London Labour and the London Poor: Selection (Classics) (72 page)

The next was a boy with a quiet look, rather better drressed than most of the vagrant boys, and far more clean in his dress. He made the following statement:

‘I am now seventeen. My father was a cotton-spinner in Manchester, but has been dead ten years; and soon after that my mother went into the workhouse, leaving me with an aunt; and I had work in a cotton factory. As young as I was, I earned 2
s
. 2
d
. a week at first. I can read well, and can write a little. I worked at the factory two years, and was then earning 7
s
. a week. I then ran away, for I had always a roving mind; but I should have stayed if my master hadn’t knocked me about so. I thought I should make my fortune in London – I’d heard it was such a grand place. I had read in novels and romances – halfpenny and penny books – about such things, but I’ve met with nothing of the kind. I started without money, and begged my way from Manchester to London, saying I was going up to look for work. I wanted to see the place more than anything else. I suffered very much on the road, having to be out all night often; and the nights were cold, though it was summer. When I got to London all my
hopes were blighted. I could get no further. I never tried for work in London, for I believe there are no cotton factories in it; besides, I wanted to see life. I begged, and slept in the unions. I got acquainted with plenty of boys like myself. We met at the casual wards, both in London and the country. I have now been five years at this life. We were merry enough in the wards, we boys, singing and telling stories. Songs such as “Paul Jones” was liked, while some sung very blackguard songs; but I never got hold of such songs, though I have sold lots of songs in Essex. Some told long stories, very interesting; some were not fit to be heard; but they made one laugh sometimes. I’ve read “Jack Sheppard” through, in three volumes; and I used to tell stories out of that sometimes. We all told in our turns. We generally began – “Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, though it was neither in your time, nor my time, nor nobody else’s time.” The best man in the story is always called Jack.’

At my request, this youth told me a long story, and told it very readily, as if by rote. I give it for its peculiarity, as it is extravagant enough, without humour.

‘A farmer hired Jack, and instructed him over-night. Jack was to do what he was required, or lose his head. “Now, Jack,” said the farmer [I give the conclusion in the boy’s words,], “what’s my name?” “Master, to be sure,” says Jack. “No,” said he, “you must call me Tom Per Cent.” He showed his bed next, and asked, “What’s this, Jack?” “Why, the bed,” said Jack. “No, you must call that He’s of Degree.” And so he bid Jack call his leather breeches “forty cracks”; the cat “white-faced Simeon” the fire “hot coleman” the pump the “resurrection” and the haystack the “little cock-a-mountain”. Jack was to remember these names or lose his head. At night the cat got under the grate, and burned herself, and hot cinder struck her fur, and she ran under the haystack and set it on fire. Jack ran up-stairs to his master, and said;

‘Tom Per Cent, arise out of he’s of degree,

Put on your forty cracks, come down and see:

For the little white-faced Simeon

Has run away with hot coleman

Under the little cock-a-mountain,

And without the aid of the resurrection

We shall be damned and burnt to death.’

So Jack remembered his lesson, and saved his head. That’s the end. Blackguard stories were often told about women. There was plenty told, too, about Dick Turpin, Sixteen-string Jack, Oxford Blue, and such as
them; as well as about Jack Sheppard; about Bamfylde Moore Carew, too, and his disguises. We very often had fighting and quarrelling among ourselves. Once, at Birmingham, we smashed all the windows, and did all the damage we could. I can’t tell exactly why it was done, but we must all take part in it, or we should be marked. I believe some did it to get into prison, they were so badly off. They piled up the rugs; there was no straw; and some put their clothes on the rugs, and then the heap was set fire to. There was no fire, and no light, but somebody had a box of lucifers. We were all nearly suffocated before the people of the place could get to us. Seventeen of us had a month a-piece for it: I was one. The rugs were dirty and filthy, and not fit for any Christian to sleep under, and so I took part in the burning, as I thought it would cause something better. I’ve known wild Irishmen get into the wards with knives and sticks hidden about their persons, to be ready for a fight. I met two young men in Essex who had been well off – very well, – but they liked a tramper’s life. Each had his young woman with him, living as man and wife. They often change their young women; but I never did travel with one, or keep company with any more than twelve hours or so. There used to be great numbers of girls in the casual wards in London. Any young man travelling the country could get a mate among them, and can get mates – partners they’re often called – still. Some of them are very pretty indeed; but among them are some horrid ugly – the most are ugly; bad expressions and coarse faces, and lame, and disgusting to the eye. It was disgusting, too, to hear them in their own company; that is, among such as themselves; – beggars, you know. Almost every word was an oath, and every blackguard word was said plain out. I think the pretty ones were worst. Very few have children. I knew two who had. One was seventeen, and her child was nine months old; the other was twenty-one, and her child was eighteen months. They were very good to their children. I’ve heard of some having children, and saying they couldn’t guess at the fathers of them, but I never met with any such myself. I didn’t often hear them quarrel – I mean the young men and young women that went out as partners – in the lodging-houses. Some boys of fifteen have their young women as partners, but with young boys older women are generally partners – women about twenty. They always pass as man and wife. All beggar-girls are bad, I believe. I never heard but of one that was considered virtuous, and she was always reading a prayer-book and a testament in her lodging-house. The last time I saw her was at Cambridge. She is about thirty, and has traces of beauty left. The boys used to laugh at her, and say, “Oh! how virtuous and righteous we are! but you get your living by it.” I never knew her to get
anything by it. I don’t see how she could, for she said nothing about her being righteous when she was begging about, I believe. If it wasn’t for the casual wards, I couldn’t get about. If two partners goes to the same union, they have to be parted at night, and join again the morning. Some of the young women are very dirty, but some’s as clean. A few, I think, can read and write. Some boasts of their wickedness, and others tell them in derision it’s wrong to do that, and then a quarrel rages in the lodging-house. I liked a roving life, at first, being my own master. I was fond of going to plays, and such-like, when I got money; but now I’m getting tired of it, and wish for something else. I have tried for work at cotton factories in Lancashire and Yorkshire, but never could get any. I’ve been all over the country. I’m sure I could settle now. I couldn’t have done that two years ago, the roving spirit was so strong upon me, and the company I kept got a strong hold on me. Two winters back, there was a regular gang of us boys in London. After sleeping at a union, we would fix where to meet at night to get into another union to sleep. There were thirty of us that way, all boys; besides forty young men, and thirty young women. Sometimes we walked the streets all night. We didn’t rob, at least I never saw any robbing. We had pleasure in chaffing the policemen, and some of us got taken up. I always escaped. We got broken up in time, – some’s dead, some’s gone to sea, some into the country, some home, and some lagged. Among them were many lads very expert in reading, writing, and arithmetic. One young man – he was only twenty-five – could speak several languages: he had been to sea. He was then begging, though a strong young man. I suppose he liked that life: some soon got tired of it. I often have suffered from cold and hunger. I never made more than 3
d
. a day in money, take the year round, by begging; some make more than 6
d
.: but then, I’ve had meat and bread given besides. I say nothing when I beg, but that I am a poor boy out of work and starving. I never stole anything in my life. I’ve often been asked to do so by my mates. I never would. The young women steal the most. I know, least, I did know, two that kept young men, their partners, going about the country with them, chiefly by their stealing. Some do so by their prostitution. Those that go as partners are all prostitutes. There is a great deal of sickness among the young men and women, but I never was ill these last seven years. Fevers, colds, and venereal diseases, are very common.’

The last statement I took was that of a boy of thirteen. I can hardly say that he was clothed at all. He had no shirt, and no waistcoat; all his neck and a great part of his chest being bare. A ragged cloth jacket hung about him, and was tied, so as to keep it together, with bits of tape. What he had
wrapped round for trousers did not cover one of his legs, while one of his thighs was bare. He wore two old shoes; one tied to his foot with an old ribbon, the other a woman’s old boot. He had an old cloth cap. His features were distorted somewhat, through being swollen with the cold. ‘I was born,’ he said, ‘at a place called Hadley, in Kent. My father died when I was three days old, I’ve heard my mother say. He was married to her, I believe, but I don’t know what he was. She had only me. My mother went about begging, sometimes taking me with her; at other times she left me at the lodging-house in Hadley. She went in the country, round about Tunbridge and there, begging. Sometimes she had a day’s work. We had plenty to eat then, but I haven’t had much lately. My mother died at Hadley a year ago. I didn’t know how she was buried. She was ill a long time, and I was out begging; for she sent me out to beg for myself a good while before that, and when I got back to the lodging-house they told me she was dead. I had sixpence in my pocket, but I couldn’t help crying to think I’d lost my mother. I cry about it still. I didn’t wait to see her buried, but I started on my own account. I met two navvies in Bromley, and they paid my first night’s lodging; and there was a man passing, going to London with potatoes, and the navvies gave the man a pot of beer to take me up to London in the van, and they went that way with me. I came to London to beg, thinking I could get more there than anywhere else, hearing that London was such a good place. I begged; but sometimes wouldn’t get a farthing in a day; often walking about the streets all night. I have been begging about all the time till now. I am very weak – starving to death. I never stole anything: I always kept my hands to myself. A boy wanted me to go with him to pick a gentleman’s pocket. We was mates for two days, and then he asked me to go picking pockets; but I wouldn’t. I know it’s wrong, though I can neither read nor write. The boy asked me to do it to get into prison, as that would be better than the streets. He picked pockets to get into prison. He was starving about the streets like me. I never slept in a bed since I’ve been in London: I am sure I haven’t: I generally slept under the dry arches in West-street, where they’re building houses – I mean the arches for the cellars. I begged chiefly from the Jews about Petticoat-lane, for they all give away bread that their children leave – pieces of crust, and such-like. I would do anything to be out of this misery.’

Increase and Decrease of Number of Applicants to Casual Wards of London Workhouses

[pp. 402–6] The vagrant applying for shelter is admitted at all times of the day and night. He applies at the gate, he has his name entered in the vagrant book, and he is then supplied with six ounces of bread and one ounce of cheese. As the admission generally takes place in the evening, no work is required of them until the following morning. At one time every vagrant was searched and bathed, but in the cold season of the year the bathing is discontinued; neither are they searched unless there are grounds for suspecting that they have property secreted upon them. The males are conducted to the ward allotted to them, and the females to their ward. These wards consist each of a large chamber, in which are arranged two large guard-beds, or inclined boards, similar to those used in soldiers’ guard-rooms; between these there is a passage from one end of the chamber to the other. The boards are strewn with straw, so that, on entering the place in the daytime, it has the appearance of a well-kept stable. All persons are supplied with two, and in the cold season with three, rugs to cover them. These rugs are daily placed in a fumigating oven, so as to decompose all infectious matter. Formerly beds were supplied in place of the straw, but the habitual vagrants used to amuse themselves with cutting up the mattresses, and strewing the flock all over the place; the blankets and rugs they tore into shreds, and wound them round their legs, under their trousers. The windows of the casual ward are protected on the inside with a strong guard, similar to those seen in the neighbourhood of racket-grounds. No lights are allowed in the casual ward, so that they are expected to retire to rest immediately on their entrance, and this they invariably are glad to do. In the morning they are let out at eight in the winter, and seven in the summer. And then another six ounces of bread and one ounce of cheese is given to them, and they are discharged. In return for this, three hours’ labour at the hand corn-mill was formerly exacted; but now the numbers are so few, and the out-door paupers so numerous, and so different from the class of vagrants, that the latter are allowed to go on their road immediately the doors of the casual ward are opened. The labour formerly exacted was not in any way remunerative. In the three hours that they were at work, it is supposed that the value of each man’s labour could not be expressed in any coin of the realm. The work was demanded as a test of destitution and industry, and not as a matter of compensation. If the vagrants were very young, they were put to oakum-picking instead of the hand-mill. The women were very rarely
employed at any time, because there was no suitable place in the union for them to pick oakum, and the master was unwilling to allow them, on account of their bad and immoral characters, as well as their filthy habits, to communicate with the other inmates. The female vagrants generally consist of prostitutes of the lowest and most miserable kind. They are mostly young girls, who have sunk into a state of dirt, disease, and almost nudity. There are few of them above twenty years of age, and they appear to have commenced their career of vice frequently as early as ten or twelve years old. They mostly are found in the company of mere boys.