A NORTHERN TRAMP WARD.[85]
Having, with a friend, spent five days and nights of the summer of 1903
as a "Tramp among Tramps,"[86] I was led to pursue social investigation
a little further. The reasons were many. It was suggested in several
quarters that our experiences might be exceptional, that they were the
result of specimening isolated workhouses, that mismanagement in detail
was possible. Abnormal conditions might prevail by accident. It might
also be that in the larger centres of population cleanliness and food
were both better managed. Also the time of year at which we went was one
when the tramp ward was empty; we did not come in contact with others
and learn their character. It was possible that conditions which pressed
hardly on us were easy to them. It seemed very desirable to ascertain
exactly the winter circumstances in some large centre of population.
There were reasons which made the one we chose exceptionally interesting
as an experiment. The story of our Tramp was a matter of public
knowledge; the personal assurance of Guardians had been given that the
evils mentioned did not exist. They had examined and convinced
themselves that, as regards the destitute poor, their workhouses were
free from blame. Not only so, but the workhouse tramp ward chosen had
been frequently mentioned in the public Press. A large "sleeping-out"
problem existed in the town. It was suggested that it might be desirable
to relax regulations so as to make it easier for destitute persons
staying there to go out in the morning to look for work. "It was thought
that in this way men who shunned the casual ward might be induced to
enter it in preference to sleeping out." So said the public Press. The
experiment of slightly relaxing the rules was tried. Very few availed
themselves of it.[87] The Guardians also opened the wards early, but
very few men came. The applicants were mostly men "tramping in search of
work," but all who applied had slept in the neighbourhood the night
previously.
The Clerk added that "the experiment made it clear to the public that
there was no necessity for the men to sleep in the brickfields."
Here evidently was an exceptional Board of Guardians, bent on meeting a
public need. With such a desire on their part, probably ideal conditions
would prevail. An ungrateful vagrant class, "men in search of work, but
who don't want to find it," nevertheless refused to flock to the
provision made for them. They obstinately preferred brickfields after
six weeks of relaxed conditions! Was it ignorance or prejudice on their
part? Or was it possible that the Guardians were mistaken in thinking
provision had been made? One thing only could test the matter: another
descent from respectability, and identification with the claimants for
relief. One night as a tramp might give insight into real conditions. It
is so surprisingly easy to become a tramp that it is strange it has not
occurred to Guardians personally to test conditions by sampling each
other's workhouses, or at any rate by sending into them some trustworthy
witness.
So my friend and I started on a well-planned tour of investigation. We
dropped out of civilisation in a town far enough away to tramp from, and
set our faces towards a place where friends were ready to receive us. We
told no lies. We were at 5.30 P.M. so penniless that through a partial
miscalculation we had only 3-1/2_d_. between us (besides two pennies
husbanded for after needs) wherewith to procure the substantial tea with
which we wished to fortify ourselves! Consequently we could not afford
2_d_. for a cup of tea, and our first surprise was to find that a 1_d_.
cup was hard to procure. It was only by searching in a poor
neighbourhood that our evident poverty procured us, as a favour, a cup
of tea each and four slices of bread and butter for our 3-1/2_d_. The
usual price was 2_d_. for a "pot of tea" in a small, poor, but clean,
shop, and bread and butter was 1/2_d_. a slice. When I asked the woman
to give us 1-1/2_d_. worth instead of a twopenny plateful, she gave us
two extra slices "free gratis for nothing." Evidently we were objects of
charity, poor and respectable, and we appreciated her kindness. But,
considering the real price of food, we paid for what we had. Cheap cups
of tea are a preventative of evils. Thirsty men and women must drink.
Surely a penny cup of tea easy to be obtained might keep many out of the
public-house. Of course, we were ignorant of where to go to obtain cheap
food, but so, maybe, are other wanderers who are not habitués.
Refreshed, but not satisfied, we began to search for S---- Street. No
one knew where it was, so we had to resort to the usual refuge and
"asked a bobby." He knew, and knew why we asked! After a moderate walk
through a very poor neighbourhood we easily identified the place by a
row of six men propped up against a wall waiting, and one woman hovering
near. We found, somewhat to our surprise, that the hour of admission was
one hour later than that which prevailed in the towns we knew. Seven
o'clock is late on a winter's night, and it may be you will suffer from
cold, snow, or sleet if you arrive as a stranger at six o'clock.
Besides, what about early admission? However, no one was being let in,
so we took a short walk and returned. All the loiterers had disappeared
inside, so we followed. We were, however, only admitted to further
waiting under cover in a curious ruinous shed. It was a very cold place,
the roof would let water in through holes in the skylight. It was,
however, a fine night, and only moderately cold. So we joined two women,
and saw the men, about fifteen by that time, arranged in a row against
the opposite wall. Two women were sitting on a step and one on the
handle of a wheelbarrow. We sat on the edge of a plank with our backs
against a hole that gave a view of a place we found afterwards was under
the tramp ward, apparently used for bricks. A married woman, somewhat
respectably dressed, came in with her husband. One by one men dropped
in. The women spoke little, but a buzz of conversation went on among the
men, whose numbers grew to over thirty. Two facts struck me. Hardly any
one was old, most were in the prime of life, and, with a few exceptions,
if you had met them in the street, you would say they were ordinary
working men. Some few, however, were evidently of the "moucher" type. We
waited, growing cold, for a full half-hour in this draughty place, and
then, as the hands of the office clock pointed to seven, we women were
told to crowd into a corner near the office window, "married people
first," and an official in uniform proceeded to take particulars.
Husband and wife, in the case of three couples, had to give name, age,
where they came from, and destination and occupation. Then began, as
each candidate came forward, a process which I can only describe as
"bully-ragging." If the unfortunate applicant stated the facts in a meek
and ordinary voice, this official asked, "Have you been here before?" If
the reply was "No," "See that you don't come here again," "Sponging upon
the rates!" and various other expressions not to be repeated were used
in a hectoring tone of voice. If the reply was "Yes," he became
threatening and violent in language. One married woman ventured the
reply, "Not since before Christmas." He flew out upon her and used
insulting language. This preyed on her mind so that in the course of the
next two days she frequently said to us, "I only said 'not since before
Christmas,' and he said I sauced him." One poor woman with a bandaged
head was summarily dismissed. "Get out with you, you ----!" "Off with
you ---- sharp!" Threats of five days' detainment or of "gaol" for
"impudence" were used, and he announced as a clincher, "All you women
will have to stay in two nights and pick three pounds of oakum."
My heart sank low. These must be desperate, well-known characters with
whom I was to associate, the very scum of the earth, to be treated so.
Even this habitual imposture hardly could justify the official's
language. He was evidently a "lion in the path," and not muzzled! But
_I_ was a decent, married woman rejoining my husband who was working in
a neighbouring town, too far from him to reach him that night, without
means to procure a bed, and seeking shelter simply in order not to be
on the streets at night, and to proceed as soon as permitted. I gave
particulars which were true, and in answer to the question, "Have you
been here before?" could truthfully say "No." But this was not enough.
"And what are you doing here?" "I am going on to my husband." "You've no
business to be here imposing on the rates. Do you know I could give you
three months for it? I've a good mind to send you off and make you tramp
to him to-night." I was so dumbfoundered, my friend says, I replied, "I
wish you would!" Then he proceeded to insinuate I was a woman of bad
character; my eyes fell and my face flushed, and I suppose gave colour
to his statement. Reply or justification was worse than useless. I grew
so confused I could not state correctly the number of my children, but
said I had "one or two." Evidently a bad character, leaving children up
and down the country. "See you don't come here again. I shall know your
face, and it will be worse for you if you do." I earnestly replied, "I
won't," and was allowed to pass on. I waited at the top of a flight of
stairs while he "bully-ragged" my friend for going about the country
with such a bad character. He made her cheeks flush by insinuating she
was no better. She said when she joined me, piteously, "Do I look like a
prostitute?"
We entered together the tramp ward, a barn-like room, furnished with a
wooden table and three forms. We found afterwards that the whole ward
was the top storey of a converted mill. It was skylighted and divided
into several rooms--a very large dormitory, a bath room with w.c.'s, an
attendant's private sitting-room and store-room, and the day-room we
entered, which was approached by a flight of stairs from outside. The
room was very little heated, apparently by a steam pipe overhead. There
was no fire, and a very cold draught from outside, when, as frequently,
the door was left ajar. The table was so placed that the draught came to
those who sat there. We were told to hang up our shawls and sit down. A
very stately officer in spotless uniform received us and marshalled us
like soldiers, peremptorily, but not unkindly. We sat at table and were
given brilliantly polished tin mugs and spoons. Then each of us was
helped to gruel, very good in quality, almost thick enough to be called
porridge, and sufficiently salted not to be tasteless. A salt-box was on
the table. We each received also a thick slice of good bread. We fell to
with appetite after our slender tea and long waiting. Gruel was not so
bad--for the first time! The table and floor were spotlessly clean. So
far good. I did not at the time reflect that it is usually supposed to
be bad to have a bath immediately after a meal.[88] As soon as we had
finished eating it was, "Now, women, come to the bath, two of you." My
friend and I eagerly embraced the first turn, and were soon marshalled
each to a corner of the bath-room, searched (for pipe and tobacco!), and
told to get into the six inches of warm water, which a notice told us we
were entitled to, and carefully asked if it was too hot or cold. We had,
however, only soft soap to wash ourselves with, and were told to wash
our hair. This we had previously escaped. My friend had very long hair,
needing careful drying, and the prospect of wet heads was not cheering.
If you wish to frequent tramp wards it is desirable to have short hair.
However, there was no help for it, so with the officer standing by to
hand a clean towel and enforce haste--"Come, hurry up, women"--I hastily
bathed, dried my hair as well as I could, and got into the garments
provided--a modern substitute for a hair shirt--a coarse garment of dark
blue bathing flannel of most peculiar shape. It just covered the elbows
and barely came to the knees! The neck, of white calico, was dirty. I
had to perform an act of self-sacrifice in leaving my friend the
cleanest. Blankets and nightgowns are stoved every night, rendering
insect pests impossible, but, unless I am greatly mistaken, they are not
washed often. My friend, who afterwards folded the blankets, found they
made her hands filthy. It is not very nice to think of sleeping thus,
but it would, of course, be impossible to wash the blankets every time.
But it might be possible to give a person a clean nightgown, and the
same one for two consecutive nights. As it was, we knew the second night
we must be wearing some one else's. They were lumped and sent to be
stoved. With regard to the blankets, every night the regulations have to
be relaxed for one or two women unfit to be bathed. These sleep in their
own clothes. They cannot be clean. But in the morning all the blankets
were also lumped and stoved. Consequently, the next night you might be
sleeping in your neighbour's blankets. Two women on one night slept
without changing or bath. It would seem to be a simple precaution to
wash the blankets from these beds, and thus in rotation wash all.
However, these delights were yet to come. We folded our clothes and were
marched through the sitting-room in our scanty costume to fetch from the
store-room pillows and blankets. An American leather pillow, very low,
and a straw pillow with a white cover were allowed us, but the second
night only the American leather one was allowed. This was much too low
for comfort. One woman begged a white one, but we were stopped from
asking. It was only for women who had just washed their heads! It was a
special favour to her.
We were then marched into the large dormitory and told to let down a
wide board propped against the wall, one for each. A row of sleeping
women occupied similar "plank beds." There were a few straw beds on
bedsteads, but only for sick folks, and also some children's cribs. A
gas jet or two burned all night and revealed the gaunt rafters and
skylights. Now to test the delights of a plank bed! We were told to make
it "one blanket below and two above." So we meekly did so, and the
officer retired.
Now began, about 7.30, a night which I can only describe as one of
long-drawn-out misery.
The human body is not made to accommodate itself easily to a plank bed
even with "three good blankets." If you lie on your back your hips are
in an unnatural position unless the knees are raised; then the air comes
under the narrow doubled blankets. Try first one side and then another.
Your weight rests on hip and shoulder squeezed into flatness and
speedily sore. Add wet hair, a low pillow very hard, a garment that left
arms and legs uncovered and pricked you all over, and conditions are not
easy for sleep. Double a blanket under you four-fold, get another round
you, and place the third on top double. This is more tolerable, but
still cold. My back was sore after three nights in a soft bed. Do not
imagine either that we slept more uneasily than others. Everyone
complained of their hard couches, though some said even they were
preferable to wire mattresses, on which you "couldn't get warm." A
simple expedient would provide an efficient remedy. If a strong hammock
material was fastened in a frame bedstead by eyelets on pegs, this could
be removed and stoved, washed, if necessary, would give to the body,
and allow of easy sleep. But even on this uneasy couch sleep might have
been obtained but for a number of disturbances which made the night
prolonged torture. The end of the room was occupied by a large cistern.
At intervals, day and night, a flush of water was sent along a pipe for
sanitary reasons. A very good arrangement, but we happened to be at the
cistern end of the room. Anyone who knows how a cistern behaves can
imagine the peculiar noises that issued. It seemed possessed by a demon
bent on preventing sleep. It would s-s-siss for a few moments, then
gurgle, then hiss, then a rush would come, followed by a steady tap,
tap, tap that speedily became maddening. Water on the brain with a
vengeance! Wet hair and running water in combination! This proximity to
the cistern was, however, an accident carefully avoided the second
night, but several poor unfortunates would always have to suffer it. It
was, however, a minor evil compared with others. The beds were so close
they almost touched, quite unnecessarily, as the room was large, but so
we were ordered. Your neighbour breathed right in your face, and you had
all the twisting and turning of a sufferer on each side to add to your
own. Most of the women had bad colds, and you succumbed yourself under
the double influence of contagion and chilliness. Then your coughing and
sneezing added to the common misery. Only the women there for the second
night lay still--apparently, but not really, asleep. Later, I knew why:
sheer fatigue and exhaustion prevented restlessness. But all of us
newcomers turned and squirmed, some sighed and groaned; others gave vent
to exclamations of misery. "My God, what a hell hole of a place," said a
woman, roused from uneasy slumber for about the sixth time. Far the
worst thing of all, which made it a punishment fit for Tantalus, was the
interruption to slumber. Nominally, women could be admitted till 10
o'clock, but really, for one reason or another they were admitted till
past midnight, under protest. An officer was in charge, and in each case
her manner of procedure was as follows: She turned the handle of the
door with a loud noise, marched in the newcomer (after previous cistern
gurglings connected with bathing operations), ordered her in a loud tone
of voice to let down the plank bed. Down it came with a bang, startling
all sleepers. Then she administered some rebuke, mixed with orders, left
the new unfortunate, and shut the door sharply. One newcomer was a poor
old granny, very bad with rheumatism, whom she loudly accused of drink,
probably with truth. This old woman sighed, groaned, and moaned, "Oh!
deary me!" "Lord help us!" most of the night, and was in real pain. She
got out of bed twice with numerous sighs and groans, taking a quarter of
an hour at least each time. Bed after bed was let down and dragged
across the floor. A woman came in very late, could not settle, was moved
to a straw bed, was too frightened to sleep (perhaps _d.t._), finally
was allowed to go out in the middle of the night. No doubt the post of
this night watching officer was tiresome and onerous, but a little
thought might have brought about considerable improvement. If a number
of spare beds were placed ready overnight, and scoldings administered in
the day room, if doors were opened quietly, and orders given softly,
with some consideration for a room full of weary sisters, one would have
been thankful. As it was, people grew more and more restless; some one
was constantly wandering to the adjoining lavatory, or sitting up and
coughing or moving uneasily. It was nearly impossible to snatch more
than a few brief moments of restless slumber before, with early morning,
sheer weariness reduced us to quietude. Then at 5.30 we were roused by
the mandate, "Now then, women, all of you get up; be sharp now." A hasty
obedience, swift and unwavering, is enforced by several stern sanctions.
In the first place, before you lies a day of service, the conditions of
which can be made hard at will. Behind that is the possibility of being
detained four, or, if Sunday intervenes, five days, for "cheek" or
"impudence." No one could face such a prospect with equanimity. Yet for
very slight cause it was possible. We had an object lesson before us of
the tender mercies of officials. A poor woman, a silk weaver by trade,
who had been reduced to live by casual labour at charing or by selling
bootlaces, had entered the previous night. She was ignorant of the two
nights' detention, and had a cleaning place to go to. When she found she
was to be detained she begged and prayed to go, and the officer was
moved by her tears to take her to the matron and give her her liberty.
But this took time, and she reached her charing place too late. Work was
denied her, and she wandered about all day, and came back rather late to
claim her second night, having difficulty in re-finding the place, and
having nowhere to go. I have every reason to believe her story was true,
for she repeated it to us again and again, it fitted in with her
character and history, and she had no motive for deceiving us. But for
this offence of returning, after having asked off, she was condemned to
remain five days. Her story was not believed, though she begged with
tears to go out and seek work. One officer, indeed, spoke to almost all
in a most peremptory, and one might also add, insulting manner, casting
doubt on the truthfulness of what was told her. Reply was useless, as it
would only provoke penalty. She hurried people up and ordered them
about. One woman, an old hand, the second morning said, "Come, come, you
needn't be so knotty with us," but no one else ventured anything that
could be interpreted as disobedience or "impudence." She turned a deaf
ear to one poor, tired woman whose feet were swollen, and who wished to
remain another night, and tried her best to order poor old Granny out.
"You won't stay here," "You can walk right enough," "You won't come over
me with your tales." Fortunately for us, her régime was limited. We had
altogether dealings with three officers. One was careful and stately,
strict but kind, only not considerate in the matter of protecting our
sleep. This one was "knotty," and the third far more kind. Fortunately
her share of us fell at dinner time, but of that more anon.
I should remark that I felt considerable sympathy for these our task
mistresses. Even with a cosy sitting room, and stove, and sofa, it must
be an irksome and disagreeable task, and our "knotty" friend looked
weary. By the end of the time she had sufficiently differentiated us to
tell us before leaving "not to believe" the others. But I think she was
to a great extent harsh and wrong in her judgments; at any rate, the
assumption that all were liars was wrong. My friend and I are accustomed
to judge characters of this class, being engaged in Rescue work, and
having destitute women constantly in hand. You cannot live a whole two
nights and a day with women, under pressure of hard circumstances, in
fellowship, without eliciting confidence. The women who went out after
one night with us we did not know. They ate, or did not eat, a hasty
breakfast, and departed very early--about 6.30 probably--some of them to
join husbands. But the following may be taken as a truthful description
of our sisters who remained. The main impression on my mind is a double
wonder at their patience in affliction, and at the qualities revealed in
them, and a wonder whether, if I had selected a similar number of better
class friends and placed them in like circumstances, they would have
borne the test as well.
Our morning ablution had to be performed with cold water and soft soap.
Our clothes were restored to us mostly stoved (in which process some are
said to be ruined, becoming limp and creased). Breakfast, the same as
supper, was meted out to us. Gruel a second time, and dry bread is not
appetising. Oh for a drink! The room was cold, and only cold water from
the bath tap available; it tasted of metal polish or soft soap.
We sopped our bread in our porridge, and, knowing we had the day to
face, ate all we could. No one ate all their porridge and bread. We were
not exceptional, hardly anyone ate much. Some kept their bread and
munched it at intervals through the day. The porridge, including some
nearly full mugs, and what remained in the can, was simply thrown away.
Naturally enough, when the officer left us and we waited for the task
mistress, the conversation turned on food and treatment. Those who knew
other workhouses declared that this was "the worst they knew." In the
course of the day we heard the merits of most of the workhouses near,
and of some far away. It may be well to summarise as follows: The
comparative merits of a tramp ward depend first on drink; the women
feel dreadfully the need of drink, especially after hard work. Coffee or
tea makes all the difference to dry bread. Gruel is not drink. Some can
bring in a bit of tea and sugar, and as a favour beg hot water, but it
is often denied them. We procured it once, and it was once denied in our
hearing. We had but a screw of tea and sugar, and some had none.
The second requisite would seem to be food, but it seems as if only a
few can eat the gruel more than once a day. It is played with and left
by most. Hence dry bread and a morsel of cheese at dinner is the real
fare. As the quantity of food allowed is not even that which will
sustain life in an adult, semi-starvation is the result.[89] The tramp
men who brought back the stoved blankets, eagerly and hungrily hid under
their jackets the pieces of bread the women had left.
Now to commence, after a night of misery, with a freshly-caught cold, to
sit in a cold and draughty room with no fire, and feast on gruel and dry
bread, with a possible drink of water, is _punishment_, not charity, or
alleviation of misery.
The third merit or demerit of a tramp ward is the bed. Straw beds are a
luxury, wire mattresses disliked for cold, plank beds for hardness; the
floor is preferable, as there is more room.
The fourth and perhaps the most important item is the character of the
officers. Any who have even a drop of the milk of human kindness are
remembered with appreciation. But they seem rare. Not, I believe, that
there are many intentionally unkind. "They know not what they do." The
constant habit of dealing for so brief a period with individuals
prevents the formation of the customary links of human kindliness; the
worst characters return, the best stay so short a time and are lost to
sight; any act of kindness meets apparently no reward. Kindness for
kindness' sake is difficult, a peremptory official habit easily
acquired. There may be texts in an officer's sitting room, and yet the
Christian qualities fortitude and patience and self-sacrifice may be
better exhibited to one another by the tramps outside her door than by
the inmate in authority. Some workhouses are to be avoided like poison.
There positive cruelty and insult reign, but the slightest resentment
might be interpreted as "insubordination" and earn prison. A cast-iron
system administered in a cast-iron way may, without intentional
unkindness, be responsible for a vast sum of human misery.
The task mistress came and asked us if we could wash or clean. Three of
us were set to pick oakum. I could not volunteer to stand over the
wash-tub, and, besides, I wished to unravel the mysteries of oakum
picking, and learn the histories of my comrades in misfortune. So we
three sat on a wood bench in a cold room, and three pounds of oakum each
was solemnly weighed out to us. Do you know what oakum is? A number of
old ropes, some of them tarred, some knotted, are cut into lengths; you
have to untwist and unravel them inch by inch. We were all "'prentice
hands." One woman had once done a little; we had never done any! After
two hours I perhaps had done a quarter of a pound, and my fingers were
getting sore, while the pile before me seemed to diminish little. Then I
was asked if I could clean, and gladly escaped to a more congenial task.
One woman only picked oakum all day; she was the one who was penalised.
She had never done it before, and did not nearly finish her quota,
though I helped her a little later on. Fortunately it was not demanded,
but it might be at the will of an officer.
It will easily be perceived that long before this any dream I had of
ideal tramp ward conditions had vanished. I was instead filled with
amazement that any enlightened and Christian men and women could
consider this a refuge for destitution, and wonder at a preference for
brickfields and liberty. Prison treatment would be preferable, but my
wonder was still to grow.
For the prevailing idea in my class of society, which I to some extent
shared, was that tramps as a class were so incorrigible, and so
determined to lead a nomad existence, that the life had somehow a
mysterious charm for them, and the only thing was to severely penalise
vagrancy in order to deter men and women from it. Viewed in this light,
it might be desirable that the treatment in a tramp ward should be
equalised to that of a prison as a deterrent. A suspicion had been
gradually growing in my mind that there was a destitution that was not
voluntary vagrancy, and an actual forcing of lives into nomad existence.
But I had not realised the pressure our system exerts in the direction
of a wandering life.
Let me introduce you to my companions and assure you I shall ever regard
them with affection and respect.
There is first of all "Granny," a poor old body of seventy sorrowful
years. Once she had a little home of her own, and brought up a family of
five sons and daughters. But her "old man" died; still her son supported
her, and she led a precarious existence, much plagued by "rheumatics."
But one day, not long ago, the place where her son worked was burned
down, and she lost her stay and was turned adrift. She had mother-wit
enough to beg her way; people gave her tea and pence. She "paid her way"
in tramp wards, taking in a little tea and sugar and "tipping" officials
with a penny for hot water. She offered me a halfpenny for a screw of
sugar. She had begged unsuccessfully of a child at a door before coming
in; the mother stood behind and refused. "As if a spoonful of sugar
would have hurt her," Granny scornfully said. One thing remained to
her--liberty--but to keep this she was forced to walk from town to town,
sampling tramp wards. She had not done it long, but it was too much for
her. One arm was too painful to be touched; it was hard to put on her
tattered garments; she provoked the wrath of officials by dilatoriness.
Her legs were a study. Each leg was swathed in bandages, her feet
wrapped in old stocking legs and bandaged, and men's boots put over all,
a long--long process. Poor old soul! she wanted to end her wanderings,
and told us, I believe truthfully, that she had tried to get into two
workhouses, but had not succeeded. Knowing the reluctance of officials
to admit paupers out of their own parish, I can well believe it. She was
really ill when she came, besides possible complications of having been
"treated" to a drink of whisky. She could hardly stand, had a cough and
looked feverish, and only fit to lie down; we had to help her on her
feet several times. Perhaps her ailments bulked large--most old people's
do--but she did not after all groan so very much considering. She was
ordered out, but she said with truth that she might "fall down in the
street." It did seem likely she might just go wandering on "till she
dropped," so we all advised her to stay and see the doctor, who might
order her into the House. She seemed to have only a mazy idea of how to
go to work to get in, but she took our advice, saw the doctor, and was
allowed to stay another night, but not ordered in, as she could stand.
However, she might the next day, after being turned out, herself apply
for admission, and this we all united to advise her to do. The one
effect her wanderings had produced in her was a deadly hatred of
workhouse officials. In the afternoon, after singing a hymn, I comforted
her by telling that her wanderings might soon end in a better place. She
was not sure of going to "heaven," but she felt sure she should meet
many of these her tormentors in hell, and "then," she said, "I'll heave
bricks at 'em!" I couldn't help suggesting "hot bricks" as appropriate,
and then talked to her about "loving her enemies." "I can't help it,"
she said, "if it keeps me out of heaven, I hate 'em--I hate 'em all!"
Poor old soul, she lay on a form most of the day, obviously ill, worried
out of the bed on which, in the absence of an officer, she laid her poor
old bones. The officer next morning truly said that the workhouse, and
not the tramp ward, was the place for her; but she scoffed unbelievingly
at her story of having tried to get admission. Yet Granny continually
told us she longed to get in and have "a good bed," and one can imagine
a poor old body like that, with no one to speak for her, might have
difficulties with a relieving officer. But we had to leave her behind
us, though one longed to take her by the hand, and see her safely in. I
was not in a physical condition to stand the long hours of waiting from
6.30 A.M. till the office at which she would be admitted was opened. We
advised her to stay as long as she could, and then go there. Next in
order was a married woman, whom I would gladly own for my own relation.
Her husband was on the men's side. "That's my old man," she said, on
going out; "I know him by his cough." She had been well brought up and
had sisters in good circumstances comparatively. She was the "black
sheep of the family," and had drifted, probably through marriage, into
destitute circumstances. She and her "old man" were comfortably
ensconced in a workhouse where, as a good steady worker, she was
probably not unwelcome. But she heard her sister in a distant town was
dying, and they took their discharge and walked there and back, close on
seventy miles, arriving in time and staying for the funeral. She was
very, very weary with the long tramp, accomplished within a week. I
believe they were re-entering the workhouse. This woman had a pleasant
face and manner, and took several opportunities of doing small
kindnesses; she did not grumble, she only mildly complained of the task
set her. I think she had cause--she was set to scrub a very long and
wide corridor. She steadily scrubbed away for hours; she had no kneeling
pad, and it was "hard lines" on poor food and in a tired state. How many
of us would have walked seventy miles to see a dying sister, and, weary
and sorrowful, work without complaining, and with a cheerful face, and
an eye for others' sorrows?
A woman who interested me much was also a married woman. Once she had
been waitress in an hotel frequented by the gentry, a place I knew
well, and travelled with her wages in her pocket to buy clothes. She was
still better dressed, a shapely woman, with a face almost handsome,
graceful in her movements and a capital worker. Her husband did not look
a bad specimen of a working man. Her story was that they had had a
comfortable home; he was once a singer in a church choir. But his
particular branch of trade failed, and he had to seek a growingly
obsolete kind of work where it was to be found. They had tramped north
in vain to find it, and were now tramping back to their old
neighbourhood in the hope that things would be better. This woman also
did not complain, and behaved in a self-respecting manner, not a foul
word or reproach; she worked steadily, but was very weary and restless
at night. She had a heavy cold on her and grew worse instead of better.
I seem to see her sitting wearily up in bed, unable to get the needed
repose. They had walked long distances recently.
A more doubtful character was "Pollie," who apparently was well known to
the officials. She was left stranded, as her husband, one fine day,
being let out of a tramp ward before her, left her behind. She
complained bitterly that the men were let out so long before the women,
they had time to get "miles out of the road." If she caught him he would
"get three months." Meanwhile she intended to visit a sister who would
give her a few shillings, and then make tracks for another sister. Her
face was not unhandsome, but her nose betrayed the real reason of her
misfortunes, and her tongue was ready, and not too clean. She knew the
workhouses far and wide, and had had her tussles with the authorities.
She had thrown her bread and cheese at a matron who gave her it after
hard work, giving another woman a workhouse diet. She had been in prison
for "lip." She was, in fact, a tramp proper, and with a little drink and
boon companions probably foul-mouthed and violent. But she and Granny
were the only ones who used expressions not polite to give point to
their opinions, and that only occasionally. They were under no
restraint, unless our interior character insensibly sweetened the
atmosphere, for no one, not the most travelled, suspected us. We had
been "on the road," could refer to workhouse reminiscences, and "knew
the country" far and wide. We freely rewarded confidences by real bits
of history. As we sang in concert, probably that was thought to be our
"line of business." We were complimented on our voices--I, like the
husband above mentioned, had once "been in a choir." I felt sure we
should have got a good living "on the road." A tramp man who passed us
told us he thought we should have been "miles further by now." He
watched us, and made in the same direction. I twitted my companion on
the loss of a chance for life.
It might be thought our speech would betray us, but I do not know that
it was more educated than that of one at least of our companions. We
were with "all sorts and conditions of women" but not the worst.
There remains to be described a little Scotch woman, also married. She
had been a servant, and was a "neat-handed Phyllis." Born near Glasgow
she married south. Work failing, she and her husband had tramped the
weary miles to her friends in the hope of work. They had returned, _viâ_
Barrow, and were bound further south, so far seeking work and finding
none. They had become habituated to tramp wards on the long march, and
could tell the character of most, and the stages of the journey.
These were the only ones we got to know intimately; a sorrowful woman
with a sickly-looking child, who came overnight, were seeking admission
to the workhouse that morning.
If these were tramps, with one exception they were made so by
circumstances.
Shall I picture my brave little friend and companion, who worked on hour
after hour with a splitting headache caused by a sleepless night? She
had to clean the officer's room thoroughly, and to scrub tables, forms,
floor--everything in short, in the large day room and down the stairs, a
big piece of work. Meanwhile the two married women scrubbed the big
dormitory and the bath room. The Scotch woman was told off to wash, by
her own request, and related gleefully how she managed to wash and dry
some of her own clothing before the officer came and told her to "mind
and wash nothing of her own." We were meanwhile growing dirtier, and in
more need of a bath than the first night. One woman washed a pocket
handkerchief and dried it on the steam-pipe. Nothing else was possible.
I was taken away after two hours' oakum picking and set to clean. While
waiting for a bucket I saw a fire. Welcome sight. I dried my boots and
warmed my feet, wet from the previous days' tramp. I was provided with
materials, shown where to get water and set to clean, "Scrub, mind you,"
two lavatories, two w.c.'s, and a staircase with three landings and
three flights of stairs. I was also to clean the paint in the
lavatories, etc., and do the taps and the stair-rods. Of the latter
task, however, I was relieved by a pauper woman, who said her work, of
which she was thoroughly sick, was constantly to clean brasses. I like
cleaning, and set to work with a will, only one soon comes to the end of
one's strength after a restless night and an insufficient breakfast. I
found I must moderate my speed or I should not last the day out. Men
were doing a cistern in the downstairs lavatory, and kept passing and
re-passing with dirty boots as fast as I cleaned. My taskmistress, after
one inspection, left me alone to it. I fetched bucket after bucketful
and completed my task to my own satisfaction, and hers apparently, by
twelve o'clock. She was not unreasonable, but a little sharp. She sent
me back to dinner in the tramp ward, and "hunger sauce" enabled me to
finish the bread and cheese allotted, washed down by tea. We all brought
out our husbanded treasures, and the kinder official let us have boiling
water. The man in the office sneered at her and remonstrated, "You _are_
soft!" "_I can't help it_," she replied. May God bless her, for it can
hardly be imagined what a warm drink was to a thirsty soul, even without
milk and with little sugar. We gave Grannie some, and all ate our frugal
meal without repining and with thankful hearts. We were allowed an hour,
and resting my head on the table I snatched a few moments of most
badly-needed rest. Then it was time to work. I was taken to the House
and given a new task, to wash out an office, the little Scotch woman
dusted the board room and my room. All had to be ready before three. I
finished to satisfaction in good time, being once rebuked for sitting to
do the last piece of floor (I had been on my knees without a pad for
hours), and once for not saying there was no coal in the coal-box. But
these were gentle rebukes. I was now very tired and could hardly carry
my bucket. I slopped the water a little; perhaps my taskmistress saw I
was tired, at any rate, she laid on me nothing further, but sent me back
to the ward.
There my friend's task was by no means ended, she was on her knees
scrubbing painfully, a quarter of the floor yet to do. I tried my hand,
but was not quite "in the know," so I sang to her to cheer her and the
others. Even old Grannie cheered up to the sound of "When ye gang awa',
Jamie," an old favourite of her youth. It was easy without offence or
suspicion to pass to hymns that might leave some ray of comfort in
sorrowful hearts, and to get in a few words about the bourne "where the
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest." I could not help
considering that probably nowhere in the wide world were there souls
more dear to our suffering Saviour than such as these, who were sharing
the life He chose on earth. Grannie used to sing, "Oh, let us be joyful,
when we meet to part no more," and all were ready for the "Kindly light"
to lead them home. I have discovered that this and "Abide with me," with
"Jesus, Lover of my soul" are tramps' favourites. Could the deep-seated
religious sentiments of the human soul choose better expression?
The little Scotch woman loved some of the "songs of bonnie Scotland." In
spite of scrubbing, my friend chimed in, and the hours passed. I grew
rested in thought and body. Then our taskmistress appeared just as the
floor was finished; she had forgotten the store room, it was locked up
and not cleaned. She chose my poor weary friend, but I could not stand
it, and volunteered instead. I had watched till I knew how, so I set to
work with a will and acquired a new accomplishment, how to scrub a floor
with sand and soft soap! My performance "gave satisfaction." At last
all was finished, and we awaited the next meal, not with eagerness, for
the third time of gruel and dry bread "pays for all," but at any rate
with hunger. It was a long, long wait from twelve dinner to somewhere
about six. A slender breakfast at six, dinner at twelve, and hard work
left something lacking; the morning gruel was slightly sour also, and I
began to have uncomfortable feelings. Nevertheless, after a seemingly
long wait, during which we all grew quite "chummy," and I extracted much
information and confirmation of personal histories and social condition,
at last supper arrived, and I finished the gruel with appetite, but
could not, without a drink, eat dry bread.
Then another wait. We all grew tired to utter weariness. I longed even
for a plank bed. We sat in various listless attitudes, half starved,
cold, too weary to talk. There was nothing to see, skylighted as the
room was, nothing to do but to pick oakum, which still lay in measured
heaps on the floor, no literature save the "regulations for tramps" on
the walls.
This, then, was the kind of thing which left "no necessity for men to
sleep in the brickfields!" I questioned the married women, none of them
knew anything of any relaxation of rules. Evidently in their world it
was not a matter of public knowledge that a man might enter earlier and
go out after one night.[90]
At last it was bed time once more, we were "officered" to our uneasy
couches. We were allowed to remove our shawls to the room where we
slept--a great boon, as I smuggled mine into bed, covering my bare arms,
and securing a little more comfort. But I was sore from the night
before, and no position gave ease. Being near the week-end few came in,
as it meant an extra day's detention, but the same ordering and bumping
went on. I shall never forget my next door neighbour who came in rather
late and was near enough to touch. She was a respectable woman of the
barmaid class, slightly grey, and therefore rather old for employment.
She was well dressed. She was out of a place, and had applied at a
Shelter too late to be admitted, and was sent here. She had never been
in such a place before, and her astonishment at the conditions amounted
almost to horror. We told her how to make the most of her bed--none of
us near her were asleep. She twisted and turned her wet, grey head on
the hard pillow, sneezing with a commencing cold. She sat up and lay
down. "My God!" I heard her say, "one can't sleep in this place." And
with reason, for though the interruptions were not so numerous, they
were sufficient to effectually break sleep. Grannie did not groan so
much, but she got out of bed, was scolded, and had to be helped in.
"Don't be so soft," I heard the hard official say, as she gave an
involuntary small scream when one of her aching limbs was touched. It
was true she had given trouble, but she was old, feeble, and ailing. It
would not have been hard to be kind. I was myself by this time ill. The
last meal of gruel coming as a distasteful meal on a tired body had not
been digested. Sickness came upon me, and I had to be a disturber of the
peace by three times getting up, and parting with my hardly-earned
supper. Each time, paddling over great bare spaces in scanty attire, I
grew colder, but I was in terror of attracting the attention of the
officer, being considered ill and detained. Anything rather than another
day in such a place of torture. As on the night before, some slept the
sleep of utter weariness, most groaned and twisted, some lay awake. I
never understood so well the joy of the first dim daylight, the longing
of those who "wait for the morning." A woman sat up. "I'm dying of
hunger," she said. It was the poor woman condemned to stay five days.
What would she be at the end? I felt a mere wreck. Only two days ago I
was in full health and vigour. It was no absolute cruelty, only the
cruel system, the meagre and uneatable diet, the lack of sufficient
moisture to make up for loss by perspiration, two almost sleepless
nights, "hard labour" under the circumstances. Before me lay home and
friends, a loving welcome, good food, sympathy, and rest. What about my
poor sisters? "I have nobody, nobody in the wide world; I wish I had,"
said the poor soul next me, new to such treatment. A good-looking woman
beyond had never been in before. I shuddered for those I should leave
behind, new to such conditions.
Is this the treatment England gives in Christ's name to His destitute
poor? What if some are "sinners." He chose such, and "Inasmuch as ye did
it not to one of the least of these my brethren, yet did it not to me."
My heart burned within me. Thank God for every bit of suffering that I
may bring home the truth. A public newspaper states, "The guardians only
hear _ex-parte_ statements, those of the men themselves." Supposing they
speak _true_!
During the afternoon one poor woman had said, "If only the rich
guardians, and the heavy ratepayers, knew how their money was spent, and
how us poor things had to live, they wouldn't allow it." They felt
bitterly the irony of so many officials being paid to order them about,
and get the maximum of work out of them while they were practically
starved. The conclusion of the whole matter is, the more rigidly the
system is enforced in its entirety, the more hardly it presses on the
destitute poor, while it makes no provision for their need. It is not
even preventive, and it is costly.[91] Morning dawned slowly as I
pondered, and the welcome call came. My neighbour slept, her face drawn
in sleep as if with suffering, her profile and grey, tossed hair as she
lay on her back, as the easiest position, an appeal of sorrow to the
eye of the Watcher of men. She woke with a start and moan.
No help for it. "You women all get up, be quick now; be quick and hurry
up, Grannie." Short, sharp, decisive marching orders. Sick and
shivering, with aching head and body sore from head to foot, I did my
best to hide any sign of illness that might come between me and liberty.
My companion suffered also from violent headache, neuralgic pains, and
an aggravated cold.[92] Pollie's face was drawn and tired. No one
complained much. I heard only one grumble at having to wash an already
smarting face with soft soap. One produced a precious bit of white soap
and lent it--a kindly deed. Grannie got under weigh with many a groan,
very slowly. "Hurry up, women; three of you have not put your boards up.
Now then, Granny, don't be all day." We will pardon her, for she has
been on duty all night, and is also tired; but surely the woman who
said, "Come, now, you needn't be so knotty with us," spoke true. We had
little chance or time to speak much. It was only the early cold grey
dawn of a winter morning, but already the message had come up that
husbands were waiting. Gruel and bread for the fourth time. No one going
out did more than pretend to eat it, some pocketed the bread. Neither my
friend nor I could have touched it if you had offered us a
sovereign--my soul loathed it so I could hardly bear to look at it.
The poor woman condemned vainly hoped for release; she wept, but this
only hardened the officer. She was not to be "come over" this way.
"Don't you believe her." Grannie must swathe her poor old legs and go;
she had better get into the workhouse. We had to leave them to their
fate. I shall never forget the last few moments of waiting. A raging
passion for freedom took possession of me. I dare not ask to go a moment
before I was ordered to for fear lest it should be construed as
"impudence." May be I wrong the officer, but she interpreted so easily
any appeal as interference. Oh, to be free! Oh, to lie down anywhere
under God's free sky, to suffer cold and hunger at His hand. "It is
better to fall into the hand of God than the hand of man." We both
agreed we would face a common lodging-house and its pests, or even the
danger of prison for "sleeping out," rather than pass again through such
an experience.[93]
Do I exaggerate? It must be _felt_ to be realised.
At length we escaped with "Pollie," leaving Grannie and the victim with
the newcomers. It was very early, and about two hours lay between us and
succour; my friend was almost too tired to walk. But God's free air was
round us. Thank God for a fine morning! We are "on the road," and
nothing in front can be so bad as what lies behind. We are tramps and
"mouchers"; we can beg, for we need pity; sing for our living, sell
bootlaces, and turn over the money; even if we steal, prison only waits
us, and it cannot be worse--our companions, who have tried it, prefer
it.[94] One thing we could not do--we could not at this moment work for
an honest living. It is physically impossible. By hook or by crook one
or two restful nights must be put between us and the past. Strength to
work has gone. One might perhaps tramp, for the air is reviving, and
people are kind to a wayfarer. Do you wonder at our _national tramp
manufactories_?
For this is what it amounts to. An obsolete system adapted to the times
when population was stationary, is supposed to meet the needs of a
population necessarily increasingly fluid.
Labour shifts from place to place where it is needed. Individuals drop
out or are thrust out. There is never, on any one night, in our great
centres of population, sufficient provision for this ebb and flow. The
houseless and the homeless are a great multitude, as sheep without a
shepherd. Day by day they make a moving procession.[95] The decent man
or woman who is stranded joins them, at first with the honest intention
of gaining a livelihood. If it cannot be obtained, what is he to do?
The common lodging-house can never be a sufficient provision for this
need. It would never pay the private owner to provide the maximum number
of beds required.[96] Our friend "Pollie" grumbled that in many
lodging-houses the price of a decent bed was 6_d_., and "then you could
not be sure it was clean."
What is needed may take away the breath of a conservative public. It is
nothing less than the entire sweeping away of the tramp ward, and the
substitution of municipal lodging-houses, coupled with strict
supervision of all private ones. The maximum need with regard to
sleeping accommodation on any one night in a great city must be met.
Shelters, sanitary and humane, not charitable institutions, but simply
well-managed "working people's hotels," must be run privately and
supplemented publicly, providing accommodation for everyone.[97] To meet
destitution, these should be supplemented by "relief stations" on the
German plan, where supper, bed, and breakfast can be earned. Freedom
need not be interfered with beyond demanding work sufficient to pay.[98]
Payment should be on the graduated ticket system. The tramp proper hates
work. If once a national system sufficient for destitution was
inaugurated, the man who will not work could be penalised. A labour
colony is his natural destination. The classification of workhouses and
their adaptation to various necessarily destitute classes, such as
epileptics, feeble minded and aged, might remove much destitution,
placing it under humane conditions. But the immediate and crying need is
for the abolition of an old, inhumane and insufficient provision for
suppression of vagrancy, in favour of adequate provision for the modern
fluidity of labour, coupled with honourable relief of destitution,
neither degrading nor charitable.[99]
FOOTNOTES:
[85] First published in _The Contemporary Review_ May, 1904, under title
"The Tramp Ward."
[86] See previous chapter.
[87] Probably it was not known. News filters from one to another slowly.
Besides, a man may not return to the tramp ward, after seeking work, for
another night.
[88] Official regulations say the bath should come first, "as soon as
possible after admission." This means giving food in bed, and is, no
doubt, often evaded.
[89] See p. 26.
[90] See p. 137.
[91] See p. 78.
[92] My companion was a "working woman," used to a hard day's work.
[93] See p. 51.
[94] See p. 28.
[95] See p. 30.
[96] See p. 49.
[97] See p. 50.
[98] See p. 75.
[99] See p. 64.