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No. 8.
State Charities Aid Association,
52 EAST 20TH STREET.
HOMES OF THE LONDON POOR
BY MISS OCTAVIA HILL.
REPRINTED FROM THE "FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW" AND "MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE,"
BY PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Price, 25 Cents.
TO BE OBTAINED AT THE OFFICE OF THE ASSOCIATION.
NEW YORK. 1875.
In reprinting the following articles, by Miss Octavia Hill, of London,
it is not proposed that the system described is, in all its details,
applicable to this country. The conditions of poverty in America and
in England differ widely. The Municipal forms of Government there are
very unlike our own. But the broad truths of humanity are the same
everywhere, and the principles which underlie Miss Hill's efforts,
those of helping the poor towards self-support and self-respect; of
bringing to their aid an unwearied patience, a true sympathy, and a
large hope; of loving them and trusting them; above all, of realizing
that they and we are children of One Father; these principles are
applicable to all countries and to every people.
LOUISA LEE SCHUYLER,
President,
State Charities Aid Association.
NEW YORK, _April 14, 1875_.
COTTAGE PROPERTY IN LONDON.
_November 1, 1866._
The subject of dwellings for the poor is attracting so much attention,
that an account of a small attempt to improve them may be interesting
to many readers, especially as the plan adopted is one which has
answered pecuniarily, and which, while it might be undertaken by
private individuals without much risk, would bring them into close and
healthy communication with their hard-working neighbors.
Two years ago I first had an opportunity of carrying out the plan I
had long contemplated, that of obtaining possession of houses to be
let in weekly tenements to the poor. That the spiritual elevation of
a large class depended to a considerable extent on sanitary reform
was, I considered proved, but I was equally certain that sanitary
improvement itself depended upon educational work among grown-up
people; that they must be urged to rouse themselves from the lethargy
and indolent habits into which they have fallen, and freed from all
that hinders them from doing so. I further believed that any lady
who would help them to obtain things, the need of which they felt
themselves, and would sympathize with them in their desire for such,
would soon find them eager to learn her view of what was best for them;
that whether this was so or not, her duty was to keep alive their own
best hopes and intentions, which come at rare intervals, but fade too
often for want of encouragement. I desired to be in a condition to
free a few poor people from the tyranny and influence of a low class
of landlords and landladies; from the corrupting effect of continual
forced communication with very degraded fellow-lodgers; from the heavy
incubus of accumulated dirt: that so the never-dying hope which I
find characteristic of the poor might have leave to spring, and with
it such energy as might help them to help themselves. I had not great
ideas of what must be done for them, my strongest endeavors were to be
used to rouse habits of industry and effort, without which they must
finally sink--with which they might render themselves independent of
me except as a friend and leader. The plan was one which depended on
just governing more than on helping. The first point was to secure
such power as would enable me to insist on some essential sanitary
arrangements.
I laid the plan before Mr. Ruskin, who entered into it most warmly.
He at once came forward with all the money necessary, and took the
whole risk of the undertaking upon himself. He showed me, however,
that it would be far more useful if it could be made to pay; that a
working man ought to be able to pay for his own house; that the outlay
upon it ought, therefore, to yield a fair percentage on the capital
invested. Thus empowered and directed, I purchased three houses in my
own immediate neighborhood. They were leasehold, subject to a small
ground-rent. The unexpired term of the lease was for fifty-six years;
this we purchased for £750. We spent £78 additional in making a large
room at the back of my own house, where I could meet the tenants from
time to time. The plan has now been in operation about a year and a
half; the financial result is that the scheme has paid five per cent.
interest on all the capital,[1] has repaid £48 of the capital; sets
of two rooms have been let for little more than the rent of one,
the houses have been kept in repair, all expenses have been met for
taxes, ground-rent, and insurance. In this case there is no expense
for collecting rents, as I do it myself, finding it most important
work; but in all the estimates I put aside the usual percentage for it,
in case hereafter I may require help, and also to prove practically
that it can be afforded in other cases. It should be observed that
well-built houses were chosen, but they were in a dreadful state of
dirt and neglect. The repairs required were mainly of a superficial
and slight character: slight in regard to expense--vital as to health
and comfort. The place swarmed with vermin; the papers, black with
dirt, hung in long strips from the walls; the drains were stopped, the
water supply out of order. All these things were put in order, but
no new appliances of any kind were added, as we had determined that
our tenants should wait for these until they had proved themselves
capable of taking care of them. A regular sum is set aside for repairs,
and this is equally divided between the three houses; if any of it
remains, after breakage and damage have been repaired, at the end
of the quarter, each tenant decides in turn in what way the surplus
shall be spent, so as to add to the comfort of the house. This plan
has worked admirably; the loss from carelessness has decreased to an
amazing extent, and the lodgers prize the little comforts which they
have waited for, and seem in a measure to have earned by their care,
much more than those bought with more lavish expenditure. The bad
debts during the whole time that the plan has been in operation have
only amounted to £2 11_s._ 3_d._ Extreme punctuality and diligence in
collecting rents, and a strict determination that they shall be paid
regularly, have accomplished this; as a proof of which it is curious to
observe that £1 3_s._ 3_d._ of the bad debts, accumulated during two
months that I was away in the country. I have tried to remember, when
it seemed hardest that the fulfillment of their duties was the best
education for the tenants in every way. It has given them a dignity and
glad feeling of honorable behavior which has much more than compensated
for the apparent harshness of the rule.
Nothing has impressed me more than the people's perception of an
underlying current of sympathy through all dealings that have seemed
harsh. Somehow, love and care have made themselves felt. It is also
wonderful that they should prize as they do the evenness of the law
that is over them. They are accustomed to alternate violence of
passion and toleration of vice. They expected a greater toleration,
ignorant indulgence, and frequent almsgiving; but in spite of this have
recognized as a blessing a rule which is very strict, but the demands
of which they know, and a government that is true in word and deed. The
plan of substituting a lady for a resident landlady of the same class
as her tenants is not wholly gain. The lady will probably have subtler
sympathy and clearer comprehension of their needs, but she cannot give
the same minute supervision that a resident landlady can. Unhappily,
the advantage of such a change is, however, at present unquestionable.
The influence of the majority of the lower class of people who sub-let
to the poor is almost wholly injurious. That tenants should be given
up to the dominion of those whose word is given and broken almost as
a matter of course, whose habits and standards are very low, whose
passions are violent, who have neither large hope nor clear sight, nor
even sympathy, is very sad. It seems to me that a greater power is in
the hands of landlords and landladies than of school-teachers--power
either of life or death, physical and spiritual. It is not an
unimportant question who shall wield it. There are dreadful instances
in which sin is really tolerated and shared; where the lodger who
will drink most with his landlord is most favored, and many a debt
overlooked, to compensate for which the price of rooms is raised; and
thus the steady and sober pay more rent to make up for losses caused
by the unprincipled. But take this as an example of entirely careless
rule: The owner of some cottage property in London, a small undertaker
by trade, living some little distance from his property, and for the
most part confining his dealings with it to a somewhat fruitless
endeavor to collect the rents on a Sunday morning, in discussing the
value of the property with me, said very straightforwardly, "Yes,
miss; of course there are plenty of bad debts. It's not the rents I
look to, but the deaths I get out of the houses." The man didn't mean
for a moment that he knew that the state of the houses brought him a
plentiful harvest of deaths, though I knew it, and heard the truth
ringing with awful irony through his words; but he did mean that his
entire thought was of his profits--that those dependent souls and
bodies were to him as nothing. Consider under such a rule what deadly
quarrels spring up and deepen and widen between families compelled
to live very near one another, to use many things in common, whose
uneducated minds brood over and over the same slight offenses, when
there is no one either compulsorily to separate them, or to say some
soothing word of reconciliation before the quarrel grows too serious.
I have received a letter from an Irish tenant actually boasting that
he "would have taken a more manly way of settling a dispute," but that
his neighbor "showed the white feather and retired." I have seen that
man's whole face light up and break into a smile when I suggested that
a little willing kindness would be a more manly way still. And I have
known him and his aunt, though boiling over with rage all the time,
use steady self-control in not quarreling for a whole month, because
they knew it would spoil my holiday! Finally, they shook hands and made
peace, and lived in peace many months, and, indeed, are living so now.
I could have formed no idea of the docility of the people, nor of their
gratitude for small things. They are easily governed by firmness, which
they respect much. I have always made a point of carefully recognizing
their own rights; but if a strong conviction is clearly expressed they
readily adopt it, and they often accept a different idea from any
they have previously desired, if it is set before them. One tenant--a
silent, strong, uncringing woman, living with her seven children and
her husband in one room--was certain "there were many things she could
get for the children to eat which would do them more good than another
room." I was perfectly silent. A half-pleading, half-asserting voice
said: "Don't you see I'm right, miss?" "No," I said; "indeed I do not.
I have been brought up to know the value of abundant good air, but of
course you must do as you think best--only I am sorry." Not a word more
passed; but in a few weeks a second room was again to let, and the
woman volunteered: "She thought she'd better strive to get the rent;
good air was very important, wasn't it?" Again: a man wouldn't send
his children to school. Dirty, neglected, and unhappy, they destroyed
many things in the house. I urged, to no purpose, that they should be
sent. At last I gave him notice to leave because he refused to send
them, and because he had taken three children to sleep in the room I
had let for his own family only. The man was both angry and obstinate.
I quietly went on with proceedings for getting rid of him. He knew I
meant what I said, and he requested an interview. He owed no rent, he
urged. "No," I replied, "you know what a point I make of that; but it
isn't quite the only thing I insist on. I cannot allow anything so
wrong as this neglect of the children and overcrowding to continue
where I have the power to prevent it." He "knew what it was just this
year to fuss about the cholera, and then nobody'd care how many slep
in a room; but he wasn't a coward to be frightened at the cholera, not
he! And as to being bound, he wouldn't be bound--no, not to his own
master that paid him wage; and it wasn't likely he would to me, when he
paid rent reg'lar. The room was his; he took it, and if he paid rent
he could do as he liked in it." "Very well," I said; "and the house
is mine; I take it, and I must do what I think right in it; and I say
that most landladies won't take in children at all, and we all know it
is a good deal of loss and trouble; but I'll risk these gladly if you
will do what you can to teach the children to be good, and careful,
and industrious; and if not, you know the rule, and you must go. If
you prefer liberty, and dirt, and mess, take them; but if you choose
to agree to live under as good a rule as I can make it, you can stay.
You have your choice." Put in the light of a bargain, the man was
willing enough. Well, he'd not "do anything contrairy, without telling
me, about lodgers; and as to the children, he thought he could turn
himself, and send them a bit, now his work was better."
With the great want of rooms there is in this neighborhood it did not
seem right to expel families, however large, inhabiting one room.
Whenever from any cause a room was vacant, and a large family occupied
an adjoining one, I have endeavored to induce them to rent the two.
To incoming tenants I do not let what seems decidedly insufficient
accommodation. We have been able to let two rooms for four shillings
and sixpence, whereas the tenants were in many cases paying four
shillings for one. At first they considered it quite an unnecessary
expenditure to pay more rent for a second room, however small the
additional sum might be. They have gradually learnt to feel the comfort
of having two rooms, and pay willingly for them.[2]
The pecuniary success of the plan has been due to two causes. First,
to the absence of middlemen; and secondly, to great strictness about
punctual payment of rent. At this moment not one tenant in any of
the houses owes any rent, and during the whole time, as I have said,
the bad debts have been exceedingly small. The law respecting such
tenancies seems very simple, and when once the method of proceeding
is understood, the whole business is easily managed; and I must say
most seriously that I believe it to be better to pay legal expenses
for getting rid of tenants than to lose by arrears of rent,--better
for the whole tone of the households, kinder to the tenants. The rule
should be clearly understood, and the people will respect themselves
for having obeyed it. The commencement of proceedings which are known
to be genuine and not a mere threat is usually sufficient to obtain
payment of arrears: in one case only has an ejectment for rent been
necessary. The great want of rooms gives the possessors of such
property immense power over their lodgers. Let them see to it that
they use it righteously. The fluctuations of work cause to respectable
tenants the main difficulties in paying their rent. I have tried to
help them in two ways. First, by inducing them to save: this they
have done steadily, and each autumn has found them with a small fund
accumulated, which has enabled them to meet the difficulties of the
time when families are out of town. In the second place, I have done
what I could to employ my tenants in slack seasons. I carefully set
aside any work they can do for times of scarcity, and I try so to
equalize in this small circle the irregularity of work, which must be
more or less pernicious, and which the childishness of the poor makes
doubly so. They have strangely little power of looking forward; a
result is to them as nothing if it will not be perceptible till next
quarter! This is very curious to me, especially as seen in connection
with that large hope to which I have alluded, and which often makes me
think that if I could I would carve over the houses the motto, "Spem,
etiam illi habent, quibus nihil aliud restat."
Another beautiful trait in their character is their trust; it has been
quite marvelous to find how great and how ready this is. In no single
case have I met with suspicion or with anything but entire confidence.
It is needless to say that there have been many minor difficulties and
disappointments. Each separate person, who has failed to rise and meet
the help that would have been so gladly given has been a distinct loss
to me; for somehow the sense of relation to them has been a very real
one, and a feeling of interest and responsibility has been very strong
even where there was least that was lovely or lovable in the particular
character. When they have not had sufficient energy or self-control to
choose the sometimes hard path that has seemed the only right one, it
would have been hard to part from them, except for a hope that others
would be able to lead them where I have failed.
Two distinct kinds of work depend entirely on one another if they are
to bear their full fruit. There is, firstly, the simple fulfillment
of a landlady's bounden duties, and uniform demand of the fulfillment
of those of the tenants. We have felt ourselves bound by laws which
must be obeyed, however hard obedience might often be. Then, secondly,
there is the individual friendship which has grown up from intimate
knowledge, and from a sense of dependence and protection. Such
knowledge gives power to see the real position of families; to suggest
in time the inevitable result of certain habits; to urge such measures
as shall secure the education of the children and their establishment
in life; to keep alive the germs of energy; to waken the gentler
thought; to refuse resolutely to give any help but such as rouses
self-help; to cherish the smallest lingering gleam of self-respect;
and, finally, to be near with strong help should the hour of trial fall
suddenly and heavily, and to give it with the hand and heart of a real
old friend, who has filled many relations besides that of almsgiver,
who has long ago given far more than material help, and has thus earned
the right to give this lesser help even to the most independent spirits.
The relation will finally depend on the human spirits that enter into
it; like all others, it may be pernicious or helpful. It is simply a
large field of labor where the laborers are few. It has this advantage
over many beneficent works--that it calls out a sense of duty, and
demands energetic right-doing among the poor themselves, and so
purifies and stimulates them.
If any of my poorer friends chance to see this, I hope they will not
think I have spoken too exclusively of what we can do for them. I have
dwelt on this side of the question because it is the one we are mainly
bound to consider; it is for them to think how they can help us. But I
must add in gratitude that I have much to thank them for. Their energy
and hope amid overwhelming difficulties have made me ashamed of my own
laziness and despair. I have seen the inevitable result of faults and
omissions of mine that I had never sufficiently weighed. Their patience
and thankfulness are a glad cause of admiration to me continually. I
trust that our relation to one another may grow better and nearer for
many years.
OCTAVIA HILL.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It should be remembered that 5 per cent. interest in England on
house property, is equivalent to at least 8 per cent. in the United
States.--Ed.
[2] It is not possible to form any comparison between the rent of rooms
in London and New York, the circumstances of the two cities being
so different; but the point to be observed is that by a very small
increase of rent the amount of accommodation may be doubled.
ORGANIZED WORK AMONG THE POOR.
SUGGESTIONS FOUNDED ON FOUR YEARS' MANAGEMENT OF A LONDON COURT.
_July, 1869._
Further organization in our mode of dealing with the poor is now
generally agreed to be necessary, but there is another truth less dwelt
upon, yet on the due recognition of which success equally depends. I
feel most deeply that the disciplining of our immense poor population
must be effected by individual influence; and that this power can
change it from a mob of paupers and semi-paupers into a body of
self-dependent workers. It is my opinion, further, that although such
influence may be brought to bear upon them in very various ways, it may
be exercised in a very remarkable manner by persons undertaking the
oversight and management of such houses as the poor habitually lodge
in. In support of this opinion I subjoin an account of what has been
actually achieved in two very poor courts in London.
About four years ago I was put in possession of three houses in one
of the worst courts of Marylebone. Six other houses were bought
subsequently. All were crowded with inmates. The first thing to be done
was to put them in decent tenantable order. The set last purchased
was a row of cottages facing a bit of desolate ground, occupied with
wretched, dilapidated cow-sheds, manure heaps, old timber, and rubbish
of every description. The houses were in a most deplorable condition:
the plaster was dropping from the walls: on one staircase a pail was
placed to catch the rain that fell through the roof. All the staircases
were perfectly dark; the banisters were gone, having been burnt as
firewood by tenants. The grates, with large holes in them, were falling
forward into the rooms. The washhouse, full of lumber belonging to the
landlord, was locked up; thus the inhabitants had to wash clothes, as
well as to cook, eat, and sleep, in their small rooms. The dust-bin,
standing in the front of the houses, was accessible to the whole
neighborhood, and boys often dragged from it quantities of unseemly
objects, and spread them over the court. The state of the drainage was
in keeping with everything else. The pavement of the back-yard was all
broken up, and great puddles stood in it, so that the damp crept up the
outer walls. One large but dirty water-butt received the water laid on
for the houses: it leaked, and for such as did not fill their jugs when
the water came in, or who had no jugs to fill, there was no water. The
former landlord's reply to one of the tenants who asked him to have
an iron hoop put round the butt to prevent leakage, was, that "if he
didn't like it" (_i. e._ things as they were) "he might leave." The
man to whom this was spoken--by far the best tenant in the place--is
now with us, and often gives his spare time to making his room more
comfortable, knowing that he will be retained if he behaves well.
This landlord was a tradesman in a small way of business--not a cruel
man, except in so far as variableness of dealing is cruelty; but he was
a man without capital to spend on improvements, and lost an immense
percentage of his rent by bad debts. I went over the houses with him
the last day he collected his rents there, that he might introduce me
to the people as the owner of the property. He took a man with him,
whom, as he confided to me, he wished to pass off upon the people as a
broker.[3] It was evident that, whether they saw through this deceit
or not, they had no experience which led them to believe he intended
to carry into effect the threats he uttered. The arrears of rent were
enormous. I had been informed that the honest habitually pay for the
dishonest, the owner relying upon their payments to compensate for
all losses; but I was amazed to find to what an extent this was the
case. Six, seven, or eight weeks' rent were due from most tenants, and
in some cases very much more; whereas, since I took possession of the
houses (of which I collect the rents each week myself) I have _never_
allowed a second week's rent to become due.
I think no one who has not experienced it can fully realize the almost
awed sense of joy with which one enters upon such a possession as
that above described, conscious of having the power to set it, even
partially, in order. Hopes, indeed, there are which one dare scarcely
hope; but at once one has power to say, "Break out a window there in
that dark corner; let God's light and air in;" or, "Trap that foul
drain, and shut the poisonous miasma out;" and one has moral power
to say, by deeds which speak louder than words, "Where God gives me
authority, this, which you in your own hearts know to be wrong, shall
not go on. I would not set my conviction, however strong it might be,
against your judgment of right; but when you are doing what I know your
own conscience condemns, I, now that I have the power, will enforce
right; but first I will try whether I cannot _lead_ you, yourselves, to
arise and cast out the sin--helping your wavering and sorely tried will
by mine, which is untempted."
As soon as I entered into possession, each family had an opportunity
offered of doing better: those who would not pay, or who led clearly
immoral lives, were ejected. The rooms they vacated were cleansed; the
tenants who showed signs of improvement moved into them, and thus, in
turn, an opportunity was obtained for having each room distempered
and painted. The drains were put in order, a large slate cistern was
fixed, the wash-house was cleared of its lumber, and thrown open on
stated days to each tenant in turn. The roof, the plaster, the woodwork
were repaired; the staircase-walls were distempered; new grates were
fixed; the layers of paper and rag (black with age) were torn from the
windows, and glass was put in; out of 192 panes, only 8 were found
unbroken. The yard and footpath were paved.
The rooms, as a rule, were re-let at the same prices at which they had
been let before; but tenants with large families were counseled to take
two rooms, and for these much less was charged than if let singly:
this plan I continue to pursue. In-coming tenants are not allowed to
take a decidedly insufficient quantity of room, and no sub-letting is
permitted. The elder girls are employed three times a week in scrubbing
the passages in the houses, for the cleaning of which the landlady is
responsible. For this work they are paid, and by it they learn habits
of cleanliness. It is, of course, within the authority of the landlady
also to insist on cleanliness of wash-houses, yards, staircases,
and staircase-windows; and even to remonstrate concerning the rooms
themselves if they are habitually dirty.
The pecuniary result has been very satisfactory. Five per cent.
interest has been paid on all the capital invested. A fund for the
repayment of capital is accumulating. A liberal allowance has been
made for repairs; and here I may speak of the means adopted for making
the tenants careful about breakage and waste. The sum allowed yearly
for repairs is fixed for each house, and if it has not all been
spent in restoring and replacing, the surplus is used for providing
such additional appliances as the tenants themselves desire. It is
therefore to their interest to keep the expenditure for repairs as low
as possible; and instead of committing the wanton damage common among
tenants of their class, they are careful to avoid injury, and very
helpful in finding economical methods of restoring what is broken or
worn out, often doing little repairs of their own accord.
From the proceeds of the rent, also, interest has been paid on the
capital spent in building a large room where the tenants can assemble.
Classes are held there--for boys, twice weekly; for girls, once; a
singing class has just been established. A large work-class for
married women and elder girls meets once a week. A glad sight it
is--the large room filled with the eager, merry faces of the girls,
from which those of the older, careworn women catch a reflected light.
It is a good time for quiet talk with them as we work, and many a
neighborly feeling is called out among the women as they sit together
on the same bench, lend one another cotton or needles, are served by
the same hand, and look to the same person for direction. The babies
are a great bond of union; I have known the very women who not long
before had been literally fighting, sit at the work-class busily and
earnestly comparing notes of their babies' respective history. That a
consciousness of corporate life is developed in them is shown by the
not infrequent use of the expression "One of us."
Among the arrangements conducive to comfort and health I may mention,
that instead of the clothes being hung as formerly out of front windows
down against the wall, where they could not be properly purified, the
piece of ground in front of the houses is used as a drying-ground
during school hours. The same place is appropriated as a playground,
not only for my younger tenants, but for the children from the
neighboring courts. It is a space walled round, where they can play
in safety. Hitherto, games at trap, bat and ball, swinging, skipping,
and singing a few Kinder-Garten songs with movements in unison, have
been the main diversions. But I have just established drill for the
boys, and a drum and fife band. Unhappily, the mere business connected
with the working of the houses has occupied so much time, that the
playground has been somewhat neglected; yet it is a most important
part of the work. The evils of the streets and courts are too evident
to need explanation. In the playground are gathered together children
habitually dirty, quarrelsome, and violent. They come wholly ignorant
of games, and have hardly self-control enough to play at any which
have an object or require effort. Mere senseless, endless repetition
is at best their diversion. Often the games are only repetitions of
questionable sentences. For instance, what is to be said of a game the
whole of which consists in singing: "Here comes my father all down
the hill, all down the hill," (over and over again) and replying, "We
won't get up for his ugly face--ugly face" (repeated _ad libitum_)?
Then come the mother, the sister, the brother, to whom the same words
are addressed. Finally, the lover comes, to whom the greeting is, "We
will get up for his pretty face." This was, perhaps, the best game the
children knew, yet, in as far as it had any meaning or influence, it
must be bad. Compare it, or the wild, lawless fighting or gambling,
with a game at trap, arranged with ordered companions, definite object,
and progressive skill. The moral influence depends, however, on having
ladies who will go to the playground, teach games, act as umpires,
know and care for the children. These I hope to find more and more.
Until now, except at rare intervals, the playground has been mainly
useful for the fresh air it affords to the children who are huddled
together by night in small rooms, in the surrounding courts. The more
respectable parents keep them indoors, even in the day-time, after
school-hours, to prevent their meeting with bad companions.
Mr. Ruskin, to whom the whole undertaking owes its existence, has
had trees planted in the playground, and creepers against the
houses. In May, we have a May-pole or a throne covered with flowers
for the May-queen and her attendants. The sweet luxuriance of the
spring-flowers is more enjoyed in that court than would readily be
believed. Some months after the first festival the children were seen
sticking a few faded flowers into a crevice in the wall, saying, they
wanted to make it "like it was the day we had the May-pole."
I have tried, as far as opportunity has permitted, to develop the
love of beauty among my tenants. The poor of London need joy and
beauty in their lives. There is no more true and eternal law to be
recognized about them than that which Mr. Dickens shows in "Hard
Times"--the fact that every man has an imagination which needs
development and satisfaction. Mr. Slearey's speech, "People mutht
be amoothed, Thquire," is often recalled to my mind in dealing with
the poor. They work hard; their lives are monotonous; they seek low
places of amusement; they break out into lawless "sprees." Almost all
amusements--singing, dancing, acting, expeditions into the country,
eating and drinking--are liable to abuse; no rules are subtle enough to
prevent their leading to harm. But if a lady can know the individuals,
and ask them as her invited guests to any of these, an innate sense
of honor and respect preserves the tone through the whole company.
Indeed, there can hardly be a more proudly thankful moment than that,
when we see these many people to whom life is dull and full of anxiety,
gathered together around us for holy, happy Christmas festivities,
or going out to some fair and quiet spot in the bright summer time,
bound to one another by the sense of common relationship, preserved
unconsciously from wrong by the presence of those whom they love and
who love them. Such intervals of bright joy are easily arranged by
friends for friends; but if strangers are invited _en masse_, it is
difficult to keep any of these recreations innocent.
All these ways of meeting are invaluable as binding us together; still,
they would avail little were it not for the work by which we are
connected--for the individual care each member of the little circle
receives. Week by week, when the rents are collected, an opportunity of
seeing each family separately occurs. There are a multitude of matters
to attend to: first, there is the mere outside business--rent to be
received, requests from the tenant respecting repairs to be considered:
sometimes decisions touching the behavior of other tenants to be made,
sometimes rebukes for untidiness to be administered. Then come the sad
or joyful remarks about health or work, the little histories of the
week. Sometimes grave questions arise about important changes in the
life of the family--shall a daughter go to service? or shall the sick
child be sent to a hospital? etc.
Sometimes violent quarrels must be allayed. Much may be done in this
way, so ready is the response in these affectionate natures to those
whom they trust and love. For instance: two women among my tenants
fought; one received a dreadful kick, the other had hair torn from
her head. They were parted by a lad who lived in the house. The women
occupied adjoining rooms, they met in the passages, they used the
same yard and wash-house, endless were the opportunities of collision
while they were engaged with each other. For ten days I saw them
repeatedly: I could in no way reconcile them--words of rage and
recrimination were all that they uttered; while the hair, which had
been carefully preserved by the victim, was continually exhibited to me
as a sufficient justification for lasting anger. One was a cold, hard,
self-satisfied, well-to-do woman; the other a nervous, affectionate,
passionate, very poor Irishwoman. Now it happened that in speaking to
the latter one evening, I mentioned my own grief at the quarrel: a
look of extreme pain came over her face; it was a new idea to her that
I should care. That, and no sense of the wrong of indulging an evil
passion, touched her. The warm-hearted creature at once promised to
shake hands with her adversary; but she had already taken out a summons
against the other for assault, and did not consider she could afford
to make up the quarrel, because it implied losing the two shillings
the summons had cost. I told her the loss was a mere nothing to her
if weighed in the balance with peace, but that I would willingly pay
it. It only needed that one of the combatants should make the first
step towards reconciliation for the other (who, indeed, rather dreaded
answering the summons) to meet her half-way. They are good neighbors
now of some months' standing. A little speech which shows the character
of the Irishwoman is worth recording. Acknowledging to me that she
was very passionate, she said: "My husband never takes my part when
I'm in my tanthrums, and I'm that mad with him; but, bless you, I love
him all the better afterwards; he knows well enough it would only make
me worse." I may here observe that the above-mentioned two shillings
is the only money I ever had to give to either woman. It is on such
infinitesimally small actions that the success of the whole work rests.
My tenants are mostly of a class far below that of mechanics. They
are, indeed, of the very poor. And yet, although the gifts they have
received have been next to nothing, none of the families who have
passed under my care during the whole four years have continued in
what is called "distress," except such as have been unwilling to exert
themselves. Those who will not exert the necessary self-control cannot
avail themselves of the means of livelihood held out to them. But, for
those who are willing, some small assistance in the form of work has,
from time to time, been provided--not much, but sufficient to keep them
from want or despair. The following will serve as an instance of the
sort of help given, and its proportion to the results.
Alice, a single woman, of perhaps fifty-five years, lodged with a
man and his wife--the three in one room--just before I obtained full
possession of the houses. Alice, not being able to pay her rent, was
turned into the street, where Mrs. S. (my playground superintendent)
met her, crying dreadfully.
It was Saturday, and I had left town till Monday. Alice had neither
furniture to pawn, nor friends to help her; the workhouse alone lay
before her. Mrs. S. knew that I esteemed her as a sober, respectable,
industrious woman, and therefore she ventured to express to Alice's
landlord the belief that I would not let him lose money if he would let
her go back to her lodging till Monday, when I should return home, thus
risking for me a possible loss of fourpence--not very ruinous to me,
and a sum not impossible for Alice to repay in the future.
I gave Alice two days' needlework, then found her employment in tending
a bed-ridden cottager in the country, whose daughter (in service)
paid for the nursing. Five weeks she was there, working and saving
her money. On her return I lent her what more she required to buy
furniture, and she then took a little room direct from me. Too blind
to do much household work, but able to sew almost mechanically, she
just earns her daily bread by making sailors' shirts! but her little
home is her own, and she loves it dearly; and, having tided over that
time of trial, Alice can live--has paid all her debts, too, and is more
grateful than she would have been for many gifts.
At one time I had a room to let which was ninepence a week cheaper than
the one she occupied. I proposed to her to take it; it had, however, a
different aspect, getting less of the southern and western sunlight.
Alice hesitated long, and asked _me_ to decide, which I declined to
do; for, as I told her, her moving would suit my arrangements rather
better. She, hearing that, wished to move; but I begged her to make
her decision wholly irrespective of my plans. At last she said, very
wistfully: "Well, you see, miss, it's between ninepence and the sun."
Sadly enough, ninepence had to outweigh the sun.
My tenants are, of course, encouraged to save their money. It should,
however, be remarked, that I have never succeeded in getting them
to save for old age. The utmost I have achieved is that they lay by
sufficient either to pay rent in times of scarcity, to provide clothes
for girls going to service, or boots, or furniture, or even to avail
themselves of opportunities of advancement which must be closed to them
if they had not a little reserve fund to meet expenses of the change.
One great advantage arising from the management of the houses is, that
they form a test-place, in which people may prove themselves worthy of
higher situations. Not a few of the tenants have been persons who had
sunk below the stratum where once they were known, and some of these,
simply by proving their character, have been enabled to regain their
former stations. One man, twenty years ago, had been a gentleman's
servant, had saved money, gone into business, married, failed, and then
found himself out of the groove of work. When I made his acquaintance
he was earning a miserable pittance for his wife and seven unhealthy
children, and all the nine souls were suffering and sinking unknown.
After watching and proving him for three years I was able to recommend
him to a gentleman in the country, where now the whole family are
profiting by having six rooms instead of one, fresh air, and regular
wages.
But it is far easier to be helpful than to have patience and
self-control sufficient, when the times come, for seeing suffering and
not relieving it. And yet the main tone of action must be severe. There
is much of rebuke and repression needed, although a deep and silent
under-current of sympathy and pity may flow beneath. If the rent is
not ready, notice to quit must be served. The money is then almost
always paid, when the notice is, of course, withdrawn. Besides this
in inexorable demand for rent (never to be relaxed without entailing
cumulative evil on the defaulter, and setting a bad example, too
readily followed by others) there must be a perpetual crusade carried
on against small evils--very wearing sometimes. It is necessary to
believe that in thus setting in order certain spots on God's earth,
still more in presenting to a few of His children a somewhat higher
standard of right, we are doing His work, and that he will not permit
us to lose sight of His large laws, but will rather make them evident
to us through the small details.
The resolution to watch pain which cannot be radically relieved except
by the sufferer himself is most difficult to maintain. Yet it is wholly
necessary in certain cases not to help. Where a man persistently
refuses to exert himself, external help is worse than useless. By
withholding gifts we say to him in action more mournful than words:
"You will not do better. I was ready--I will be ready whenever you come
to yourself; but until then you must pursue your own course." This
attitude has often to be taken; but it usually proves a summons to a
more energetic spirit, producing nobler effort in great matters, just
as the notice to quit arouses resolution and self-denial in pecuniary
concerns.
Coming together so much as we do for business with mutual duties, for
recreation with common joy, each separate want or fault having been
dealt with as it arose, it will be readily understood that in such a
crisis as that which periodically occurs in the East End of London,
instead of being unprepared, I feel myself somewhat like an officer at
the head of a well-controlled little regiment, or, more accurately,
like a country proprietor with a moderate number of well-ordered
tenants.
For, firstly, my people are numbered; not merely counted, but known,
man, woman, and child. I have seen their self-denying efforts to pay
rent in time of trouble, or their reckless extravagance in seasons
of abundance; their patient labor, or their failure to use the
self-control necessary to the performance of the more remunerative
kinds of work; their efforts to keep their children at school, or their
selfish, lazy way of living on their children's earnings. Could any
one, going suddenly among even so small a number as these thirty-four
families--however much penetration and zeal he might possess--know so
accurately as I what kind of assistance would be really helpful, and
not corrupting? And if positive gifts must be resorted to, who can
give them with so little pain to the proud spirit, so little risk of
undermining the feeble one, as the friend of old standing?--the friend,
moreover, who has rigorously exacted the fulfillment of their duty in
punctual payment of rent; towards whom, therefore, they might feel
that they had done what they could while strength lasted, and need not
surely be ashamed to receive a little bread in time of terrible want?
But it ought hardly ever to come to an actual doling out of bread or
alms of any kind. During the winter of 1867-68, while the newspapers
were ringing with appeals in consequence of the distress prevalent
in the metropolis, being on the Continent, and unable to organize
more satisfactory schemes of assistance, I wrote to the ladies who
were superintending the houses for me, to suggest that a small fund
(which had accumulated from the rents, after defraying expenses and
paying interest) should be distributed in gifts to any of the families
who might be in great poverty. The answer was that there were none
requiring such help. Now, how did this come to pass?
Simply through the operation of the various influences above described.
The tenants never having been allowed to involve themselves in debt for
rent (now and then being supplied with employment to enable them to pay
it), they were free from one of the greatest drags upon a poor family,
and had, moreover, in times of prosperity been able really to save.
It is but too often the case that, even when prosperous times come,
working people cannot lay by, because then they have to pay off arrears
of rent. The elder girls, too, were either in service or quite ready
to go; and so steady, tidy, and respectable as to be able to fill good
situations. This was owing, in many cases, to a word or two spoken long
before, urging their longer attendance at school, or to their having
had a few happy and innocent amusements provided for them, which had
satisfied their natural craving for recreation, and had prevented their
breaking loose in search of it. Health had been secured by an abundance
of air, light, and water. Even among this very lowest class of people,
I had found individuals whom I could draft from my lodging-houses into
resident situations (transplanting them thus at once into a higher
grade), simply because I was able to say, "I know them to be honest, I
know them to be clean." Think of what this mere fact of _being known_
is to the poor!
You may say, perhaps, "This is very well as far as you and your small
knot of tenants are concerned, but how does it help us to deal with
the vast masses of poor in our great towns?" I reply, "Are not the
great masses made up of many small knots? Are not the great towns
divisible into small districts? Are there not people who would gladly
come forward to undertake the systematic supervision of some house or
houses, if they could get authority from the owner? And why should
there not be some way of registering such supervision, so that, bit by
bit, as more volunteers should come forward, the whole metropolis might
be mapped out, all the blocks fitting in like little bits of mosaic to
form one connected whole?"
The success of the plan does not depend entirely upon the houses being
the property of the superintendent. I would urge people, if possible,
to purchase the houses of which they undertake the charge; but if they
cannot, they may yet do a valuable little bit of work by registering a
distinct declaration that they will supervise such and such a house, or
row, or street; that if they have to relinquish the work, they will say
so; that if it becomes too much for them, they will ask for help; that
any one desiring information about the families dwelling in the houses
they manage may apply to them.
It is well known that the societies at work among the poor are so
numerous, and labor so independently of each other, that, at present,
many sets of people may administer relief to a given family in one
day, and perhaps not one go near them again for a long interval; yet
each society may be quite systematic in its own field of operation.
It seems to me, that though each society might like to go its own way
(and, perhaps, to supply wants which the house-overseer might think it
best to leave unsupplied), they might at least feel it an advantage to
know of a recognized authority, from whom particulars could be learned
respecting relief already given, and the history of the families in
question.