WOMAN'S BITTER CRY.
The woes of the East End workwomen form no new theme. They are as old
as the "Song of the Shirt"; even older. In spite of Hood's inspired
poem, which when it appeared rang like a tocsin through the land, the
miseries of the needlewoman's lot have not only remained unalleviated,
but they have gathered in intensity as the years rolled on. How comes
it that in these days of social politics and remedial legislation, the
condition of such a numerous body should have gone from bad to worse?
The answer is not far to seek. They have no votes; the politician
passes them by. They have no money to spend, no time to strike, no
strength to combine, the agitator ignores them. The class for which
I plead, is voiceless, voteless, inarticulate, helpless. These poor
women have never been consulted as to whether they are content to pay
the price needed to continue the so-called "traditions" of England
with regard to the unrestricted entrance of the refuse population of
other countries. They are not likely to be consulted, since they are
powerless; no one angles for their votes, for they have none to give.
The strong man in his strength when confronted by this alien invasion
can battle with it, or when the contest is hopeless, he can retire
before it. The world is open to him, and in other lands beyond the seas
he may find that fair field for his energies which is denied him in the
land of his birth. But the weak woman in her weakness, what of her? She
must perforce remain to feebly fight on single-handed in the unequal
struggle; and when her weakness conquers her, when her strength fails
her, she can only lie down and die. This is a terrible alternative,
is there no other? Yes, there is another, infinitely more terrible,
infinitely more horrible--the streets.
If we apply the four leading features of the "sweating" disease--low
wages, long hours, irregular employment, unsanitary conditions--to
women, we shall find that in each case the absolute pressure is heavier
upon the weaker sex. This is not to be wondered at. Physically weaker
than men, women receive a smaller amount of work, and a lower rate of
wages, especially in unskilled labour. Combination can do nothing for
them; it does not reach them. The mass of women-workers labour either
at home or in the small "sweating dens"; the long hours, the excessive
labour, and the under-feeding, crush out all the spirit and strength of
resistance they possess, and with them combination is impossible.
But it is upon the system of "out-work" that "sweating" thrives, and it
is this "out-work" that women, more especially married women, chiefly
engage. One would think that the very weakness of women, the duties
of maternity, the care of children, ought to secure them some respite
in this industrial struggle, but it is not so. We are always boasting
of our civilization and our Christianity, yet these humanitarian
considerations avail nothing. On the contrary, they only handicap
women the more, and tell fatally against them in the competitive
battle. The commercial competition of to-day in the cheap clothing
trade, intensified as it is by the influx of the foreigner, positively
trades upon the maternity of women-workers. These poor creatures have
no time for the pure tender delights of motherhood; they have no
opportunity of attending properly to their children, or to the many
other little duties which gather around the English word "home." To the
low-class foreign Jew this matters little, for the word "home" to him
has no meaning at all; but to Englishmen and to Englishwomen it offers
a terrible problem. What "hope of our race" can we expect from the
feeble, half-starved, and wholly overworked Englishwoman, who is thus
thrust into the furnace of this fierce foreign competition!
There is another consideration also to be faced, which I have already
hinted at. The unrestricted immigration of destitute aliens tends
directly to increase prostitution in London and our large cities. This
is a startling proposition; let me proceed to demonstrate its truth.
A witness giving evidence before the Sweating Committee, described the
sweater's dens as "the most filthy, poisoning, soul-and-body-killing
places imaginable." Even to stand at the open door of one of such
places, and to breathe the foetid air which rushes forth, is well-nigh
unendurable to persons not hardened to such conditions. Yet it is in
such places as these that Englishwomen are compelled to work side
by side with the foreigner. To the foreigner it seems not to matter
so much; to the Englishwoman, sooner or later, it is certain death.
But I hear some say, "How about the Factory Regulations?" In theory
the Factory Regulations are admirable; in practice they are utterly
inadequate. Their provisions are constantly evaded. Women are kept
working in these dens from 6 a.m. until 8 p.m., 10 p.m., or even
midnight; or the intention of the Act is frustrated by their being
given work to do at home. A case was mentioned before the House of
Lords' Committee of a girl eighteen years of age, who worked from
seven in the morning to half-past eight at night, for wages ranging
from 3_s._ to 8_s._ a week. On Fridays she worked from 6 a.m. to 5
p.m. (eleven hours), that being considered half a day, and paid for
accordingly. All sorts of tricks are played to evade the Factory
Inspector. His first appearance in the street is notified all along
the sweating dens by a preconcerted signal. When he arrives at the
door, he is kept in parley for a minute or two. Meanwhile the women and
girls are smuggled away, and by the time he is admitted there is not a
woman visible. They lend themselves, poor creatures, to this deception,
because they know that if they did not, plenty more could be found who
would. The result is that they are utterly at the sweater's mercy. Even
the time that ought to be allowed for meals is often infringed upon.
A woman who availed herself of a full hour for dinner would be liable
to instant dismissal. Even the half-hour for tea is frequently denied
them; the tea is put down by their side, and they swallow it as they
work.
Such is the case of women working in the sweating dens. Those who
work at home are scarcely better off. They must, through the constant
pressure of this foreign competition, labour from dawn till late at
night to procure the barest subsistence, a subsistence not sufficient
to keep them in health and strength. One wretched garret is all they
can afford. Here they labour, and live, and die--no one heeding. In the
winter they do without fire, and often the workers put on their backs,
for the sake of warmth, the garments they are not actually engaged
upon. Oftentimes it is not the woman alone, but her whole family who
have to share this single room. It is impossible for a woman, working
these excessive hours, to keep the room clean; and the consequence is
that, especially in hot weather, it becomes infested by vermin, which
find their way into the garments in process of making. The takers-in of
the work in the larger houses, it is stated, kill the worst of these
vermin with their shears as they examine their garments!
Few of us would consider that any sum could compensate for such
grinding toil under such awful conditions. Yet what do these poor women
get for their labour? I have already quoted the case of a girl who
earned from 3_s._ to 8_s._ a week for over thirteen hours a day; but
many girls in the East End factories do not earn more than 2_s._ or
3_s._ a week! Working by the piece, a woman is paid 5_d._ for making a
vest; 7-1/2_d._ for making a coat. She can by fifteen hours' work make
four coats in a day, which comes to 2_s._ 6_d._; but out of this has
to be deducted 3_d._ to a button-holer for making the button-holes,
and 4_d._ for "trimmings," which means fire, ironing, and soap, all
necessary for her work. A boy's knickerbocker suit is made at prices
varying from 4-1/2_d._ to 10-1/2_d._ complete, according to the amount
of work. For a suit made at 9_d._ the sweater gets 1_s._ 3_d._,
leaving him a profit of 6_d._ Before destitute immigration set in, in
such a volume, and prices were consequently higher, such a suit would
have been sold at 3_s._ 6_d._, which would have admitted of a larger
profit, and consequently higher price for labour. Other prices are--a
shirt, sold in a shop for 7_s._ 6_d._, is made for 1_s._; and men's
trousers are made outright at as low a price as 4-1/2_d._ per pair.
The price paid by a sweater to a woman for machining trousers, runs
from 1-1/4_d._ to 3-1/4_d._ per pair, and out of this she has to find
cotton and "trimmings." If she does this at home she pays 2_s._ 6_d._
a week for the hire of a sewing-machine. The "finishers," as the women
are called who press the garments, put on the tickets, and generally
make them ready for sale, are paid from 2_d._ to 2-3/4_d._ a pair; but
they lose a good deal of time in getting their work examined, and have
frequently to stand three or four hours at a time. It is an invariable
rule that no seats are provided for women when they take their work to
the sweaters. If the examiner finds the first two or three pairs of
trousers faulty, he will not go through the whole work, but throws them
at the unfortunate woman, and tells her to take them back and alter
them. In this way she loses two days in doing one day's work.
Shirt-makers who make by machine the common kinds of shirts, are
paid 7_d._, 8_d._, and 9_d._ per dozen shirts for machining. They
can machine 1-1/2 dozen sevenpenny shirts in a day, by working till
midnight and later. The shirt-finishers, who make the button-holes
by hand and sew on the buttons, get 3_d._ a dozen shirts, finding
their own cotton, and can finish 1-1/2 dozen to 2 dozen in a day.
Silk mantles, costing in the West End shops from £1 to £25, are made
throughout in the East End for 7-1/2_d._ apiece, out of which the
sweater pays the actual maker 5_d._ The common mantles are made at
5_d._ apiece; price to the worker, 3_d._ to 3-1/2_d._ Bead-trimmings
are made by girls who, working twelve hours, earn from 8_d._ to 1_s._
2_d._ per day. Mackintoshes are made at from 10_d._ to 1_s._ apiece.
Mrs. Killick, a trouser-finisher, told the Sweating Committee that she
could not make more than 1_s._ a day, working from 6 a.m. to 8 p.m.
She had a sick husband and three children, and out of her earnings
she paid 2_s._ a week rent. She chiefly lived on tea and a bit of
fish. What a glimpse of patient heroism and noble self-denial does the
evidence of this poor woman afford!
Five or six years ago these women made nearly double; the competition
chiefly caused by the influx of cheap labour from abroad, has reduced
prices some 40 or 50 per cent. Now, even the miserable wages earned are
irregularly paid. The sweaters frequently keep their workers waiting
for their money, and the more disreputable ones will cheat them out of
their just dues. Work too is precarious; there are slack times during
the year, when the workers may be idle for weeks together; yet they
must still pay rent, and keep body and soul together--if they can. And
this brings me back to the proposition from which I started.
How body and soul are kept together in the case of girls under such
circumstances as have been detailed, it is not difficult though very
painful to imagine. Working from dawn till night in hideous filth and
squalor unutterable, for a wage which does not suffice to buy the
barest necessaries (a wage cut down ever lower and lower by the fierce
competition from the shoals of destitute foreigners landed in London
week by week), hundreds, nay thousands of young women--Englishwomen,
our sisters--eke out their wretched earnings by means of the street.
The Pharisee and the Self-righteous pass by on the other side and
condemn them; but it is not these poor unfortunates who are to be
condemned, but the system which makes such a state of things possible.
The Vicar of Old Ford, in his evidence before the House of Lords'
Committee, mentioned cases he knew of where young girls of thirteen,
who work in this cheap tailoring trade, were leading an immoral life.
In one instance, two sisters, one twelve and the other ten years of
age, had already embarked upon a life of shame. One of these girls had
been sent out by her stepmother, because the family "had to live."
Another instance, if possible more horrible still, was related to me by
a clergyman in the East End of London, of a case which had come under
his notice, though not before it was too late. It was that of a woman,
an Englishwoman, a seamstress, who with her husband was engaged in the
cheap tailoring trade at the usual sweating prices. All went fairly
well for a time, for the two were able by their united efforts to earn
a living, and to maintain themselves and their little children in a
state of comparative decency and comfort. But one winter the husband,
never a strong man, fell ill and died. The wife laboured on, managing
by some almost superhuman effort to earn enough for herself and the
children, and to keep body and soul together. Then the slack time, so
greatly dreaded by all those engaged in the "sweating trade," came on,
and there was nothing to be done for weeks and weeks. In despair this
woman, who had hitherto led a blameless life, took to the streets. "It
was wrong," the moralist and purist will say, "wrong and reprehensible
to the last degree. Is there not the workhouse for such people, is
there not parochial relief, are there not charitable agencies, free
dinners, clothing clubs, district visitors without end? Could she not
have applied to one of these instead of drifting into sin?" It may
be so. All that I know is, that she and her children were starving,
and that the sin brought its own punishment, for the poor woman never
recovered from the horrors of that awful winter. The shame of it all
seemed to settle on her as a blight, and the following year she died,
broken-spirited, and broken-hearted, one more victim sacrificed to
this infamous system of starvation prices and ruinous competition.
Most of the English girls to be seen at night in Oxford Street and
the Strand, to say nothing of their even more degraded sisters in
Whitechapel, are, or have been, tailoresses. How these poor creatures
manage to exist at all, even when they eke out their wretched earnings
by the price paid for their dishonour, it is not easy to see. The key
of the mystery is to be found in their mutual help of one another. Even
amid all their degradation and shame, many of them retain that divine
instinct of self-sacrifice which in all ages has been the noblest
part of womanhood. Dim it may be and undeveloped, but still it is
there, evidenced daily by many little acts of kindness, many little
generous deeds towards those who are more miserable and more suffering
than themselves. "It is mostly the poor who help the poor." I will go
further and say, it is mostly the wretched who help the wretched, for
between them exists that intimate knowledge of each other's sorrows
which is the truest bond of sympathy. Under happier circumstances
these poor women might have lived honest and virtuous lives. As it
is, they have to work side by side with men of all nationalities,
under unhealthy and objectionable conditions--conditions subservient
of all sense of decency. This, combined with the utterly inadequate
wage, naturally leads to immorality, with its attendant satellites of
drunkenness, disease, and death. Thus the burden of wretchedness and
crime goes on, ever increasing in volume and intensity. How can it be
otherwise when the ranks of the lost in our large cities, are thus
being continually recruited from within and from without? Every now
and then the public conscience is startled by the news of some awful
tragedy--some poor creature done to her death in Whitechapel. It is
but a bubble bursting on the surface, which oozes up from the black
depths of vice and misery beneath.
One of the most potent causes of this vice and misery is undoubtedly
the unlimited pouring in of destitute and objectionable foreigners.
Again I ask, Can nothing be done to rescue these women--our
sisters--from the attendant horrors of this fierce and degrading
foreign competition? Can nothing be done to place the price of their
labour upon such a level as to enable them by honest work to lead
virtuous and happy lives?
_Usque quo Domine?_ Lord, how long? Such is the bitter cry of the
workwomen in East London.