London Labour and the London Poor: Selection (Classics) (19 page)

‘I was a mason’s labourer, a smith’s labourer, a plasterer’s labourer, or a bricklayer’s labourer. I was, indeed, a labouring man. I could not get employment. I was for six months without any employment. I did not know which way to support my wife and child (I have only one child). Being so long out of employment, I saw no other means of getting a living but out of the streets. I was almost starving before I took to it – that I certainly was. I’m not ashamed of telling anybody that, because it’s true, and I sought for a livelihood wherever I could. Many said they wouldn’t do such a thing as keep a coffee-stall, but I said I’d do anything to get a bit of bread honestly. Years ago, when I was a boy, I used to go out selling
water-cresses, and apples, oranges, and radishes, with a barrow, for my landlord; so I thought, when I was thrown out of employment, I would take to selling coffee in the streets. I went to a tinman, and paid him 10
s
. 6
d
. (the last of my savings, after I’d been four or five months out of work) for a can, I didn’t care how I got my living so long as I could turn an honest penny. Well; I went on, and knocked about, and couldn’t get a pitch anywhere; but at last I heard that an old man, who had been in the habit of standing for many years at the entrance of one of the markets, had fell ill; so, what did I do, but I goes and pops into his pitch, and there I’ve done better than ever I did afore. I get 20
s
. now where I got 10
s
. one time; and if I only had such a thing as 5
l
. or 10
l
., I might get a good living for life. I cannot do half as much as the man that was there before me. He used to make his coffee down there, and had a can for hot water as well; but I have but one can to keep coffee and all in; and I have to borrow my barrow, and pay 1
s
. a week for it. If I sell my can out, I can’t do any more. The struggle to get a living is so great, that, what with one and another in the coffee-trade, it’s only those as can get good “pitches” that can get a crust at it.’

As it appears that each coffee-stall keeper on an average, clears 1
l
. a week, and his takings may be said to be at least double that sum, the yearly street expenditure for tea, coffee, &c., amounts to 31,200
l
. The quantity of coffee sold annually in the streets, appears to be about 550,000 gallons.

To commence as a coffee-stall keeper in a moderate manner requires about 5
l
. capital. The truck costs 2
l
., and the other utensils and materials 3
l
. The expense of the cans is near upon 16
s
. each. The stock-money is a few shillings.

Of the Street Sale of Ginger-beer, Sherbet, Lemonade, &c
.

[p. 196] The street-trade in ginger-beer – now a very considerable traffic – was not known to any extent until about thirty years ago. About that time (1822) a man, during a most sultry drought, sold extraordinary quantities of ‘cool ginger-beer’ and of ‘soda-powders’, near the Royal Exchange, clearing, for the three or four weeks the heat continued, 30
s
. a day, or 9
l
. weekly. Soda-water he sold ‘in powders’, the acid and the alkali being mixed in the water of the glass held by the customer, and drunk whilst effervescing. His prices were 2
d
. and 3
d
. a glass for ginger-beer; and 3
d
. and 4
d
. for soda-water, ‘according to the quality’; though there was in reality no difference whatever in the quality – only in the
price. From that time, the numbers pursuing this street vocation increased gradually; they have however fallen off of late years.

The street-sellers who ‘brew their own beer’ generally prepare half a gross (six dozen) at a time. For a ‘good quality’ or the ‘penny bottle’ trade, the following are the ingredients and the mode of preparation: 3 gallons of water; 1 lb. of ginger, 6
d
.; lemon-acid, 2
d
.; essence of cloves, 2
d
.; yeast, 2
d
.; and 1 lb. of raw sugar, 7
d
. This admixture, the yeast being the last ingredient introduced, stands 24 hours, and is then ready for bottling. If the beverage be required in 12 hours, double the quantity of yeast is used. The bottles are filled only ‘to the ridge’, but the liquid and the froth more than fill a full-sized half-pint glass. ‘Only half froth,’ I was told, ‘is reckoned very fair, and it’s just the same in the shops.’ Thus, 72 bottles, each to be sold at 1
d
., cost – apart from any outlay in utensils, or any consideration of the value of labour – only 1
s
. 7
d
., and yield, at 1
d
. per bottle, 6
s
. For the cheaper beverage – called ‘playhouse ginger-beer’ in the trade – instead of sugar, molasses from the ‘private distilleries’ is made available. The ‘private’ distilleries are the illicit ones: ‘“Jiggers,” we call them,’ said one man; ‘and I could pass 100 in 10 minutes’ walk from where we’re talking.’ Molasses, costing 3
d
. at a jigger’s, is sufficient for a half-gross of bottles of ginger-beer; and of the other ingredients only half the quantity is used, the cloves being altogether dispensed with, but the same amount of yeast is generally applied. This quality of ‘beer’ is sold at ½
d
. the glass.

About five years ago ‘fountains’ for the production of ginger-beer became common in the streets. The ginger-beer trade in the open air is only for a summer season, extending from four to seven months, according to the weather, the season last year having been over in about four months. There were then 200 fountains in the streets, all of which, excepting 20 or 30 of the best, were hired of the ginger-beer manufacturers, who drive a profitable trade in them. The average value of a street-fountain, with a handsome frame or stand, which is usually fixed on a wheeled and movable truck, so as one man’s strength may be sufficient to propel it, is 7
l
.; and, for the rent of such a fountain, 6
s
. a week is paid when the season is brisk, and 4
s
. when it is slack; but last summer, I am told, 4
s
. 6
d
. was an average. The largest and handsomest ginger-beer fountain in London was – I speak of last summer – in use at the East-end, usually standing in Petticoat-lane, and is the property of a dancing-master. It is made of mahogany, and presents somewhat the form of an upright piano on wheels. It has two pumps, and the brass of the pump-handles and the glass receivers is always kept bright and clean, so that the whole glitters handsomely to the light. Two persons ‘serve’ at this
fountain; and on a fine Sunday morning, from six to one, that being the best trading time, they take 7
l
. or 8
l
. in halfpennies – for ‘the beer’ is ½
d
. a glass – and 2
l
. each other day of the week. This machine, as it may be called, is drawn by two ponies, said to be worth 10
l
. a-piece; and the whole cost is pronounced – perhaps with a sufficient exaggeration – to have been 150
l
. There were, in the same neighbourhood, two more fountains on a similar style, but commoner, each drawn by only one pony instead of the aristocratic ‘pair’.

The ingredients required to feed the ‘ginger-beer’ fountains are of a very cheap description. To supply 10 gallons, 2 quarts of lime-juice (as it is called, but it is, in reality, lemon-juice), costing 3
s
. 6
d
., are placed in the recess, sometimes with the addition of a pound of sugar (4
d
.); while some, I am assured, put in a smaller quantity of juice, and add two-pennyworth of oil of vitriol, which ‘brings out the sharpness of the lime-juice’. The rest is water.

Of the Street Sale of Peppermint-water

[p. 201] Perhaps the only thing which can be called a cordial or a liqueur sold in the streets (if we except elder wine), is peppermint-water, and of this the sale is very limited. For the first 15 or 20 years of the present century, I was told by one who spoke from a personal knowledge, ‘a pepperminter’ had two little taps to his keg, which had a division in the interior. From one tap was extracted ‘peppermint-water’; from the other, ‘strong peppermint-water’. The one was at that time 1
d
. a glass, the other from 2
d
. to 4
d
., according to the size of the glass. With the ‘strong’ beverage was mixed smuggled spirit, but so strongly impregnated with the odour of the mint, that a passer-by could not detect the presence of the illicit compound. There are six persons selling peppermint-water in the winter, and only half that number in the summer. The trade is irregular, as some pursue it only of a night, and generally in the street markets; others sell at Billingsgate, and places of great traffic, when the traffic is being carried on. They are stationary for awhile, but keep shifting their ground. The vendors generally ‘distilled their own mint’, when the sale was greater, but within these six or eight years they have purchased it at a distilling chemist’s, and have only prepared it for sale. Water is added to the distilled liquid bought of the chemist, to increase the quantity; but to enhance the heat of the draught – which is a draw to some buyers – black pepper (unground), or ginger, or, but rarely, capsicums, are steeped in the beverage. The peppermint-water is lauded by the vendors, when
questioned concerning it, as an excellent stomachic; but nothing is said publicly of its virtues, the cry being merely, ‘Pep-permint water, a halfpenny a glass.’

The sellers will generally say that they distil the peppermint-water themselves, but this is not now commonly the case. The process, however, is simple enough. The peppermint used is gathered just as it is bursting into flower, and the leaves and buds are placed in a tub, with just water enough to cover them. This steeping continues 24 hours, and then a still is filled three-parts full, and the water is ‘over’ drawn very slowly.

The price at the chemist’s is 1
s
. a quart for the common mint-water; the street price is ½
d
. a glass, containing something short of the eighth of a pint. What costs 1
s
., the street-seller disposes of for 2
s
., so realising the usual cent, per cent.

To take 2
s
. is now accounted ‘a tidy day’s work’; and calculating that four ‘pepperminters’ take that amount the year round, Sundays excepted, we find that nearly 125
l
. is spent annually in peppermint-water and 900 gallons of it consumed every year in the streets of London.

The capital required is, keg, 3
s
. 6
d
., or jar, 2
s
. (for they are used indifferently); four glasses, 1
s
.; towel, 4
d
., and stock-money, 4
s
.; or, in all, about 8
s
. The ‘water’-keg, or jar, is carried by the vendor, but sometimes it is rested on a large stool carried for the purpose. A distilling apparatus, such as the street-sellers used, was worth about 10
s
. The vendors are of the same class of street-sellers as the ginger-beer people.

Of Milk Selling in St James’s Park

[pp.
201
–2] The principal sale of milk from the cow is in St James’s Park. The once fashionable drink known as syllabubs – the milk being drawn warm from the cow’s udder, upon a portion of wine, sugar, spice, &c. – is now unknown. As the sellers of milk in the park are merely the servants of cow-keepers, and attend to the sale as a part of their business, no lengthened notice is required.

The milk-sellers obtain leave from the Home Secretary, to ply their trade in the park. There are eight stands in the summer, and as many cows, but in the winter there are only four cows. The milk-vendors sell upon an average, in the summer, from eighteen to twenty quarts per day; in the winter, not more than a third of that quantity. The interrupted milking of the cows, as practised in the Park, often causes them to give less milk, than they would in the ordinary way. The chief customers are infants, and adults, and others, of a delicate constitution, who have been
recommended to take new milk. On a wet day scarcely any milk can be disposed of. Soldiers are occasional customers.

A somewhat sour-tempered old woman, speaking as if she had been crossed in love, but experienced in this trade, gave me the following account:

‘It’s not at all a lively sort of life, selling milk from the cows, though some thinks it’s a gay time in the Park! I’ve often been dull enough, and could see nothing to interest one, sitting alongside a cow. People drink new milk for their health, and I’ve served a good many such. They’re mostly young women, I think, that’s delicate, and makes the most of it. There’s twenty women, and more, to one man what drinks new milk. If they was set to some good hard work, it would do them more good than new milk, or ass’s milk either, I think. Let them go on a milk-walk to cure them – that’s what I say. Some children come pretty regularly with their nurses to drink new milk. Some bring their own china mugs to drink it out of; nothing less was good enough for them. I’ve seen the nurse-girls frightened to death about the mugs. I’ve heard one young child say to another: “I shall tell mama that Caroline spoke to a mechanic, who came and shook hands with her.” The girl was as red as fire and said it was her brother. Oh, yes, there’s a deal of brothers comes to look for their sisters in the Park. The greatest fools I’ve sold milk to is servant-gals out for the day. Some must have a day, or half a day, in the month. Their mistresses ought to keep them at home, I say, and not let them out to spend their money, and get into nobody knows what company for a holiday; mistresses is too easy that way. It’s such gals as makes fools of themselves in liking a soldier to run after them. I’ve seen one of them – yes, some would call her pretty, and the prettiest is the silliest and easiest tricked out of money, that’s my opinion, anyhow – I’ve seen one of them, and more than one, walk with a soldier, and they’ve stopped a minute, and she’s taken something out of her glove and given it to him. Then they’ve come up to me, and he’s said to her, “Mayn’t I treat you with a little new milk, my dear?’ and he’s changed a shilling. Why, of course, the silly fool of a gal had given him that there shilling. I thought, when Annette Myers shot the soldier, it would be a warning, but nothing’s a warning to some gals.
She
was one of those fools. It was a good deal talked about at the stand, but I think none of us know’d her. Indeed, we don’t know our customers but by sight. Yes, there’s now and then some oldish gentlemen – I suppose they’re gentlemen, anyhow, they’re idle men – lounging about the stand: but there’s no nonsense there. They tell me, too, that there’s not so much lounging about as there was; those that’s known the trade longer than me
thinks so. Them children’s a great check on the nusses, and they can’t be such fools as the servant-maids. I don’t know how many of them I’ve served with milk along with soldiers: I never counted them. They’re nothing to me. Very few elderly people drink new milk. It’s mostly the young. I’ve been asked by strangers when the Duke of Wellington would pass to the Horse-Guards or to the House of Lords. He’s pretty regular. I’ve had 6
d
. given me – but not above once or twice a year – to tell strangers where was the best place to see him from as he passed. I don’t understand about this Great Exhibition, but, no doubt, more new milk will be sold when it’s opened, and that’s all I cares about.’