COMMON LODGING-HOUSE LIFE.
I. IN A NORTHERN TOWN.
There are certain elementary considerations of decency with regard to
accommodation for women that we might expect would receive attention in
every town of considerable size, especially those along the main
thoroughfares by which travel takes place. To leave provision for a
certain need entirely in private hands is to ensure in the end great
public expense. It is not to private advantage to provide maximum but
minimum comfort. The margin of profit is small, and the class provided
for will put up with a great deal. Inspection may swoop down on flagrant
neglect, but does not avail to prevent a state of things most
undesirable from every point of view.[123]
Under the conviction that nothing but investigation into the actual
state of things will shed light on the nature of the reforms needed, my
friend and I set out once more on pilgrimage, our object being to
investigate the state of things in a town not twenty miles from
Manchester, on the line of constant travel, with regard to
accommodation for women.
Thinking it desirable to make some preliminary inquiries, we first
visited a friend who belonged to "the Army"; we could, however, get
little information, so we visited the Captain, hoping to learn something
useful. We found that "the Army" visited the men's lodging-houses, and
that there were frequent inquiries for a Shelter, but they did not
possess one in this town. Finally we learned that there was not in the
whole town a lodging-house for women only! Possibly there may be some
charitable institutions. But for a woman coming to the town not
absolutely destitute, able to beg or earn fourpence for a bed (which
means, it must be remembered, two-and-fourpence a week, without food),
there were only three places, and in each "married couples" were also
taken.[124]
One was described to us as "full of gay girls," a second was small, and
the single men had to pass through the sitting-room to bed; we were
assured, however, that the proprietress did her best to prevent
"carryings on." The third being described as "the best in the town," we
decided to try it. But it is obvious that no town can be considered in a
satisfactory condition that makes no provision for homeless women, apart
from men. Widows and friendless girls are to be found everywhere, and it
is most important that a safe place of refuge should exist to arrest,
if possible, a downward career.[125]
We found a group of men outside the lodging-house, and one of them
kindly showed us the way to the office, a lighted room up a sort of
court. There was a movable square of glass in the window of this room,
and through this we paid our money, sixpence for a double bed. We were
told we should have to come through that room to bed and that we must go
"up a stair to the right," and with this our communication with our host
or hostess begun and ended, for there was no one in the room when we
passed through to bed, and when we came away there was only a child in
possession, half-dressed.
The room up the short stair, in which we found ourselves, was lofty and
airy and might have been pleasant,--if it had been clean. There was a
large fireplace with a fine range.[126] On the mantelpiece some wag had
drawn, upon a round piece of board, a clock face, with the hands
pointing to five-to-twelve, and the legend written underneath,
"No tick hear (_sic_) all stopped to-day."
Also a large frying-pan hanging on the wall bore the humorous
inscription, "Out of work."
The walls were painted light above and dark below, various shawls and
hats were hanging up, shelves by the side of the fire contained a
non-descript collection of food and other possessions, and there was the
usual stock-in-trade of frying-pans and saucepans, but no kettle. Hot
water for any purpose (and cold also) had to be fetched from the "single
men's" side of the building.
There was a small sink in one corner, but the water was cut off. There
was absolutely no convenience for washing of all kinds--personal,
family, or for culinary purposes--save this sink.[127] Men and women
alike must fetch water from the other room, even to wash the "pots." A
card on the wall informed the lodgers that they were expected to wash
their own. The "pots" were a few enamelled basins, soup-plates, and
tea-pots, some very much worse for wear. The sanitary conveniences were
out in the yard, and apparently common to both men and women.
We took our seat at one of the tables, which, with wooden forms, were
the only furniture, except what has been already alluded to. We then
began to take stock of our fellow-lodgers.
On the other side of our table, a man with dark hair (and plenty of it)
was employed in "cobbling" his wife's boots. It took him most of the
evening to fasten on pieces of leather with nails, and to knock the
nails down. His job was then pronounced "first-rate" by the men, but the
wife reserved her opinion till they had been tested by the next day's
march! He confided to us that she was "no walker" and "took an hour to
walk a mile" (this is the gist of his speech, which was much garnished).
She claimed to have walked five miles. I should not have liked to walk
in her shoes.
Meanwhile at another table several men and women were sitting, some
eating, some smoking (women as well as men). Also on the short forms by
the fire were several people and children, and there were two
perambulators, each with a sleeping child, against the wall in the
background.
In a little while we were better able to disentangle the relationships
of the various groups. A young and rather good-looking woman was the
mother of three small children, one a babe at the breast, the next
hardly more than a baby, and the third about four, apparently quite able
to take care of herself and go to shop for the family! They were all
very healthy, and the baby was much admired; the father seemed kind, and
helped his wife to nurse. They did not seem destitute, but one wondered
how they lived, whether they were "on the road," or crowded out of a
home; the perambulator and the healthiness of the children favoured the
former hypothesis. Another pretty little child seemed almost
"unattached," but next day we identified her father; she was fair, and
had long golden curls and a black velvet dress, and thus dirt did not
show. It was most amusing to see this child, not more than six, take
possession of the only washing bowl, get water, and proceed in the most
business-like fashion to wash out three pocket handkerchiefs (one of
which had lace round the edge), they were then placed on the rack over
the fire to dry.
A man and woman were very busy making paper mats in a very quiet and
steady fashion; they also began again next morning, and had a small tin
box in which they kept their stock in trade. It was really curious to
see such fancy articles made in such a place, and kept clean. For the
dirt must not be left out of my description. The boarded floor was
sanded over, the walls were clean, as far as could be seen, but under
the tables and forms, and in every corner, there was a miscellaneous
collection of sweepings of all sorts. Remains of food, dirty papers,
filthy sand, dust and dirt, remained there unswept, and was still there
when we came away. No attempt had been made to clear them, and what
cleaning of pots and pans was done was expected of the lodgers, probably
the room received a clearing up once a week, possibly a sweeping later
in the day.
It is impossible for human beings to be or keep clean under such
circumstances, and clean they were not. Yet I think most of them were as
clean as they could be under these conditions, and, as will be seen
later, there were degrees of uncleanliness to which they were very
sensitive.
There were several working men who got into conversation about the
doings of the Manchester corporation:
"Taking on two or three hundred at stone-breaking out of thousands!"
"Breaking granite! It's not much as them as aren't accustomed to it will
make of that!"
"A man can't claim the Union unless he's resided two years."
"But I will say this, there's nowhere worse than Manchester for men
knocking about as doesn't belong to it."
Two of the men settled down into earnest conversation about the state of
employment, but, owing to the incessant knocking of the cobbler, I could
not catch what they said, even when I moved nearer. A pleasing interlude
from serious talk was afforded by the following humorous conversation (I
omit the various unsavory adjectives with which it was interlarded, as I
cannot do justice to them, and they were probably meaningless):
Enter the mother and baby.
"What's his name?"
"Oh! don't you know? he's Billy Bailey!"
"Bill Bailey? eh! There was a man as had a bicycle accident, fell off
and lay in the road. A chap came along. 'What's the matter?' 'Broken a
rib,' says he; 'can't move.' 'What's your name?' says the man. 'Bill
Bailey,' says he. 'Bill Bailey!' says the man, and goes off and leaves
him. He lies there half an hour, then another chap comes along. 'What's
up?' says he. 'Run and get me a doctor, for God's sake,' says the man.
'My name is Bill Bailey,' says he. So the chap runs off and tells the
nearest doctor that there's a man down the road wants him. 'What's his
name?' says the doctor. 'He says he's called Bill Bailey.' 'Bill
Bailey!' says the doctor. 'Get along with you!' says he. So he wouldn't
go. At last the man got a doctor to go who didn't ask the chap's name;
but the poor fellow lay there two hours with a broken rib, all because
his name was Bill Bailey."
"There were a chap that went into a beer-house," struck in another man;
"there was some glasses of beer called for, and a chap ordered one and
went in the yard; when he came back his glass were drunk. 'Who's done
this?' he says. 'Bill Bailey,' says someone. 'Where is he?' says he.
'Just gone out,' says the man. 'I'll be even with him,' says he; with
that he goes back in the yard, and, as luck would have it, there were a
chap there called Bill Bailey. 'Where's Bill Bailey?' he sings out,
''cause he's wanted.' 'What for?' says Bill Bailey. 'I'll give you what
for,' says the man; and with that he pitches into him, and gives him a
right-down good thrashing. And all the while the chap doesn't know what
it's all about!"
After these humorous incidents had raised a good laugh, the conversation
became general and hard to follow.
A woman, who was afterwards one of my room-mates, seemed to consider it
her duty to supply liquor to the company; she apparently had money given
her by the men, and went and fetched beer in a quart bottle. I counted
at least six times. But the liquor did not appear to take effect on such
"old stagers," except, perhaps, to loosen the tongues still more.
One man, who sent most frequently, had a nose that betrayed his
proclivities, and to him this woman paid considerable attention. By this
time the evening was growing late. Already there had been two loud
thumps at the door, accompanied by the shout, "Bed!"
Apparently this summons came at the hours, and then those who wished to
go cleared off. One or two went as early as eight o'clock, a few more at
nine--mostly, as it seemed, working men with their wives--politely
wishing us all "good night."
We went out to a little corner shop and got something to eat and a
pennyworth of tea and sugar, and made some tea.
None of the children had as yet gone to bed, but towards ten the mothers
undressed them, of course in public. One child had its face washed in
the soapy water that had been used for the handkerchiefs; this was all
the toilet we saw.
When we came away about nine in the morning, three of them were still
running about, unwashed and undressed, in the scanty garb of one
garment, shift or skirt. These little things, each pretty if only clean,
tried each in their own way to find amusement. One got three sticks and
tried to hammer them together as the cobbler was doing to the shoe! One
in the morning tied himself to a post with an old scarf, and went round
and round. It was almost pathetic to see the childish love of play
developing amidst such untoward surroundings. The baby was fed and
became sleepy. At last ten o'clock came and another summons. As only
about six were staying up, we decided to go ourselves.
We went through the sitting-room of the landlord, which was empty, and
stumbling up a narrow stair, found a young woman who was arranging the
lodgers and allotting beds.
We were shown into a small room, which we afterwards heard was the only
one for single women. It had two large double beds and a single bed. We
were given a very small candle-end, which was put to flare down on the
mantelpiece.
By the dim light the sheets looked fairly clean. Two women came to bed
at the same time, and one of them, a single woman apparently, explained
that she did not know who would be her bed-fellow; she hoped it would be
some one decent and clean; she had "a terror of a woman" the night
before--so bad, in fact, that "Jim" (who apparently was the
lodging-house keeper) had to turn her out; she didn't mind if it was a
decent body. Fortunately for our night's repose, she did not till
morning make to us any revelations concerning our bed. She said she had
been there six weeks.
She was not very communicative about herself. "Times were bad; she had
never seen them worse, but there were some good folks in the town." We
gathered that her "trade" was begging.
The candle-end went out before we were fairly in bed. It was not
possible to investigate, but we soon knew that the bed was not
untenanted! It is long drawn-out torment to lie in the dark and know
that you are being investigated by an uncertain number of "insect
pests"! The only comfort was that daylight would come some time, and
that the worse it proved to be, the more such a state of things needed
to be exposed. Is it not a shame that with all our boasted
"civilisation," a poor respectable woman cannot be sure of getting a
clean bed though she pays at the rate of two-and-fourpence a week?
We got what sleep we could. At eleven another woman came to bed: she
said she had been sitting downstairs, but would have come to bed if she
had known there was anyone in her room to talk to! We did not
particularly welcome her conversation at that hour. Next day I heard two
of the other women call her a "cheeky thing," who wanted to know "every
one's business," and then went and told the "missus." Various sounds of
"revelry by night" came up the stair, and "Move off" from a policeman
outside.
At last, towards half-past eleven or twelve, silence reigned. The long
night passed slowly. Both of us were "plagued" and restless. We feared
the worst, but hoped the best.
Morning dawned, and welcome daylight. No one called us, and we found our
room door was locked outside. It seems, however, that you might be
called "by request." At eight no one had stirred. One of our
fellow-lodgers said it was "all right if you were down by nine, and on
Sunday you could lie till further orders."[128]
This did not seem to us much of a boon, as we longed to escape from
torture, so about eight we began to dress, or rather to "slaughter"! I
am not enough of an entomologist to be able to name the animals we
found, as I had never before made the acquaintance of their species. Big
and little, all sorts and sizes! It took us fully half-an-hour to get
moderately free. While on this unpleasant subject, I must state
deliberately that I do not believe that a woman who slept in that bed
could possibly get free again under lodging-house conditions. Her
cleanliness would be effectually destroyed by that one night.
Without the advantages of a bath, carbolic soap, and privacy, such as is
unobtainable in a lodging-house, she _could not get free_.[129]
The woman in the next bed said it was a shame, she remarked to another
woman on what we had suffered. Evidently she appreciated cleanliness of
that sort. She told us that a very dirty woman with a bad leg had slept
for six weeks in our bed.
"Lizzie was not a bad sort," she said, "but she wouldn't keep herself
clean." She gave her a garment out of pity, as she had "nothing to
change into." She got her living by begging, and got lots of things
given her, but pawned them for drink. At last the lodging-house keeper
sent her away, for "she was not fit to stop."
Nevertheless, knowing the state this woman was in, the lodging-house
keeper put us into the bed, perfunctorily changing the sheets. The woman
said she was "terrified" to put her things on the bed, or to step on the
floor, and as "Lizzie" would sit on her bed, she "found things." She was
not very clean, but evidently her standard was miles above "Lizzie's."
But surely in view of the possibility, nay, the probability, of this
kind of lodger, there ought to be care exercised. The commonest
precautions were not in evidence. The floor was bare board, very dirty,
and under the beds was dirty oilcloth very dirty and frayed at the edge,
itself sufficient to harbour any amount of vermin. The bed was flock,
without a removable cover, and not clean. Surely, if the house was
managed in the interests of the lodgers and not solely in the interest
of the proprietor, it would seem right to do something to prevent such
a state of things. It is the folly of "laisser faire" that has allowed
the supply of a public need to be so entirely in private hands, that,
even in apparently well-managed lodging-houses, private profit
over-rides public convenience.[130] We "pay the piper" in small-pox
hospitals, workhouses and hospitals, for where the commonest matters of
cleanliness are neglected how can infection be avoided?
It seems the height of folly on the one hand to erect costly sanitary
apparatus,[131] and on the other by insufficient inspection, and by want
of enforcement of right conditions (even in "certified" houses) to
actually connive at sanitary conditions below that of the class which
most needs raising higher.
When one first enters a common lodging-house, one charitably hopes, in
the uncertain light, that it may be a particularly good specimen of its
class. Evening covers defects, but an experience of such a night
reveals, as nothing else can, the essentially uncleanly nature of the
arrangements. If men and women herd together in small space, with no
opportunity for proper ablution, with no privacy, with all the culinary
operations done in the one living room, and if, as a guarantee for care
you have only the selfish interest of a proprietor who stands in small
fear of the infrequent "inspection," how can things requisite for public
welfare be attended to. Practically the house is no cleaner than the
dirtiest person in it, and is a most ingeniously contrived hot-bed of
infection.[132]
After such a night, to descend to the unswept "living-room," to see the
débris of yesterday, possibly of days, lying in unsavoury dusty heaps
under the tables, to watch your fellow-lodgers proceed, without washing,
to cook bacon in greasy pans, half washed at the only sink, to see the
clothes, worn perhaps day and night, in various stages of uncleanliness,
and above all to see little children growing up untutored, save in the
reverse of what we recognise as right, is to feel heart-broken for the
"evils to come" that must spring from such neglect of the "stranger
within our gates."
Hospitality, which has perished as a personal virtue to a large degree,
must now devolve on the community. It is not to its interest that it
should be neglected. Especially would I point out with all the strength
I possess, the folly of indiscriminate herding together of the sexes,
without the commonest precautions for decency and sanitation. If it does
not pay to have in every town a lodging-house for single women, under
sufficient control to secure decency, such a lodging-house should be
provided. To this the married women with children might with advantage
be admitted, for if a father cannot provide a decent home for his wife
and children, he ought not to drag them down with him, but to be glad if
they are a little better provided for. If women were accommodated apart
from men, proper sanitary provision for each sex would be easier to
arrange. It would be no hardship to insist on separating the sexes, for
a man can always, with a little extra exertion, obtain a furnished
apartment for himself and family, and though these also need careful
sanitary inspection and are open to many evils, they do, at any rate,
preserve a vestige of family life, and there is not that indiscriminate
herding together of the sexes, which is a cover for all sorts of
immorality, as well as a danger to sanitation.[133] I believe, from
personal investigation, extended to towns in different parts of England,
that it is exceptional to find a town that has any adequate provision
for lodging single women apart from men--except as a matter of charity
in more or less restricting institutions. Yet the preponderance of
single women, necessitated by the excess of one sex over the other,
implies, without widowhood and desertion, a floating population of women
who fall an easy prey to wrong conditions. If a woman is not the
carefully-guarded inmate of a sheltering home, on whom devolves the duty
of caring for her? Surely on the manhood of the nation. The community
that fails to shield its women to the utmost of its power will either be
roused to its duty by the trumpet call of flagrant wrong, or will perish
by decay of manhood and of the family.
There are not wanting signs that such decay is upon us. If side by side
with large aggregations of men, living under insanitary and unnatural
conditions, we allow the mixed common lodging-house--unclean in every
sense of the word, what can we expect?
I do not mean to imply that it is impossible to live, even as a single
woman, a moral life in a common lodging-house, or that many of the
proprietors do not do their best to secure morality. But if, in any
stratum of society, men and women herded together under such conditions,
it would be only exceptional characters that could stand the strain.
Young men and women can, and do, go and live together in common
lodging-houses. You may go in on Sunday afternoons and find crowds of
young people, not all inmates, but all imbibing the fatal atmosphere of
unrestrained vile talk. In some of these lodging-houses older women live
who make a practice of tempting in younger girls, who thus are lost. It
would be much more easy to control many public evils if lodging-houses
were provided, decent and sanitary, and the sexes kept distinct.[134] We
exercise control over the inn, but the lodging-house, which is the
hostel of the travelling working-man, is not even sanitary in many
cases.
We did not feel able to eat breakfast under such conditions. I waited
for my friend in the living-room, and an amusing incident occurred. One
of my room-mates came down in a skirt--forgetting her top skirt. But she
had not forgotten another adornment, namely, a huge pocket suspended
round her waist behind, which proclaimed her as a "moucher"! She
exclaimed:--
"Look what I've been and done! I've been over to the shop like this!
Good job a 'bobby' didn't see me!"
There was room enough in this capacious pocket to "pinch" any number of
articles, but we will write her down "beggar" not "thief"!
We left the children, undressed and unwashed, but some of them
breakfasting, at nine o'clock, and found our way to a cheap restaurant
where we got a good plain breakfast for fourpence each.
Then we returned home to sundry necessary ablutions, as prelude to a
civilised existence. Alas! for those who cannot escape, but must needs
drift. Whither?
It must be remembered that to a woman, for respectable existence,
cleanliness is an absolute necessity. An unemployed man may obtain work
at various occupations to which dirt is no hindrance. In fact, to some
occupations, respectability would be a bar. But a woman must "look
tidy," or no one will employ her. Therefore conditions destructive to
cleanliness are for her equivalent to forcing her down lower and lower
into beggary and vice. Once at a certain stage she cannot rise, "no one
would have me in their house," say, rightly enough, poor miserable
creatures "with scarcely a rag to their back." Those in this
lodging-house were not so badly off, but why? Because they had learned
to prey on society that rejected them. Each single woman was probably
supported by that foolish "charity" that acts as a salve to the
conscience of those who pity but do not bless the poor.
II. IN A NORTHERN CITY.
When shall we apply common sense to the daily matters of town life? Not
till we recognise that a community is a unit, composed of many parts,
but when one suffers, all suffer.
Having occasion to visit a northern city to address important gatherings
on social questions, I determined to devote one evening, previous to
speaking, to social investigation. I desired to find a woman, if
possible a lady, living in the district, willing to dress up and go with
me. As, however, my friends failed to find me one, I had to be content
to go alone, shadowed by a policeman in plain clothes. My object was to
find out where I should have to sleep if I arrived at night as a
stranger able to pay 6_d_. for my bed. The city is a very old one, and,
as usual, in the ancient parts houses are huddled together. I visited
some of the worst streets, and have never anywhere before seen such
closely packed humanity. Streets of houses back to back were huddled
under the shelter of a large flour mill working day and night, and
filling the air with dust. Some houses could never have daylight. Most
of the workers in the mills and factories came, I was told, from these
narrow streets, and some of the firms were very rich. It seemed to me
likely to be a hot-bed of consumption, to say nothing of vice and crime.
At the hour at which I went, between nine and ten, most of the houses
were closely shuttered, and few people were in the streets, except a few
lads and lasses who were courting at street corners. The friendly
"bobby" told me, however, of turbulent times and sudden brawls, making
this the worst quarter of the city. After public-house closing was
probably a lively time. He informed me that there were in the city but
two lodging-houses where women were taken at all. Both were common
lodging-houses, and very low places. It required a guide to find them.
One was in a court up an entry out of a narrow main street. I had to go
alone, for it would have roused suspicion had my guide accompanied me.
After knocking at one or two wrong doors I found it at last. The door
opened into a large kitchen packed full of men and women. I enquired
timidly if a bed was to be had. "No, we are quite full," shouted some
one. "Come in, you can have half my bed," shouted a man. This raised a
laugh. The company gazed curiously at me. I asked if there was anywhere
else where a woman could get a lodging, declining the proffered honour.
I was told a name previously heard from the policeman, and thanking the
informant turned away gladly. "You'd better share along of me," sang out
the man, and rather hurriedly I beat a retreat to my friendly "shadow."
The other house was still harder to find. I could not have retraced my
way through the maze of lanes and entries. My companion said he would
walk down the street in front of me to indicate the door, and then would
return and wait. A narrow dirty lane with houses on one side only, had
in it some of the smallest cottages I have ever seen. One of these had a
few sweets and eatables in the window, and was indicated as the place
where "the landlady" lived. Knocking, I was told to come in, and in the
minute room, shop and living room, lying on a wooden couch was a very
dirty woman with a still dirtier child. She was "the landlady"! She
looked at me and said she would take me in. I was to go two doors lower
down the street. I found I had to pay her 6_d_. for a bed. There was
only accommodation for five single women.
Going down the street to the house indicated, I found myself in a
moderate-sized kitchen such as you find in a house of the olden times,
low but fairly large. A sink was partitioned off in the corner. A man
was cutting up wood, and one or two women and children were there. They
were talking about a man who had gone away deserting his wife and
children. One asked if I had not my man with me. I said "No." They had
seen my "bobby" friend pass. They said a man had passed. I said "I
thought he was a bobby." They said, "Right you are," and appeared to
accept me. I got a tea-pot and made myself some tea, and cut (with a
borrowed knife) some bread and butter. Thus making myself at home I
could observe the place and company. It was fairly clean for such
places; the company, both in appearance and language was low, and I was
glad I was not going to stay the night. It would probably have proved
much the same as the lodging-house in which I spent the second night
when on five days' tramp.[135] Having used my eyes well, after about
half an hour, I said I was going out, and left not to return, joining my
policeman friend. He told me this was the only other accommodation in
all that large city for women. He added that there was, however, a
charitable home or shelter, and if they found friendless women on the
streets at night they usually sent them there.
It was the same old story, absence of decent sanitary self-respecting
accommodation for women. No "charity" can replace this. Rescue homes
pick up those who _have fallen_.
The policeman told me much about the general condition of the city. He
said a municipal lodging-house was much wanted; that there was no
accommodation for travellers save common lodgings, often dreadfully
crowded and unsanitary. "I will let you have a look round one," he said.
"I will introduce you, and you must have a good look to see if your
'man' is there!"
Accordingly he took me into an ordinary dwelling house at the corner of
a street. A boarded-off sanded passage led to a small room hardly as
large as in an ordinary dwelling house. The wooden seating round the
walls was filled with men, most smoking. They stood up and stared at me
and I at them. "You can't see your man," said the bobby. "No, he isn't
here," I replied. So I followed him elsewhere. He told me all the
lodging-houses were of this character, and insufficient in number. A
good lodging-house would be a boon, for in the holes and corners and
narrow lanes where those common lodging-houses are found, police
discipline is very difficult. By this time it was about 9.30 P.M., and
I returned to my friends for ablution and a change of raiment, able to
give point from personal experience to my remarks on the following day.
FOOTNOTES:
[123] See p. 49; also Appendix VIII.
[124] See p. 195.
[125] It is not sufficient to provide a refuge, there should be
accommodation not charitable, not for _rescue_ but for _prevention_, as
working women require to be free to come and go.
[126] Contrast, p. 257.
[127] See pp. 92, 104.
[128] See p. 200.
[129] A woman has, during the day, no access to a private room, where
search is possible, and the washing places are in the common kitchen
usually, or at any rate not private. Few lodging-houses have stoving
apparatus, it is too costly.
[130] See Appendix VIII.
[131] The contrast between the sanitary precautions of the tramp ward,
and the absence of common sanitation in the common lodging-house is
startling.
[132] See pp. 36, 47.
[133] These rooms, as they exist at present, are a grave social danger.
They also should be inspected and under municipal control See as to
Berlin arrangements, p. 21. These rooms are largely used for
prostitution. All places used as temporary dwelling places need most
careful and rigid supervision. Coroner's inquests often reveal sad
dangers to child-life, in such "holes and corners" as are now let at
exorbitant rents. A man can let _each room_ at a price that may cover
the house rent. 8_d_. per night is a usual charge in the north. Light
and fire to be found. See Appendix VIII.
[134] See Appendix VII., VIII.
[135] See p. 97.