frequented by barristers and attorneys, and entered Fleet Street, one
of the main arteries of the metropolis, reminding us of London in the
olden feudal times, when the streets were crowded together in dense
masses, flanked with innumerable dingy alleys, courts, and by-streets,
like a great rabbit-warren. Fleet Street, though a narrow, business
street, with its traffic often choked with vehicles, is interesting
from its antique, historical, and literary associations. Elbowing our
way through the throng of people, we pass through one of the gloomy
arches of Temple Bar, and issue into the Strand, where we saw two
pickpockets, young, tall, gentlemanly men, cross the street from St.
Clement’s Church and enter a restaurant. They were attired in a suit
of superfine black cloth, cut in fashionable style. They entered an
elegant dining-room, and probably sat down to costly viands and wines.
Leaving the Strand, we went up St. Martin’s Lane, a narrow street
leading from the Strand to the Seven Dials. We here saw a young man, an
expert burglar, of about twenty-four years of age and dark complexion,
standing at the corner of the street. He was well dressed, in a dark
cloth suit, with a billicock hat. One of his comrades was taken from
his side about three weeks ago on a charge of burglary.
Entering a beershop in the neighbourhood of St. Giles, close by the
Seven Dials, we saw a band of coiners and ringers of changes. One of
them, a genteel-looking, slim youth is a notorious coiner, and has
been convicted. He was sitting quietly by the door over a glass of
beer, with his companion by his side. One of them is a moulder; another
was sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude for coining and selling
base coin. A modest-looking young man, one of the gang, was seated by
the bar, also respectably dressed. He is generally supposed to be a
subordinate connected with this coining band, looking out, while they
are coining, that no officers of justice are near, and carrying the bag
of base money for them when they go out to sell it to base wretches in
small quantities at low prices. Five shillings’ worth of base money
is generally sold for tenpence. “_Ringing the changes_” is effected
in this way:--A person offers a good sovereign to a shopkeeper to be
changed. The gold piece is chinked on the counter, or otherwise tested,
and is proved to be good. The man hastily asks back and gets the
sovereign, and pretends that he has some silver, so that he does not
require to change it. On feeling his pocket he finds he does not have
it, and returns a base piece of money resembling it, instead of the
genuine gold piece.
We returned to Bow Street, and saw three young pickpockets proceeding
along in company, like three well-dressed costermongers, in dark cloth
frock-coats and caps.
Being desirous of having a more thorough knowledge of the people
residing in the rookery of St. Giles, we visited it with Mr. Hunt,
inspector of police. We first went to a lodging-house in George Street,
Oxford Street, called the Hampshire-Hog Yard. Most of the lodgers were
then out. On visiting a room in the garret we saw a man, in mature
years, making artificial flowers; he appeared to be very ingenious, and
made several roses before us with marvellous rapidity. He had suspended
along the ceiling bundles of dyed grasses of various hues, crimson,
yellow, green, brown, and other colours to furnish cases of stuffed
birds. He was a very intelligent man and a natural genius. He told us
strong drink had brought him to this humble position in the garret, and
that he once had the opportunity of making a fortune in the service of
a nobleman. We felt, as we looked on his countenance, and listened to
his conversation, he was capable of moving in a higher sphere of life.
Yet he was wonderfully contented with his humble lot.
We visited Dyott House, George Street, the ancient manor-house of St.
Giles-in-the-Fields, now fitted up as a lodging-house for single men.
The kitchen, an apartment about fifteen feet square, is surrounded with
massive and tasteful panelling in the olden style. A large fire blazing
in the grate--with two boilers on each side--was kept burning night
and day to supply the lodgers with hot water for their tea and coffee.
Some rashers of bacon were suspended before the fire, with a plate
underneath. There was a gas-light in the centre of the apartment, and
a dial on the back wall. The kitchen was furnished with two long deal
tables and a dresser, with forms to serve as seats. There were about
fifteen labouring men present, most of them busy at supper on fish,
and bread, and tea. They were a very mixed company, such as we would
expect at a London lodging-house, men working in cab-yards assisting
cabmen, some distributing bills in the streets, one man carrying
advertizing boards, and others jobbing at anything they can find to do
in the neighbourhood. This house was clean and comfortable, and had
the appearance of being truly a comfortable poor man’s home. It was
cheerful to look around us and to see the social air of the inmates.
One man sat with his coat off, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen; a
boy was at his tea, cutting up dried fish and discussing his bread and
butter. A young man of about nineteen sat at the back of the apartment,
with a very sinister countenance, very unlike the others. There was
something about him that indicated a troubled mind. We also observed a
number of elderly men among the party, some in jackets, and others in
velvet coats, with an honest look about them.
When the house was a brothel, about fifteen years ago, an unfortunate
prostitute, named Mary Brothers, was murdered in this kitchen by a man
named Connell, who was afterwards executed at Newgate for the deed. He
had carnal connexion with this woman some time before, and he suspected
that she had communicated to him the venereal disease with which he was
afflicted. In revenge he took her life, having purchased a knife at a
neighbouring cutler’s shop.
We were introduced to the landlady, a very stout woman, who came up
to meet us, candle in hand, as we stood on the staircase. Here we saw
the profile of the ancient proprietor of the house, carved over the
paneling, set, as it were, in an oval frame. In another part of the
staircase we saw a similar frame, but the profile had been removed or
destroyed. Over the window that overlooks the staircase there are three
figures, possibly likenesses of his daughters; such is the tradition.
The balustrade along the staircase is very massive and tastefully
carved and ornamented. The bed-rooms were also clean and comfortable.
The beds are furnished with a bed-cover and flock bed, with sufficient
warm and clean bedding, for the low charge of 2_s._ a week, or 4_d._
a night. The first proprietor of the house is said to have been a
magistrate of the city, and a knight or baronet.
Leaving George Street we passed on to Church Lane, a by-street in the
rear of New Oxford Street, containing twenty-eight houses. It was
dark as we passed along. We saw the street lamps lighted in Oxford
Street, and the shop-windows brilliantly illumined, while the thunder
of vehicles in the street broke on our ear, rolling in perpetual
stream. Here a very curious scene presented itself to our view. From
the windows of the three-storied houses in Church Lane were suspended
wooden rods with clothes to dry across the narrow street,--cotton
gowns, sheets, trousers, drawers, and vests, some ragged and patched,
and others old and faded, giving a more picturesque aspect to the
scene, which was enhanced by the dim lights in the windows, and the
groups of the lower orders of all ages assembled below, clustered
around the doorways, and in front of the houses, or indulging in
merriment in the street. Altogether the appearance of the inhabitants
was much more clean and orderly than might be expected in such a
low locality. Many women of the lower orders, chiefly of the Irish
cockneys, were seated, crouching with their knees almost touching
their chin, beside the open windows. Some men were smoking their pipes
as they stood leaning against the walls of their houses, whom from
their appearance we took to be evidently out-door labourers. Another
labouring man was seated on the sill of his window, in corduroy
trousers, light-gray coat and cap, with an honest look of good-humour
and industry. Numbers of young women, the wives of costermongers,
sat in front of their houses in the manner we have described, clad
in cotton gowns, with a general aspect of personal cleanliness and
contentment. At the corners of the streets, and at many of the
doorways, were groups of young costermongers, who had finished their
hard day’s work, and were contentedly chatting and smoking. They
generally stood with their hands in their breeches pockets. Most of
these people are Irish, or the children of Irish parents. The darkness
of the street was lighted up by the street lamps as well as by the
lights in the windows of two chandlers’ shops and one public-house. At
one of the chandlers’ shops the proprietor was standing by his door
with folded arms as he looked good-humouredly on his neighbours around
his shop-door. We also saw some of the young Arabs bareheaded and
barefooted, with their little hands in their pockets, or squatted on
the street, having the usual restless, artful look peculiar to their
tribe.
Here a house was pointed out to us, No. 21, which was formerly let
at a rent of 25_l._ per annum to a publican that resided in the
neighbourhood. He let the same in rooms for 90_l._ a year, and these
again receive from parties residing in them upwards of 120_l._ The
house is still let in rooms, but they are occupied, like all others in
the neighbourhood, by one family only.
At one house as we passed along we saw a woman selling potatoes, at the
window, to persons in the street. On looking into the interior we saw a
cheerful fire burning in the grate and some women sitting around it. We
also observed several bushel baskets and sacks placed round the room,
filled with potatoes, of which they sell a large quantity.
In Church Lane we found two lodging-houses, the kitchens of which
are entered from the street by a descent of a few steps leading
underground to the basement. Here we found numbers of people clustered
together around several tables, some reading the newspapers, others
supping on fish, bread, tea, and potatoes, and some lying half asleep
on the tables in all imaginable positions. These, we were told, had
just returned from hopping in Kent, had walked long distances, and were
fatigued.
On entering some of these kitchens, the ceiling being very low, we
found a large fire burning in the grate, and a general air of comfort,
cleanliness, and order. Such scenes as these were very homely and
picturesque, and reminded us very forcibly of localities of London in
the olden time. In some of them the inmates were only half dressed, and
yet appeared to be very comfortable from the warmth of the apartment.
Here we saw a number of the poorest imbeciles we had noticed in the
course of our rambles through the great metropolis. Many of them were
middle-aged men, others more elderly, very shabbily dressed, and some
half naked. There was little manliness left in the poor wretches as
they squatted drearily on the benches. The inspector told us they were
chiefly vagrants, and were sunk in profound ignorance and debasement,
from which they were utterly unable to rise.
The next kitchen of this description we entered was occupied by
females. It was about fifteen feet square, and belongs to a house with
ten rooms, part of which is occupied as a low lodging-house. Here we
found five women seated around a table, most of them young, but one
more advanced in life. Some of them were good-looking, as though they
had been respectable servants. They were busy at their tea, bread, and
butcher’s meat. On the table stood a candle on a small candlestick.
They sat in curious positions round the table, some of them with an
ample crinoline. One sat by the fire with her gown drawn over her
knees, displaying her white petticoat. As we stood beside them they
burst out in a titter which they could not suppress. On looking round
we observed a plate-rack at the back of the kitchen, and, as usual in
these lodging-houses, a glorious fire burning brightly in the grate.
An old chest of drawers, surmounted with shelves, stood against the
wall. The girls were all prostitutes and thieves, but had no appearance
of shame. They were apparently very merry. The old woman sat very
thoughtful, looking observant on, and no doubt wondering what errand
could have brought us into the house.
We then entered another dwelling-house. On looking down the stairs we
saw a company of young women, from seventeen to twenty-five years of
age. A rope was hung over the fireplace, with stockings and shirts
suspended over it, and clothes were drying on a screen. A young woman,
with her hair netted and ornamented, sat beside the fire with a green
jacket and striped petticoat with crinoline. Another good-looking young
woman sat by the table dressed in a cotton gown and striped apron, with
coffee-pot in hand, and tea-cups before her. Some pleasant-looking
girls sat by the table with their chins leaning on their hands, smiling
cheerfully, looking at us with curiosity. Another coarser featured
dame lolled by the end of the table with her gown drawn over her head,
smirking in our countenance; and one sat by, her shawl drawn over her
head. Another apparently modest girl sat by cutting her nails with
a knife. On the walls around the apartment were suspended a goodly
assortment of bonnets, cloaks, gowns, and petticoats.
Meantime an elderly little man came in with a cap on his head and
a long staff in his hand, and stood looking on with curiosity. On
the table lay a pack of cards beside the bowls, cups, and other
crockery-ware. Some of the girls appeared as if they had lately been
servants in respectable situations, and one was like a quiet genteel
shop girl. They were all prostitutes, and most of them prowl about at
night to plunder drunken men. As we looked on the more interesting
girls, especially two of them, we saw the sad consequences of one
wrong step, which may launch the young and thoughtless into a criminal
career, and drive them into the dismal companionship of the most lewd
and debased.
We then went to Short’s Gardens, and entered a house there. On the
basement underground we saw a company of men, women, and children of
various ages, seated around the tables, and by the fire. The men and
women had mostly been engaged in hopping, and appeared to be healthy,
industrious, and orderly. Until lately thieves used to lodge in these
premises.
As we entered Queen Street we saw three thieves, lads of about fourteen
years of age, standing in the middle of the street as if on the outlook
for booty. They were dressed in black frock-coats, corduroy, and
fustian trousers, and black caps. Passing along Queen Street, which is
one of the wings of the Dials, we went up to the central space between
the Seven Dials. Here a very lively scene presented itself to our
view; clusters of labouring men, and a few men of doubtful character,
in dark shabby dress, loitered by the corners of the surrounding
streets. We also saw groups of elderly women standing at some of the
angles, most of them ragged and drunken, their very countenances the
pictures of abject misery. The numerous public-houses in the locality
were driving a busy traffic, and were thronged with motley groups of
people of various grades, from the respectable merchant and tradesman
to the thief and the beggar.
Bands of boys and girls were gamboling in the street in wild frolic,
tumbling on their head with their heels in the air, and shouting in
merriment, while the policeman was quietly looking on in good humour.
Around the centre of the Dials were bakers’ shops with large
illuminated fronts, the shelves being covered with loaves, and the
baker busy attending to his customers. In the window was a large
printed notice advertising the “best wheaten bread at 6_d._” a loaf. A
druggist’s shop was invitingly adorned with beautiful green and purple
jars, but no customers entered during the time of our stay.
At the corner of an opposite dial was an old clothes store, with a
large assortment of second-hand garments, chiefly for men, of various
kinds, qualities, and styles, suspended around the front of the
shop. There were also provision shops, which were well attended with
customers. The whole neighbourhood presented an appearance of bustle
and animation, and omnibuses and other vehicles were passing along in a
perpetual stream.
The most of the low girls in this locality do not go out till late
in the evening, and chiefly devote their attention to drunken men.
They frequent the principal thoroughfares in the vicinity of Oxford
Street, Holborn, Farringdon Street, and other bustling streets. From
the nature of their work they are of a migratory character. The most
of the men we saw in the houses we visited belong to the labouring
class, men employed to assist in cleaning cabs and omnibuses, carriers
of advertising boards, distributors of bills, patterers, chickweed
sellers, ballad singers, and persons generally of industrious habits,
along with a few of doubtful character. They are willing to work, but
will steal rather than want.
The lodging-house people here have not been known of late years to
receive stolen property, and the inhabitants generally are steadily
rising in habits of decency, cleanliness, and morality.
The houses we visited in George Street, and the streets adjacent, were
formerly part of the rookery of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, celebrated as
one of the chief haunts of redoutable thieves and suspicious characters
in London. Deserted as it comparatively is now, except by the labouring
poor vagrants and low prostitutes, it was once the resort of all
classes, from the proud noble to the beggar picking up a livelihood
from door to door.
We have been indebted to Mr. Hunt, inspector of the lodging-houses of
this district, for fuller information regarding the rookery of St.
Giles and its inhabitants twenty years ago, before a number of these
disreputable streets were removed to make way for New Oxford Street.
We quote from a manuscript nearly in his own words:--“The ground
covered by the Rookery was enclosed by Great Russell Street, Charlotte
Street, Broad Street, and High Street, all within the parish of St.
Giles-in-the-Fields. Within this space were George Street (once Dyott
Street), Carrier Street, Maynard Street, and Church Street, which ran
from north to south, and were intersected by Church Lane, Ivy Lane,
Buckeridge Street, Bainbridge Street, and New Street. These, with an
almost endless intricacy of courts and yards crossing each other,
rendered the place like a rabbit-warren.
“In Buckeridge Street stood the ‘Hare and Hounds’ public-house,
formerly the ‘Beggar in the Bush;’ at the time of which I speak (1844)
kept by the well-known and much-respected Joseph Banks (generally
called ‘Stunning Joe’), a civil, rough, good-hearted Boniface. His
house was the resort of all classes, from the aristocratic marquis to
the vagabond whose way of living was a puzzle to himself.
“At the opposite corner of Carrier Street stood Mother Dowling’s, a
lodging-house and provision shop, which was not closed nor the shutters
put on for several years before it was pulled down, to make way for
the improvements in New Oxford Street.... The shop was frequented by
vagrants of every class, including foreigners, who, with moustache,
well-brushed hat, and seedy clothes--consisting usually of a frock-coat
buttoned to the chin, light trousers, and boots gaping at each lofty
step--might be seen making their way to Buckeridge Street to regale
upon cabbage, which had been boiled with a ferocious pig’s head or a
fine piece of salt beef. From 12 to 1 o’clock at midnight was chosen by
these ragged but proud gentlemen from abroad as the proper time for a
visit to Mrs. Dowling’s.
“Most of the houses in Buckeridge Street were lodging-houses for
thieves, prostitutes, and cadgers. The charge was fourpence a night in
the upper rooms, and threepence in the cellars, as the basements were
termed. If the beds were occupied six nights by the same parties, and
all dues paid, the seventh night (Sunday) was not charged for. The
rooms were crowded, and paid well. I remember seeing fourteen women
in beds in a cellar, each of whom paid 3_d._ a night, which, Sunday
free, amounted to 21_s._ per week. The furniture in this den might
have originally cost the proprietor 7_l._ or 8_l._ At the time I last
visited it, it was not worth more than 30_s._
“Both sides of Buckeridge Street abounded in courts, particularly the
north side, and these, with the connected backyards and low walls
in the rear of the street, afforded an easy escape to any thief
when pursued by officers of justice. I remember on one occasion, in
1844, a notorious thief was wanted by a well-known criminal-officer
(Restieaux). He was known to associate with some cadgers who used
a house in the rear of Paddy Corvan’s, near Church Street, and was
believed to be in the house when Restieaux and a serjeant entered it.
They went into the kitchen where seven male and five female thieves
were seated, along with several cadgers of the most cunning class. One
of them made a signal, indicating that some one had escaped by the
back of the premises, in which direction the officers proceeded. It
was evident the thief had gone over a low wall into an adjoining yard.
The pursuers climbed over, passed through the yards and back premises
of eleven houses, and secured him in Jones Court. There were about
twenty persons present at the time of the arrest, but they offered no
resistance to the constables. It would have been a different matter had
he been apprehended by strangers.
“In Bainbridge Street, one side of which was nearly occupied by the
immense brewery of Meux & Co., were found some of the most intricate
and dangerous places in this low locality. The most notorious of these
was Jones Court, inhabited by coiners, utterers of base coin, and
thieves. In former years a bull terrier was kept here, which gave an
alarm on the appearance of a stranger, when the coining was suspended
till the course was clear. This dog was at last taken away by Duke
and Clement, two police officers, and destroyed by an order from a
magistrate.
“The houses in Jones Court were connected by roof, yard, and cellar
with those in Bainbridge and Buckeridge streets, and with each other
in such a manner that the apprehension of an inmate or refugee in one
of them was almost a task of impossibility to a stranger, and difficult
to those well acquainted with the interior of the dwellings. In one of
the cellars was a large cesspool, covered in such a way that a stranger
would likely step into it. In the same cellar was a hole about two
feet square, leading to the next cellar, and thence by a similar hole
into the cellar of a house in Scott’s Court, Buckeridge Street. These
afforded a ready means of escape to a thief, but effectually stopped
the pursuers, who would be put to the risk of creeping on his hands and
knees through a hole two feet square in a dark cellar in St. Giles’s
Rookery, entirely in the power of dangerous characters. Other houses
were connected in a similar manner. In some instances there was a
communication from one back window to another by means of large spike
nails, one row to hold by, and another for the feet to rest on, which
were not known to be used at the time we refer to.
“In Church Street were several houses let to men of an honest but poor
class, who worked in omnibus and cab-yards, factories, and such other
places as did not afford them the means of procuring more expensive
lodgings. Their apartments were clean, and their way of living frugal.