Daily life of the streets—The Chimney Sweep—Mrs. Montagu—Instances
of the hard life of a “climbing boy”—The Milkmaid—Supply of milk to
the Metropolis—“Hot loaves”—“Water cresses”—whence they came—Other
cries.
LET US GO to authentic sources, and, in our imaginations, people
the streets as they then were, following the example which Gay has
so worthily given in his “Trivia.” Leaving aside the roysterers,
and nightly bad characters, together with the watchmen, the first
industrial perambulator, would probably be the Sweep. In the
frontispiece to this volume, the “climbing boy,” as he was called, is
faithfully depicted, drinking his early cup of saloop, the utensils
of his trade, his brush, shovel, and scraper, lying by his side; in
his cap is a brass plate containing his master’s name and address.
Poor little fellows! their lives were harsh! With hard taskmasters,
badly constructed chimneys, and flues to sweep, and laborious work,
climbing with back and knees; with a foul atmosphere, and lungs choked
with soot, their young days _must_ have been joyless. Of course we
cannot blame the people then living, because they had not sufficient
mechanical knowledge to abolish the climbing boy’s _raison d’être_.
It is pleasing to register within the decade I write of, one good
and kind friend of these little fellows—a Mrs. Montagu, who died in
March, 1800. She was a lady of good family, and an authoress (founder
of the Blue Stocking Club), who even attempted so high a flight as an
“Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare.” In her practical
benevolence, her heart felt for these little _pariahs_, and she
annually regaled them on May-day, with roast beef and plum pudding.
This conduct was so contrary to the general spirit of the age—which
could see nothing more in a “climbing boy,” than a boy being utilized
for his own good, and for that of the community, that her conduct was
scarcely understood—so much so, that a web of romance had to be woven
around her, in order to account for it. It was rumoured, and credibly
believed, that she had lost a son, and found him again as a “climbing
boy”; and, to mark her sense of gratitude for his restoration, she
feasted all the boys in London on the sweep’s holiday—May-day. Of
course, there is not an atom of foundation for such a story, but
practical philanthropy was then so unusual, that a reason had to be
found for its observance. After her death the following verses were
written:
“And is all pity for the poor sweeps fled
Since Montagu is numbered with the dead?
She who did once the many sorrows weep,
That met the wanderings of the woe-worn sweep!
Who, once a year, bade all his griefs depart,
On May’s sweet morn would doubly cheer his heart!
Washed was his little form, his shirt was clean,
On that _one_ day, his real face was seen.
His shoeless feet, _now_ boasted pumps, and new.
The brush, and shovel, gaily held to view!
The table spread, his every sense was charmed,
And every savoury smell his bosom warmed;
His light heart joyed to see such goodly cheer.
And much he longed to taste the mantling beer:
His hunger o’er—the scene was little heaven—
If riches thus can bless, what blessings might be given
But she is gone! none left to soothe their grief,
Or, once a year, bestow their meed of beef!”
One instance, only, of the hard life of these little ones, will I give,
and then pass on to pleasanter themes.
_Morning Herald_, October 1, 1802: “GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
Wednesday, an interesting examination took place at this office,
relative to a male child, about eight years old, charged to have
been kidnapped by the foreman of Mrs. Bridges, a chimney-sweeper, in
Swallow Street. It was stated by Mrs. Wilson, of No. 5 in the same
street, that, on Saturday last, she was dreadfully alarmed by the cry
of murder, and the screams of the child at Mrs. B.’s, which induced
her to run into the house, where she found the child stripped, and the
prisoner unmercifully beating him with two switches, or small sticks.
She remonstrated with him, and demanded by what authority he so cruelly
treated the child, as it was well known it had been inveigled from
the street, and unlawfully detained by them. The prisoner threatened
to strike the witness, who, nevertheless, persisted in taking away
the child, and did actually take it to the workhouse, informing the
committee there of the particulars, and the prisoner, in consequence,
was indicted.
[Illustration: “WATER CRESSES! COME BUY MY WATER CRESSES!”]
“The child, itself, told a very artless and moving tale of its own
sufferings. The prisoner, it appears, used to strip him naked, and
flog him in the dust cellar, to make him go up the chimney, to which,
it seems, he had an utter aversion. When in the chimney, he was urged
to proceed by the prisoner having a stick, at the top of which was
fastened a pin, with which he goaded the poor infant; at other times he
would make the poor child descend into vaults, and used other cruelties
too shocking for recital. On inquiry at the workhouse, the child
discovered that his father is a smith by trade, a poor man, with six
children, living near Sloane Street. Its parents had used every means
to discover their child, and, at length found him in the workhouse. The
prisoner was committed to Tothill Fields Bridewell; and we suppose that
Mrs. Bridges, as soon as she can safely leave her bed, will also be
brought up to answer this charge.”
In 1803, if not before, there was in existence an “Association for
Improving the Situation of Infant Chimney Sweepers,” of which John
Julius Angerstein, Esq. (whose collection of pictures founded the
National Gallery), was the chairman.
May-day was also sacred to another class of early morning workers—the
Milkmaids. Curiously enough, the carriage and delivery of milk—by no
means a light task, whether looked at from the distance walked, or the
load carried—was entirely in the hands of women, strapping country
wenches, principally recruited from Wales. The cows were kept in hovels
in, and near, London, and a “milkmaid’s” daily life began at from 4 to
6 a.m. when the cows had to be milked; they then delivered the milk at
the various houses until near ten. Then there were the dairy vessels to
wash, and at noon, the cows again to be milked.
[Illustration: “HOT CROSS BUNS! TWO A PENNY BUNS!”]
The delivery of milk again occupied them till nearly 6 p.m., when they
had to wash up all cans, &c., for the morning. In 1808 it was reckoned
that about 8,500 cows were kept in London and its vicinity; one
cowkeeper at Islington owning between 800 and 900 cows. It is sad to
read, however, in 1804, that “Milk is sold at fourpence per quart, or
fivepence for a better sort; yet the advance of price does not insure
its purity, for it is generally mixed in a great proportion with water,
by the retailers before they leave the milk houses. The adulteration
of the milk, added to the wholesale cost, leaves an average profit of
cent. per cent., to the vendors of this useful article. Few retail
trades are exercised with equal gains.”
[Illustration: “DO YOU WANT ANY BRICK-DUST?”]
Following the milkwoman, would come the early Baker calling out “Hot
loaves!” and ringing a bell: he would appear on the scene between 8 and
9 a.m., selling his rolls at one, or two, a penny—in winter he added,
or substituted, muffins and crumpets.
Then, too, for breakfast, would be heard, either from male, or female,
lips, the cry of “Water cresses!” which were sold in small bunches
a penny each, or three for twopence. In those days, they were to be
found growing wild in the ditches near London, and many a weary tramp
of seven or eight miles, before breakfast, of a morning, did the
sellers have, in order to get them fresh. There was generally a supply
at Covent Garden Market—grown for sale; but these were considered
inferior in flavour to the wild ones.
[Illustration: “BUY A TRAP! A RAT TRAP! BUY MY TRAP!”]
From breakfast time, the cries of the miscellaneous dealers in small
wares became general, and hardly any can claim pre-eminence, unless
it be on a Good Friday—when the old pagan crossed cakes were vended,
and evidently as much relished by the young folks as now. “Baking, or
boiling apples” were sold by women, a charcoal stove accompanying their
barrow, so that their customers might have them hot, and luscious.
Then, too, might be seen a man with band-boxes, carried on either end
of a pole, which rested on his shoulder. From 6d. to 3s. was their
price; whilst boxes of slight deal, with a lock and key, might be
purchased from 3s. 6d. to 6s. 6d. These boxes were of home manufacture,
and gave employment to many industrious families.
Brickdust was carried about on donkey back, in small sacks, and
retailed at the price of one penny per quart. A contemporary remarks,
“As brickdust is scarcely used in London for any other purpose than
that of knife cleaning, the criers are not numerous; but they are
remarkable for their fondness, and their training, of bull dogs.
This predilection they have in common with the lamplighters of the
Metropolis.”
The accompanying sketch of a Rat-trap Dealer is graphic and good;
and it shows one glimpse of the past, in the old cobbler (?) at his
_hutch_, or low open door. This, or a cellar, always went as an
accompaniment to this branch of the shoe-making trade.
To future antiquarians, it may be useful to know that, at the
commencement of this century, our domestic animals had their “purveyors
of food;” that cat’s, and dog’s meat, consisting of horse flesh,
bullock’s livers, and tripe cuttings, were distributed by means of men,
or preferably, women, all over London. The horse flesh, and bullock’s
liver, was sold by weight at 2d. per lb.; the tripe, in bundles, at 1d.
each.
“Baskets” were hawked about—not as we know them (rarer and rarer, year
by year) in the gipsy caravans, but slung around the sellers—of good
handy size, and durable make. One article of domestic economy has all
but died out—the Bellows—and _old_ specimens are almost worth their
weight in silver; but the cry of “Bellows to mend!” was then heard
commonly. The mender carried his tools in a bag on his back, and, like
the chair-mender, plied his calling in front of his patron’s house, or
at any convenient street corner.
“Chairs to mend!” might be met with anywhere. Nursery and common
chairs, if not having seats of wood, were of rushes, cane being a
later introduction. These rushes were, and are now, cut in our rivers,
preferably in the early autumn, before they begin to rot, and sold by
a peculiar measure—a _bolt_—which is as much as a man can clasp of
rushes, when dried, within his arms. The repairs were executed before
the house, and the charge for reseating a chair was very moderate—from
1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d.
“Door mats” were hawked about, as they are sometimes now, but Prisons
and Industrial Schools had not then interfered in this trade, so that
a poor man had a chance of getting rid of his handiwork, and the price
for rush, and rope, mats, varied from 6d. to 4s. each.
If we can believe a contemporary account, the Dustmen of those days
were the very pink of propriety. “Dust carts ply the streets through
the morning in every part of the metropolis; two men go with each
cart, ringing a large bell, and calling DUST O! These men, daily, if
necessary, empty the dust bins of all the refuse that is thrown into
them. They receive no gratuity from the inhabitants of the houses, the
owner of the cart pays them, like other labourers, weekly wages; and
the dust is carried to yards in the outskirts of the town, where a
number of women and girls are employed in sifting it, and separating
the cinders and bones from the ashes, and other refuse.” I much fear
that this picture is as _couleur de rose_ as the engraving which
accompanies it, wherein the model dustman, with very clean face, is
attired in a yellow jacket, green waistcoat, crimson knee-breeches,
blue ribbed stockings, and brown gaiters.
The sale of “Turnery” was also a street occupation, and brooms,
brushes, sieves, bowls, clothes horses and lines were thus vended.
Some, the Aristos of their trade, had a cart; but the perambulating
sellers could get a good living, as their wares yielded a good profit.
The Knife-grinder, immortalized by Canning, plied his trade in the
sight of the people, and his charges for grinding, and setting,
scissors, were a penny or twopence each; penknives, a penny a blade;
table knives, 1s. 6d. or 2s. per dozen, according to the polish
supplied.
“Lavender” was a cry redolent of the country, yet grown near London, at
Mitcham. This was generally used in linen-presses, to counteract the
abominably rank smell of the soap of those days. It was a favourite
scent; as Isaac Walton says, “I’ll now lead you to an honest ale
house, where we shall find a cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and
twenty ballads stuck against the wall.”
Among the street cries, was that of “Mackerel”; and the sellers thereof
might even expose them for sale, and cry them, on Sundays—a proud
privilege which no other fish possessed. There never was a glut of them
in the market, because they could only be brought to Billingsgate by
smacks, so that they were never sold at the very cheap rates they now
are, but were, as we should think, extremely dear. At first coming in
they were sold for 1s. 6d. each, and they gradually dropped to 10d.,
8d., 6d. each, or, if there was a great haul, three might be sold for a
shilling.
[Illustration: “BUY MY GOOSE! MY FAT GOOSE!”]
might probably bring to remembrance the quotation “_Caveat emptor_,”
but these two purchasers seem quite able to take care of themselves.
It was but a month, or six weeks since, that I saw a sight I had not
seen for some years—a man selling Rabbits slung on a pole, which he
carried on his shoulder; yet this used to be the usual method of
exposing them for sale, and these small dealers were called _higglers_.
The price of Rabbits, thus sold, at the time of which I write, were
“from ninepence to eighteenpence each, which is cheaper than they can
be bought in the poulterers’ shops.”
[Illustration: “ALL A GROWING, A GROWING! HERE’S FLOWERS FOR YOUR
GARDENS!”]
shows the universal yearning of the dwellers in town, to make as good
a _rus in urbe_ of their surroundings, as possible. The atmosphere of
London was then, undoubtedly purer than now, and flowers might then be
grown in the open air, where, now, it would be an impossibility.
As an “Old Clothes” man the Jew was then paramount, the Irishman not
having, as yet, entered into competition with him. _Rosemary Lane_
(only sweet smelling in its name) was a thoroughfare now called _Royal
Mint Street_ leading from Tower Hill; and here was held a Mart, not
only in shops, but all over the pavement and road, of old clothes,
boots, &c., and it fully merited its name of _Rag Fair_. A market was
built for the buyers and sellers, in which to transact their business;
but old habits proved too strong, they would _not_ use it, and “nothing
less than military force constantly exercised would prevail over the
obstinacy of habit.” The “high” market was from twelve to three.
It was a curious custom then, of course not in good houses, but in
those of poor men, such as might be on the outskirts, and in the
suburbs of the Metropolis, to strew the floor, say of the kitchen, and
sometimes of the parlour, with silver sand. This kept the soles of
dirty boots from actual contact with the newly scrubbed boards—and
saved the housewife much exercise of temper. Sand, too, was plentifully
used in scouring kitchen utensils, and it was sold, the red sand, at
2½d., and the white at 1¼d., per peck.
Fruit, in its season, was cried; and at night, among other employments,
by which to earn an honest penny, there were the playbill sellers,
and the link boys. The former were almost invariably women, who also
sold oranges; and, if a purchaser could be found to go to the extent
of buying six, a “Bill of the play” was given. Awful things were those
playbills—none of your dainty, lace-edged, Rimmel-scented ones—but
long strips of flimsy tissue paper, yet wet from the printers, smearing
the hands with ink from the large capital letters employed. No time had
they to dry them; there was usually a fresh play every night, and the
playbills had to be fresh also.
[Illustration]