THREE NIGHTS IN WOMEN'S LODGING-HOUSES.
I. THE FIRST NIGHT.
On a bright evening in May, when the trees were fresh with Nature's
tracery, and the sky glowed with colour, my friend and I found our way
by train and tram to a house, which was professedly a lodging-house for
all sorts and conditions of women. The building, a large, tall,
better-class dwelling-house, set back in a front garden, looked almost
too respectable for us, as we had donned our tramp's attire. Some
children were playing in the passage, and called "the missus," who made
no objection to our engaging two beds at sixpence each, warning us we
should have to share a room with strangers. She then showed us into a
small kitchen, clean and comfortable, but with little accommodation--two
short forms and a dresser were the furniture, with shelves in the wall
and a sink. A door gave access to a yard with sanitary convenience, and
there was a good fire and plenty of boiling water. We sat a little while
to rest, and to listen to one or two inmates--a woman who smelt of
liquor, an elderly woman who appeared to help the person in charge, and
a rather handsome dark girl, nicely dressed and clean, who told us she
had been married a few months, and was deserted by her husband. We
learnt afterwards that she had been in hotel and restaurant service. We
soon decided to go out and buy some provisions, and to have a walk
round. We had only expected the beds to be fourpence a night, so were
rather short of money. We laid out our scanty resources as follows: Tea
1_d_., sugar 1_d_., bread 3_d_., butter 2_d_. (and 1_d_. we paid for the
loan of a knife to be afterwards returned). With these we went back, but
not being hungry yet we decided to go to the common sitting-room. This
we found in possession of several women, mostly young. It was now
nearing 10 P.M., and they were all busy tidying themselves, rouging
their faces, blacking their eyelids, and preparing to go on the streets.
All this was done perfectly openly, and their hair was curled by the
fireside. It was wonderful how speedily they emerged from slatterns into
good-looking young women. Each then sallied forth, and, being left
alone, we returned to the kitchen and prepared to make tea and cut
ourselves some bread and butter. Meanwhile various women passed and
re-passed. Three cats were on the hearth--one, a tabby, was called
"Spot." A Scotch woman was rather genteel in appearance, about forty,
but who openly boasted she had been drunk every day for more than a
week; she came in and went out more than once. She sat on the form and
related _apropos_ of "Spot," that she got a situation as housekeeper,
"though she could not say she had not a spot on her character." A
widower with several grown-up sons wished to engage her as housekeeper.
He asked about her character, she said: "Without thinking, I replied, 'I
am afraid it will not bear too strict an investigation,' and, by Jove!
if he didn't engage me at once!" She said it was a good place, and she
might have been in it all the time but for "a bit of temper." "Yes, and
married the master!" added another. A considerable flurry was caused by
the advent in the corner of two or three huge black beetles, or
"blackjacks" as they were called, which made everybody draw up their
skirts. The form was removed to the middle of the room. The dark young
lady told us a good deal about her past; how she had an old mistress who
died in her chair and "looked heavenly," and how her daughter wished to
take her to London, and even sent her fare, but she would not go. She
sighed over it, and said, when we asked her if she was not sorry, that
she had wished many times she had gone; "but," she added, "I was young
and foolish, and had no one to advise me." A nice, bright-looking young
girl, who had come in looking very weary, and who had a bad cough,
interested us much. She had been out since eight, but obtained no money.
She said she had been out all one night, and so got her cough. Later we
learned her story. She had been out late one night when in service on a
gala day, and, having a strict mistress, she was afraid of returning to
her place. A companion persuaded her to take train to N----. The girls
had just enough money, and were landed as strangers in a strange town.
They walked about and found this lodging-house. They entered, and, being
destitute, fell at once into prostitution.[111]
By this time we thoroughly understood the character of the house. It may
be there were exceptions, but they would be but few. The inmates,
probably about sixty, young and old, were living a life of sin, and we
were told that the proprietor of this lodging-house owned fifteen
others. We learnt that a house could be taken for £2 11_s_. a week, and
8_s_. for a servant. We learnt that most of the girls came home very
late--many as late as two o'clock--and in such a state that they kept
the others awake, singing and talking, drunk or maudlin. The house was
open till two at any rate every night.
We stayed up till twelve o'clock to learn as much as we could; then, as
the proprietress seemed rather anxious for us to go to bed, we went
upstairs and were shown into a fair-sized room with seven beds, low iron
bedsteads with wire mattresses, and fairly clean mattress, sheets, and
pillows. A woman who had a terrible cold and cough and our Scotch friend
came to bed, the latter being comparatively sober, though she had had
many drinks that day. Later on the other beds were filled. One had had
over eleven shillings in the morning, but seemed to have "got without
it." The woman with a cold insisted on having the window closed, and the
room was very stifling, otherwise clean and comfortable (compared with
some of our experiences); but our companions, some of them, had on
filthy underclothing when seen by daylight.
The woman of the house called us about nine o'clock,[112] and we had to
get up "willy-nilly." There was a bath-room, with wash-basins and hot
and cold water, and we learnt there were some 1_s_. beds with separate
washing accommodation.
A woman whose hair was going grey ascribed it to constant dyeing. A
young girl had to go to see the doctor.
We found our way to the kitchen and prepared breakfast, securing our
knife once more which we had returned. We took our breakfast to the
dining-room, where a number of dissolute girls--some handsome, almost
all slatternly--were already collected. We saw our young acquaintance of
the night before, apparently breakfastless, and invited her to join us,
which she gladly did. We learnt that she had had no food the day before,
except a drink of tea and a little bread and butter, having had "no
luck." Evidently she was starved into prostitution, about which she was
still very shamefaced. She had been in several lodging-houses. The town
ones were "ten times worse." A private one she had been in one night had
had no lavatory accommodation; she had to go and wash at the station,
paying twopence. She was afraid to solicit in town; the "bobbies" kept a
sharp look-out, and sometimes were in plain clothes. One had stopped her
when she was only walking, told her she was on the streets, asked her
where she came from, and advised her to go home to her mother. He asked
why she was "on the town," and when she told him she had got no work, he
said, "You all say that." As she was afraid in the town, she was in the
habit of going out to the suburbs. Her friend had quarrelled with her,
and even struck her in the street. She was in another lodging-house, and
"doing well" on the town.
This forlorn girl had tried in vain to find a true friend among the
others. One had borrowed and not repaid, one had been friendly and cast
her off. We promised to try and help her.
Breakfast over, we sat and watched the scene, being three times moved to
make room at the tables. Round the fire was a group of girls far gone in
dissipation; good-looking girls most of them, but shameless; smoking
cigarettes, boasting of drinks, or drinking, using foul language,
singing music-hall songs, or talking vileness. The room grew full, and
breakfasts were about, onions, bacon, beefsteak, tea, etc., filling the
air with mingled odours. A girl called "Dot" and another danced "the
cake-walk" in the middle of the floor.
On this scene entered the girl who had to go to the doctor. She was
condemned to the Lock Hospital, and cried bitterly. An animated
conversation took place about the whereabouts and merits of various lock
wards or hospitals, and everyone tried to cheer her up. "Never mind,
Ivy, you'll soon be through with it!"
Later entered a distressed mother. Her girl was wrongly accused of
stealing. She had traced her to another lodging-house, but it was
closed. She spoke to say that "she was her child whatever she had done,
and she would see her through and take her home if she could find her,
as she was her best friend." "Tell her if you come across her that the
back door is always open, and she will be welcome." Several girls cried,
thinking of their mothers, and a woman offered to take her and search
for her daughter later on. This scene brought tears to the eyes of our
young friend, and I said, "That's what your mother will say." We had now
to leave her, under promise not to go out until we returned. We left our
tea and bread and solitary penny, and gladly escaped to the fresh air.
During the time these scenes had gone on several girls received notes.
One was packing up to go somewhere; one was told "the landlord wanted
her." A further visit gave further light.
II. THE SECOND NIGHT.
Returning at 10 o'clock, we purchased, at the little shop which caters
for this lodging-house, a loaf of bread for 2-1/4_d_., two ounces of
boiled ham, a penny tin of condensed milk, and a pennyworth of sugar;
tea and butter we had with us. Armed with these, in the kitchen we
speedily obtained hot water and made our tea-supper. We took it into the
dining-room for coolness' sake, and established ourselves at a table.
This room had three long wooden tables and forms. It was an oblong room
with one fireplace, and out of it was another kitchen with fireplace and
gas stove.
There were hardly any girls in when we entered, and, to our great
disappointment, our acquaintance of the day before was out. She had gone
out at nine o'clock. She was not out long, but returned drunk; she had
been "in luck." She had had "two small whiskies and a soda," and they
had bowled her over. She had plenty of money now, and was talkative, and
staggering. We felt we could not do anything with her that night. She
came and talked to us a little, asking us our "luck," to which we
replied "that we had done very well," and were going on to another town
next day. I had improved my appearance, wearing hat, tie, and belt, so
this bore out my story.
The proprietress as we entered had told us not to mind a woman who was
"gone dotty" with drink. She also was in this room, properly maudlin.
She had a chemise, which she kept tucking into her breast, pulling up
her under-garments, and examining her stockings. She was taking more
drink still, brought in in a bottle, and though warned, I believe she
insisted presently on sallying forth, and would probably fall into the
hands of the police. The other women present humoured her to avoid a
quarrel.
By this time we felt quite "at home," knowing the faces of a good many
of the inmates. Most were out, but one and another we recollected came
dropping in, in some cases to go out again. Our dark friend came and
questioned us as to how we had got on. We told her we had done very
well. She said, "I suppose you have been round the town?" Evidently she
was fishing for our occupation, and I fear she would gather the wrong
impression from our affirmative reply; but we really had been about and
could not "give ourselves away." This little person seemed to keep from
drink, though she told us she had lost her last place through buying,
with her own money, bottles of stout, and so horrifying her mistress,
who, she said, was "a religious woman, but a regular pig." This mistress
took drink herself, but "would not own it," and "suffered from
indigestion." She had the doctor, and he recommended change, society,
etc., but she lazed about most of the day and drank. Little Dark Hair
said she could have stood it if the woman had been straight, if she had
told her she took drink and it wasn't good for her; but to call it
"indigestion," and dismiss her servant for buying in a few bottles of
stout out of her own money, it was too disgusting! She left, and didn't
feel like asking for a character, as what she said was regarded as
cheek! She was evidently very low-spirited, for she said she wished she
was "in a bandbox," and then explained she meant her coffin. She said
she would get out of this if she had a home; but she had no home, no
friends. She was soon to become a mother--she would soon have to go to
the workhouse. We gave her the address of a friend who would help her,
but could not ourselves do so because of our _incognito_.
There was a great difference in the characters and appearance of the
various women. One old woman apparently got her living by running
errands and doing odd jobs for the girls. I think one woman was a
pedlar. The former woman showed by her conversation that she had lived
an immoral life. There were several women about thirty or forty, who
behaved quietly and were dressed comparatively modestly and cleanly.
Some looked quite superior to their position, but I believe they had
only acquired the wisdom of reticence, as they dressed themselves up and
went out like the others, and one I thought particularly quiet, who
seemed to watch us a good deal, smoked like the others, after she had
been out. Some explanation of the probable life of these elder women was
afforded next morning by a woman, rather stout, and more talkative. She
had gone out overnight, setting off for her regular place, which was
apparently some way off in a suburb. A "toff" took her to have a drink,
and promised her money to go with him to an hotel. He afterwards gave
her the slip, leaving her penniless. Another girl, young and pretty,
said she was given in the dark two pennies silvered over! A dark girl
told her she "wasn't so soft; she always felt the edges of her money in
the dark and knew by that."
There were no old women, except the one or two who seemed to live on the
others, by cleaning or by sewing or running errands. One girl was said
to get her living by doing this, and "drank all she got." Most of the
younger ones seemed to get more or less drunk every day. They had to
drown thought, but drink and dissipation were fast playing havoc with
their good looks, and several had very severe coughs, due to exposure to
night air. A girl who did not gather lodging money might be out all
night, as our friend the runaway had been, and none were very warmly
clad. They had to take off underclothing and replace it after it was
washed, apparently being almost all improvident. One or two, notably
"Dot," a small dark girl, who kept herself clean, and was pretty, with a
kind of perky prettiness that hid vulgarity, seemed to be better fitted
up. She had a basket of clothes, and seemed to be going somewhere by
appointment. We heard it several times mentioned that Mr. S---- wanted
one and another, and that they must have "a note" from him, or "a
paper." He was "the landlord."
But I am anticipating the morning. We sat watching until we were weary,
between eleven and twelve, and then went to our bedroom. The same beds
were reserved, and one woman who was said to work for her living, and
had a very bad cough, was already in bed. We were speedily in bed also,
and for a while were quiet. The room was very stuffy, in spite of two
ventilators; the sheets not very clean, but still fairly so. The beds
were filled by degrees, all but one, that previously occupied by the
Scotch woman. One girl who came in late said she was not on the streets;
that she had begged money for her lodging, as she was out too late to
return to her place. It was holiday time, being Whit week.[113] One girl
who came in late, and had had drink, which made her talkative, said she
was a servant, and had just left a place where she had been ten months.
She said she had been to a pleasure resort all the night before with her
young man; that her mistress begged her not to come to this
lodging-house; she was very good to her, but she said she had had some
drink, and it got late, and she couldn't go anywhere else. She had no
money to buy breakfast, and had an appointment with her young man at
eight o'clock next morning. He promised to give her some money. She
meant to "enjoy herself" over the holiday and then go to service
again.[114] She did get up early, complaining she felt poorly, and she
went to her appointment, but I think he did not meet her. We offered her
some breakfast before she went, and she joyfully recognised us when she
returned without it, and we gave her the rest of our provisions.
One girl who had been in before grumbled that her bed had been slept in,
and was dirty; but her own underlinen was far from clean. No one seemed
to possess a nightgown; all slept in their underlinen.
We had the door a little ajar, and far into the night the door bell kept
ringing, and girls were admitted and laughter and conversation drifted
up the stairs. Our room settled down some time past midnight, but the
girl who was drunk several times tried to begin a conversation. At last
we all slept; two, however, had bad coughs. I woke at intervals through
the night, and finally, at 6.30, I woke longing for fresh air. I put on
a skirt and went down to enquire the time, and decided to get up and go
out for a quiet stroll. The bath-room was empty. The bath had old papers
in it, and did not look as if it was often used. There was a table with
looking-glass, and a good deal of rouge about. The w.c. had a good flush
of water. The washing basin was very small, and no soap was provided.
There was a roller towel for everybody. We had learned by experience to
take our own soap and towel, and we lent the soap several times.
Articles of clothing seemed to be frequently lent. We saw girls trying
on each other's hats, and there were complaints that they were also
stolen. Several locked boxes were in the bath-room, and some empty ones.
No convenience existed for keeping things privately except this. Some
women had a few things in drawers in the kitchen, but they were not
locked. The woman in charge had a sitting-room and a piano, and she kept
knives in her room. You paid a penny to have one, and it was returned to
you when you gave back the knife. Knives also were lent from one to
another. A girl whose head was questionably clean wanted to borrow my
friend's shawl to go an errand, but we made an excuse and did not lend
it.
My friend got up more slowly, so I slipped out to the bright freshness
of a May morning, and walked in the direction of a park. There were
plenty astir, trams running, and people going holiday-making. The park
was not open, as it was not yet seven, but just outside I found a
resting-place. What a contrast the fresh budding life of the trees was
to that perversion and decay of budding womanhood I had left behind me!
A tree cut down in its prime to make way for building furnished me with
a parallel. What _artificial_ conditions of man's making are pressing on
those young lives, snapping them off from true use to rottenness and
decay? Why do they not grow healthily? A crowded bedroom, an uneasy
couch, a bare dining-room, wooden slats and tables, a precarious
livelihood--these are not things to draw a girl, and the excitement of
"the life" has to be covered by drink and degradation. Is it true, that
once _in_ it, it is too difficult to get out, and that a girl may be
trapped unawares and wound round and round as in a spider's web by a
multitude of threads of circumstance which prevent her escape? Is there
even at the back an _organised_ system, seeking victims and preying on
them? This much is certain, that there is room for an alliance of greed
and wickedness against defenceless and destitute womanhood. For if a
woman "cannot get work," where is she to go? What is she to do? Can all
our Homes and Shelters together prevent many from drifting "on the
streets"? Do we not need a national provision for migration and
temporary destitution among women?[115]
Musing thus, I returned to my friend, and we went out together and sat
about half an hour on some public seats. The open air refreshed us, and
once more we returned to get our breakfast. I found a cup and saucer
with difficulty, for by this time most were in requisition. Every one
had her own provisions, but they all seemed to live from hand to mouth;
there was nowhere to keep them, and there were complaints that they were
stolen. Bread and butter, tea, bacon, or ham, or an egg, were the staple
diet. There were no forks, only a very common blunt knife to be had for
the penny, and tin spoons rusty with use. The walls were bare, except
for a print of the infant Christ bearing a cross, over the kitchen
mantelpiece. "Oh, Christ!" was a favourite exclamation. The language was
often foul. The girls chatted together also about their previous night's
experiences, but mostly in groups of two or three exchanging
confidences. We asked A---- to join us, and she offered me an egg, and
went out and fetched herself some tea, butter, and crumpets. We were now
going to make a struggle for this girl's salvation, but it was very
difficult to do so without exciting suspicion. We tried to persuade her
to go to B----. I had written overnight to secure a place for her; but
she would not do this, or go home, fearing her father's wrath. She was
also wretched after her previous night's indulgence, and ashamed of
herself, and in a difficult irresolute state. Reference to her mother
made her weep, and this attracted attention. The woman of the house
came, without any apparent reason, and borrowed her shawl. We asked her
to go out with us, and her shawl was not returned, but a small grey one
was _lent_ her.
I spoke to the little dark young woman, and she gratefully received an
address to which she might apply for help after her confinement.
We succeeded in getting A---- to give us her mother's address, and
promised to write for her. With this, I think, we should have been
content, but she offered to go out with us after all a little way, and
we hoped to persuade her. We knew of a Shelter near by, and we actually
succeeded in getting her there; but she would not remain, and we had to
let her return, fearing that she would probably drink again to drown
recollection. We spent altogether nearly two hours in trying to get her
to some satisfactory resolution. Meanwhile the girls were talking,
laughing, singing, or dancing about the room. Two were particularly
playful; both handsome girls, but already dissipated in looks. Both had
an abundance of fair hair, apparently "all their own." One girl
sportively asked one of them to "lend her her hair." I thought she was
joking, but presently she crossed the room, and untwisted a lock of hair
from the head of one of them and twisted it up and fixed it on her own!
It was many shades fairer, and was speedily returned to its owner. These
two girls were constantly striking up bits of comic songs, or larking
with one another or dancing "the cake walk."
I fear in our endeavour to secure our young friend we lost other
opportunities. But it was a continually-changing scene. Most sat round
comparatively quiet; some, very weary, lay on the forms or lolled on one
another; some smoked cigarettes, some talked, and one or two were
washing their clothes in another room. One girl took off her stockings
to wash them. There were one or two strikingly handsome girls--one had a
face that reminded me of some painting I had seen--but the majority
were only good-looking when rouge and powder had effaced dissipation or
accentuated their good points; by morning light they looked flabby,
coarse, and unhealthy. One girl, Joy, with a pink-and-white complexion
that bore the light, had to go to the Lock Hospital. Apparently most of
these girls had outgrown the fear of this or of prison. "Bless you! they
don't mind being 'pinched,'" said one woman; "it gives them a rest."
Here, then, was womanhood devoid of fear! Social restraints had
vanished--as with the tramp, so with the harlot![116]
The only fear left was that of each other's opinion, and this had
sufficient force to draw back to "the life" the one we wished to rescue.
On her soul lay the knowledge of the _horror_ of respectable society
towards what she had become, and the _attraction_ of the fellowship of
those who would receive her freely. We succeeded in getting her to go
out with us in a small borrowed shawl, and we coaxed her to a place
where she would have received shelter till her friends were communicated
with. But it was no use--she must go to her _friends_. Persuasion was
useless. We would have taken her with us, but she would go back. All we
could do was to give her the address of a friend and take that of her
parents, in the _hope_ of a chance to save her.
It is, I believe, hardly possible to rescue a girl deep in harlotry,
though it might be possible to steer poor souls who have passed
disillusionment to some harbour of refuge where moral purity was to be
recovered. They must "get their living." Who would knowingly employ
them? The national recognition of the right of the individual to
employment and subsistence seems to me to be the remedy for the harlot
as for the tramp. The harlot is the _female tramp_, driven by hard
social conditions to primitive freedom of sex relationship.[117]
III. THE THIRD NIGHT.
During the week that intervened before we could again visit, we
succeeded in finding out that there was a "welcome home" for the
wanderer. Armed with a letter from her mother, but with some misgivings
as to success, we went to the lodging-house, intending to see her
quietly; but when we reached the door the woman in charge stood there.
We asked for the girl by name. She said she was not there; that a letter
had come for her, but they had not been able to give it to her, as she
had left. We asked where she had gone. She did not know. Baffled, but
uncertain as to whether she was telling the truth, we stood hesitating,
when who should come to the door but the girl herself! The woman was so
nonplussed that she gave way and invited us in! We gave the girl her
mother's letter, and watched her read it. The girl's face changed,
softened. She cried, but she only said, "My sister has written it," when
an elderly woman came and began talking to us. As the girl was opposite
us we could no longer speak privately. After a while, however, she
changed her place so as to get near me, and we began talking, but a
young woman also came and asked if she were going out with her. We did
not wish to attract too much attention, so it was only by degrees we
could tell her we were ready to send her away next morning, having had
the money to do so given us.
She made difficulties about being ashamed to go home in dirty clothes.
We asked her to wash them. She said if she left them to dry overnight
they would be stolen. We told her to exchange them for others. She
wanted to go out and get money for some things, and go home well
dressed. We were not sure as to what might happen if she did this, and
urged her to give up "the life" for her mother's sake and meet us in the
morning. Fearing too much pressure would act in the wrong direction, we
decided to leave her, trusting to God to bring her to the right
decision. This He did, for she went out and had "bad luck," and received
only two halfpennies!
We set out once more to search for lodgings, intending to make straight
for a street we had heard of by name. We took a penny tram-ride to the
heart of the town, and asking directions of a woman, got a very bad
impression from her of the street whither we were bound, a mild
recommendation to one lodging-house, and a warm one, coupled with an
invitation, to the one whither she was going. However, we "preferred the
worst," and so with thanks we left her. When, however, after a long walk
we found the street, it was narrow and unsavoury, and the lodging-houses
were all small cottages. We looked through open doors at a few
interiors--and flinched! We knew what they would be like only too
well![118] Besides, as we wanted to see as much "life" as possible, we
preferred a larger one. We could be _sure_ of what these low-class ones
were, if a slightly better one was unsatisfactory. So we sought a street
near by, which we had also heard mentioned, and which, being a principal
thoroughfare, was flanked by houses of a larger type, once inhabited by
the well-to-do, but which now had descended to be lodging-houses.
A female lodging-house (next door to a men's lodging-house) looked clean
and respectable, although through the open door we caught a glimpse of a
girl who was dressing, and who attracted some attention from passers-by
by her condition of half-undress. We paid sixpence each, and secured two
beds in the same room. We then were "free of the house," which consisted
of a long passage leading to a small kitchen. Leading from the passage
was a front parlour occupied by the "deputy" and her husband, a larger
dining-room furnished as usual with tables and forms, and a door leading
to a yard with sanitary conveniences. A stairway with oak balustrading
led above; a door which could be locked had been placed at the bottom,
and no one was allowed upstairs till they went to bed--a good precaution
for cleanliness and decency.
In the kitchen there was a fire, and hot water in a boiler by the side.
A couple of tables and two forms, accommodating each about four people,
were the only furniture besides a rack in the wall and some shelves
filled with hats and other clothes. There was no room for more, as a
small sink with hot and cold water occupied the corner by the fire.
There were a few pots in much request, and two large tins. These formed
the only apparatus for washing of all kinds. We saw them used overnight
for bathing the feet, etc., one girl washing her feet in them; we knew
they were used for washing clothes, and we saw them full of dirty pots
in the morning. As we heard the state of one girl alluded to as
contagious, "but she won't go to hospital," it is easy to be imagined
that we could not bring ourselves to eat and drink there. Nor did we
consider it safe to use any sanitary convenience except upstairs, for it
was easy to see the character of the house. We sat on the form in the
kitchen for nearly an hour, while the girl we had seen made her
elaborate toilet. She had a most severe cough, and could hardly speak,
yet she sat, often in full view of the front door, in a low chemise and
skirt, both of good quality if they had only been _clean_, which they
were not. She had finished her washing process, but there were many
others. She powdered her face and breast, she rouged herself with great
care (being chaffed meanwhile by some of her companions), she burnt a
match and blackened her eyebrows, and then by slow degrees she did her
hair in numerous rolls, finishing up by curling the little ends and
putting a net over all. Then, after some discussion as to which hat
suited her (apparently hats, though they had owners, were common
property), she put on first a very thin muslin blouse with a hole at the
shoulder, then a clean skirt and a costume skirt and jacket (the latter
very open at the neck), and finally the selected hat. She looked, when
thus disguised, a handsome young woman, but her face was really thin and
wan, and it was almost death to her to go out, as she did, into the cold
night air with only a thin tie to protect her chest. She returned in the
morning, saying she had been at the C---- Hotel all night, and had been
drinking all the time, and had not slept at all. She looked very weary,
and rolled up some clothes and lay full length on a form to attempt to
sleep. She could not long survive such a life. One girl had died the
previous week there.
While her long toilet was taking place, a succession of girls entered,
most of them going out again after a brief rest. The first, who sat by
me and told her story, was not, as yet, on the streets.[119] She had
been sent when five years old to an orphanage, and from that to a
laundry home, where she had received a good education, and from which
she got a good situation. She was not strong, however, and, becoming
anæmic, was sent to hospital. There she was questioned as to her
parents, whom she had not seen for years, and sent, when discharged, to
the town where they lived to seek for them. She found her mother living
in sin with another man, by whom she had children. Her father was a
drunkard, who had been many times convicted; he lived with her sister in
lodgings. She clung to him as her own, and all the right feelings
cultured in her gave intensity to her affection for her long-lost
father. He kicked and ill-used her, but promised amendment. He broke out
again, and had that morning been sent down for a month. She had nowhere
to go. Her sister was cold to her and to her father; probably she took
after her mother, and had reason enough not to love her father, who had,
however, in his way looked after her. She was working and could support
herself, but this poor girl was stranded. Her one cry was that she
_must_ meet her father when he came from prison; she was sure he would
do better. She had no money, and feared she should have to walk the
streets. I paid her lodging, and one or two of the girls gave her a
little food. She said she intended next morning to seek work in a
laundry. We urged her, if she did not obtain it, to go to a relief
agency we knew, and she seemed quite willing to do so, and a woman
present also recommended it. She was in the same mind the next morning,
so I hoped she would do so, as she did not seem to wish to drift to
evil. Her father, bad as he was through drink, was not bad in that way.
Her mother was a thoroughly immoral woman. This girl, well intentioned
and well brought up, but feeble in health, ought never to have drifted
to such a place.
I have before had occasion to notice the harm done by hospital
authorities in sending friendless girls, without sufficient enquiry (or
even though knowing they are quite friendless), back to their native
town. Girls such as this should be passed on to some agency that would
"mother" them. It is easy to see how a little indecision, and the
pressure of hunger, might anchor a girl to sin.[120] For most of those
who entered were openly leading a life of shame. Girl after girl came
in, rested, and went out. We learnt their "by-names," and those of
others. "Red Jinny," distinguished from "Scotch Jinny" and other
Jinnies, was living with a companion in prostitution.
The pathetic history of a young woman who began her toilet by having a
foot-bath (in one of the tins), her legs being swollen with varicose
veins, will illustrate this life. She had a good home, a kind and strict
father. The way home was always open to her, for her parents had not the
slightest idea she was living in sin. They thought she was in service.
She had actually been home over the week-end, and thoroughly enjoyed
herself, going on Sunday to church and Sunday school. ("I wish I was as
good!" sighed one when she heard it.) Yet for two or three years she had
really led the life of a prostitute. Her history was a sad one. She kept
company five years, and then her young man betrayed her. She managed to
conceal this from her parents, and in order to maintain her baby she
went on the streets. For two and a half years she lived with a
prostitute friend, and worked and struggled for her little one, coming
home one day to find her scalded and her companion "blind drunk."
However, the child survived, only to perish of bronchitis and pneumonia.
Her mother had worked for her and clothed her with her own fingers,
making all her clothes herself. She was clever, for as she talked she
unpicked a hat and twisted and turned it to new account. After her child
died she left her companion--or was deserted by her--and now for some
months she had been living here, except for home visits. She found it
hard to get out of "the life," because she had kept up the deception
that she was entangled in. "Her father would die" if he knew she was in
such a place! But he must get to know in the long run unless she got out
of "the life." Already she had been twice in the hands of the
police--once for drink, and once for accosting. The second time she got
off for "first offence." She gave an assumed name and paid the fine, but
next time she would have to "go down." We got a good opportunity to
press her to go where we knew she would find friends, as she was the
only one in bed in our room by twelve o'clock. She did not go out
because of a superstitious feeling that "something was going to happen,"
which, she said, had also preceded her being taken up. She said she
wished she was at home in her own good bed, which was always kept for
her; that she was getting to drink and swear, and this life would soon
kill her. We placed before her as strongly as we could the path to
safety, and urged her to struggle free for the sake of father and child.
It made one long to go and _live_ continuously with these girls,
gradually acquiring influence, and being able to speak to them as a
Christian woman, and save them from the web in which they were
entangled. Such work would be difficult and delicate, for it would be
necessary to live quietly, maintaining oneself among them and acting by
character, not by profession.
But surely something more is possible. There should be large,
well-ventilated, well-provided women's lodging houses, open even to the
prostitute, but under the care of wise, motherly women. Here it was
impossible for a girl even to keep her own property; there was not a
locker or any place to put anything away. Girls slept with their hats on
their beds for security. Everything was "borrowed" or "made off with." A
little care would keep a decent girl steady and safe, and bring many a
wanderer back to goodness. Here everything tended to demoralisation. The
sanitary arrangements were deficient. I cannot defend the shameless
toilet in full view of an open door to the street, which we saw
repeated, even to half-nudity, several times over. But this kitchen was
the only place in which to wash and dress, and the door must needs be
open. The constant talk was filthy--not on the part of all, but on that
of many--and the life most were leading not in the least disguised. The
more successful girls were sometimes out all night. Two or three came in
very drunk and were piloted to bed by friends. Shameless expressions
which cannot be repeated were used with regard to actions which decency
conceals. Yet listening were other girls not so far gone in sin.
A young girl in a shawl, hardly more than a child, came in apparently on
an errand, and stayed some time. She was asked if she was going to "mash
for a quid." An old woman called "Old Mackintosh," from her wearing a
long mackintosh cloak, and also affectionately called "Ma," was
apparently the sport of the girls, and yet regarded with a sort of
affection. They teased her and stole her things, and even hit her. She
had a bad temper, and scolded, which afforded them amusement; but if
they went too far they made it up by embracing her. Poor woman! I fear
drink was her trouble. They said she had hardly anything under her
cloak. She seemed ravenously hungry, and how she got her living I don't
know. One or two elderly women were apparently not prostitutes, but
earned money by cleaning. It was, however, rather difficult to settle
how they lived. One woman was very coarse and fat, with an ugly scar on
her shoulder, which she exhibited in the morning when she indulged in
the luxury of "a good wash," but was not clean. She put on a ragged
bodice, the silk of which was hanging in shreds, and which had a big
hole under the arm showing a great patch of bare flesh; yet over all she
put a most respectable cloak, and a bonnet that would have done credit
to a Quaker. I was astonished to see her emerge as almost a lady!
Evidently the "clothes philosophy" is well understood in Slumdom, for
whatever purposes it is used. Indeed, it has given me somewhat of a
shock to realise that many of these, even if dwellers in actual filth
and disease, would not be distinguishable in any way from ordinary
individuals.
Nothing was more noticeable in both lodging-houses than the existence
of at least three descriptions of prostitutes. There was the apparently
quiet, modest one, whom you would take to be a respectable girl. One of
these gave an account of how "her boy" had met her and spent an hour or
two trying to persuade her to go away and get work. He even cried! But
apparently he did not move her. She promised him as a put-off. This
quiet sort of girl is most to be dreaded; she may act as a tempter.
There was, in the second place, the good-natured girl, naturally
affectionate. "Everyone likes me wherever I go," said the girl who had a
home. This girl should have been a happy wife and mother. Her fate lies
at the door of him who wronged her. Once in "the life," the ties of
friendship and a vivacious, sociable disposition would draw her to it
again and again.
The third kind may be the second gone to ruin, or those who, having had
a worse bringing up, are naturally more shamelessly immoral. Drink has
fascinations for them. They go "on the town" to get drink. One such, who
was drunk over night, gave a long and involved history of her doings in
the morning. She had received money and drink from three soldiers, but
she declined to descend to the level of "Soldiers' Jinny," whose
unmentionable doings were related at length. She left them and got more
drink, piloted a couple to a "safe house" and was tipped for it, was
treated to "bottled stout"--much to her disgust, as she preferred other
drink--came along certain streets gloriously drunk, daring policemen,
and arrived home happy, just sufficiently quarrelsome to get a free
berth from everyone. She was a handsome dark girl of a low class. Her
language was unspeakably foul, every sentence being interspersed with
gory adjectives. She evidently expected admiration from her hearers for
a sort of dare-devilry.
It was pitiable, as the evening went on, to see the state of many. Two
elderly women in the other room carried on a maudlin conversation, just
on the edge of a quarrel, the substance of which was that they
"understood one another," and would not blab each other's secrets!
All the time this was going on a man, and sometimes other men, were in
the passage frequently. There was in this passage a locked door,
constantly unlocked, leading to the next door men's lodging-house.
Apparently the husband caretaker in our house was also caretaker in
this, hence comings and goings. I have no reason to suppose there was
any illicit communication as regards the house itself; but girls were
frequently asked for by name, and the presence of a man or men was not
desirable. The caretaker himself was familiarly addressed as "Pa."
The hours slowly wore away. One girl sat patiently for eleven o'clock to
strike. She "never went out till eleven," she said. She was a quiet
girl, not very good looking. About half-past eleven two girls in shawls
came in and had something to eat. From conversation between them (they
slept in our room), they seemed to be working girls who had been turned
out of home. One worked at a mackintosh warehouse, the other, I think,
at tin-plate. One at least intended to go to work in the morning, but
was not up when I came away.[121] And this was not wonderful, for with
the best intentions youth and sleepiness would make them lie long in the
morning; for at twelve, when I went to bed, only a few had gone
upstairs, and right on till two o'clock at least the interruptions were
far too numerous for rest.
Besides the usual comings and goings, locking and unlocking of doors,
drunken stumbling upstairs, and loud good-nights exchanged, a tragedy
that turned to a comedy was being enacted. A woman known as the "Mussel
Woman," who carried an empty basket on her arm--which those who knew her
called a "blind," as she hardly ever had anything to sell--came and
claimed a lodging, having nothing to pay. After a good deal of
"language," she was made to understand that she could not have it,
whereupon she said she should "keep shouting all night" if they did not
let her in. She was as good as her word for half an hour at least,
shouting at the top of her voice the most abusive personal language,
and banging the door at intervals. I do not know whether seasons of
quiet were due to police rounds, but she shouted and banged, and then
desisted at intervals, for quite two hours. No sooner was everything
quiet than she again appeared. Several angry colloquies took place with
the deputy. Once she was let in, saying "Jinny" would pay for her, and
came all round the beds looking for "Jinny" with the deputy. "Jinny" was
not found, and she was again ejected, I believe; but finally a policeman
intervened, said he could not have her in the street, and forced the
lodging-house keeper to accept her, money or no money. I should not like
the berth of a "deputy"; she could have had no rest till two at the
earliest, yet was up cleaning and sweeping before seven.
Our beds and bedroom could not be called _clean_, yet were not dirty; at
any rate in this respect, that we did not see any insects. That is a
great deal to be thankful for. I woke after a brief and broken slumber
at 6.30. All were young in my room save my companion and myself, and all
slept soundly. There was nothing to tell the time, so I dressed without
disturbing them, and on arriving downstairs found it was ten minutes
past seven. I washed my face at the sink with my own soap and flannel,
and sallied out in search of a clean and cheap breakfast. I succeeded
beyond my expectation, finding on enquiry a small shop where I got a cup
of coffee for 1/2_d_. and a good substantial 1/2_d_. bun. Thus
fortified I spent a pleasant hour looking at pictures in shop windows
and observing passers by, and returned about 8 o'clock to wake my
friend. She had gone to bed at 9.30 the previous night with a bad
headache, which was no better for a disturbed night, so we escaped as
quickly as possible to fresh air and a cup of coffee, and then by tram
to keep our appointment with the girl we wished to save.
We entered the house by the open door and sought the dining-room to look
for her, but were met by reproof on the part of the deputy. She said we
had no right in when we hadn't slept there. She had allowed it as a
favour the day before, but could not again permit it. To solve this
difficulty my friend paid for her bed for the night, and was then of
course free of the house. I had to leave her to wait to see the girl,
and if possible to send her to her mother; and I am glad to say that she
succeed in dispatching her safely to the far-distant home, where I trust
loving hearts may hold her too closely for return.
I have tried to tell a plain, unvarnished tale--in which nevertheless
much is left out that would not bear printing--of the way in which these
our young sisters live. The pity of it is that though some may from
sheer wickedness seek it, more--perhaps most--are drawn in by frivolity
and misfortune. It may be exceedingly difficult to rescue them when
contaminated, surrounded as they are by all those invisible ties of
friendship which chain a woman's heart. We make elaborate institutions
to _rescue_ them, which are often surrounded by such restrictions that
they defeat their own end.
Can we not do something to solve the problem by providing suitable and
sufficient women's lodging-houses under good management, where freedom
is not interfered with unduly, but influence for good is steady?
In Christian England a friendless girl should never want a friend and a
home. And to guard our girls is to preserve our nation from the worst of
evils--the corruption of a 'trade' based on greed and dishonour. Yet how
else can a destitute girl get her living without a friend?
_When all else is sold she sells herself to live!_[122]
FOOTNOTES:
[111] See p. 193.
[112] See p. 190.
[113] See p. 194 for contrast.
[114] See p. 194.
[115] See Appendix VII.
[116] See p. 28.
[117] See Appendix VII.
[118] See p. 97.
[119] See p, 193.
[120] See Appendix VII.
[121] See p. 190, and as a contrast p. 200.
[122] See Appendices VII. and VIII.