoid
what was to be seen within. An old man, the fellow-lodger of the
children, and kind-hearted, though an Atheist, had taught the elder to
write a little, but bade her never read the Bible, since it was full of
lies; and that she had only to look around her in St Giles’s, and she
might see that there was no God. She had learned to read and knit from
looking continually at the shop-windows. She married at eighteen years
of age her present husband, and for the first time in her young memory
knew the meaning of that blessed word, ‘home;’ although the home was but
a room, changed from time to time in the same neighbourhood. After many
years of considerable suffering, from loss of children, ill-health, and
other calamities, she took shelter one rainy night in an alley which led
up to a little Mission Hall in Dudley Street. She entered, and heard it
announced that books would be lent, on the next evening, from a
newly-formed library for the poor at that place. Going early, she was
the first claimant of the promise. She had intended to borrow Uncle
Tom’s Cabin; but a strong impulse came over her, which she could not
resist—it was as if she had heard it whispered, ‘Do not borrow Uncle Tom;
borrow a Bible.’ So she asked for a Bible. ‘A Bible, my good woman?’
was the missionary’s reply. ‘We did not mean to lend Bibles from this
library; but wait, I will fetch you one. It is a token for good that the
Book of God, the best of books, should be the first one asked for and
lent from this place.’ He brought her the Bible, and asked if he should
call, and read a chapter with her. She said respectfully, ‘No, sir,
thank you; we are very quiet folk, my husband might not like it. I will
take the book, and read it for myself.’ The Lord’s time was come. His
message then first entered her house, and went straight to her heart.
The Divine Spirit applied the Word with power; and the arrow of
conviction was ere long driven home by suffering and affliction.
“A severe illness laid her prostrate, and to this hour she feels—in a way
that we who help her in her work cannot feel—what is meant by sickness
and poverty coming together.” {8}
This was God’s education to prepare for Himself an agent to carry out His
purposes of mercy. By uniting the introduction of God’s Word with care
for the temporal wants of the poor people around her, Marian has been
able to accomplish wonders in two short years; and the account of them
will be seen with great pleasure by those who allow themselves the
monthly treat of reading “The Book and its Mission.” But something more
than facts, valuable as they are, have been deduced from Marian’s
mission. The lock that refused to be picked, has yielded to the fitting
key. We have sat in our beautiful churches long enough, and wished we
could see the poor gathered around us; but they have not come. We have
written numberless words of advice to them from our comfortable houses;
and though all these efforts have, doubtless, accomplished good,
especially amongst a particular class—for no word of truth falls to the
ground—yet all will acknowledge that they have in a great measure failed
to affect the masses of our poor people; and, had it not been for our
City Missionary and Ragged School, it is dreadful to think what would
have become of the ever-increasing population of this crowded city. Our
missionaries have done much; the moral atmosphere is always improved by
their presence; and thousands of poor wanderers from God have, through
their teaching, found their way back to peace and holiness. The Ragged
Schools have rescued thousands of poor outcasts from destruction. But
neither of these agencies operates directly upon the homes of the poor,
though “the entrance” of that word which “giveth light,” seldom fails to
shed its influence on the exterior.
My acquaintance with the poor began very early. My father’s house stood
alone, surrounded by beautiful lawns, wood, and water. Our nearest
neighbours were the poor people in a village about five minutes’ walk
from our home; most of them were simple labouring people, and as children
we were trusted to go amongst them without much superintendence from our
elders. Our dear mother often employed us on errands of mercy to them;
and as soon as we could read well enough, we were sometimes sent to cheer
the solitary hours of some poor invalid by reading to him. Our relations
to each other were so kindly and pleasant, that we always met with a
hearty welcome; and for years, I believe, I knew something about the
interior of every cottage in the place. I remember even then feeling
astonished at the wretched management I saw, especially with regard to
children; and as we did not live in any fear of one another, I sometimes
took upon myself to remark to the “gudewife” that so-and-so was never
done at home. All this was taken in good part: the reply was generally a
laugh, and “Law, my dear, poor people’s children isn’t like
gentlefolk’s;” or if my observations extended to cooking or
house-cleaning, it was, “Law, bless you, you doesn’t know anything about
that; gentlefolks never does.” Notwithstanding all these rebukes, I
still thought over these things; and have thought over them, to a greater
or less extent, ever since; and the result is, the deliberate conviction
that so long as the wives and mothers of the poor continue such as we
generally find them, we cannot look for any very great improvement in
their social position.
I have known many women, under thirty years of age, with six or eight
children, so totally unqualified for almost everything which they had to
do, that I have wondered how they managed to exist at all. I am now, of
course, speaking of those below the class from which we usually obtain
our domestic servants; and amongst this class, more unfit than any other
for life’s solemn duties, the earliest marriages are contracted,
apparently without any idea that at least as much preparation is needed
as is deemed necessary for breaking stones on the road.
If a lady feels herself unequal to the management of her family, she can
call in the aid of nurses, governesses, and schools; and thus her defects
may in some measure be made up by assistance from without. But who or
what is to step in between the poor mother and her children? If she
cannot train them during the first few years of infancy, they remain
untrained; and not only are the wise man’s words proved true, that “a
child left to itself bringeth its mother to shame,” but it is found that
the multiplication of these families thus left to themselves, bringeth a
nation to shame. When we look honestly at things as they are, we have no
right to be much surprised at such a result: it is unreasonable to expect
to reap what has never been sown. Seven years of careful training is not
thought too much for those who are to be employed in the making of our
shoes, our coats, or in the building of our houses. The education of the
men of this country is generally, from a very early age, adapted to their
future employment. Hence, as might be expected, there is no lack of
clever artisans, who have indeed a higher character for cleverness than
for goodness. But the girl, who is to grow up to exercise an influence
upon persons more than upon things, is left to scramble on as best she
can, generally content to do as badly as those who have preceded her; and
yet, in the words of one who has thought and written much upon the
subject—“It is to the poor man’s wife that we must chiefly look, when we
indulge the hope of reducing that frightful amount of crime which, with
all our inventions, discoveries, and improvements, sometimes awakens a
fear that we may not really be in so prosperous a condition, socially and
nationally, as our rapid progress in what is called civilisation would
lead a superficial observer to suppose.”
I have never yet been able to see how schools, or any system of national
education, could meet this difficulty. That we should be much worse than
we are without them, there cannot be a doubt. Our beautiful Infant
Schools especially, that shelter these little ones so many hours a day
from the sight and the sound of evil, call for a special thanksgiving to
God. To no class of people in this country are we more indebted than to
those high-minded Christian teachers who, with infinite patience and
self-denial, manage to infuse into their teaching such freshness, purity,
and wondrous adaptation, that many a little rebel is through them brought
back to allegiance. The preparation for life that boys likewise require
can, to some considerable extent, be supplied from without; but to girls,
whose education is valuable in proportion as it prepares them for
domestic duties, nothing can ever compensate for the absence of
home-training. The question then arises, considering that nineteen girls
out of twenty do not receive a proper home-training, what is the best
substitute for it? Until some remedy for so great an evil can be found,
this misery and misfortune must continue. I do not pretend to answer
this question satisfactorily; I rather wish to obtain for it the
attention of wiser and clearer heads, believing that nothing can, at the
present time, exceed it in importance. The few suggestions I have to
make are very simple, and cannot be considered comprehensive enough to
meet such a widely extended evil. If we were to see seven people
struggling in the water, and could only save one from drowning, we could
not plead as an excuse for neglecting to help that one, our inability to
rescue the six. In like manner, we must use the little light that is
given to us, trusting that, as we advance, more light will be granted.
That which we propose to substitute should resemble, as nearly as
possible, the home-training which we find to be so sadly deficient.
These poor girls require friends who will supply to them the place of
mothers. Much has been said and written about ladies devoting their
leisure time to the poor, and there is no doubt that much more good might
be done by them in this way than is done; but the work we refer to
demands something far beyond the occasional call, the book lent, and the
garment cut out.
There are so many points of difference between the child reared in the
mansions of the wealthy, and the uncared-for, friendless infant picked
out of the streets and alleys, that it is not strange if they should have
few thoughts in common. It is true there is in some hearts, as in that
of Elizabeth Fry, a sympathy strong enough to extend itself to everything
with which it comes in contact. The moral power of such natures is very
great: they are one of God’s best gifts to this fallen world, yet not the
most common. In devising schemes of improvement, we cannot therefore
rely upon the powerful assistance which they give; nor must we take it
for granted that our plans will be worked out by their aid. Probably,
the best suggestion that has been offered hitherto, is made by the writer
of “The Book and its Mission,” who proposes that some of the best of the
poor women, superintended by ladies, should be employed as missionaries;
and that each missionary should be the mistress of a house, into which a
number of homeless girls might be received on payment of a small weekly
sum. Here, under motherly training, they might be fitted for their
future duties.
The Marian above alluded to, soon after the commencement of her work in
St Giles’s, says:—“I long to lift poor young girls, from twelve to
eighteen years of age, out of the horrors of those overcrowded rooms; and
how glad I should be to take a house and make a dormitory for them by
themselves! I know forty who would come to me at once, and pay
threepence a night each: they could well afford it, and it would take the
money from those dancing-rooms and casinos to which they flock to their
ruin. What new thoughts I might put into their minds in the evening!
How I might read the Bible with them! and some of them might help me in
my other work. There is no provision of the sort for the class I mean;
and they are those who most want it. Such a change would be to them the
beginning of a new life; and there are perhaps five thousand of those
girls always growing up in St Giles’s.”
But how inadequate, some will say, are these means to meet so extensive
an evil! To provide for forty out of five thousand is of little avail.
So it, indeed, appears if we look merely on the surface of this great
subject. But it must never be forgotten that, every individual is a
centre of influence. It is a proverb that “one sickly sheep infects the
flock,” but happily this law of infection is not always on the side of
evil; and, I believe, the force of example is stronger in the class to
which I am now referring, than amongst the reading and thinking people in
a higher grade of society. “I thought he was right, at first,” a lady
once said to me, “but when I sat down by the fire quietly in the evening
with my Bible, and listened to the voice within, as well as to the
teaching of the Word, I then saw it all in a different light; and I
resolved more firmly than I had ever done before that God should be my
guide, and not man.”
But we are not speaking of the few who sit quietly by their fireside in
the evening to weigh the actions of the day in the balance of truth; we
refer to the multitude whose rule of conduct is summed up in the
words—“Follow my leader.” True, they do not always follow the same
leader; and the defection of a comrade will cause them to halt. Yet,
after a time, they are found walking behind another guide. They are
contented even if he choose the old path. But whether old or new, they
cannot advance without guidance. To such accustomed only to “move
altogether if they move at all,” we would commend the great truth that
God can work by and for the few as well as for the many; that He is often
content with small beginnings where we should have expected mighty
achievements. This lesson we learn from our Saviour’s teaching.
He often spoke to large audiences; but He never refrained because His
listeners were few. What minister charged with such a message as,
“Whosoever drinketh the water that I shall give him shall never thirst;
but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water
springing up into everlasting life,” would have told it for the first
time to a poor sinful woman whom he met by the way-side? Would he not
rather have reasoned that his church must be unusually full before such a
wonderful message could be delivered? Surely many “masters of Israel”
should have been present to hear the answer to the question that has
vexed and troubled the Church in all ages, as to where and how the Father
was to be worshipped. But no; the same wondering woman, standing with
her water-pitcher in her hand, was taught that neither exclusively “in
this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem” was the Father to be worshipped, but
that “the true worshippers worship the Father in spirit and in truth.”
Jesus knew she would go on her way and stop every one she met, to repeat
what she had heard, and to say, “Come, see a man who told me all things
that ever I did.” This, too, is our hope, when the thought depresses us,
that these small means can never affect such masses of evil. Each
rescued soul becomes a light set upon a hill that cannot be hid, and many
will make use of this light to guide themselves out of darkness.
Let those who are actively and successfully engaged in their own peculiar
duties, spare a little time to assist their less gifted or less fortunate
neighbours. Let those who are weary of doing nothing, assist those who
are weak and weary with doing too much. Let those who are strong, aid
those whose burden of life is too heavy for them to bear. And let us all
seek to fulfil the great Christian command—which should be the bane of
selfishness, and must be the foundation of social elevation—“Look not
every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”
CHAPTER I.
A Village—Not Picturesque.
“Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?”
THE wish of the child for a picture of the story which has interested
him, expresses a feeling that is found in those of maturer years. “Where
did this happen?” is the question sure to follow a narrative that has
awakened sympathy. We realise the truth of a description more forcibly
when we have given to it “a local habitation and a name.” In the present
instance there is more than the usual reason for detail. Characteristic
peculiarities belong both to the place and the people whom I am about to
describe. Origin, occupation, and habits will, to a great extent,
account for much that would otherwise require explanation. Without a due
regard to these particulars, much labour is lost in working among the
poor. We know that the seed which flourishes in one soil, and brings
forth fruit to perfection, will scarcely live in another; and as every
successful gardener considers both ground and plant, so every labourer in
the human soil is careful to adapt means to ends, or his toil is
fruitless.
Inasmuch as there has always been a demand for pigs’ flesh, at least
among Christians, it is impossible to determine for how long pig-feeding
establishments have been thought necessary for the neighbourhood of
London. In all probability they had their origin at a very early date,
and can claim to be ranked among the “time-honoured institutions” of this
great city.
But we are not able to go back much further than sixty years, when we
find that this necessary evil had for some time been located near the
ground now covered by the Marble Arch, Connaught and other Squares. Here
the nuisance was supposed to be out of town, and the porcine tribe
luxuriated in this dry and elevated region. If there had been found at
that time a registrar-general to note down the deaths and diseases of
pigs, the records would excite the envy of swine in the present
generation, and induce the sad belief that the former times _were_ better
than these. But these respectable animals of the past century had
apparently another cause for congratulation. Their society seemed
eagerly sought by the great London world; and seeing how perseveringly
they were followed, they could proudly boast that they were leading the
metropolis “by the nose.” Such a soothing idea was, however, dispelled,
when conviction was unwillingly forced upon them, that there was a
general desire to get rid of them as _near_ neighbours, and that their
room was more highly esteemed than their company.
The ground which these pigs occupied had become too valuable for them to
remain there in peace. I have not been able to discover whether they
were expelled by purchase, ejectment, or annoyance; but it is certain
that, about the period I have named, they were compelled to go in search
of a new home.
About that time a man named Lake, a chimney-sweeper and scavenger, who
lived in Tottenham Court Road, became, from the nature of his occupation,
so obnoxious to his neighbours, that he, too, was compelled to take
himself off to a fresh locality. My informant told me he was determined
to go at once far enough out of London. He thought three miles in a
westerly direction would make him safe, and finding a spot that suited
him, he secured a lease of the land, and removed himself and his
appendages to a place, now sometimes called Notting Dale, but more
generally the “Potteries.” Here, for a short time, he enjoyed almost a
solitary life. The population of the place, for the first year or two,
consisted of only three persons. Whatever he may have suffered from
loneliness, was, no doubt, abundantly made up to him by a sense of
freedom, and an absence from all restraint, for his neighbours were
distant and few. At length finding he could not use all the land he had
leased, he naturally looked about for some one to share it with him.
Alas! he was not company for every one. Eventually he heard of a man
named Stephens, a bowstring maker, who, from the unsavoury nature of his
trade, was enduring a similar persecution to that from which he himself
had escaped. Lake invited this man to become his neighbour; and Stephens
eventually purchased from him the lease of a plot of land for one hundred
pounds, and removed his bowstring establishment to this new possession.
Perhaps he did not find it answer to carry on his business so far from
town: this does not appear in the narrative; but it is certain that, for
some reason, he soon relinquished it, and commenced pig-keeping
instead,—probably for the same reason as the bone-picker assigned for his
attachment to his trade, that he shouldn’t think it all right, unless he
could “feel a smell.”
In his inquiries after pigs, &c., he became acquainted with the distress
of the “West-end establishment,” and offered its members a share of the
refuge which he and his friend Lake had found. The offer was gladly
accepted, and many of the masters either bought or rented small plots of
land from the original proprietors, and removed their establishments of
pigs and children to this favoured spot, where Lake assured them
everybody should do as they liked, and “he’d see that nobody meddled with
them.”
Under this magnificent charter and spirited government the little colony
progressed rapidly, and numbers of houses, or rather huts, sprang up on
all sides. Such things as drainage and fresh water were considered
superfluous; and the accumulation of the filth of years rendered it
certain, by the simple law of self-preservation, that nothing would be
meddled with.
In addition to the above-mentioned trades, about thirty years ago a
considerable plot of land was bought for brick-making, the soil being
almost entirely composed of stiff clay, peculiarly adapted for that
purpose. This introduced another fresh element into the newly formed
colony. The labourers employed at this work are not usually of a very
high class, and the oldest inhabitants of the Potteries speak of their
introduction as an evil. An old woman, who has lived forty years in the
place, and her husband’s parents were amongst the first inhabitants,
remarked, “Now pig-keepers _is_ respectable; but them brick people, they
bean’t, some of them, no wiser than the clay they works on.” I asked
this old woman what kind of life they had lived there by themselves so
many years. She said, “Oh, ma’am, you’d think ’twas an awful life! The
only difference in Sundays and work-days was, that on Sundays we had
cock-fighting and bull-baiting, and lots of dogs were kept on purpose to
amuse the people by fighting and rat-killing. People all round were
afraid of these dogs, and nobody ever cared to come nigh the place. We
didn’t ourselves venture out after it was dark; if we hadn’t got in all
we wanted before night, why we jist went without it: for besides the
dogs, d’ye see, ma’am, there was the roads; leastwise, we called ’em
roads, but they wornt for all that,—it was jist a lot of ups and downs,
and when you had put one foot down, you didn’t know how to pull the other
one up. Once, I mind, I happened to be out late in the evening, and had
to go through Cut-throat Lane jist as it was gitting dark, (they calls
that Pottery Lane now, you know, ma’am); I heard some people coming
along, fighting and swearing, and I was so frightened I got down into the
bottom of one of the ruts, and there I stopped till they had gone; so I
got a service out of them that time, d’ye see, ma’am.
“We had no near neighbours for a long time; there was a farm-house where
the Mitre Tavern now stands, and I can mind, when I have been passing by,
seeing the men stacking the hay and the corn, and hearing them singing
over their work. Then there was another farm-house, down where the Royal
Crescent is now; and sometimes I have been there for a drop of milk, for
we hadn’t no shops for a long time.”
I knew that my communicative old woman had been a good Christian
character for many years; so I asked her how she, as an individual, had
managed to pass her Sundays in this dark place, before there were either
schools or places of worship of any kind there.
“Why, ma’am,” she replied, “I never would work of a Sunday—nobody
couldn’t make me. I used to tidy up my house after breakfast, and put
the saucepan by the fire, and then I went over to the old church at
Kensington. The people now and then threw stones at me, and used to
threaten to set the dogs at me; but they never did,—the Lord didn’t let
’em; and they knew me, too, that I’d be torn in pieces before I’d give up
what I knew to be right.”
I was astonished at the immense numbers of pigs which these people seemed
to keep, and I asked the old woman how they managed to find food for them
all; she said—
“We most of us keep a horse, or a donkey and cart, and we go round early
in the morning to the gentlefolk’s houses, and collect the _refuges_ from
the kitchens. When we comes home, we sorts it out; the best of it we
eats ourselves or sells it to a neighbour, the fat is all boiled down,
and the rest we gives to the pigs.”
“Do you go to the same houses every day?” I asked.
“Why, you see, ma’am, that depends upon how much _refuge_ they have.
When they have lots of company, then they gets a deal of _refuge_. I
have been to the Duke of —, whenever he has been in town, for the last
thirty years. Last week one of his daughters was married, and the house
was full all the week; then there was plenty for me. But, do you know,
ma’am, for all I’ve been in the habit of going backwards and forwards to
that house so many years, them servants, that they have now, never had
the manners to give me a bit of bridecake. I couldn’t help speaking
about it. I says to them, ‘Well, this _is_ something to think! I have
been in attendance on the Duke this thirty years, and can’t get a bit of
bridecake when his daughter is married.’ Of course that wasn’t the
Duke’s fault, you see, ma’am; it was all a-hoeing to them servants. When
the families goes out of town, the servants is put upon board wages, and
they skrimps and saves everything; we aint wanted to call then, ’cause
there’s not a scrap left for us. Oh no, it aint no use then.”
Although, as years rolled on, London continued to come further out of
town, till those pig-feeders found themselves again surrounded by
streets, squares, and terraces, inhabited by the “quality,” little
attention was directed to the place, till the visitation of cholera in
1849. Then the eyes of the newly arrived were opened, and many were
horrified at discerning what a plague-spot they had in their midst.
In one of the first numbers of Dickens’s “Household Words” the following
passages appeared, which at once brought the place into notice; and, both
in and out of Parliament, plans for its improvement were discussed:—
“In a neighbourhood studded thickly with elegant villas and mansions,
viz., Bayswater and Notting Hill, in the parish of Kensington, is a
plague-spot, scarcely equalled for its insalubrity by any other in
London; it is called the Potteries. It comprises some seven or eight
acres, with about two hundred and sixty houses (if the term can be
applied to such hovels), and a population of nine hundred or one
thousand. The occupation of the inhabitants is principally
pig-fattening. Many hundreds of pigs, ducks, and fowls, are kept in
an incredible state of filth. Dogs abound, for the purpose of
guarding the swine. The atmosphere is still further polluted by the
process of fat-boiling. In these hovels, discontent, dirt, filth,
and misery are unsurpassed by anything known even in Ireland. Water
is supplied to only a small number of the houses. There are foul
ditches, open sewers, and defective drains, smelling most
offensively, and generating large quantities of poisonous gases;
stagnant water is found at every turn; not a drop of clean water can
be obtained; all is charged to saturation with putrescent matter.
Wells have been sunk on some of the premises, but they have become in
many instances useless, from organic matter soaking into them. In
some of the wells the water is perfectly black and fetid. The paint
on the window-frames has become black from the action of sulphuretted
hydrogen gas. Nearly all the inhabitants look unhealthy; the women
especially complain of sickness and want of appetite, their eyes are
sunken, and their skin shrivelled.
“The poisonous influence of this pestilential locality extends far
and wide. Some twelve or thirteen hundred feet off, there is a row
of clean houses called Crafton Terrace: the situation, though rather
low, is open and airy. On Saturday and Sunday, the 8th and 9th
September 1849, the inhabitants complained of an intolerable stench,
the wind then blowing directly upon the terrace from the Potteries.
Up to this time, there had been no case of cholera among the
inhabitants; but the next day the disease broke out virulently; and,
on the following day, the 11th September, a child died of cholera at
No. 1. By the 22d of the same month, no less than seven persons in
the terrace lost their lives by this fatal malady.”
It will be supposed that, after this, the law of self-preservation
induced the surrounding inhabitants to be very urgent with parochial and
all other officials who had any authority in the place. In a short time
a good road was made, and supplies of fresh water were introduced. The
drainage was found very difficult, from the low level of the ground; and
it certainly could not have been thoroughly completed; for in the Report
on the Sanitary Condition of the Parish of Kensington, for the year 1856,
by Francis Goderich, M.R.C.S., L.A.C., Medical Officer of Health, the
following passages appear:—
“One of the most deplorable spots, not only in Kensington, but in the
whole metropolis, is the Potteries at Notting Dale,—a locality which
is from its position difficult to drain. It occupies eight or nine
acres of ground, and contains about 1000 inhabitants, the majority of
whom obtain a living by rearing and fattening pigs upon the
house-refuse obtained from club-houses and hotels, and upon offal,
entrails, liver, and blood from slaughter-houses. This offensive
food, often in a high state of decomposition when brought to the
place, is boiled down in coppers and the fat separated for sale.
“The number of pigs varies from 1000 to 2000 (as many as 3000 have
been kept), in filthy and badly-paved styes close to the houses. The
drainage, in nearly all cases very defective, permits the liquid
manure to run over the yards, saturating the ground to a great depth,
contaminating all the wells with putrid matter, and polluting the
atmosphere for a considerable distance around. There were, till
lately, several immense accumulations of stagnant water, into which
this pig matter found its way. One immense piece, called the
‘Ocean,’ formerly occupied nearly an acre of ground; it was covered
with filthy slime, and bubbling with poisonous gases, caused by the
drainage of pigstyes, &c., flowing into it. Till lately, the want of
water was most severely felt by the inhabitants, and even now many of
the yards in which the pigs are kept are entirely destitute of it.
Many of the houses are in a most dilapidated state. Old
railway-carriages and worn-out travelling-vans may be seen taken off
their wheels and converted into dwellings.
“The people in general look sallow and aged; the children pale and
flabby, their eyes glistening as if stimulated by ammonia. Small-pox
is ten times more fatal than in any of the surrounding districts.
“The general death-rate varies from forty to sixty per 1000 per
annum; of these deaths the very large proportion of 87.5 per cent.
are under five years of age; and nearly all the deaths, I again
observe, occur from zymotic diseases. The most appalling fact,
however, connected with this subject, and one most likely to make a
deep sensation in the public mind, is, that for a period of three
years the average age at death is under twelve years.”
After this, great efforts were made to get rid of “the swinish multitude”
altogether; but the shrewd chimney-sweep, Lake, seems to have foreseen
this evil day, and “for the purpose of pig-keeping” had been inserted in
the very leases which the people were able to produce; so that nothing
but a special Act of Parliament could remedy the existing evil. The
number of animals was, however, somewhat reduced; and, by additional
drainage and further supplies of fresh water, a decided improvement has
been effected. The inhabitants have become much healthier, and for the
last year or two the number of deaths has scarcely exceeded the common
average.
So much for the physical aspect of the district. But another question
arises, fraught with still greater interest. What has been done for the
people themselves? Surely the moral as well as the physical drainer had
work to do here. However scanty may have been the supply of fresh water,
the “water of life” was still more scarce. The road to heaven, though it
had not to be made for them, had to be pointed out. In the almost entire
absence of the observance of the Sabbath and of the means of grace, it is
not surprising that a generation should have grown up without God in the
world, and to all outward appearance as “far off by wicked works” as any
of the heathen nations.
When, however, the place began to be frequented by the district visitor,
it was found that a few, even there, had from the first feared and
honoured God, had kept His Sabbaths in spite of all opposition; and
though their cry had been, “Woe is me that I dwell in Meshec,” yet they
had held fast their integrity, and, in a few cases, had managed even to
establish in their families the daily reading of the Bible and united
prayer. I have had the pleasure of conversing with some of these good
people; and it might as truly be said of their moral standing, as it was
of Saul’s natural height, that “from their shoulders and upwards” they
were higher than any of the people.
The first girls’ school in the Potteries was established through the
benevolent exertions of Lady Mary Fox. Some time after its foundation, a
gentleman, who took a deep interest in the improvement of the district,
presented a plot of ground on which a spacious national school-room was
soon erected. It was, and is still (1859), surrounded by pigstyes. St
James’s Church was built in 1845, within a few minutes’ walk of these
school-rooms.
The first curate who was appointed entered at once upon his work in this
deplorably destitute district, and in spite of great difficulties, and
frequent failures of health, from exposure to damp and the horrible
pollutions and stench of the highways and byways, he has steadily worked
on for twelve years. He has happily lived to see a great improvement
since he commenced his labours, and he has won the respect and affection
of the whole community. The old woman, from whose conversation I have
before quoted, said, in speaking of him, “’Twas the best day that ever
rose in the Potteries, when he came amongst us; and, let who will come
after him, _he’ll_ never be forgotten.”
Another happy event was the appointment of a City Missionary, in the year
1850. It was pre-eminently the missionary that those people required.
Their early habits, and also a spirit of lawlessness which seems one of
their natural characteristics, made it difficult to persuade them to
attend any place of worship. They had, indeed, to be “sought out.”
It has been remarked of the people in the United States of America, that
they are all, to some extent, tinctured with the spirit of their early
founders. The indomitable spirit, the resolution to conquer difficulties
at any cost, is traced back by some to “the Pilgrim Fathers.” Those who
reason thus would perhaps think they could account in the same way for
that extraordinary spirit of independence which is so manifest in the
dispositions of the people of whom we are now writing. The descendants
of Lake and Stephens would, if placed in the same difficulties,
undoubtedly exhibit the same ingenuity and resolution to extricate
themselves. Another cause of this independence may be, that they have
remained very much their own masters. Each man and woman seems to have
had so many pigs and children to rule over, and no one dared to
interfere. This absence of service, each one having to think for
himself, and not to conform to the dictates of another, would also cause
unusual self-reliance.
Fortunately for this people, the missionary soon made himself thoroughly
acquainted with the soil he had come to cultivate, and was enabled so to
accommodate and adapt himself to its requirements, that very little time
was lost in getting to work. Had the case been otherwise, years might
have passed in fruitless labour; but God gave to His servant a wise and
understanding heart, and by appearing to yield everything, he gained
everything. Among the many triumphs of missionary work, the Potteries
must rank almost the highest. A contrast more striking could scarcely be
imagined than that between the indifference, rudeness, and sometimes even
execration, with which his first visits were received, and the
spontaneous respect which is now paid to him by every man, woman, and
child.
But other agencies for good have also been at work. The church and
congregation assembling at Horbury Chapel directed their kind sympathies,
and stretched out helping hands to cleanse this “Slough of Despond.” A
room was first hired, in which to conduct a Sunday school; but this was
soon overfilled, and it was proposed to build a chapel and school-rooms.
By the exertion of kind and influential friends, the proposal was carried
out, and the building was opened in 1852. An excellent master and
mistress for the schools were secured: it is not too much to say that
their influence for good is felt through the length and breadth of the
district.
I was present at a meeting held at Kensington Chapel some time since,
when a report of these schools was read. In describing the first
gathering of the children, it was remarked that the scholars who
regularly attended soon became orderly and attentive; the annoyance which
was at first experienced arose not from them, but from the ragged,
neglected children without, who for a long time persisted in throwing
stones, breaking windows, persecuting the scholars as they came and
returned, and in other varieties of characteristic mischief. From these
facts it was evident that while the “aristocracy” of the Potteries had
education provided for their children, there still existed an outlying
juvenile population of young Ishmaelites, to reach whom some other means
must be devised. After a short time, a room was hired, and a Ragged
Evening School for girls was established; a Mothers’ Class soon followed,
then a Sunday Evening Ragged School for boys, a Working Men’s
Association, and other like institutions. All these, from want of a
suitable place for assembling, were maintained with considerable
difficulty, and also with great expense. This want continued to be so
increasingly felt, that in June 1855, a lady in the neighbourhood kindly
convened a meeting of influential ladies and gentlemen at her house, to
consider the possibility of erecting such a building. At this meeting,
the following resolutions were unanimously carried:—
“1st, That should such school-rooms be raised, they should be placed
in trust of a committee of evangelical Christians, to consist of
members of the Church of England and Dissenters in equal numbers.
“2d, That they should be for the benefit of four chief objects:—the
Boys’ Ragged School, the Girls’ Ragged School, the Infant School, and
the Mothers’ Meetings.
“3d, It is also considered important that the use of the building
should be granted for lectures and for general educational purposes.
The means of carrying out these resolutions are left for decision
till a future meeting.”
Upwards of one hundred pounds were subscribed on this occasion; but,
though great exertions were made to obtain the requisite funds, it was
not until March 1858, that the committee considered they had a sufficient
amount in hand to warrant the prosecution of their design. In the list
of contributors to the Building Fund will be found names of members of
the Established Church, the Society of Friends, Independents, Wesleyans,
and Baptists. It is the determination of the committee to carry out the
first resolution in its strictest integrity, trusting that all the
members will be enabled to act in harmonious concert in the one grand
object of promoting the moral and religious training of the poor people
of the Potteries. The Infant and Ragged School-rooms, erected under the
able direction of Mr Sim, the Honorary Architect, are remarkable alike
for simplicity of design, excellence of ventilation, and space. They
were opened by Lord Shaftesbury in June.