A SYMPOSIUM IN A COMMON LODGING-HOUSE.
I.
My friend and I have the rights of friendship in a lodging-house which
we frequently visit. The inmates of lodging-houses are often very dull
on Sundays. They cannot walk the streets, full of well-dressed people.
No one can have any idea who has not tried, how they welcome a friendly
visit, appreciate the gift of some magazines, and how often one or
another is in want of food, or even a few pence short of a bed. Few beg
on Sunday except from sheer necessity. This particular lodging-house
therefore, we tried to visit every Sunday, to sing for or with them, and
talk--not preach--to them. It was the "married and single quarters,"
which consisted of two long low rooms in an old building in very bad
repair. I do not know whether it has anything to do with our frequent
visits, but the place is a great deal cleaner and tidier than when first
we went. It has been painted and whitewashed, and the floor seems to be
kept cleaner. But this leaves much to be desired! The women's
sitting-room upstairs (which always contains as many men as women) is a
room with a coke fire, the fumes from which are often almost
overpowering. A bench round the room, and tables covered with metal for
protection constitute the only furniture. The claim to be a
"sitting-room" consists in the fact that no cooking is done there, but
plenty of eating. There is but one gas-jet, and you can hardly see in
the farthest corners. A stair out of the room leads upstairs, where, I
am assured there are "good clean beds," a room for single women, and
cubicles for married folk, who pay 6_d_., and 1_d_. for each child who
sleeps with them, the unmarried paying 4_d_.
Poor as it is, this room contains "the aristocracy," for though both
rooms appear to be free to all, you find above the regular residents who
are residing some time, though some of these even have a preference for
the democracy. Yet one can hardly understand why, for the room below
must be uncomfortable in the extreme. It is, to begin with, a half
cellar room approached by a stair, but leading out into the yard which
contains the sanitary arrangements. The roof is in such bad repair that
the laths of the ceiling are giving way, and water often drips from an
imperfect pipe. The position of the doors ensures a through draught when
they are opened, which is constantly happening. A dark entry with no
door gives access to a room containing the lavatory accommodation--a set
of wash-basins, above each of which is inscribed the motto, "Be just."
This room, which is quite open to everyone, is the sole lavatory
accommodation for both men and women. In the centre of the room is a
huge stove, the heat from which is terrific, and makes this part of the
room near the solitary gas-jet almost unbearable. Yet these two rooms
accommodate about sixty inmates, and I am assured that the cooking
arrangements are so deficient that they cannot get their food except in
turns, and dinner is often delayed till very late in the afternoon for
this reason. The place is, however, always full, for it is the cheapest
place in town, and the beds, I am told, are far better than many others
where the sitting room and lavatory accommodation is superior. There are
clean sheets once a week! A woman can keep herself respectable, as the
deputy and his wife endeavour to exclude prostitutes.
In these rooms are gathered every Sunday a motley assembly of men,
women, and usually a few children. The inmates change, but there are
always enough of the old to carry on the tradition of friendship, and
some few are permanent. There is a living to be had in a lodging-house
for a woman who can repair clothes, or earn a little by cleaning the
rooms, or do a little washing.
To this lodging-house I took one Sunday night a letter "On Tramps, by a
Tramp," which appeared in _The Daily News_, and reads as follows:--
"SIR,--I am a tramp, a man without a habitat. No outcry uprose in
winter while the East End sheltered the tramp. When he trudges
west after waste food and a grassy couch, the press rises up in
arms. Each one of these 'bundles of rags' on the grass has a
history, some an interesting one. I have been despoiled of the
fruitage of my labours; have acted the role of errand lad, shop
assistant, clerk, traveller, market-man, barber, canvasser,
entertainer, mummer, song-writer, and playwright. I have dwelt
within workhouse, asylum, and prison-walls; have scrubbed the
filthy, tonsured the imbecile, tended the aged, soothed the dying.
A pedlar of toys, many a time I have enjoyed a night on a turfy
bed, the stars my coverlet, the hedge fruit my morning meal, my
bath the shallow stream. Nature suns the nomad as well as the
traveller. Derelicts, wastrels, paupers, pests, vagrants, bundles
of rags! dub us what men will, we are human. There are tramps and
loafing tramps; ill-clad and well-tailored loafers. Make all work,
west and east. Loafing is infectious.
"Rowton House.
"O. QUIZ."
We visited downstairs first, and, sitting on the table, as the cleanest
place, giving a view of the company, I read it in a tone of voice
calculated to reach the further corners of the room. It elicited great
admiration. "That chap knows what he's writing about"; "He's put it well
together." I joined in the praise, and told them I had come to get their
opinion on tramp wards. I wanted them to help me for a speech I was
going to give on vagrancy, and I had in my mind a good many things to
say, and wanted to know if they were all right. One man burst out about
detention. He wanted to know what chaps were to do if they were kept in
till eleven if they went for a night's shelter. He said a man couldn't
get work, and all he could do was to walk ten or fifteen miles to
another workhouse, and then he was no better off. I mentioned a
neighbouring workhouse where they were detained two nights, and let out
at an early hour. But they appeared to dislike two nights' detention
upon such poor diet, and said they had "no right" to keep a man more
than one night. One said that by favour he had got out at 5.30, and that
was much better; it gave a man a chance.
I next proposed discussion on the diet. One and all waxed eloquent on
this topic. They declared it was "starvation," bread and water, scalded
meal in some workhouses. "It wouldn't hurt them to give us a drink of
tea." Most of the gruel went to the pigs and there wasn't bread enough
to keep a man from being hungry. Prison fare was better. "What about the
tasks set?" I said. "Three sleepers to saw," said one man; "15 cwt. of
stone to break," said another. "It isn't good enough." One man reckoned
you could _earn_ 3_s_. 6_d_. for sawing that amount of wood (two saw
together). "How much do you reckon the bed and food is worth?" I said.
"Bed!" broke out one, "you gets two blankets and bare boards; sometimes
three in a cell. Twopence is all it's worth, and 3_d_. the food." "Then
you think they make something out of you?" "Yes," replied another, "you
could get 2_s_. 6_d_. in the roads for less stone-breaking. A chap goes
in tired and hungry, because he's nowhere to go, and they set him hard
work, and he comes out worse." "What about the bath?" "The bath's all
right, but they stove your clothes, and they come out all soft and
creased." "Then they can tell you've been in the workhouse?" I said.
"Yes, or in jail." "And that doesn't help a man to get work." "I should
think not!" was the response. One man waxed eloquent with indignation.
"I was passing a workhouse when the chaps was coming out," he said. "I
hadn't been in myself, but I seed one or two I knew and they had on good
clothes the day before, they were all crumpled" (here he took hold of
his trouser leg and creased it up), "and burnt in places. One man showed
me his shoes; they had even put _them_ in the oven, and the toes was
turned up with the heat; he couldn't get them on his feet and had to
walk barefoot." There was a chorus of indignation. The verdict was that
tramp wards were to be avoided. The open was better, but a "cold shop"
any night of the year, but a man could go on his way any time he
liked.[146]
I then explained to them the German system of Relief Stations and
Workmen's Homes. They were much interested and thought it excellent.
They gave appreciative particulars of experiments in this direction in
Manchester, and of an "ex-convict" who "knowed what a chap's feelings
were," who had during the last winter opened a large room every night
and let in as many men as it would hold, and let them stay till morning.
I had not heard of this before. They said hundreds were turned away from
the Church Army Shelter, where they could chop wood for bed and board.
I then introduced the subject of Colonies to set a man on his feet.
Opinion seemed in favour, but not enthusiastic. Thanking them for their
frankness, we left them after singing "Abide with me," the tramp's
favourite hymn, and went upstairs.
II.
We spent an hour over a lively discussion which would have done credit
to any debating society. I read the letter as before, and it was
received with admiration. "That chap's a champion writer." They told me
about one part of London that was "sleeping-out" quarters; one park went
by the significant name of "The Lousy Park." I wondered if its
frequenters by day knew this. I asked them why a man preferred to sleep
out to going to the tramp ward. A man got up and stood in the middle of
the room and waxed indignant. Food and detention, as below, came in for
scorn. "The Local Government Board will give you 2_s_. 6_d_. for
breaking 10 cwt. of stone, and _they_ gives you 15 cwt. and prison if
you don't do your task." "A man comes in who has walked fifteen miles,
and they give him bare boards to sleep on," broke in another. "How is a
fellow to get work when he's let out at eleven, I should like to know;
he can only tramp to another workhouse." "There was a councillor once,"
broke in another, "he met a chap in the road, and he says, 'Young man,
change clothes with me. I've got plenty of good clothes at home,' then
he changes clothes and goes in the tramp ward; he's quite upset by what
he sees, and when he's coming out he says, 'You can have my share, I'm
going to have a good breakfast.'" "Yes," said another, "that was
Councillor S---- of S----, and he did _give_ it to the guardians." "What
about prison fare?" I said. "Prison is better; you get good soup, better
food all round."[147] "And what about the work?" I said. "They don't
make you work harder than you're able. Hard work may be oakum picking."
"The worst of prison is the being kept in," broke in another. "You can
do with a week, but a fortnight is too much of it." Then it suddenly
seemed to occur to them that they had been "giving themselves away."
"We're a nice lot," he said, "prison and workhouse, but I've been in
prison more than once; I'm not ashamed to own it." Wishing to "save
their face," as the Chinese say, I suggested that it was not hard for a
man who was down to get into prison. "That's true for you," he replied.
"I got a month once for sleeping out.[148] I was going to N----, where
they keep a week at May day" [He is a cripple who gets his living by
singing] "and I went the night before. The workhouse was full and the
lodging-houses were full, so we had to sleep out. We goes to a heath
that was common ground, but there was a bit of private ground near it,
and we gets among the bushes. A bobby comes round. 'You might let us
stop,' I says; 'we can't get in.' 'Keep where you are and don't let any
other police see you,' he says. In about five minutes he comes back;
'Come along of me,' he says, and locks us up. I gets a month for that,
'trespassing and sleeping out.'" I remarked that in court the prisoner's
side was often not properly heard. "Yes," he said, waxing indignant.
"When they says, 'Any questions to ask the officer?' I says, 'Didn't you
tell me to stay where I was and not let the officers see me?' 'No, I did
not,' he says. 'Very well,' I said, but I knowed what he had been
after--he had been down to the police-station and told on us, and the
superintendent had told him to lock us up." We all agreed it was a mean
trick. "They'll kiss the book and swear themselves red in the face,"
said another. "I've seen 'em, they know they're not telling truth, but
it's 'We must believe an officer,' and if you say a word it's 'Wow, wow,
wow'"--and with a significant gesture he showed how the magistrates put
down a man who attempted self-defence, and all the room laughed in
sympathy. "Perhaps you've had a drop of drink," he said, "but you're
walking steady; an officer puts his hand on your shoulder and gives you
a shove, if you say anything he has you, 'Drunk and disorderly!' A
magistrate once saw an officer take a man who was quite quiet, and he
followed him. The man got let off."
I was able to cap their story by a true incident that had come under my
own observation. A quiet little man, devoted to his wife and children,
and decidedly henpecked and without vices, was taking a country walk one
Sunday and saw a knot of men in a quarry. Interested in their
proceedings he got on a hill and watched them. He and they were raided
in by the police; they were gambling and he was charged with "aiding and
abetting." The police swore he was signalling! As a matter of fact when
suddenly arrested he lifted his arms and said, "My God!" This was
interpreted as a "warning." It was only through the good character given
him by his parson that he got off. The room appreciated the story. "What
about relieving officers?" I said, feeling the way was open. A look of
unutterable disgust crept into their faces. A woman came forward and
began to relate how they treated an old man, but she was not allowed to
speak, for everyone had something at the tip of his tongue. "If the
public knew their carryings on and how they blackguards you," one summed
up, "there'd be a stop put to it, it's shameful." Evidently if a
policeman's reputation was bad, that of a poor law officer was worse.
"They've no right to do it," was the general verdict. Prison again came
in for preference. "You've nothing to do but walk up to an officer and
hit him in the ear-hole, and you'll get sent down for free lodgings.
Breaking plate-glass windows is the way they do it in London."[149]
I asked some questions about preference with regard to plank, chain, or
straw beds to change the subject, but all agreed that "they weren't
worth calling _beds_." "You do get a _shelter_," said one, raising his
hand and arching it to imply there was something over your head, "but
_beds_! You get the floor and two blankets, perhaps three in a cell if
they are full.[150] I think they ought to give you that free; it's not
worth 2_d_. The Salvation Army give you what they call a bunk--like a
coffin, and oilcloth to put over you--for 2_d_.! That's charity for you
and religion!"
I propounded the German Relief Station system as below. It was received
with great attention and warm appreciation. "It would be ever so much
better," they all agreed. "The Salvation Army has a metropole at
Leeds," one volunteered. Another referred appreciatively to Central
Hall, Manchester. "You can go in at 3.0 and work and get out in the
morning early." I mentioned earning tickets for food and shelter. "That
would do for us men," he said, "but not for women--they'd give anything
for drink." A chorus of protest and laughter greeted him. "You're very
hard on the ladies," I said. "You're wife won't thank you for a
character." "But it's true," he said. It was a warm subject, so I
changed it by asking about accommodation for women. I learnt in reply
some startling facts. It was stated that in some towns, notably Leeds,
women could not get sleeping accommodation. Lodging-houses had been
pulled down where women used to be taken, and they actually could not
get shelter. "It's harder on them than us; we can protect ourselves, but
a woman gets run in." Evidently here is a great social lack. Women's
lodging-houses--and what can be more needful for the morals of the
community? I asked about accommodation in this town. "They take women
everywhere," was the reply. "Not everywhere," said another; "there are
not so many that take women as there used to be." All agreed that
accommodation was short for women in many towns, and might be for men,
but of that they were not sure, only they knew numbers were taken up for
sleeping out. "Four men were taken up for sleeping in a hole near a
coal-pit the other day," they said. I suggested prices of beds might go
up, but this did not seem to have happened. 4_d_. a bed was the
standard, but 6_d_. for a married couple was not always accepted, and
children were charged for. "I have two children in an Industrial Home,"
said one.
I mentioned the Labour Colony, but though I sang its praises, it did not
seem to be very acceptable, though tolerable if a step to better things.
Regular tramps known by the name of "hedge sparrows" could always get a
living. Either "he" or "she" hawked or "did some'at" and got a living
for both. _They_ never went into the workhouse, they "knew better." It
was "us poor folks that was hard up had to go in."[151]
"How about the regular workhouse diet," I said. "No one gets fat on it."
"See them come out, they can hardly crawl." "The pigs get most of the
porridge." "Porridge and skim till we're sick of it." "They're very hard
on us young men." "'Marjery Jane'--that's what we calls it--and bread."
"Bread and cheese for your Sunday dinner." A chorus of disapprobation!
Evidently to be an inmate was not inviting. One told a legendary story
of a guardian who stood by when a man complained of his porridge and
argued with another guardian who wished to change his food. "What would
become of the pigs?" the guardian was reported to have said as a
clinching argument! The humane guardian was reported to have gone off
the Board in disgust! One woman began to relate that a workhouse existed
where they were allowed rations freely and it didn't cost the guardians
half so much, but she was promptly put down by two others, a man and a
woman. Such a thing was out of the question. _He_ had been in the union
she mentioned and it was no such thing. Finally she had to admit she had
"heard tell of it" but "had not been in herself." I thanked them for
their stories and information. I ventured to inquire into a practice I
knew existed in the workhouse of selling food.
"A man will do anything for baccy," said one; "if you've been used to
it, and are sitting with a roomful of men all smoking you fair crave for
it. I'll tell you what. I went into the workhouse for sickness, and all
I had was 3_d_. I laid it out 1-1/2_d_. on sugar, 1-1/2_d_. on tea, and
I kept selling a bit. I sold my cheese too, eating the dry bread, and
when I came out I had half a sovereign! It was cold and wet the day I
was going out, and knowing I had been ill the officer said, 'What are
you doing, going out such a day; you haven't got nothing to go with.'
'Look here! I've got that!' says I, and shows him the half-sovereign,
but he couldn't take it off me!"
Having myself been offered a halfpenny for a screw of sugar in the Tramp
Ward I could believe him. I thanked them again for their information,
and told them I should try to make a good use of it, and couldn't "give
them away," not knowing any names. We closed our interview by singing
"Light in the darkness, sailor," and I spoke a few words about my
sincere desire that some change in our country's laws should create a
better "life-boat" than the present Tramp Ward.
FOOTNOTES:
[146] See p. 51.
[147] See p. 26.
[148] See p. 31.
[149] See p. 29.
[150] See p. 41.
[151] See p. 19.