FIVE DAYS AND FIVE NIGHTS AS A TRAMP AMONG TRAMPS.[82]
I. A NIGHT IN A MUNICIPAL LODGING-HOUSE.
Having gradually been brought to the conviction, by investigation of
numerous cases of destitution among women, that there were circumstances
in our social arrangements which fostered immorality, I resolved to make
a first-hand exploration, by that method of personal experiment, which
is the nearest road to accurate knowledge, of the conditions under which
destitute women were placed who sought the shelter of the common
lodging-house or the workhouse.
It was necessary to find a friend willing to share the possible perils
of such an experiment, and to arrange in such a way that it should be
unknown to all but a few. I was fortunate in finding a fellow-worker
willing to go with me, and as to the truth of the following story she is
a sufficient witness.
We dressed very shabbily, but were respectable and clean. We wore shawls
and carried hats, which we used if desirable, according to whether we
had sunshine or rain, or wished to look more or less respectable. We
carried soap, a towel, a change of stockings, and a few other small
articles, wrapped in an old shawl. My boots were in holes, and my
companion wore a grey tweed well-worn skirt. My hat was a certificate
for any tramp ward, and my shawl ragged, though clean. We had one
umbrella between us.
Our plan of campaign was to take train to a town some way from home,
arriving in the evening, and then to seek lodging. We had five nights to
spend, and were expected at a town some way off by friends who thought
we were on a "walking tour"! We cut ourselves off from civilisation on
Monday with 2_s_. 6_d_. in our pockets and a considerable distance
between us and home. We were expected on Saturday by our friends. We
thought that we should be able to sample only two workhouses after the
first night, expecting to be detained two nights at each.
Escaping observation by going to a country railway station, we took
train to a town about fifteen miles from home. We enquired of the police
and others, and found that there was a large municipal lodging-house, so
we bought a loaf and a quarter of a pound of butter, and applied for
beds. We were just in time to get a double bed in the married couples'
quarters, for which we paid sixpence. We were shown by a servant--a
young woman, about twenty-three apparently--into a large, lofty
kitchen, furnished with wooden tables and benches. There was a splendid
kitchen range, and all was clean and tidy; hot and cold water were laid
on to a sink, and boiling water for making tea could be drawn from a
tap. Pots and pans, and _basins_ to drink out of, were kept in a handy
cupboard. One roller towel, however, was all the convenience for
personal washing or for wiping pots. There was a dish-cloth, and we
preferred to wash our pots and put them away to dry rather than to wipe
them on the towel used by our fellow-lodgers.
Our first difficulty was as follows: We had bread and butter; we had,
also, in our bundle, some tea and sugar, the latter mixed with plasmon,
as we feared we might not keep our strength up till the week-end without
some such help. But we had neither spoon, knife, nor fork, so we could
not spread our butter nor stir our tea. A woman, with a girl of twelve,
whose language left much to be desired, told us we could have the three
necessary articles, and also a locker in which to keep our food, by
depositing one shilling. We accordingly did this, but were not given a
locker, as we were only staying one night. We had to put our provisions
in the corner of a cupboard used by others, but they were not touched.
Provided with the necessary implements, we proceeded to make tea, and to
cut our bread and butter receiving friendly hints from people who saw we
were novices, and studying our companions. We drank out of basins.
Besides the loud-voiced woman and child of twelve, there was a man and
his wife, and a very nagging woman, whose husband received a great deal
of abuse. The inmates appeared to know each other somewhat, and talked
about others who had lived there.
We made enquiries for the closet, and found that the key hung by the
fireside, and gave admission to a single water-closet, very small, in a
yard through which everyone passed to the kitchen. This appeared to do
duty for the single women also, as they used the same kitchen and
sitting-room as the married couples. There was a good flush of water
caused by a movable seat. There was no lavatory or any convenience for
washing except the sink in the kitchen used by all the lodgers, men and
women alike, but there was a notice up that "slipper baths" could be had
for twopence. This absence of any opportunity for personal cleanliness,
apart from extra payment, must lead to uncleanliness of person where
people are all living on the edge of poverty; it is, too, most desirable
that women should be able to wash apart from men.
After tea we found our way upstairs to a sitting-room, also furnished
with wooden tables and benches and fairly clean. Beyond it was a bedroom
for single females, separated by wooden partitions into cubicles. The
servant was in attendance, and was the only official we saw during our
stay, except when we purchased our bed at the office, and obtained and
returned our knife, fork and spoon. Being very tired, we asked for our
bed, and were shown a boarded-off cubicle, the door of which we could
bolt. It was lighted by a large window, and in the dim light looked
fairly clean, but the floor was dirty. The top sheet of the bed was
clean, the bottom one dirty, and the pillows filthy. We spread a clean
dress skirt over them and resigned ourselves. The bed was flock, and was
hot and uncomfortable; it smelt stale. We opened the window. There was
no furniture besides the bed; we hung our clothes on nails in the
partition. I killed a bug on the wall close to my head.
Compared, however, with our further experiences, this lodging-house was
fairly comfortable--indeed, one of our fellow-lodgers, who apparently
was a respectable working-man, said it was "a palace" compared to
others!
We had a restless night, disturbed first by the coming to bed of several
married couples in adjacent cubicles. We could hear all the
conversations, and the nagging woman kept telling her husband, in a tone
of voice much louder than his own, to "Shut up!" Then sleep was
difficult in such strange surroundings: outside, trams went past till
after midnight; inside, many of our companions were audible by snores.
We got some uneasy sleep, but were awakened very early as some of the
men were called about five o'clock. Towards six o'clock we got up
ourselves, with a longing for fresh air. We dressed, but could find
nowhere to wash but the sink in the kitchen, with all our clothes on, as
a man was already in possession, and was washing up his pots when we
came down. We reflected that with only this poor lavatory accommodation,
however clean our fellow-lodgers looked, they _could_ not be personally
otherwise than dirty, if they stayed on here; unless, which is very
unlikely, they kept on spending twopence for "slipper baths"!
We got our breakfast in the same manner as tea, and were prepared to go,
but had to wait an hour before we could get our one shilling deposit
returned, the office not being open till eight o'clock. We sat in the
sitting-room, watching and talking to our fellow-lodgers. Their talk was
very free and often profane. Several women and the little girl were
sitting round a table, crocheting the articles which are hawked from
door to door. Men were reading papers. One by one the single women
lodgers came out of the inside room and went downstairs to wash and get
breakfast. The servant was sweeping the room. Her language was not
altogether clean; she smoked a pipe and mentioned a drink. It did not
seem altogether desirable that a young woman should practically be left
in charge. Her presence could be no guarantee for conduct or language,
and she might easily herself be tempted into immorality by men lodgers.
Her language showed that she was not much above the rest of the
inmates.
The conversation turned first to the accommodation. We learned that we
had been fortunate in our cubicle, as some were infested with bugs. One
woman described how they harboured in the crevices between the woodwork
of the cubicles, which were not close fitting, and how she cleared them
out with a hatpin and exterminated them. The relative merits of various
cubicles in relation to the absence or presence of these insect pests
were discussed at length. The conversation naturally turned on the
accommodation at various lodging-houses, and we heard of horrors that
explained why this was called "a palace," and was so much appreciated,
that we were reckoned lucky to obtain a bed after seven o'clock at
night. We were told of a place where eight married couples slept in one
room, with _one bucket_ for all purposes. As the time went on the
conversation turned to visitors, and we learned that people came once a
week to sing and speak, and were much appreciated. "It was only what
they ought to do." We tried to get a little more information on this
subject, but the talk veered round to the Moat Farm murder. The
execution was due just at eight o'clock, and all eyes followed the
clock, and surmises as to the murderer's feelings were coupled with
references to the crime, with which all present seemed to be familiar.
We were glad when eight o'clock put an end to this topic and our
sojourn, as we could obtain our deposit and depart.
II. A NIGHT IN A COMMON LODGING-HOUSE.
The morning was fairly fine, though grey, and we inquired our way to a
town on our route, about nine miles distant. We left the road for the
canal side, and sat down in the fields to rest a little, and then walked
on. We passed some men who were working in a barge; they shouted to us,
and invited us to come to them. We walked away and took no notice, but
repeatedly on our journey we were spoken to, and I could not help
contrasting the way in which men looked at us with the usual bearing of
a man towards a _well-dressed_ female. I had never realised before that
a lady's dress, or even that of a respectable working-woman, was a
_protection_. The bold, free look of a man at a destitute woman must be
felt to be realised. Being together, we were a guard to one another, so
we took no notice but walked on. I should not care to be a _solitary_
woman tramping the roads. A destitute woman once told me that if you
tramped, "you had to take up with a fellow." I can well believe it.
About mid-day we dined on our loaf and butter, as well as we could
without a knife. A woman, also tramping, came to sit by us; she was
going to seek her husband, she said, in the town to which we were also
going. She was accustomed to tramp, as he went to different towns in
search of work, and she was anxious to push on to get there early. As
she seemed to know the neighbourhood, we asked her about lodgings. We
had determined to sample a common lodging-house, as we were not yet
sufficiently destitute to claim the workhouse. She told us of two
lodging-houses where single women were taken, but one was "very rough,
and the beds so crowded that heads almost touched heels." She recommended
the other one "on t'hill" as a respectable lodging-house, suggesting
that we could get a married couple's furnished room for sixpence a
night. We decided, therefore, to make for this _respectable_
lodging-house.
Towards one o'clock, after we resumed our route, it began to rain hard.
We found a path off the main road that led into a wood, and managed to
rest and shelter under the trees till the rain began to drop heavily
upon us. We then began to walk again, and found that outside the rain
had moderated. We were rather stiff and cold, so as soon as we came to
the houses we looked out for somewhere to get a cup of tea, and were
fortunate enough to find a coffee-shop, where we got a mug of hot tea
each for one penny, and ate some more of our loaf. We still had a good
walk, through outlying streets, before we reached the town, and by dint
of many enquiries we found the lodging-house. We first asked a postman
(after sending a post-card home, which we wrote at the post-office). We
gathered from his looks that, if respectable, our chosen lodging-house
was nothing very special; but it was "Hobson's choice" apparently, for a
man in charge of another lodging-house, where we made enquiries, said
it was the _only_ place where they took single women, the "rough" place
having given up taking them. So we found ourselves, between six and
seven o'clock, at the door of the house, which was not bad-looking
outside--an old-fashioned, roomy-looking, stone house, which might once
have been a farmhouse and seen better days. The landlady, a stout,
pleasant-faced woman, received us cheerfully. She told us that the
"furnished apartments" were not in order, but we could have a
boarded-off apartment and sleep together for eightpence the night. The
bed would be clean. This sounded just as good as we could expect, so we
paid her eightpence and turned in. I shall never forget this interior.
Fortunately it was getting dark, and not till morning did we fully
realise the state of the place. We found ourselves in a double room,
consisting, probably, of a kitchen and front room thrown into one, each
possessing a kitchen firegrate, and the back room a tiny sink. Round the
wall was a wooden seat, and wooden tables and benches completed the
furniture, except that the corner was occupied by a large cupboard.
Numerous articles of apparel were hanging from lines; saucepans,
tea-pots, etc., were to be found on the kitchen mantelpiece and over the
sink (all more or less dirty), and mugs, to be had for the asking. Two
perambulators partly stopped the large opening between the two rooms;
one belonged to a mother with children, the other to a blind man and
his wife, and contained their musical outfit and belongings. Two doors
led into this double apartment; one gave access to the entrance passage
and the landlady's rooms, the other to a small yard. In this was the
only sanitary convenience for at least forty people, the key of which
hung by the fireside--one small water-closet, _perfectly dry_. The
stench in it was enough to knock you down; one visit was enough to
sicken you. Yet some of the lodgers had been there _six weeks_. This and
the small sink by the fireside were the only provision we could discover
for sanitary purposes of all kinds.
Yet it was not the place itself, but its inhabitants, that are quite
unforgettable. We sat down on the wooden bench behind a table, and
immediately facing us was a huge negro with a _wicked_ face. By his side
a quiet-looking woman, who had a little girl and boy, was sitting
crocheting. An old woman, active and weather-beaten, was getting supper
ready for her husband, a blind beggar, who shortly afterwards came in
led by a black dog. A woman tramp was getting supper ready for the
negro; she wore a wedding ring, but I question if she was his wife.
Several young children, almost babies, were running about, or playing
with the perambulator. A young man on the seat near us was tossing about
a fat baby born "on the road," whose healthiness we duly admired. It was
not his own, but belonged to a worried-looking woman, who also had a
troublesome boy. The next room was full of people, whom we could hear
but not see distinctly. The little boy of two caused much conversation,
as he was always doing something he should not, and caused disgust by
his uncleanliness, freely commented on. His mother made raids on him at
intervals, but neither cleanliness nor discipline was possible in such
surroundings. The most striking character, next to the negro, was a
girl, apparently about twenty. She wore a wedding ring, and belonged to
some man in the company, but from the character of her conversation I
doubt if she was married. The negro told some story, and she capped it
with another; evidently she was noted for her conversation, as she was
laughingly offered a pint to keep her tongue still! Her face would have
been handsome, but for a crooked nose and evident dissipation. All the
stories were more or less foul, and all the conversation, on every side,
was filthy or profane. The negro told how he had outwitted a harlot who
tried to rob him. The whole story of his visit to her house was related
in the most shameless way, with circumstantial details, no one appearing
to think anything of it. He told how he discovered where she kept her
money--in a flower-pot--and hid _his_ money there, shammed sleep, and
watched her surprise when she found nothing in his pockets, coolly took
all her money in the morning, driving off in a hansom after a good
breakfast. He _said_ he bought new clothes, and danced with her the same
night, being taken for a "toff," and hearing the story of her wrongs,
but refusing her blandishments! The girl told, sitting on the table near
the negro, how she had got her nose broken by an admirer and made him
pay for it. A conversation sprang up about the treatment of wives, and
it was stated that a woman loved a man best _if he ill-treated her_.
This theory was illustrated by examples well known to the company. The
girl related that she had lived in the same house with a man who used to
beat his wife. If he came home singing a certain song his wife knew she
was in for it. She used to try to hide, but one day he caught her and
beat her severely with a red-hot poker. The police got him, but _she
refused to bear witness against him_. Similar instances were given both
by men and women. Such sentiments augured no very good treatment for
wives of this class--in fact, the position of a mistress seemed
preferable. All the conversation was unspeakably foul, and was delivered
with a kind of cross-shouting, each struggling to make his or her
observations heard. A man read--or tried to read--amid frequent
interruptions, replied to by oaths, the story of the execution of the
Moat Farm murderer that morning, and other interesting police news,
freely commented on. Little children were running about all the while,
and older ones listening. As time went on more and more came in,
including the landlady and her children, and a married daughter with a
baby. It could not be possible for a woman to exercise any effective
control under such circumstances, as it would be her interest to keep
on good terms with her lodgers. The strongest man might be needed as a
"chucker-out" if there was a row. All present that night were "down in
their luck." A gala day at the park near by had been very unsuccessful
owing to the wet, and there was but little drink going; otherwise we
might have seen and heard still worse. One could imagine how swiftly a
brawl would arise. A rascally-looking "cadger" came in from his rounds,
and proved to be the father of the troublesome boy and husband of the
worried mother. He and a companion had been doing a regular beggar's
round, but had missed each other. His luck was so bad that his wife had
to borrow his supper. All the company except a few appeared to be of
that sort that preys upon society. The black man had been on board ship;
he was powerfully made, and looked cruel and lustful. I avoided his eye,
he kept staring at us. His mistress was, however, kind to us; she
brought us a mug of their tea, which we drank for courtesy with
considerable difficulty, eating some of our food with it. I suppose the
company thought us very poor, for almost everyone had something tasty
for supper, and the smell of fried bacon, onions, potatoes, and
beefsteak, the steam of cooking and drying clothes, mixed with tobacco
smoke and the stench of unclean humanity, grew more and more unbearable
as the doors were shut and all gathered in for the night. The continual
shouting made one's head ache, and no one seemed to think of putting a
child to bed. At last, about nine o'clock, we decided that upstairs
would be preferable. I may say that no one interfered with us or
questioned us, except one old woman, who was satisfied when we told her
that we had spent the last night in a Model, and were going on tramp to
a neighbouring town. She saw we were new to "the road," and descanted on
the _healthiness_ of the life, pointing to the baby in proof of it, and
assuring us we should "soon get accustomed to it." She told us this was
a very decent lodging-house, and that there were "nice, clean beds." We
hoped so, and asked the landlady to show us upstairs. After we left the
fun waxed still more fast and furious. Just before we went upstairs a
man in the inner room propounded the question, "Who was Adam's father?"
The conversation on the subject seemed to cause great amusement.
Afterwards they began to sing, not untunefully, various songs; amongst
others several hymns. I wished almost that we had stayed below to
ascertain what led to the singing of "Jesu, Lover of my soul." It
sounded odd, sung lustily by lips so full of profanity; yet I could not
but thank God that there was _One_ who loved sinners, and lived among
them.
Upstairs we found rooms full of beds, but we were to have a "cubicle."
Apparently it was the only one, and it was very imperfectly partitioned
off. The door fastened with a wooden button, but by the head of the bed
was an entrance, _without_ a door, to a compartment which held a bed
occupied by a man, this again being accessible by an entrance without a
door to the rest of the room. Anyone could therefore enter if so
disposed. Three beds, occupied by married couples and their children
(who shared the same bed), filled the room, and beyond was another
apartment crowded with beds, and, so far as we could see, without
partitions. The landlady told us not to mind the _man_ who slept in the
next bed, for he was blind! He slept there, and so did his dog. The
other occupants of the room, who came to bed later, we could not see,
but we could hear them plainly. From the conversation we think the
nigger and his mistress slept just outside, and next to them (no
partition) a married couple with a baby and a child. A third couple
would be round the corner. The room barely held the beds and partition,
with room to stand by the side; there was no ventilation but a chimney
close to our bed. We could hear someone continually scratching himself,
and the baby sucking frequently, and other sounds which shall be
nameless.
When we first went to bed, however, we were in peace, except for the
noise from below. We found our sheets were clean, and fortunately could
see no more by the light of the candle, without candle-stick, which our
landlady gave us. For two hours the noise went on downstairs; comic
songs and Sankey's hymns alternately came floating up the stair. Then,
at about eleven o'clock, suddenly everyone came to bed with a _rush_. It
almost seemed as if they were coming _on top_ of us, so great was the
noise, and all was so near. The blind man stumbled in so close, and
half-a-dozen people, all talking, got to bed close by. My companion woke
frightened and clutched me. A candle flickering in the next compartment
revealed a huge bug walking on the ceiling, which suddenly _dropped_
over a neighbouring bed! By degrees, however, the noises subsided, and
my companion and I fell into an uneasy slumber. I woke in an hour or
two, in dim daylight, to feel _crawlers_. The rest of the night was
spent in hunting. I had quite a collection by the time my companion
woke. They were on the bed and on the partition. I watched them making
for our clothes; but there was no escape till morning was fully come.
Besides, my companion was resting through it all; so I slew each one as
it appeared. We found that the clean sheets concealed a _filthy_ bed and
pillows.
About five o'clock two working men were roused by their wives'
admonitions, and got up to go to work. We rose at six o'clock, leaving
our neighbours still slumbering. We searched ourselves as well as we
could (with a sleeping man next door, audible if not visible). We could
see him if we stepped forward a pace.
We thankfully bundled up our things, including food, which we had
brought upstairs to be safe, and we crept downstairs, hoping for
cleanliness. The kitchen fire was lit--apparently it had never been
out--and a kettle was on the bar; a working man was getting his
breakfast ready; a girl, the landlady's daughter, apparently about 12,
was sweeping the floor. We could now _see_ the filth. The floor was
strewn with dirty paper, crumbs, and _débris_, and dirty sand. All the
cleaning it got was that it was swept and then freshly sanded by this
small child. It then _looked_ tidy. "Appearances" are proverbially
"deceitful." But what we were not prepared for was, that all the wooden
benches were occupied by _sleeping men_. The small child sweeping was at
first quite alone with them. There was no place to wash but the small
fireside sink: one man considerately cleared out from its neighbourhood,
and I thought we were alone in that half of the room till I looked and
saw a slumbering man on either side. They moved, as if uneasy on their
hard couches. Of course, it was utterly impossible to attempt
cleanliness, except hands and face. Yet our fellow-lodgers had some of
them lived there for weeks, and it was reckoned by their class a
_superior_ lodging-house. I can hardly describe the feeling of personal
contamination caused by even one night in such surroundings. Yet we
escaped well, finding afterwards only two live creatures on our clothes.
Cleanliness of person would be so _impossible_ under such circumstances
that it would soon cease to be _aimed_ at. Yet most of the inmates had
fairly clean hands and faces, and the tiny sink was used for washing
clothes, which were dried in the room, and were hanging overnight from
lines. Is it any wonder that such places are hot-beds of disease? How
can one of this class possibly avoid spreading contagion under such bad
sanitary conditions? It struck me that public money would be well spent
in providing lodging-house accommodation under good sanitation and
management, rather than in extending small-pox hospitals.
We did not feel inclined for breakfast, but the kettle was boiling, and
a working-man showed us where to find things. We carefully washed the
dirty-looking tea-pot and mugs, and borrowed a knife and spoon: no one
insulted or questioned us. If our stay had been longer, however,
doubtless we should have been obliged to get on friendly terms with our
fellow-lodgers. We ate our food at the table farthest from the sleeping
men, the sweeping still going on, and then we bundled up our things and
left without seeing our landlady again.
The fresh air was sweet. Nowhere inside _could_ be clean. Vermin might
harbour in the wooden seating, doubly used by day and night: the
imperfectly washed clothes, the _un_washed humanity, the crowding, the
absence of proper sanitation, would break down personal cleanliness in a
very short time if a respectable woman was forced to sleep in such a
place. Yet two shillings and fourpence a week, at fourpence a night,
should surely finance some better provision for the needs of a migatory
class. It must be considered that social conditions have entirely
altered since the days of railway travelling have loosened social ties
to particular neighbourhoods. Work is a fluctuating quantity, and men
and women have to travel.
My own experience had taught me that single women frequently get shaken
out of a home by bereavements or other causes, and drift, unable to
recover a stable position if once their clothing becomes dirty or
shabby. The question, To what circumstances and surroundings will a
respectable destitute woman drift if without employment? is one which
concerns society deeply, as immorality must be fostered by wrong
conditions.
III. A FIRST NIGHT IN THE WORKHOUSE TRAMP WARD.
We were glad that the next ordeal before us would be the workhouse bath!
For we were now really "destitute"; after purchasing a little more food
we had only twopence left. We were so jaded by the imperfect sleep of
the two last nights that we decided not to leave the town, but to wait
about all day, and enter the workhouse at six o'clock. We had noticed a
reading room and a park: to the latter we found our way. The day was
gloomy and damp, but not actually wet, except for a slight drizzle at
intervals. In the park we found shelter, drinking water, and sanitary
convenience. We disturbed a sleeping man in a summer-house, and quickly
left him. We wandered into every nook in the park, and talked, rested,
or slept. The hours went very slowly, but we grew refreshed. Towards
mid-day we made a frugal meal on our remaining provisions, drinking from
a fountain. We still had a little sugar-plasmon left and a pinch of tea.
In the afternoon, growing cold and stiff, we went to the free library,
and stayed there reading an hour or two. Two or three ladies were there
reading, but they took no notice of us beyond a stare; we had put our
shawls over our heads, and might be taken for mill-hands. As soon as we
thought it was time we set off to find the workhouse. It was about two
miles, as near as we can guess, from the centre of the town, and on the
way to it we made the acquaintance of an old woman who was going there.
She was lame in one leg with rheumatism, and walked slowly, and she also
stopped to beg at houses _en route_. She got a cup of tea and a glass of
hot milk between the town and the workhouse. She was walking from P----
to H---- to find her brother, having been in the workhouse infirmary for
many months. She said she had received a letter from her brother,
offering her a home if she would come to him. She lost his address and
could not write, so she had no resource but to walk from workhouse to
workhouse till she reached her destination. She was very tired, and
groaned with pain during the night, and almost lost heart and turned
back, but in the morning she plucked up courage to go on. She had the
advantage of being too infirm to be made to work hard, and she evidently
knew how to beg food. She seemed a decent woman, and had reared a large
family of children, who were all married, and had "enough to do for
themselves." Her brother, she said, was in comfortable circumstances,
and she would be all right if she found him. Her clothing was well
mended, but not clean.
We arrived, alone, a few minutes before six, at the workhouse lodge,
which stood all by itself down a long lane which ended in iron gates.
This lodge was very small, and was occupied by a man, the workhouse
buildings being a little way off. There were a good many trees around,
and it was a pretty spot, but lonely. The man was a male pauper, and no
one else was in sight. We had to enter his hut to answer questions,
which he recorded in a book, and we were then out of sight of the house.
The nearest building was the tramp ward, the door of which stood open;
but there was no one in it, as we afterwards found. A single woman would
be completely at the mercy of this man. If our pilgrimage has had no
other result, I shall be glad to be able to expose the positive wrong of
allowing a male pauper, in a lonely office, to admit the female tramps.
When we first arrived at the gate he told us to wait a few minutes, as
we were before time. Some male tramps came up, and we saw him send away
one poor, utterly ragged man, who begged pitifully to be admitted. The
lodge-keeper told him he could not claim because he had been in that
workhouse within the month. So he limped away. He could not possibly
reach another workhouse that night. The man admitted three others, and
sent them on to the male quarters. He let us in at five minutes to six.
We thought this was kind, as he might have kept us waiting, and it had
begun to rain. He took my friend's name, occupation, age, where she came
from, and her destination, and then sent her on, rather imperatively, to
the tramp ward. She stood at the door, some way off, waiting for me. He
kept me inside his lodge, and began to take the details. He talked to me
in what I suppose he thought a very agreeable manner, telling me he
wished I had come alone earlier, and he would have given me a cup of
tea. I thanked him, wondering if this was usual, and then he took my
age, and finding I was a married woman (I must use his exact words), he
said, "Just the right age for a bit of funning; come down to me later in
the evening." I was too horror-struck to reply; besides, I was in his
power, with no one within call but my friend, and all the conditions
unknown and strange. Probably silence was best; he took it for consent,
and, as other tramps were coming, let me pass on. I made a mental vow to
expose him before I left the place. He took my bundle, and asked if I
had any money. I gave him my last penny. I received a wooden token for
the bundle. I then joined my friend, and told her she had better give up
her umbrella and her penny. She went to do so after some tramps had
passed, and though I stood and waited, and she was only gone a moment,
he tried to kiss her as she gave him the things!
When she joined me, very indignant, we went forward into an oblong room
containing six bedsteads with wire mattresses and filthy straw pillows.
A wooden table and bench and "Regulations for Tramps" were the remaining
articles of furniture. There were big, rather low, windows on three
sides; the bottom panes were frosted, except one, which had been broken
and mended with plain glass, and overlooked the yard where the male
tramps worked. Presently our wayfaring friend arrived, and we all three
sat and waited a considerable time. A solitary woman might have been at
the mercy of the man at the gate some time. No one was in sight, or came
near us, till at last a motherly-looking woman entered by a door leading
to a room beyond. She asked us if we were clean. Our fellow-traveller
(whose garments were at any rate _not_ clean) was let off, as she had
spent the last night in a workhouse tramp ward. We said _we_ should like
a bath, and were shown into a bath-room and allowed to bathe ourselves.
Our clothes were taken from us, and we were given blue nightgowns. These
looked fairly clean, but had been worn before. They were dirty round the
neck, and stained in places; we _hoped_ they had been stoved! The old
woman dressed in one without bathing. We found in the morning that both
blankets and nightgowns were folded up and put away on shelves, just as
we found them, apparently, and left for new comers. We were told that
the blankets were "often stoved," but I have since ascertained that they
are not stoved at all workhouses every day. All kinds of personal vermin
might be left in them by a tramp who went straight out of dirty clothes
to bed, and even a bath might leave them open to suspicion. We saw
several bugs on the ceiling in this ward. Perhaps the using of others'
dirty nightgowns was the most revolting feature in our tramp. At neither
workhouse were the garments handed to us _clean_. We found afterwards
that by Government regulation clean bath water and a clean garment can
be _demanded_, but this we did not know. It should be _supplied_. After
the bath we were each given four blankets and told to make our beds and
get into them. The art of bed-making on a wire mattress, without any
other mattress to cover it, is a difficult one, even with four blankets.
The regulation number is two, and with these I fancy the best plan would
be to roll yourself round and lie on the mattress. For the wire
abstracts heat from the body, and _one_ is an insufficient protection.
Even with one spread all over and another doubled under the body and two
above I woke many times cold. In winter the ward is warmed by hot-water
pipes, but the blankets are the same. A plank bed, such as is given in
some workhouses, would probably be warmer, though harder. Put to bed,
like babies, at about half-past six, the kind woman in charge brought us
our food. We felt rather more cheerful after our bath, with the large,
airy room, instead of the foul, common lodging-house; only one thing had
exercised my mind--"What did that pauper mean by my going to him later?"
However, I told the portress all about what he said. She was very
indignant, and said I must tell the superintendent of the tramp ward
next morning, that she had to leave us, but would take good care to lock
us in, and I need not be afraid, he could not get at us. We were _very_
hungry, having had nothing to eat since about twelve o'clock. Anything
eatable would be welcome, and we were also thirsty. We were given a
small lading-can three parts full of hot gruel and a thick crust of
bread. The latter we were _quite_ hungry enough to eat, but when we
tasted the gruel it was _perfectly saltless_. A salt-box on the table,
into which many fingers had been dipped was brought us; the old woman
said we were "lucky to get that." But we had no _spoons_; it was
impossible to mix the salt properly into the ocean of nauseous food. I
am fond of gruel, and in my hunger and thirst could easily have taken
it if fairly palatable. But I could only cast in a few grains of salt
and drink a little to moisten the dry bread; my companion could not
stomach it at all, and the old woman, being accustomed to workhouse
ways, had a little tea in her pocket, and got the kind attendant to pour
the gruel down the w.c. and infuse her tea with hot water from the bath
tap. We were then left locked in alone, at eight o'clock, when no more
tramps would be admitted. The bath-room, containing our clothes, was
locked; the closet was left unlocked; a pail was also given us for
sanitary purposes. We had no means of assuaging the thirst which grew
upon us as the night went on; for dry bread, even if washed down with
thin gruel, is very provocative of thirst. I no longer wonder that
tramps beg twopence for a drink and make for the nearest public-house.
Left alone, we could hear outside the voice of the porter. I wondered if
he expected us to open a window. However, we stayed quiet, but had one
"scare." Suddenly a door at the end of the room was unlocked, and a
_man_ put his head in! He only asked, "how many?" and when we answered
"Three," he locked us in speedily. I could not, however, get to sleep
for a long time after finding that a _man_ had the key of our room,
especially as our elderly friend had told us of another workhouse where
the portress left the care of the female tramps to a man almost
entirely, and she added that "he did what he liked with them." I
expressed horror at such a state of things, but she assured me it was
so, and warned us not on any account to go into that workhouse. She
said, however, that it was some time since she had been there, and
"things might be different."
At last my companions slept the sleep of weariness. Sounds outside had
ceased; within, my friend coughed and the old woman groaned and shifted.
The trees waved without the windows, and two bugs slowly crawled on the
ceiling. I measured distances with my eye. They would not drop on _my_
bed! I pity the tramp who has only two blankets on a wire mattress. I
could not get thoroughly warm with four; some part of me seemed
constantly to feel the cold wire meshes through the thin covering. The
floor would be preferable. I have been told since at one workhouse, with
considerable surprise on the part of the portress, that the male tramps
prefer the floor to their plank bed! I do not wonder. The pillow was too
dirty to put one's face on, so I covered it with a blanket.
In this workhouse the management was lax--too lax to ensure cleanliness;
clothes and towels appeared to have been used, and blankets were
probably unstoved. As our own clothes are taken away and locked up, it
would be impossible for a tramp to wash any article of personal
clothing. Consequently she must tramp on, growing day by day more dirty,
in spite of baths, especially as _really dirty_ work is required of her
in return for "board and lodging!" There was no comb for the hair;
fortunately we had one in our pocket.
In the morning we were roused about seven o'clock and told to dress. Our
clothes were in the bath-room. We had the luxury of a morning wash. Our
garments had been left on the floor just as we took them off, and so
were our companion's, which looked decidedly unclean by daylight. The
kind attendant said she had to go, but waited till I had told the
portress (who arrived to set us our task) the conduct of the man at the
gate, and I claimed her protection, as I should have to pass him when
going out. Both exclaimed when I told his words, and one said, "Plenty
of cups of tea I expect he's given, the villain!" The portress assured
me she would watch me out, and that I need not fear him, as he daren't
touch me when she was there, and she said that after I had gone she
should report him.
Before this happened, however, we had our breakfast given us, which was
exactly a repetition of supper--saltless gruel and dry bread. We ate as
much as we could and were very thirsty. I had drunk some water with my
hand from the bath-room tap as soon as I got up. We put what bread we
could not eat into our pocket as a supply for the day, and were told to
empty the rest of our gruel down the w.c. It thus disappeared; but what
waste! A mug of coffee or tea would at least have washed down the dry
bread; or a quarter of the quantity of gruel, properly made, would have
been acceptable, with a mug of cold water for a proper drink.
The following list shows how we had spent our money:--
Lodging, first night 6_d_.
Lodging, second night 8_d_.
Loaf 2-1/2_d_.
Two cobs 3_d_.
1 brown cob 1-1/2_d_.
1 tea-cake 1_d_.
1/4-lb. butter 4_d_.
1/4-lb. cheese 2_d_.
In hand 2_d_.
We ate the cheese for dinner for two days. I do not think we could have
kept our strength up for five days' tramping if it had not been for the
plasmon mixed with our sugar, which we ate on our bread and butter or
drank in our tea. My companion was very exhausted before evening this
day, and her cough troubled her a great deal. Another week of this life
would have made us both thoroughly ill. It is not only exposure and poor
food, but _anxiety_ as to the next night's experience, that tells on the
mind. Yet we knew that in two nights we should be no longer friendless.
Pity the poor woman who has _no home_. Is it not almost inevitable that
she should sink?
As we had now no food, we were glad to appropriate the remainder of our
workhouse bread, putting it in our pocket. We should have nothing else
that day, for the portress told us when we had done our work we might
go out at eleven o'clock. We thanked her--we had expected to stay
another night, and perhaps pick oakum, but we should have almost starved
on the food, as our sugar was in our bundle, so we were relieved to find
we had only to clean the tramp ward and go. We were told to "_sweep_ the
ward and make all clean." We did not think of _scrubbing_ the room,
which, as it was large, would have been a big task, but the portress
afterwards scolded us for not doing so. It was not dirty, so we swept
it, cleaned the taps, bath, and wash-basins, washed up the pots, dusted,
and, having made all tidy (except that we could find nowhere to empty
our dust-pan, unless it was the w.c.), we waited for release. We sat on
the form, and when the portress came in and saw us sitting down she
spoke to us very sharply. I suppose she did not like to see us idle. We
told her we would have scrubbed the floor if we had known we ought; but
we did not know, as we had never been in a workhouse before. She was
somewhat mollified, and let us off with a mild scolding some time before
eleven o'clock. She stood at the door and watched us receive our things
from the male pauper and leave the gates. He hastened to give us them
without a word, and also restored our two pennies. We said farewell at
the end of the lane to our companion, who was going the opposite way,
and commenced our tramp. We expected the next workhouse to be about
four miles away, in a town which we knew lay between us and our final
destination. But it turned out that the Union we were leaving and the
Union on the outskirts of the town to which we were ultimately bound
absorbed all the paupers from the intervening places, though of
considerable size. So we had really a very long walk before us; but, not
knowing this, as it was very gloomy and inclined to rain heavily, we
thought we had better seek shelter. We bought some butter with a penny,
and walked on to find a quiet place to eat something, as it was some
hours since we had had breakfast. We could not find anywhere but a damp
stone wall in some fields. There we _feasted_ on bread and butter and
plasmon sugar; but we were _very_ thirsty, so we took courage to beg, as
we had a screw of tea left. I went to a cottage and asked for a drink.
There was a boiling kettle on the fire, so I said we had a little tea of
our own, and the kind young woman, who had a blind old father, made us
tea and sweetened and milked it for us. I knew the town to which we were
going well, so we talked about the changes in it of recent years, as I
was "returning to friends there." She did not know the distance of the
next workhouse, but told us about the intervening towns. We left
refreshed, but it was beginning to rain, so we walked on, looking for
shelter. We saw a church surrounded by trees standing all by itself,
with a large graveyard. This looked a hopeful spot, so we made for it,
though it was rather out of our route. There we stayed an hour or two,
sheltering under trees or in the porch, and eating the last of our
workhouse bread about one o'clock. Part of the time it rained very
heavily, and though it was summer time we felt cold. At last the rain
moderated, and we set off for a steady tramp.
IV. A SECOND NIGHT IN THE WORKHOUSE TRAMP WARD.
The miles between us and our destination seemed to _grow_ as walked. The
replies we got varied from four miles to eight; we discovered that some
were directing us _back_ to the union we had come from. I do not know
what the distance really was, but if we added up the distances we were
told it must have been nearly eleven miles. I believe we went
considerably out of our direct route. We had come about two miles, and
after we began to tramp in earnest we only rested a short time once or
twice to dodge heavy showers. We were walking from about two o'clock
till nearly eight before we reached the workhouse, but my companion grew
so weary she could only crawl, and I pushed her up the long, long hills.
We seemed to go up and up, and always a long hill in front. We _had_ to
give up trying to dodge the rain, and walk steadily on through the wet,
which grew worse and worse. We were very wet indeed before we reached
the shelter of the Union, and only just in time to be admitted. I feared
we should have been left shelterless. The workhouse was in such an
out-of-the-way place that it was hard to find; we thought we should
never find it, and grew very discouraged, but could not walk faster. To
ease our minds we told each other the story of our lives from childhood,
taking turns as we got tired and out of breath. We had now had no food
for nearly seven hours. At last we came to a dirty lane, by the side of
a high stone embankment, leading to big gates. We plunged down it; our
feet by this time were soaked and our shawls nearly wet through. With
some difficulty we found the lodge, a large, substantial stone building,
with an office occupied by a single man. He looked more respectable than
the other one, and asked us the questions in a straightforward
matter-of-fact way that was a pleasant contrast. He told us to sit on a
seat and wait for the portress. We sat for quite a quarter of an hour in
our wet things. Two young men, who seemed to be related to officials and
familiar with the place, passed through; otherwise we were quite alone
with this man, and he began to talk in a familiar and most disagreeable
manner. He asked me where my husband was, and insinuated that I had been
leading an immoral life. He said a married woman needed to "sleep warm."
He told us he was a pauper and lived there, asked how we liked his
house, said if there was one woman "he often shared his breakfast with
her." He produced a screw of salt and gave it us as a favour. Being
_two_ we were protection to each other, and passed off the conversation
as well as we could, telling him that we were not of _that_ sort, that
we had only taken shelter, and were going to friends. He said he hoped
he should see us in the morning. _We_ hoped not. He told us the portress
often kept a single woman more than two days to do her cleaning, giving
her rather better food. We dared not offend him. What might happen to a
single woman alone with such men?
At last, to our great relief, the portress came. She was comparatively
young, dressed somewhat like a nurse, very quick and sharp, and
evidently she had many other duties, and this part of her work was
distasteful to her. She was very cross at being summoned so late, and
said at first we ought not to have been admitted, as it was past eight;
but the man told her we had been waiting. We should have been glad of a
little of "the milk of human kindness" in our wet, weary condition, but
we were "only tramps," and were ordered about sharply. She told us to
follow her to the bath-room. It was a stone-floored room at the end of a
stone passage, from which led out four stone cells. Each contained a
bed, and was imperfectly lighted by a square aperture, high up, leading
into the passage. The walls were stone, spotlessly whitewashed. She
asked what we had got in our pockets, but did not search us. She took
our bundles and asked how much money we had, but did not take our
solitary penny. She insisted on a bath, and watched us undress, telling
us to leave our clothes, and giving us nightdresses doubtfully clean.
(The necks were _dirty_.) We hurried for fear of offending her. She
asked if we would sleep together or alone, as the beds were double. We
were glad to be together. My friend said she should have cried all night
if shut up alone in one of these prison-like cells. I was ready first,
and was given four blankets. To walk on a stone floor straight from a
warm bath in a thin cotton night-dress and make your bed is not very
nice. But I have since seen nightdresses made of rough bathing flannel,
and as broad as they are short! I suppose "anything is good enough for
tramps." It is hardly realised that respectable destitute women might
have no other shelter. The conditions are such that probably few do
apply. The accommodation at this workhouse, which appeared to be a large
one--four cells, with beds for a possible eight--showed that few
probably applied at that Union, while the porter said that often there
was only one. Yet there are many destitute women, as Homes and Shelters
show. Are they forced into the common lodging-houses--or worse? The bed
was a most peculiar affair. In addition to the wire mattress it had a
_wire_ pillow, and _no other_. This was a flat, woven wire _shelf_
raised a few inches above the mattress. Its discomforts were still to be
experienced.
I made this curious bed as well as I could, spreading one blanket over
it and the pillow, doubling another for our backs, and reserving two to
cover us. We got into bed and were given the regulation mugs of porridge
and thick slices of dry bread. We were then locked in and left. We had
one spoon between us. There was no light except from the aperture, but
it was not yet dark. We were prisoners indeed, and a plank bed would
have been more comfortable. The pillow was a cruel invention--it was
impossible to place one's head upon it; the edge cut the back of your
neck, even through a blanket, and the rough meshes hurt your face. We
could not spare a blanket to double up for a pillow, we were cold as it
was; the blankets underneath barely kept off the rough wires, and two
were little enough to cover in a cold stone cell. The pillow was a
torture; we finally put our heads _under_ it and lay flat, screwed up
into any position that gave ease. Over our heads was a framed motto and
verses about "Jesus only." I wondered whether _He_ would think this the
proper lodging for a "stranger!" We were thirsty and hungry--but alas!
when we tasted our gruel, our _only_ drink, it was sweetened to
nauseousness with treacle! It was, indeed, to all intents and purposes
"treacle posset." Anyone with a grain of common sense can realise the
effect on the system of taking this sort of stuff immediately after a
warm bath, following a wetting. In fact, the diet produced a peculiarly
loosened feeling in the skin, as if all the pores were open, which made
it very hard to work. I usually perspire little, but next morning,
while working, I was again and again in a profuse perspiration, and this
produced a feeling of weakness, and culminated in a sharp attack of
diarrhoea--fortunately after I had reached my friends. Anyone who
thinks will see that this would only be a natural result of the diet
with many people. We were terribly hungry, and ate our bread; this made
us still more thirsty, but there was nothing to quench our thirst but
the thick, sweet gruel--very good in quality, but most nauseous. The
thirst we suffered from that night can be imagined better than
described. "I was thirsty and ye gave me no drink," kept running through
my mind whenever I turned my eyes up to spell out the words of "Jesus
only." This was our worst night; we were very weary, but could get no
ease; we fell into restless slumber, to wake again and again from thirst
or cold or some pain caused by our uneasy couch. Long before we were
called we were wide awake, longing to get up. About six o'clock,
probably, our cell door was unlocked, and we were told to dress. We
hastened to the bath-room and drank eagerly at the tap. Our wet clothes
were lying just where we left them. They were still quite damp and our
boots wet through. Had we known, we might have left them in a rather
different position, on some hot pipes; but we thought they were sure to
be stoved, as the portress knew we had taken shelter from pouring rain.
We had told her we could not reach our friends in the neighbouring town
because of it. There was nothing to do but to put our wet things on and
set to work. A woman brought us a pair of men's boots, very damp, with
blacking and brushes, and told us to polish them for her before we had
our breakfast. We did this, which doubtless was extra, and were rewarded
with a mug of her coffee, with one mug of the same sort of gruel, and
two thick slices of bread. The coffee was such a treat. I have made some
enquiries since, and have found at least one workhouse where the gruel
is replaced by coffee, though this is contrary to regulations. The
reason given is that the tramps never eat the gruel, and frequently
_throw_ it about, and even at one another, making a great mess! Also,
being made in summer overnight, it turns sour, and "is not fit for
pigs!" Is any comment needed? How many tons of good oatmeal must be
wasted every year! It is _absolute_ waste, as we were again told to
empty our mugs of the night before down the w.c., and put them away
clean. So not even the pigs have the benefit of it!
There was no room to sit in, or seat, except a short form, just big
enough for two, in the bath-room. No table--and mugs and bread were put
on a window-sill. We sat on the form by a window, a few inches open,
that looked on some shrubs, and as we sat there a man--a pauper--passed
and stared in. We moved away. He went, and we again took our seats, but
presently he returned and stood staring in. We had fled to either side
when we saw him coming, but presently my friend _peeped_, and there he
was, standing staring in. She gave him some sharp words and ordered him
off; he disappeared, but evidently this was a means of communication
between men and women. The window, however, would not open wide, but
conversation would be easy. Presently the portress came, very brisk and
sharp. I was told to clean and stone a larder some distance off. We had
already done a little work while waiting. Knowing we should have to do
it, we folded our blankets, washed our pots, and cleaned the bath-room
taps. All was made clean and tidy when the portress came, but we were
not to get off so easily! My friend was told to stone the place
completely through, including the three cells not used (which looked
clean), to black-lead the hot-water pipes all down the passage, dust
everywhere thoroughly, and clean the step. Meanwhile I had first to do
some shelves and then stone a spiral stair and the floor of a small
larder, and then go on to other work. I think, probably, the work we did
would have taken the ordinary tramp a full day, and earned another bed
and breakfast. But we did not dawdle, but worked steadily on, and
pleased the portress so much that eventually she said we might go that
day. We could not finish our task by eleven, so she kindly gave us our
dinner and let us go after it, saying we should have time to reach our
friends. Evidently she saw we were above the usual tramp, and our work
pleased her. She asked us a few questions, but our answers, that we were
tramping from L---- to B----, having come short of money before we
reached our friends, satisfied her, being true. This portress came
backwards and forwards pretty frequently, and so did our acquaintance of
the previous night, who seemed to have numerous errands by the larder
where I was cleaning, but I neither looked at him nor spoke, so he did
not make any advances. It would have been easy to "carry on" with him in
the intervals between the times when the portress came. The woman pauper
who brought in the boots was, however, to be seen within call, in a room
near by, the door of which was open, so I felt protected. She was a
decent woman and kind to us. She said she "didn't do it for everyone,"
when she afterwards brought us part of her dinner. After finishing the
larder, the portress set me to turn out bundles, which were stacked in
compartments on either side of a long, high room, right up to the
ceiling. I had a high pair of steps, and was to take each bundle out and
dust it with a brush, sweep out the compartment, and replace it. Each
parcel, as a rule, was wrapped in rough linen wrappings, but a
considerable number of things were unparcelled, and some dirty and
foul-smelling--probably they had been only stoved and put away. All the
bundles which were not tightly tied were more or less moth-eaten. It
made my heart ache to see these clothes in such a state, remembering
that they were all that some poor people possessed. I had often noticed
the lack of care with regard to destitute women's clothing, having
fetched girls out of the workhouse whose clothes were so crumpled, even
when decent, that everyone stared at them--and had received from poor
people many complaints that their clothes were lost or spoiled. After
seeing the state of this store-room I can well believe it. Behind the
bundles were cobwebs simply festooned with moths. They had attacked the
bundles at every opening. The coverings kept them off, but some bundles
were rotten, and one sad thing was that if a bundle was rather more
respectable, and contained more clothes, it was not so tightly tied, and
was, therefore, more open to attack. Besides, not a few things were
quite unprotected and swarming. The place was heated with pipes. A
better breeding ground for moths could hardly be imagined. Yet a simple
expedient would have prevented _most_ of the mischief. If each bundle
had been provided with _two_ wrappers, and the second one tied over the
openings of the first, the moths could not get in. Besides this,
however, the whole should be examined more frequently. I turned out more
than a hundred bundles, and was then told to simply _dust down the
front_ of the remainder. Doubtless this had been done often, and all
_looked_ right. I showed the portress, however, so many moth-eaten
bundles that she said she must have them all stoved. She came and said
I might stone the floor and finish, my companion having finished about
the same time. We had rough aprons given us to work in; but I should
like to mention, as a subject for thought, that all this rough, hard
work naturally made our clothes dirty, and would soon wear them out. We
were, after only two nights in workhouse tramp wards, far more dirty and
disreputable in our clothing than when we left home. The sleeves of my
blouse were very dirty by this time. Yet in the workhouse, as bundles
are confiscated, there is no chance to change, and no opportunity to
wash a garment. One is "between Scylla and Charybdis!" In the common
lodging-house you can wash your clothes, but not yourself; in the
workhouse tramp ward you can wash yourself, but not your clothes!
We had bread and cheese given us for dinner; we had our bundles given
us, and mashed our last tea with water from the bath tap. The kind woman
brought us part of her dinner, telling us to return the plate and not
let the portress see it. We then got leave to go. The portress was in
the lodge, and we passed out without remark.
Once more we were free!--but very exhausted. We felt completely tired
out, and struggling up the dirty lane we found a reservoir and some
public seats. We took turns to rest, lying on a seat, for some men were
about, and kept walking backwards and forwards and laughing at us. The
ground was damp, so it was no use seeking a more sheltered place. We
rested an hour or two, till we began to grow cold.
V. A NIGHT IN A WOMAN'S SHELTER.
We knew that three good miles lay between us and our friends, but we
were also a day beforehand, as we had expected to be detained two
nights. What to do for this last night considerably exercised us! Should
we give in, and go to our friends a day earlier? This would be to lose
an opportunity for research which might be long in recurring. Should we
go to another workhouse? This would be to risk detention over Sunday.
Should we try a night in the open? I knew the neighbourhood fairly well,
and it might be possible to find shelter; but the weather was gloomy and
damp, and it would hardly do to risk making an appearance in a police
court when I had been announced to speak publicly on Sunday evening. So
we determined to walk on, and, if we could not find any other
alternative, to pawn our spare shawl for a night's lodging. Only we
neither of us cared to face a common lodging-house; it would be hardly
fair to our friends to arrive at civilisation straight from such
surroundings. At any rate, we had the rest of the day for experiment,
some workhouse bread, some plasmon sugar, and _one penny_! We went to a
park, and spent part of the afternoon sheltering from rain, and then
pushed on for the town. I passed the houses of friends who would have
stared indeed to see me, but probably no one would have recognised us.
It got near tea-time, and we tried again and again to spend our last
penny on _butter_. No one would sell us a pennyworth, so finally we went
to the third-class waiting-room of the station and ate our bread with
plasmon sugar. Here our problem was solved! We saw by a notice that
there was a "Woman's Shelter": beds 3_d_., 4_d_. and 5_d_. Just the
thing! Here was a new and final experiment: we should not have to give
in! So we went out to search for the shelter and a pawnbroker's, and
easily found both; we changed our best shawl for the poor one that
covered our bundle, but would do as a substitute, and pawned the
shawl--which had cost 8_s_. 11_d_.--for 2_s_. 6_d_. We were then
"passing rich"! We enquired at the shelter, which had only just been
re-opened after the small-pox epidemic, and after engaging two fourpenny
beds we went to a coffee-house near by, and indulged in the luxury of
two half-pints of tea; my friend had some sausage and I a tea-cake
_buttered_. After this welcome meal we returned to the shelter. It was a
great relief to find ourselves once more in a decent place, and with
women only. I cannot too highly commend this shelter as being _just the
thing needed for the class it provides for_.[83] It was not a _charity_,
though doubtless not wholly self-supporting. We paid for what we
received, and were free to come and go unquestioned. Particulars were
entered similar to those in the workhouse (in addition, we were asked
the address to which we were going). Women could enter up to eleven at
night. The place was a converted mill. The basement consisted of a
large, comfortable kitchen, with a large stove, benches and tables and
shelves. There was also a well-appointed lavatory, deep basins, plenty
of hot and cold water, a wringing machine for clothes, and baths could
be had _free_. We easily begged a bucket to wash our tired feet. There
was _everything necessary for personal cleanliness_, and in the presence
of women only (especially as only one or two were in the lavatory),
changes of clothing could be made. The women were friendly and cheerful,
and appeared to appreciate their privileges. There was no _restraint_,
but a pleasant, elderly woman in charge sat in the kitchen and prevented
foul talk and brawls. Upstairs was a large, pleasant hall, with a piano.
Some women of a better class apparently preferred this, and sat working.
This also was easily supervised, without its being noticeable, by the
presence of someone in the adjoining office. We could go to bed at nine,
ten, or eleven, but not between, so that the bedrooms were only
disturbed at these hours. Three stories above contained bedrooms--large,
airy rooms, with beds at graded prices. The w.c.'s were in a yard out of
an upper story, and were clean and well flushed.
Altogether I was most thankful for this opportunity of seeing just the
sort of provision for migrating women which should exist in _every_
town. Even if some of the inmates were immoral, they were in no
temptation at least while there. One woman told another she knew she had
given way to drink, but was glad to get back to "the old place," and
there appeared to be some who lived there who tried as much as they
could to exercise a good influence. There was a "Sankey" on the piano,
and I played a few tunes as well as I could without spectacles; this was
warmly appreciated, and several joined in singing, my stumbling playing
suiting my condition of "having seen better days!" Some young ladies
passed through and said, "Who is she?" but made no further remark.
We went to bed at nine. My bed was clean, but my companion's was dirty,
and a very dirty woman slept next, who had had drink, and got out
frequently in the night, and _sat_ on my friend's bed. She saw some
vermin, but I saw none, and slept very fairly well. People came in at
ten, and at eleven a woman and some children came in, and settled down
rather noisily. Room-mates got out of bed at intervals, and early trams
ran outside, and some got up early, but on the whole we had a good night
compared with other experiences. The cleanliness of the floor left
something to be desired, and we were told to make our beds before we
went downstairs; so they would be left for the next comer, clean or
unclean. We heard several expressions of thankfulness for the place,
only one woman said, "They only did what they were paid for, and she
didn't see that it was much charity." We found our way downstairs for a
wash, and after sitting a little while in the kitchen we went to the
neighbouring coffee tavern for breakfast. After this we had still 1_s_.
1-1/2_d_. left out of our 2_s_. 6_d_., and some spare provision,
including some workhouse bread. The remainder we decided to spend on
making ourselves _respectable_. It may be thought that this would be
difficult, but by a little contrivance we managed to make ourselves
sufficiently presentable to elude scrutiny, and to pass for shabby
tourists on a "walking expedition." Our luggage had been sent on, and
supplies of money awaited us. Therefore the only problem was that of
changing from "tramps" to "tourists." Bad weather would account for
boots and untidiness. We found a cheap shop, and bought a hat and
trimmings, tie, and belt for a shilling. My friend put on a more
respectable underskirt of mine over her linsey petticoat. Her hat and
shawl would pass muster. My new hat, tie, and belt "converted" me into a
lady! We went to a park to trim the hat with pins, which we bought for a
halfpenny. There we remained till afternoon, dining on our remaining
bread, except what we gave to the swans. Immediately overlooking this
park friends lived who little guessed that one who was to visit them
shortly was dining under their windows as a "destitute woman!" Our
destitution was, however, at an end, and with hearts full of
thankfulness at the successful issue of our research expedition we found
our way at the appointed time to the house where we were expected by a
friend, who thought she quite understood our desire for a speedy change
of apparel after our "walking tour!"
These latter experiences of eluding questions caused us some amusement.
But _supposing_ we had had no friends, no cheerful welcome, no waiting
supplies. What could we have done? Before us would have stretched, in
grey monotony, the life of poverty, a possible search for uncertain
work, a gradual pawning of every available article for food, more
workhouses, more common lodging-houses. The last article gone,
cleanliness lost, clothing dilapidated or dirty--what then?
To wander helpless and homeless, driven to tramp, or to descend still
farther into vice. From such a life "_facilis descensus Averni_."[84]
FOOTNOTES:
[82] See Appendix VII.
[83] See p. 30.
[84] See Appendix VII.