and that it is desirable--what are the objects which would come
within its sphere of operation? In an article which had the honour
of appearing in a former number of this magazine,[2] the writer
pointed out that the extension of the allotment system was only
delayed because there was no body or authority which had power to
increase the area under spade cultivation. Throughout the country
there is an undoubted conviction that such extension is extremely
desirable, but who is to take the initiative? There is an increasing
demand for these gardens--a demand that will probably make itself
loudly felt as time goes on and the population grows larger. Even
those villages that possess allotment grounds would be in a better
position if there were some body who held rule over the gardens, and
administered them according to varying circumstances. Some of these
allotments are upon the domain of the landowner, and have been
broken up for the purpose under his directions; but it is not every
gentleman who has either the time or the inclination to superintend
the actual working of the gardens, and they are often left pretty
much to take care of themselves. Other allotment grounds are simply
matters of speculation with the owner, and are let out to the
highest bidder in order to make money, without any species of
control whatever. This is not desirable for many reasons, and such
owners deprecate the extension of the system, because if a larger
area were offered to the labourer, the letting value would diminish,
since there would be less competition for the lots. There can be
very little doubt that the allotment garden will form an integral
part of the social system of the future, and, as such, will require
proper regulation. If it is to be so, it is obviously desirable that
it should be in the hands of a body of local gentlemen with a
perfect knowledge of the position and resource of the numerous small
tenants, and a thorough comprehension of the practical details which
are essential to success in such cultivation. It may be predicted
that the first step which would ensue upon the formation of such a
body would be an extension of allotments. There would be no
difficulty in renting a field or fields for that purpose. The
village council, as we may for convenience term it, would select a
piece of ground possessing an easily-moved soil, avoiding stiff clay
on the one hand, and too light, sandy ground on the other. For this
piece they would give a somewhat higher rent than it would obtain
for agricultural purposes--say L3 per acre--which they would
guarantee to the owner after the manner of a syndicate. They would
cause the hedges to be pared down to the very smallest proportions,
but the mounds to be somewhat raised, so as to avoid harbouring
birds, and at the same time safely exclude cattle, which in a short
time would play havoc with the vegetables. If possible, a road
should run right across the plot, with a gateway on either side, so
that a cart might pass straight through, pick up its load, and go on
and out without turning. Each plot should have a frontage upon this
road, or to branch roads running at right angles to it, so that each
tenant could remove his produce without trespassing upon the plot of
his neighbour. Such trespasses often lead to much ill-will. The
narrow paths dividing these strips should be sufficiently wide to
allow of wheeling a barrow down them, and should on no account be
permitted to be overgrown with grass. Grass-paths are much prettier,
but are simply reservoirs of couch, weeds, and slugs, and therefore
to be avoided. The whole field should be accurately mapped, and each
plot numbered on the map, and a strong plug driven into the plot
with a similar number upon it--a plan which renders identification
easy, and prevents disputes. A book should be kept, with the name of
every tenant entered into it, and indexed, like a ledger, with the
initial letter. Against the name of the tenant should be placed the
area of his holdings, and the numbers of his plots upon the map; and
in this book the date of his tenancy, and any change of holding,
should be registered. There should be a book of printed forms (not
to be torn out) of agreement, with blank spaces for name, date, and
number, which should be signed by the tenant. In a third book all
payments and receipts should be entered. This sounds commercial, and
looks like serious business; but as the rent would be payable
half-yearly only, there would be really very little trouble
required, and the saving of disputes very great. During the season
of cropping, the payment of a small gratuity to the village
policeman would insure the allotment being well watched, and if
pilferers were detected they should invariably be prosecuted. As
many of the tenants would come from long distances, and would not
frequent their plots every evening, there might possibly be a small
lock-up tool-house in which to deposit their tools, the key being
left in charge of some old man living in an adjacent cottage. The
rules of cultivation would depend in some measure upon the nature of
the soil, but such a village council would be composed of practical
men, who would have no difficulty whatever in drawing up concise and
accurate instructions. The council could depute one or more members
to receive the rent-money and to keep the books, and if any labour
were required, there are always bailiffs and trustworthy men who
could be employed to do it. At a small expense the field should be
properly drained before being opened, and even though let at a very
low charge per perch, there would still remain an overplus above the
rent paid by the council for the field, sufficient in a short time
to clear off the debt incurred in draining.
[2] See 'Toilers of the Field,' by Richard Jefferies.--ED.
It is very rarely that allotment gardens are sufficiently manured,
and this is a subject that would come very properly under the
jurisdiction of the allotment committee of our village council. Some
labourers keep a pig or two, but all do not; and many living at a
considerable distance would find, and do find, a difficulty in
conveying any manure they may possess to the spot. So it often
happens that gardens are cropped year after year without any
substances being restored to the soil, which gradually becomes less
productive. Means should be devised of supplying this deficiency.
Manure is valuable to the farmer, but still he could spare a
little--quite sufficient for this purpose. Suppose the allotment
gardens consisted of twelve acres, then let one-fourth, or three
acres, be properly manured every year. This would be no strain upon
the product of manure in the vicinity, and in four years--four
years' system--the whole of the field would receive a proper
amount, in addition to the small quantities the labourer's pig
produced. Every tenant, in his agreement, could be caused to pay, in
addition to his rent, once every four years, a small sum in
part-payment for this manuring, and also for the hauling of the
material to the field. This payment would not represent the actual
value of the manure, but it would maintain the principle of
self-help; and, as far as possible, the allotments should be
self-supporting. In cases of dispute, the committee would simply
have to refer the matter to the council, and the thing would be
definitely settled; but under a regular system of this kind, as it
were mapped down and written out, no obstinate disputes could arise.
In this one matter of allotment-gardens alone there is plenty of
scope for the exertions of a village council, and incalculable good
might be attained. The very order and systematic working of the
thing would have a salutary effect upon the desultory life of the
village.
Next comes the water-supply of the village. This is a matter of
vital importance. There are, of course, villages where water is
abundant, even too abundant, as in low-lying meadow-land by the side
of rivers which are liable to overflow. There are villages traversed
throughout the whole of their length by a brook running parallel
with the road, so that to gain access to each cottage it is
necessary to cross a 'drock,' or small bridge, and in summer-time
such villages are very picturesque. In the colder months, the mist
on the water and damp air are not so pleasant or healthy. Many
villages, situated at the edge of a range of hills--a most favourite
position for villages--are supplied with good springs of the
clearest water rising in those hills. But there are also large
numbers of villages placed high up above the water-level on the same
hills, which are most scantily supplied with water; and there are
also villages far away down in the valley which are liable to run
short in the summer or dry time, when the 'bourne,' or winter
watercourse, fails them. Such places, situated in the midst of rich
meadows, can sometimes barely find water enough for the cattle, who
are not so particular as to quality. Even in places where there is a
good natural spring, or a brook which is rarely dry, the cottagers
experience no little difficulty in conveying it to their homes,
which may be situated a mile away. It is not uncommon in country
places to see the water trickling along in the ditch by the roadside
bayed up with a miniature dam in front of a cottage, and from the
turbid pool thus formed the woman fills her kettle. People who live
in towns, and can turn on the water in any room of their houses
without the slightest exertion, have no idea of the difficulty the
poor experience in the country in procuring good water, despite all
the beautiful rivers and springs and brooks which poetry sings of.
After a man or woman has worked all day in the field, perhaps at a
distance of two miles from home, it is weary and discouraging work
to have to trudge with the pail another weary half-mile or so to the
pool for water. It is harder still, after trudging that weary
half-mile, pail in hand, to find the water almost too low to dip,
muddied by cattle, and diminished in quantity to serve the pressing
needs of the animals living higher up the stream. Now, in starting,
it may be assumed that the nearest source of water in a village is
certain to be found upon the premises of some agriculturist. He
will, doubtless, be perfectly willing to allow free access to his
stream or pool; but he cannot be expected to construct conveniences
for the public use, and he may even feel naturally annoyed if
continual use by thirty people, twice a day, finally breaks his
pump. He naturally believes that other gentlemen in the village
should take an equal interest with himself in the public welfare,
but they do not appear to do so. It may be that the path to the pump
leads through the private garden, right before his sitting-room
window, and the constant passage of women and children for water,
particularly children, who are apt to lounge and stare about them,
becomes a downright nuisance. This, surely, ought not to be. A very
little amount of united action on the part of the principal
inhabitants of the village would put this straight. The pump could
be repaired, a new path made, and the water conveyed to a stone
trough by a hose, or something of the kind, and the owner would be
quite willing to sanction it, but he does not see why it should all
be done at his expense. The other inhabitants of the village see the
difficulty, recognize it, perhaps talk about remedying it, but
nothing is done, simply because there exists no body, no council to
undertake it. Spontaneous combination is extremely uncertain in its
action; the organization should exist before the necessity for
utilizing it arises. In other places what is wanted is a well, but
cottagers cannot afford to dig a deep well, and certainly no
combination can be expected from them alone and unassisted. Village
wells require also to be under some kind of supervision. At
intervals they require cleaning out. The machinery for raising water
must be prepared; the cover to prevent accidents to children
renewed. A well that has no one to look after it quickly becomes the
receptacle of all the stones and old boots and dead cats in the
place. But if there is a terror of prosecution, the well remains
clear and useful. The digging of a deep well is an event of national
importance, so to say, to a village. It may happen that a noble
spring of water bursts out some little distance from the village,
but is practically useless to the inhabitants because of its
distance. What more easy than to run a hose from it right to a stone
trough, or dipping-place, in the centre of the village? In most
cases, very simple engineering ability would be sufficient to supply
the hamlet. The hose, or whatever the plan might be, need not take
half nor a quarter of the water thrown out by the spring. The owner
might object; certainly he would object to any forcible carrying
away of his water; but if he were himself a party to the scheme, and
to receive compensation for any injury, he would not do so.
Water has been the cause of more disputes, probably, than
anything else between neighbouring agriculturists. One wishes it
for his water-meadows, another for his cattle, a third for his
home-consumption; then there is, perhaps, the miller to be
consulted. After all, there is, in most cases, more than enough
water for everybody, and a very little mutual yielding would
accommodate all, and supply the village in the bargain. But each
party being alone in his view, without any mediator, the result
may be a lawsuit, or ill-blood, lasting for years; the cutting
down of bays and dams, the possible collision of the men
employed.
Between these parties, between agriculturists themselves, the
establishment of a species of village council would often lead to
peace and harmony. The advice and expressed wishes of their
neighbour, the influence of the clergyman and the resident landlord,
and the existence of a common public want in the village, would have
an irresistible effect; and what neither would yield to his
opponent, all would yield to a body of friends. Taken in this way it
may safely be considered that there would be no difficulty in
obtaining access to water. In places which are still less fortunate
and, especially in dry times, are at a greater distance from the
precious element, there still remains a plan by which sufficient
could be secured, and that is the portable water-tank. Our
agricultural machinists now turn out handsome and capacious iron
tanks which are coming into general use. Now, no one farmer can be
expected to send water-tank and team three or four times every
evening to fetch up water for the use of cottagers, not
one-twentieth of whom work for him. But why should there not be a
tank, the public property of the village, and why should not teams
take it in turn? Undoubtedly something of the kind would immediately
spring into existence were there any village organization whatever.
In a large number of villages, the natural supply would be
sufficient during three parts of the year, and it would be only in
summer that any assistance would be necessary.
While on the subject of water, another matter may as well be dealt
with, and that is the establishment of bathing-places near villages.
This is, of course, impossible over considerable areas of country
where water is scarce, and especially scarce in the bathing season.
Even in many places, however, where water is comparatively deficient
in quantity, there are usually some great ponds, which for part of
the season could be made applicable for bathing purposes. There then
remain an immense number of villages situated on or near a stream,
and wherever there is a stream a bathing-place is practicable. At
the present moment it would be difficult to find one such place,
unless on the banks of a large river, and rivers are far between.
The boys and young men who feel a natural desire to bathe in the
warm weather resort to muddy ponds, with a filthy bottom of black
slush, or paddle about in shallow brooks no more than knee-deep, or
in the water-carriers in water meadows. This species of bathing is
practically useless; it does not answer any purposes of cleanliness,
and learning to swim is out of the question. The formation of a
proper bathing-place presents few difficulties. A spot must be
chosen near to the village, but far enough away for decency. The
bottom of the stream should be covered with a layer of sand and
small gravel, carefully avoiding large stones and sharp-edged
flints. Much of the pleasure of bathing depends upon a good bottom,
and nothing is more likely to deter a young beginner than the
feeling that he cannot place his feet on the ground without the
danger of lacerating them. For this reason, also, care should be
taken to exclude all boughs and branches, and particularly the
prickly bushes cut from hedges, which are most annoying to bathers.
The stream should be bayed up to a depth at the deepest part of
about five feet, which is quite deep enough for ordinary swimming,
and reduces the danger to a minimum. If possible, a strong smooth
rail should run across the pool, or partly across. This is for the
encouragement of boys and young bathers, who like something to catch
hold of, and it is also an adjunct in learning to swim, for the boy
can stand opposite to it, and after two or three strokes place his
hand on it, and so gradually increasing the distance, he can swim
without once losing confidence. Those who cannot swim can hold to
the rail and splash about and enjoy themselves. Such a bathing-place
will sound childish enough to strong swimmers, who have learnt to go
long distances with ease in the Thames or in the sea, but it must be
remembered that we are dealing with an inland population who are
timid of water. A boy who can cross such a small pool without
touching the bottom with his feet, would soon feel at home in
broader waters, if ever circumstances should bring him near them. If
there is no stream a large pond could be cleaned out, and sand and
gravel placed upon the bottom--almost anything is better than the
soft oozy mud, which, once stirred up, will not settle for hours,
and destroys all pleasure or benefit from bathing. No building is
necessary to dress in, or anything of that kind. The place selected
would be, of course, at a distance from any public footpath, and
even if it were near there are so few passing in rural outlying
districts that no one need be shocked. But if it was considered
necessary an older man could be paid a small sum to walk down every
evening, or at the stated hours for bathing, and see that no
irregularity occurred. A loose pole or two always kept near the
stream or pond, and ready to hand, would amply provide against any
little danger there might be. Bathing is most important to health,
and if a really good swim is possible there is nothing so conducive
to an elasticity of frame. Our labourers are notoriously strong and
muscular, and possess considerable power of endurance (though they
destroy their 'wind,' in running phraseology, by too much beer), but
their strength is clumsy, their gait ungainly, their run heavy and
slow. The freedom of motion in the water, the simultaneous use of
arms and limbs, the peculiar character of the exercise, renders it
one, above all others, calculated to give an ease and grace to the
body. In a good physical education, swimming must form an important
part; and the labourer requires a physical education quite as much
as a mental. The bathing-place, as a means of inducing personal
cleanliness, would have its uses. The cottages of the labouring poor
are often models of cleanliness, but the persons of the inhabitants
precisely the reverse. The expense of such a bathing-place need be
but very small. If it was situated in a cow-leaze, the bathing could
begin the moment the spring became warm enough; if in a meadow
usually mown, as soon as the grass has been cut, which would be
early in June. It would perhaps be necessary to have stated hours of
bathing; but no other regulation--the less restriction the better
the privilege would be appreciated. Exercises of this character
could not be too much encouraged. Every accomplishment of the kind
adds a new power to the man, and gives him a sense of superiority.
There should be a rough kind of gymnasium for the villagers. Almost
always a piece of waste ground could be found, and the requisite
materials are very simple and inexpensive. A few upright poles for
climbing; horizontal bars; a few ropes, and a ladder would be
sufficient. In wet weather some large open cow-house could be
utilized for such purposes. In summer such outbuildings are empty,
the cattle being in the fields. A few pairs of quoits also could be
added at a small cost. Wrestling, perhaps, had better be avoided, as
liable to lead to quarrels; but jumping and running should be
fostered, and prizes presented for excellence. It is not the value
of the prize, it is the fact that it is a prize. A good strong
pocket-knife with four or five blades would be valued by a
ploughboy, and a labourer would be pleased with an ornamental pipe
costing five shillings, or a hoe or spade could be substituted as
more useful.
The institution of such annual village games, the bathing-place, the
gymnasium in the open air, the running match, the quoits, would have
a tendency to awaken the emulation of the labouring class; and once
awaken the emulation, an increase of intelligence follows. A man
would feel that he was not altogether a mere machine, to do so much
work and then trudge home and sleep. Lads would have something
better to do than play pitch-and-toss, and slouch about the place,
learning nothing but bad language. A life would be imparted to the
village, there would be a centre of union, a gathering-place, and a
certain amount of proper pride in the village, and an _esprit de
corps_ would spring up. In all these things the labourer should be
encouraged to carry them out as much as possible in his own way, and
without interference or supervision. Make the bathing-place, erect
the poles and horizontal bars, establish the pocket-knife and hoe
prizes, present the quoits, but let him use them in his own way.
There must be freedom, liberty, or the attempt would certainly fail.
How many villages have so much as a reading-room? Such a local
council as has been indicated would soon come to discuss the
propriety of establishing such an institution. If managed strictly
with a view to the real wants and ideas of the people, and not in
accordance with any preconceived principles of so-called
instruction, it would be certain to succeed. The labouring poor
dislike instruction being forced down their throats quite as much,
or more, than the upper classes. The very worst way to induce a man
to learn is to begin by telling him he is ignorant, and thereby
insulting his self-esteem. A village reading-room should be open to
all, and not to subscribers only. From six till nine in the evening
would be long enough for it to be open, and the key could be kept by
some adjacent cottager. With every respect for the schoolmaster, let
the schoolmaster be kept away from it. If there is a night-school,
keep it distinct from the reading-room; let the reading-room be a
voluntary affair, without the slightest suspicion of _drill_
attaching to it. It should be a place where a working man could come
in, and sit down and _spell_ over a book, without the consciousness
that someone was watching him, ready to snap him up at a mistake.
Exclude all 'goody' books; there are sects in villages as well as
towns, and the presence of an obnoxious work may do much harm. To
the Bible itself, in clear print, no sect will object; but let it be
the Bible only. A collection of amusing literature can easily be
made. For L5 enough books could be bought on an old bookstall in
London to stock a village library; such as travels, tales--not
despising Robinson Crusoe--and a few popular expositions of science.
There should be one daily paper. It could be brought by one of the
milk-carts from the nearest railway-station. This daily paper would
form a very strong counteraction to the ale-house. Of course, the
ale-house would start a daily in opposition; but at the reading-room
the labourer would soon learn that he need not purchase a glass of
beer in order to pay for his news. The daily paper would be a most
important feature, for such papers are rare in villages. Very few
farmers even take them. The rent of a room for this purpose in a
village would be almost nominal. A small room would be sufficient,
for only a few would be present at a time. Cricket clubs may be left
to establish themselves.
The next suggestion the writer is about to make will be thought a
very bold one; but is it not rational enough when the first novelty
of the idea has subsided? It is, that an annual excursion should be
arranged for the villagers. It is common to see in the papers
appeals made on behalf of the poor children of crowded districts in
London, for funds to give them a day in the country. It is stated
that they never see anything but stone pavements; never breathe
anything but smoky air. The appeal is a proper and good one, and
should be generously responded to. Now, the position of the villager
is the exact antithesis. He, or she, sees nothing but green fields
or bare fields all the year round. They hear nothing but a constant
iteration of talk about cattle, crops, and weather--important
matters, but apt to grow monotonous. It may be, that for thirty
years they never for one day lose sight of the hills overhanging the
village. Their subjects of conversation are consequently extremely
narrow. They want a change quite as much as the dwellers in cities;
but it is a change of another character--a change to bustle and
excitement. Factories and large tradesmen arrange trips for their
work-people once or twice a year. Why should not the agricultural
labourers have a trip? A trip of the simplest kind would satisfy
them, and afford matter of conversation for months. All railway
lines now issue tickets at reduced rates for parties above a certain
number. For instance, to the population of an inland village, what
would be more delightful than a few hours on the sea-beach? Where
the sea is not within easy reach, take them to a great town--if
possible, London--but if not London, any large town will be a
change. There is no great difficulty in the plan. Perhaps twenty or
thirty would be the largest number who would wish to go. Let these
assemble at a stated hour and place, and take them down to the
railway-station with two or three waggons and teams, which should
also meet them on their return. The expense would not be great, and
might be partly borne by the excursionists themselves. All that is
wanted is some amount of leadership, a little organization. Such
enterprises as these would go far to create a genuine mutual
understanding and pleasant feeling between employer and employed.
There may be outlying places where such an excursion would be very
difficult. Then harness the horses to the waggons, and take them to
a picnic ten miles off on a noted hill or heath, or by the side of a
river--somewhere for a change.