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diff --git a/old/1420.txt b/old/1420.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d49437 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1420.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7258 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of London's Underworld, by Thomas Holmes + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: London's Underworld + +Author: Thomas Holmes + +Posting Date: August 22, 2008 [EBook #1420] +Release Date: August, 1998 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON'S UNDERWORLD *** + + + + + + + + + + +LONDON'S UNDERWORLD + +by Thomas Holmes + +(Secretary of the Howard Association) + +1912 + + + + +PREFACE + +I am hopeful that some of the experiences given in the following +chapters may throw a little light upon some curious but very serious +social problems. Corporate humanity always has had, and always will +have, serious problems to consider. + +The more civilised we become the more complex and serious will be our +problems--unless sensible and merciful yet thorough methods are adopted +for dealing with the evils. I think that my pages will show that the +methods now in use for coping with some of our great evils do not +lessen, but considerably increase the evils they seek to cure. + +With great diffidence I venture to point out what I conceive to be +reasons for failure, and also to offer some suggestions that, if +adopted, will, I believe, greatly minimise, if not remove, certain +evils. + +I make no claim to prophetic wisdom; I know no royal road to social +salvation, nor of any specific to cure all human sorrow and smart. + +But I have had a lengthened and unique experience. I have closely +observed, and I have deeply pondered. I have seen, therefore I ask that +the experiences narrated, the statements made, and the views expressed +in this book may receive earnest consideration, not only from those who +have the temerity to read it, but serious consideration also from our +Statesmen and local authorities, from our Churches and philanthropists, +from our men of business and from men of the world. + +For truly we are all deeply concerned in the various matters which are +dealt with in "London's Underworld." + + THOMAS HOLMES. +12, Bedford Road, + +Tottenham, N. + + +CONTENTS + + CHAP. + + I MY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES + II LONDON'S UNDERWORLD + III THE NOMADS. + IV LODGING-HOUSES + V FURNISHED APARTMENTS + VI THE DISABLED + VII WOMEN IN THE UNDERWORLD + VIII MARRIAGE IN THE UNDERWORLD + IX BRAINS IN THE UNDERWORLD + X PLAY IN THE UNDERWORLD + XI ON THE VERGE OF THE UNDERWORLD + XII IN PRISONS OFT + XIII UNEMPLOYED AND UNEMPLOYABLE + XIV SUGGESTIONS. + + + + +LONDON'S UNDERWORLD + + + +CHAPTER I. MY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES + +The odds and ends of humanity, so plentiful in London's great city, +have for many years largely constituted my circle of friends and +acquaintances. + +They are strange people, for each of them is, or was, possessed of some +dominating vice, passion, whim or weakness which made him incapable of +fulfilling the ordinary duties of respectable citizenship. + +They had all descended from the Upper World, to live out strange lives, +or die early deaths in the mysterious but all pervading world below the +line. + +Some of them I saw, as it were, for a moment only; suddenly out of the +darkness they burst upon me; suddenly the darkness again received them +out of my sight. + +But our acquaintance was of sufficient duration to allow me to acquire +some knowledge, and to gain some experience of lives more than strange, +and of characters far removed from the ordinary. + +But with others I spent many hours, months, or years as circumstances +warranted, or as opportunities permitted. Some of them became my +intimates; and though seven long years have passed since I gave up +police-court duties, our friendship bears the test of time, for they +remain my friends and acquaintances still. + +But some have passed away, and others are passing; one by one my list +of friends grows less, and were it not that I, even now, pick up a new +friend or two, I should run the risk of being a lonely old man. Let me +confess, however, that my friends have brought me many worries, have +caused me much disappointment, have often made me very angry. Sometimes, +I must own, they have caused me real sorrow and occasionally feelings +of utter despair. But I have had my compensations, we have had our happy +times, we have even known our merry moments. + +Though pathos has permeated all our intercourse, humour and comedy have +never been far away; though sometimes tragedy has been in waiting. + +But over one and all of my friends hung a great mystery, a mystery that +always puzzled and sometimes paralysed me, a mystery that always set me +to thinking. + +Now many of my friends were decent and good-hearted fellows; yet they +were outcasts. Others were intelligent, clever and even industrious, +quite capable of holding their own with respectable men, still they were +helpless. + +Others were fastidiously honest in some things, yet they were persistent +rogues who could not see the wrong or folly of dishonesty; many of them +were clear-headed in ninety-nine directions, but in the hundredth they +were muddled if not mentally blind. + +Others had known and appreciated the comforts of refined life, yet +they were happy and content amidst the horror and dirt of a common +lodging-house! Why was it that these fellows failed, and were content to +fail in life? + +What is that little undiscovered something that determines their lives +and drives them from respectable society? + +What compensations do they get for all the suffering and privations they +undergo? I don't know! I wish that I did! but these things I have never +been able to discover. + +Many times I have put the questions to myself; many times I have put the +questions to my friends, who appear to know about as much and just as +little upon the matter as myself. + +They do not realise that in reality they do differ from ordinary +citizens; I realise the difference, but can find no reason for it. + +No! it is not drink, although a few of them were dipsomaniacs, for +generally they were sober men. + +I will own my ignorance, and say that I do not know what that little +something is that makes a man into a criminal instead of constituting +him into a hero. This I do know: that but for the possession of a +little something, many of my friends, now homeless save when they are +in prison, would be performing life's duties in settled and comfortable +homes, and would be quite as estimable citizens as ordinary people. + +Probably they would prove better citizens than the majority of people, +for while they possess some inherent weakness, they also possess in a +great degree many estimable qualities which are of little use in their +present life. + +These friends of mine not only visit my office and invade my home, but +they turn up at all sorts of inconvenient times and places.--There is my +friend the dipsomaniac, the pocket Hercules, the man of brain and iron +constitution. + +Year after year he holds on to his own strange course, neither poverty +nor prison, delirium tremens nor physical injuries serve to alter him. +He occupies a front seat at a men's meeting on Sunday afternoon when the +bills announce my name. But he comes half drunk and in a talkative +mood, sometimes in a contradictory mood, but generally good tempered. +He punctuates my speech with a loud and emphatic "Hear! hear!" and often +informs the audience that "what Mr. Holmes says is quite true!" The +attendants cannot keep him silent, he tells them that he is my friend; +he makes some claim to being my patron. + +Poor fellow! I speak to him kindly, but incontinently give him the slip, +for I retire by a back way, leaving him to argue my disappearance in no +friendly spirit with the attendants. Yet I have spent many happy hours +with him when, as sometimes happened, he was "in his right mind." + +I, would like to dwell on the wonders of this man's strange and fearsome +life, but I hasten on to tell of a contrast, for my friends present many +contrasts. + +I was hurrying down crowded Bishopsgate at lunch time, lost in thought, +when I felt my hand grasped and a well-known voice say, "Why! Mr. +Holmes, don't you know me?" + +Know him! I should think I do know him; I am proud to know him, for I +venerate him. He is only a french polisher and by no means handsome, his +face is furrowed and seamed by care and sorrow, his hands and clothing +are stained with varnish. Truly he is not much to look at, but if any +one wants an embodiment of pluck and devotion, of never-failing patience +and magnificent love, in my friend you shall find it! + +Born in the slums, he sold matches at seven years of age; at eight he +was in an industrial school; his father was dead, his mother a drunkard; +home he had none! + +Leaving school at sixteen he became first a gardener's assistant, then +a gentleman's servant; in this occupation he saved some money with +which he apprenticed himself to french polishing. From apprentice +to journeyman, from journeyman to business on his own account, were +successive steps; he married, and that brought him among my many +acquaintances. + +He had a nice home, and two beautiful children, and then that great +destroyer of home life, drink! had to be reckoned with. So he came to +consult me. She was a beautiful and cultured woman and full of remorse. + +The stained hands of the french polisher trembled as he signed +a document by which he agreed to pay L1 per week for his wife's +maintenance in an inebriate home for twelve months where she might have +her babe with her. Bravely he did his part, and at the end of the year +he brought her back to a new and better home, where the neighbours knew +nothing of her past. + +For twelve months there was joy in the home, and then a new life came +into it; but with the babe came a relapse; the varnish-stained man was +again at his wits' end. Once more she entered a home, for another year +he worked and toiled to pay the charges, and again he provided a new +home. And she came back to a house that he had bought for her in a new +neighbourhood; they now lived close to me, and my house was open to +them. The story of the following years cannot be told, for she almost +ruined him. Night after night after putting the children to bed, he +searched the streets and public-houses for her; sometimes I went with +him. She pawned his clothes, the children's clothing, and even the +boy's fiddle. He cleaned the house, he cooked the food, he cared for the +children, he even washed and ironed their clothing on Saturday evening +for the coming Sunday. He marked all the clothing, he warned all the +pawnbrokers. At length he obtained a separation order, but tearing it up +he again took her home with him. She went from bad to worse; even down +to the deepest depths and thence to a rescue home. He fetched her out, +and they disappeared from my neighbourhood. + +So I lost them and often wondered what the end had been. To-day he +was smiling; he had with him a youth of twenty, a scholarship boy, the +violinist. He said, "I am just going to pay for his passage to Canada; +he is going to be the pioneer, and perhaps we shall all join him, she +will do better in a new country!" On further inquiry I found that she +was trying hard, and doing better than when I lost them. + +Thinking she needed greater interest in life, he had bought a small +business for her, but "Mr. Holmes, she broke down!" + +Alas! I knew what "breaking down" meant to the poor fellow, the heroic +fellow I ought to have said. And so for her he will leave his kindred, +home and friends; he will forsake the business that he has so slowly and +laboriously built up, he will sacrifice anything in the hope that the +air of Canada "will do her good." let us hope that it may, for her good +is all he lives for, and her good is his religion. + +Twenty years of heartbreaking misery have not killed his love or +withered his hope. Surely love like his cannot fail of its reward. And +maybe in the new world he will have the happiness that has been denied +him in the old world, and in the evening of his life he may have the +peaceful calm that has hitherto been denied him. For this he is seeking +a place in the new world where the partner of his life and the desire +of his eyes may not find it easy to yield to her besetting temptation, +where the air and his steadfast love will "do her good." + +But all my acquaintances are not heroes, for I am sorry to say that +my old friend Downy has served his term of penal servitude, and is at +liberty once more to beg or steal. He is not ashamed to beg, but I know +that he prefers stealing, for he richly enjoys anything obtained "on the +cross," and cares little for the fruits of honest labour. + +Downy therefore never crosses my doorstep, and when I hold communication +with him he stands on the doorstep where I bar his entrance. + +Yet I like the vagabond, for he is a humorous rascal, and though I know +that I ought to be severe with him, I fail dismally when I try to exhort +him. "Now, look here, old man," he will say, "stop preaching; what are +you going to do to help a fellow; do you think I live this life for fun" +and his eyes twinkle! When I tell him that I am sure of it, he roars. +Yes, I am certain of it, Downy is a thief for the fun of it; he is the +worst and cleverest sneak I have the privilege of knowing; and yet +there is such audacity about him and his actions that even his most +reprehensible deeds do not disgust me. + +He is of the spare and lean kind, but were he fatter he might well pose +as a modern Jack Falstaff, for his one idea is summed up in Falstaff's +words: "Where shall we take a purse to-night?" Downy, of course, +obtained full remission of his sentence; he did all that was required +of him in prison, and so reduced his five years' sentence by fifteen +months. But I feel certain that he did nor spend three years and nine +months in a convict establishment without robbing a good many, and the +more difficult he found the task, the more he would enjoy it. + +I expect his education is now complete, so I have to beware of Downy, +for he would glory in the very thought of "besting" me, so I laugh and +joke with the rascal, but keep him at arm's length. We discuss matters +on the doorstep; if he looks ill I have pity on him, and subsidise him. +Sometimes his merry look changes to a half-pathetic look, and he goes +away to his "doss house," realising that after all his "besting" he +might have done better. + +Some of my friends have crossed the river, but as I think of them they +come back and bid me tell their stories. Here is my old friend the +famous chess-player, whose books are the poetry of chess, but whose life +was more than a tragedy. I need not say where I met him; his face was +bruised and swollen, his jawbone was fractured, he was in trouble, so we +became friends. He was a strange fellow, and though he visited my house +many times, he would neither eat nor drink with us. He wore no overcoat +even in the most bitter weather, he carried no umbrella, neither would +he walk under one, though the rains descended and the floods came! + +He was a fatalist pure and simple, and took whatever came to him in a +thoroughly fatalist spirit. "My dear Holmes," he would say, "why do you +break your heart about me? Let me alone, let us be friends; you are what +you are because you can't help it; you can't be anything else even if +you tried. I am what I am for the same reason. You get your happiness, I +get mine. Do me a good turn when you can, but don't reason with me; let +us enjoy each other's company and take things as they are." + +I took him on his own terms; I saw much of him, and when he was in +difficulties I helped him out. + +For a time I became his keeper, and when he had chess engagements to +fulfil I used to deliver him carriage paid to his destination wherever +it might be. He always and most punctiliously repaid any monetary +obligation I had conferred upon him, for in that respect I found him the +soul of honour, poor though he was! As I think of him I see him dancing +and yelling in the street, surrounded by a crowd of admiring East +Enders, I see him bruised and torn hurried off to the police station, +I see him standing before the magistrate awaiting judgment. What +compensation dipsomania gave him I know not, but that he did get some +kind of wild joy I am quite sure. For I see him feverish from one +debauch, but equally feverish with the expectation of another. + +With his wife it was another story, and I can see her now full of +anxiety and dread, with no relief and no hope, except, dreadful as it +may seem, his death! For then, to use her own expression, "she would +know the worst." Poor fellow! the last time I saw him he was nearing the +end. In an underground room I sat by his bedside, and a poor bed it was! + +As he lay propped up by pillows he was working away at his beloved +chess, writing chess notes, and solving and explaining problems for very +miserable payments. + +I knew the poverty of that underground room; and was made acquainted +with the intense disappointment of both husband and wife when letters +were received that did not contain the much-desired postal orders. And +so passed a genius; but a dipsomaniac! A man of brilliant parts and a +fellow of infinite jest, who never did justice to his great powers, but +who crowded a continuous succession of tragedies into a short life. I am +glad to think that I did my best for him, even though I failed. He has +gone! but he still has a place in my affections and occupies a niche in +the hall of my memory. + +I very much doubt whether I am able to forget any one of the pieces of +broken humanity that have companied with me. I do not want to forget +them, for truth to tell they have been more interesting to me than +merely respectable people, and infinitely more interesting than some +good people. + +But I am afraid that my tastes are bad, and my ideals low, for I am +always happier among the very poor or the outcasts than I am with the +decent and well behaved. + +A fellow named Reid has been calling on me repeatedly; an Australian +by birth, he outraged the law so often that he got a succession of +sentences, some of them being lengthy. He tried South Africa with a like +result; South Africa soon had enough of him, and after two sentences he +was deported to England, where he looked me up. + +He carries with him in a nice little case a certified and attested copy +of all his convictions, more than twenty in number. He produces +this without the least shame, almost with pride, and with the utmost +confidence that it would prove a ready passport to my affection. + +I talk to him; he tells me of his life, of Australia and South Africa; +he almost hypnotises me, for he knows so much. We get on well together +till he produces the "attested copy," and then the spell is broken, and +the humour of it is too much for me, so I laugh. + +He declares that he wants work, honest work, and he considers that his +"certificate" vouches for his bona fides. This is undoubtedly true, but +nevertheless I expect that it will be chiefly responsible for his free +passage back to Australia after he has sampled the quality of English +prisons. + +My friends and acquaintances meet me or rather I meet them, in +undesirable places; I never visit a prison without coming across one or +more of them, and they embarrass me greatly. + +A few Sundays ago I was addressing a large congregation of men in a +London prison. As I stood before them I was dismayed to see right in +the front rank an old and persistent acquaintance whom I thoroughly and +absolutely disliked, and he knew it, for on more than one occasion I +had good reason for expressing a decided opinion about him. A smile of +gleeful but somewhat mischievous satisfaction spread over his face; he +folded his arms across his breast, he looked up at me and quite held me +with his glittering eye. + +I realised his presence, I felt that his eye was upon me, I saw that he +followed every word. He quite unnerved me till I stumbled and tripped. +Then he smiled in his evil way. + +I could not get rid of his eyes, and sometimes I half appealed to him +with a pitiful look to take them off me. But it was no use, he still +gazed at me and through me. So thinking of him and looking at him I grew +more and more confused. + +The clock fingers would not move fast enough for me. I had elected to +speak on sympathy, brotherhood and mutual help. And this fellow to whom +I had refused help again and again knew my feelings, and made the most +of his opportunity. + +But my friend will come and see me when he is once more out of prison. +He will want to discuss my address of that particular Sunday afternoon. +He will quote my words, he will remind me about sympathy and mutual +help, he will hope to leave me rejoicing in the possession of a few +shillings. + +But that will be the hour of my triumph; for then I will rejoice in the +contemplation of his disappointment as my door closes upon him. But if I +understand him aright his personal failure will not lead him to despair, +for he will appear again and again and sometimes by deputy, and he will +put others as cunning as himself on my track. + +Some time ago I was tormented with a succession of visitors of this +description; my door was hardly free of one when another appeared. They +all told the same tale: "they had been advised to come to me, for I was +kind to men who had been in prison." + +They got no practical kindness from me, but rather some wholesome +advice. I found afterwards from a lodging-house habitue that this man +had been taking his revenge by distributing written copies of my name +and address to all the lodging-house inmates, and advising them to call +on me. And I have not the slightest doubt that the rascal watched +them come to my door, enjoyed their disappointment, and gloried in my +irritation. + +Yes, I have made the acquaintance of many undesirable fellows, and our +introduction to each other has sometimes been brought about in a very +strange manner. Sometimes they have forced themselves upon me and +insisted upon my seeing much of them, and "knowing all about them" they +would tell me of their struggles and endeavours to "go straight" and +would put their difficulties and hopes before me. Specious clever +rascals many of them were, far too clever for me, as I sometimes found +out to my cost. One young fellow who has served a well-earned and richly +merited sentence of five years' penal servitude, quite overpowered me +with his good intentions and professions of rectitude. "No more prison +for me," he would say; he brought his wife and children to see me, +feeling sure that they would form a passport to my sympathy and pocket. + +He was not far wrong, for I substantially and regularly helped the wife. +I had strong misgivings about the fellow, consequently what help I gave +I took care went direct to his wife. + +Sometimes he would call at my office, and with tears would thank me +for the help given to his wife and children. I noticed a continual +improvement in his clothing and appearance till he became quite a +swell. I felt a bit uneasy, for I knew that he was not at work. I soon +discovered, or rather the police discovered that he had stolen a lot of +my office note-paper of which he had made free use, and when arrested on +another charge several blank cheques which had been abstracted from my +cheque book were found upon him. He had made himself so well known to +and familiar with the caretaker of the chambers, that one night when +he appeared with a bag of tools to put "Mr. Holmes' desk right," no +questions were asked, and he coolly and quite deliberately, with the +office door open, operated in his own sweet way. Fortunately, when +trying the dodge in another set of chambers, he was arrested in the act, +and my blank cheques among many others were found upon him. + +Another term of penal servitude has stopped his career and put an end +to, I will not say a friendship but an acquaintance, that I am not at +any rate anxious to renew. + +They come a long way to see me do some of my friends, and put themselves +to some trouble in the matter, and not a little expense if they are to +be believed. Why they do so I cannot imagine, for sometimes after a long +and close questioning I fail to find any satisfactory reason for their +doing so. I have listened to many strange stories, and have received not +a few startling confessions! Some of my friends have gone comforted +away when they had made a clean breast and circumstantially given me +the details of some great crime or evil that they had committed. I never +experienced any difficulty, or felt the least compunction in granting +them plenary absolution; I never betrayed them to the police, for I knew +that of the crime confessed they were as guiltless as myself. Of course +there is a good deal of pathos about their actions, but I always felt a +glow of pleasure when I could send poor deluded people away comforted; +and I am sure that they really believed me when I told them that under +no circumstances would I betray their confidence, or acquaint the police +without first consulting them. I never had any difficulty in keeping my +promise, though sometimes my friends would, after a long absence, remind +me of it. + +But occasionally one of my friends has compelled me to seek the advice +of an astute detective, for very clever rogues, real and dangerous +criminals, have been my companions and have boasted of my friendship, +whilst pursuing a deplorably criminal course. But I never had the +slightest compunction with regard to them when I knew beyond doubt what +they were at. Friends and associates of criminals have more than once +waited on me for the purpose of enlisting my sympathy and help for one +of their colleagues who was about to be released from prison, and the +vagabonds have actually informed detectives that "Mr. Holmes was going +to take him in hand." What they really meant was, that they had taken +Mr. Holmes in hand for the purpose of lulling the just suspicions of the +police. One day not long ago a woman, expensively dressed and possessed +of a whole mass of flaxen hair, burst into my office. She was very +excited, spoke good English with an altogether exaggerated French +accent, and her action was altogether grotesque and stereotyped. She +informed me that she had that morning come from Paris to consult me. +When I inquired what she knew about me and how she got my address, she +said that a well-known journalist and a member of Parliament whom she +had met in Paris had advised her to consult with me about the future of +a man shortly to be discharged from prison. As during the whole of my +life I had not met or corresponded with the brilliant gentleman she +referred to, I felt doubtful, but kept silent. So on she went with her +story, first, however, offering me a sum of money for the benefit of as +consummate a villain as ever inhabited a prison cell. + +I declined the money and refused to have anything to do with the matter +till I had had further information. Briefly her story was as follows: +The man in whom she and others were interested was serving a term of +three years for burglary. He was an educated man, married, and father +of two children. His wife loved him dearly, and his two children were +"pretty, oh, so pretty!" They were afraid that his wife would receive +him back again with open arms, and that other children might result. +They were anxious that this should be prevented, for they felt, she +was sorry to say, that he might again revert to crime, that other +imprisonments might ensue, and that "the poor, poor little thing," +meaning the wife, might be exposed to more and worse suffering than she +had already undergone. + +Would I receive a sum of money on his account and arrange for him to +leave England? They felt that to be the wisest course, for "he is so +clever, and can soon build up a home for her when he is away from his +companions." Of his ability I had subsequently plenty of proof, and I +have no reason to doubt her statement that he could soon "build up a +home." He could very quickly--and a luxurious home, too! + +The wife was not to be considered at all in the matter, but money would +be sent to me from time to time to help the "poor little thing and her +children!" I was interested, but I said to myself, "This is much too +good," and the ready journey from Paris rather staggered me. I put a few +simple questions, she pledged me to secrecy. I told her that I would ask +the prison authorities to send him to me on his discharge. + +"I so please, I now go back to Paris; I come again and I bring you +money," she said, as she shook her furs and took herself and her flaxen +hair to somewhere else than Paris, so I felt persuaded. + +Two days before the prisoner's discharge she burst in again, huffy head, +furs and gesticulation as before. "I come from Paris this morning, I +bring you money." I was not present, but I had previously warned my +assistant not to receive any money. The gay Parisian was informed that +no money could be received, but she promptly put two sovereigns on the +desk and disappeared---but not to Paris! + +He stood before me at last, a little fellow, smart looking, erect, +self-satisfied and self-reliant. I told him of the two sovereigns and +the fluffy hair, of the good intentions of his Parisian friend. I spoke +hopefully of a new life in a new country and of the future of his wife +and children; he never blanched. He was quite sure he knew no French +lady with fluffy hair; he had no friends, no accomplices; he wanted +work, honest work; he intended to make amends for the past; he "would +build up a home" for his wife and children. + +I saw much of him; we lunched together and we smoked together, and he +talked a good deal. His wife fell ill owing to very hard work, and I +befriended her. He accepted the two pounds and asked for more! He was +a citizen of the world, and spoke more than one language. Our +companionship continued for some months, and then my friend and myself +had to sever our connection. + +He was one of a gang of very clever thieves, who operated on a large +scale, and who for cool audacity and originality were, I think, almost +unequalled! + +They engaged expensive suites of rooms or flats, furnished them most +expensively on credit or the hire system, insured the goods against +burglary, promptly burgled themselves, sold the goods, realised the +insurance, and then vanished to repeat their proceedings elsewhere. + +So clever were they at the business that costly but portable goods were +freely submitted to their tender mercies. They invariably engaged rooms +that possessed a "skylight." It was my friend's business to do the +burgling, and this he did by carefully removing the glass from the +skylight, being careful not to break it; needless to say, he removed +the glass from the inside and carefully deposited it on the roof, the +valuables making their exit through the room door and down the staircase +in broad daylight. + +My friend, who spoke Dutch fluently and accurately, has, I understood, +sold to English merchants whose probity was beyond dispute the proceeds +of some of his "firm's" operations. This game went on for a time, the +Parisian lady with the false hair being one of the confederates. He +disappeared, however, and I am glad to think that for some considerable +time society will be safeguarded from the woman with the flaxen hair, +and the operations of a clever scoundrel. + +I am glad to say that the number of my friends and acquaintances who +have seriously tried to "best" me form but a small proportion of +the whole. Generally they have, I believe, been animated with good +intentions, though the failure to carry them out has frequently been +manifest and deplorable. + +I am persuaded that weakness is more disastrous to the world than +absolute wickedness, for nothing in the whole of my life's experience +has taken more out of me, and given me so much heartbreaking +disappointment as my continued efforts on behalf of really +well-intentioned individuals, who could not stand alone owing to their +lack of grit and moral backbone. For redemptive purposes I would rather, +a hundred times rather, have to deal with a big sinner than with a human +jellyfish, a flabby man who does no great wrong, but on the other hand +does not the slightest good. + +But, as I have already said, though all my friends and acquaintances +were dwellers in a dark land, not all of them were "known to the +police"; indeed, many of them ought to be classified as "known to +the angels," for their real goodness has again and again rebuked and +inspired me. + +Oh the patience, fortitude and real heroism I have met with in my +acquaintances among the poor. Strength in time of trial, virtue amidst +obscenity, suffering long drawn out and perpetual self-denial are +characteristics that abound in many of my poorest friends, and in some +of the chapters that are to follow I shall tell more fully of them, but +just now I am amongst neither sinners nor saints, but with my friends +"in motley." I mean the men and women who have occupied so much of my +time and endeavours, but whose position I knew was hopeless. + +How they interested me, those demented friends of mine! they were a +perpetual wonder to me, and I am glad to remember that I never passed +hard judgment upon them, or gave them hard words. And I owe much to +them, a hundred times more than the whole of them are indebted to me; +for I found that I could not take an interest in any one of them, nor +make any fruitless, any perhaps foolish effort to truly help them, +without doing myself more good than I could possibly have done to them. +Fifteen years I stood by, and stood up for demented Jane Cakebread, and +we became inseparably connected. She abused me right royally, and her +power of invective was superb. When she was not in prison she haunted my +house and annoyed my neighbours. She patronised me most graciously when +she accepted a change of clothing from me; she lived in comparative +luxury when I provided lodgings for her; she slept out of doors when I +did not. + +She bestowed her affections on me and made me heir to her non-existent +fortune; she proposed marriage to me, although she frequently met and +admired my good wife. All this and more, year after year! + +Poor old Jane! I owe much to her, and I am quite willing, nay, anxious, +to say that in a great measure Jane Cakebread was the making of Thomas +Holmes. + +Years have passed since we laid Jane gently to rest, but she comes back +to me and dominates me whenever I mentally call my old friends together. +Her voice is the loudest, her speech the most voluble, and her manner +the most assertive of all my motley friends. They are all gathering +around me as I write. My friend who teaches music by colour is here, +my friend with his secret invention that will dispense with steam and +electricity is here too; "Little Ebbs" the would-be policeman is here +too; the prima donna whose life was more than a tragedy, the architect +with his wonderful but never accepted designs, the broken artist with +his pictures, the educated but non-sober lady who could convert plaster +models into marble statuary are all with me. The unspeakably degraded +parson smoking cigarettes, his absence of shirt hidden by a rusty +cassock, lolls in my easy-chair; my burglar friend who had "done" forty +years and was still asking for more, they are all around me! And my +dipsomaniac friends have come too! I hear them talking and arguing, when +a strident voice calls out, "No arguing! no arguing! argument spoils +everything!" and Jane stops the talk of others by occupying the platform +herself and recites a chapter from the book of Job. I am living it all +over again! + +And now troop in my suffering friends. Here is the paralysed woman of +thirty-five who has for twenty years lain in bed the whiles her sister +has worked incessantly to maintain her! Here is my widow friend who +after working fifteen hours daily for years was dragged from the Lea. As +she sits and listens her hands are making matchboxes and throwing them +over her shoulder, one, two, three, four! right, left! they go to the +imaginary heaps upon the imaginary beds. While blighted children are +crawling upon the floor looking up at me with big eyes. Here is my +patient old friend who makes "white flowers" although she is eighty +years of age, and still keeps at it, though, thank God, she gets the +old-age pension. + +Now come in the young men and maidens, the blighted blossoms of humanity +who wither and die before the time of fruition, for that fell disease +consumption has laid its deadly hand upon them. + +Oh! the mystery of it all, the sorrow and madness of it all! I open my +door and they file out. Some back to the unseen world, some back to the +lower depths of this world! Surely they are a motley lot, are my friends +and acquaintances; they are as varied as humanity itself. So they +represent to me all the moods and tenses of humanity, all its personal, +social and industrial problems. I have a pitiful heart; I try to keep a +philosophic mind; I am cheery with them; I am doubtful, I am hopeful! + +I never give help feeling sure that I have done wisely, I never refuse +the worst and feel sure that I have done well. I live near the heart of +humanity, I count its heart-beats, I hear its throbs. + +I realise some of the difficulties that beset us, I see some of the +heights and depths to which humanity can ascend or descend. I have +learned that the greatest factors in life are kindly sympathy, brotherly +love, a willingness to believe the best of the worst, and to have an +infinite faith in the ultimate triumph of good! + + + +CHAPTER II. LONDON'S UNDERWORLD + +London's great underworld to many may be an undiscovered country. To +me it is almost as familiar as my own fireside; twenty-five years of +my life have been spent amongst its inhabitants, and their lives and +circumstances have been my deep concern. + +Sad and weary many of those years have been, but always full of +absorbing interest. Yet I have found much that gave me pleasure, and it +is no exaggeration when I say that some of my happiest hours have been +spent among the poorest inhabitants of the great underworld. + +But whether happy or sorrowful, I was always interested, for the +strange contrasts and the ever-varying characteristics and lives of the +inhabitants always compelled attention, interest and thought. There is +much in this underworld to terrorise, but there is also much to inspire. + +Horrible speech and strange tongues are heard in it, accents of sorrow +and bursts of angry sound prevail in it. + +Drunkenness, debauchery, crime and ignorance are never absent; and in it +men and women grown old in sin and crime spend their last evil days. +The whining voice of the professional mendicant is ever heard in its +streets, for its poverty-stricken inhabitants readily respond to every +appeal for help. + +So it is full of contrasts; for everlasting toil goes on, and the hum +of industry ever resounds. Magnificent self-reliance is continually +exhibited, and self-denial of no mean order is the rule. + +The prattle of little children and the voice of maternal love make +sweet music in its doleful streets, and glorious devotion dignifies and +illumines the poorest homes. + +But out of the purlieus of this netherworld strange beings issue when +the shades of evening fall. + +Men whose hands are against every man come forth to deeds of crime, like +beasts to seek their prey! Women, fearsome creatures, whose steps lead +down to hell, to seek their male companions. + +Let us stand and watch! + +Here comes a poor, smitten, wretched old man; see how he hugs the rags +of his respectability; his old frayed frock-coat is buttoned tightly +around him, and his outstretched hands tell that he is eager for the +least boon that pity can bestow. He has found that the way of the +transgressor is hard; he has kissed the bloom of pleasure's painted +lips, he has found them pale as death! + +But others follow, and hurry by. And a motley lot they are; figure and +speech, complexion and dress all combine to create dismay; but they have +all one common characteristic. They want money! and are not particular +about the means of getting it. Now issue forth an innumerable band +who during the day have been sleeping off the effects of last night's +debauch. With eager steps, droughty throats and keen desire they seek +the wine cup yet again. + +Now come fellows, young and middle-aged, who dare not be seen by day, +for whom the police hold "warrants," for they have absconded from wives +and children, leaving them chargeable to the parish. + +Here are men who have robbed their employers, here young people of both +sexes who have drained Circe's cup and broken their parents' hearts. + +Surely it is a strange and heterogeneous procession that issues evening +by evening from the caves and dens of London's underworld. But notice +there is also a returning procession! For as the sun sinks to rest, +sad-faced men seek some cover where they may lie down and rest their +weary bones; where perchance they may sleep and regain some degree of +passive courage that will enable them, at the first streak of morning +light, to rise and begin again a disheartening round of tramp, tramp, +searching for work that is everlastingly denied them. Hungry and +footsore, their souls fainting within them, they seek the homes +where wives and children await their return with patient but hopeless +resignation. + +Take notice if you will of the places they enter, for surely the +beautiful word "home" is desecrated if applied to most of their +habitations. Horrid places within and without, back to back and face to +face they stand. + +At their doorway death stands ready to strike. In the murky light +of little rooms filled with thick air child-life has struggled into +existence; up and down their narrow stairs patient endurance and passive +hopelessness ever pass and repass. + +Small wonder that the filthy waters of a neighbouring canal woo and +receive so many broken hearts and emaciated bodies. + +But the procession now changes its sex, for weary widowed women are +returning to children who for many hours have been lacking a mother's +care, for mothers in the underworld must work if children must eat. + +So the weary widows have been at the wash-tubs all day long, and are +coming home with two shillings hardly earned. They call in at the dirty +general shop, where margarine, cheese, bread, tinned meat and firewood +are closely commingled in the dank air. + +A loaf, a pennyworth of margarine, a pennyworth of tea, a bundle of +firewood, half a pound of sugar, a pint of lamp-oil exhaust their list +of purchases, for the major part of their earnings is required for the +rent. + +So they climb their stairs, they feed the children, put them unwashed to +bed, do some necessary household work, and then settle down themselves +in some shape, without change of attire, that they may rest and be ready +for the duties of the ensuing day. Perhaps sweet oblivion will come even +to them. "Blessings on the man who invented sleep," cried Sancho Panza, +and there is a world of truth in his ecstatic exclamation, "it wraps him +round like a garment." + +Aye, that it does, for what would the poor weary women and men of +London's underworld do without it? What would the sick and suffering be +without it? In tiny rooms where darkness is made visible by penny-worths +of oil burned in cheap and nasty lamps, there is no lack of pain and +suffering, and no lack of patient endurance and passive heroism. + +As night closes in and semi-darkness reigns around, when the streets are +comparatively silent, when children's voices are no longer heard, come +with me and explore! + +It is one o'clock a.m., and we go down six steps into what is +facetiously termed a "breakfast parlour"; here we find a man and woman +about sixty years of age. The woman is seated at a small table on which +stands a small, evil-smelling lamp, and the man is seated at another +small table, but gets no assistance from the lamp; he works in +comparative gloom, for he is almost blind; he works by touch. + +For fifty years they have been makers of artificial flowers; both are +clever artists, and the shops of the West End have fairly blazed with +the glory of their roses. Winsome lassie's and serene ladies have made +themselves gay with their flowers. + +There they sit, as they have sat together for thirty years. Neither can +read or write, but what can be done in flowers they can do. Long hours +and dark rooms have made the man almost blind. + +He suffers also from heart disease and dropsy. He cannot do much, but he +can sit, and sit, while his wife works and works, for in the underworld +married women must work if dying husbands are to be cared for. + +So for fifteen hours daily and nightly they sit at their roses! Then +they lie down on the bed we see in the corner, but sleep does not come, +for asthma troubles him, and he must be attended and nursed. + +Shall we pay another visit to that underworld room? Come, then. Two +months have passed away, the evil-smelling lamp is still burning, the +woman still sits at the table, but no rose-leaves are before her; she +is making black tulips. On the bed lies a still form with limbs decently +smoothed and composed; the poor blind eyes are closed for ever. He is +awaiting the day of burial, and day after day the partner of his life +and death is sitting, and working, for in this underworld bereaved wives +must work if husbands are to be decently buried. The black tulips she +will wear as mourning for him; she will accompany his poor body to the +cemetery, and then return to live alone and to finish her work alone. + +But let us continue our midnight explorations, heedless of the men and +women now returning from their nightly prowl who jostle us as they pass. + +We enter another room where the air is thick and makes us sick and +faint. We stand at the entrance and look around; we see again the +evil-smelling lamp, and again a woman at work at a small table, and she +too is a widow! + +She is making cardboard boxes, and pretty things they are. Two beds are +in the room, and one contains three, and the other two children. On the +beds lie scores of dainty boxes. The outside parts lie on one bed, and +the insides on the other. They are drying while the children sleep; by +and by they will be put together, tied in dozens, and next morning taken +to the factory. But of their future history we dare not inquire. + +The widow speaks to us, but her hands never rest; we notice the celerity +of her movements, the dreadful automatic certainty of her touch is +almost maddening; we wait and watch, but all in vain, for some false +movement that shall tell us she is a human and not a machine. But no, +over her shoulder to the bed on the left side, or over her shoulder to +the bed on her right side, the boxes fly, and minute by minute and hour +by hour the boxes will continue to grow till her task is completed. Then +she will put them together, tie them in dozens, and lay herself down on +that bed that contains the two children. + +Need we continue? I think not, but it may give wings to imagination when +I say that in London's underworld there are at least 50,000 women whose +earnings do not exceed three halfpence per hour, and who live under +conditions similar to those described. Working, working, day and night, +when they have work to do, practically starving when work is scarce. + +The people of the underworld are not squeamish, they talk freely, and as +a matter of course about life and death. Their children are at an early +age made acquainted with both mysteries; a dead child and one newly born +sometimes occupy a room with other children. + +People tell me of the idleness of the underworld and there is plenty of +it; but what astonishes me is the wonderful, the persistent, but almost +unrewarded toil that is unceasingly going on, in which even infants +share. + +Come again with me in the day-time, climb with me six dark and greasy +flights of stairs, for the underworld folk are sometimes located near +the sky. + +In this Bastille the passages are very narrow, and our shoulders +sometimes rub the slimy moisture from the walls. On every landing in the +semi-darkness we perceive galleries running to right and to left. On the +little balconies, one on every floor, children born in this Bastille are +gasping for air through iron bars. + +There are three hundred suites of box rooms in this Bastille, which +means that three hundred families live like ants in it. Let us enter No. +250. Time: 3.30 p.m. Here lives a blind matchbox-maker and his wife with +their seven children. The father has gone to take seven gross of boxes +to the factory, for the mother cannot easily climb up and down the stone +stairs of the Bastille. So she sits everlastingly at the boxes, the beds +are covered with them, the floor is covered with them, and the air is +thick with unpleasant moisture. + +One, two, three, four, there they go over her shoulder to the bed or +floor; on the other side of the table sits a child of four, who, with +all the apathy of an adult if not with equal celerity, gums or pastes +the labels for his mother. The work must be "got in," and the child has +been kept at home to take his share in the family toil. + +In this Bastille the children of the underworld live and die, for death +reaps here his richest harvest. Never mind! the funeral of one child +is only a pageant for others. Here women work and starve, and here +childhood, glorious childhood, is withered and stricken; but here, too, +the wicked, the vile, the outcast and the thief find sanctuary. + +The strange mixture of it all bewilders me, fascinates me, horrifies +me, and yet sometimes it encourages me and almost inspires me. For I see +that suffering humanity possesses in no mean degree those three great +qualities, patience, fortitude and endurance. + +For perchance these three qualities will feel and grope for a brighter +life and bring about a better day. + +Though in all conscience funerals are numerous enough in this bit of +the underworld, and though the conditions are bad enough to destroy +its inhabitants, yet the people live on and on, for even death itself +sometimes seems reluctant to befriend them. + +Surely there is nothing in the underworld so extraordinary as the +defiance flung in the face of death by its poor, feeble, ill-nourished, +suffering humanity. + +According to every well-known rule they ought to die, and not to +linger upon the order of their dying. But linger they do, and in their +lingering exhibit qualities which ought to regenerate the whole race. It +is wonderful upon what a small amount of nourishment humanity can exist, +and still more wonderful under what conditions it can survive. + +Shall we look in at a house that I know only too well? Come again, then! + +Here sits an aged widow of sixty-four at work on infants' shoes, a +daughter about twenty-six is at work on infants' socks. Another daughter +two years older is lying on her back in an invalid's chair, and her deft +fingers are busily working, for although paralysis has taken legs, the +upper part of her body has been spared. The three live together and pool +their earnings; they occupy two very small rooms, for which they pay +five shillings weekly. + +After paying twopence each to avoid parish funerals, they have five +shillings left weekly for food, firing, clothing and charity. Question +them, and you will learn how they expend those five shillings. "How much +butter do you allow yourselves during the week?" The widow answers: "Two +ounces of shilling butter once a week." "Yes, mother," says the invalid, +"on a Saturday." She knew the day of the week and the hour too, when her +eyes brightened at the sight of three-halfpenny worth of butter. +Truly they fared sumptuously on the Sabbath, for they tasted "shilling +butter." + +But they refuse to die, and I have not yet discovered the point at +which life ebbs out for lack of food, for when underworld folk die +of starvation we are comforted by the assurance that they died "from +natural causes." + +I suppose that if the four children all over eight years of age, +belonging to a widow machinist well known to me, had died, their death +would have been attributed to "natural causes." She had dined them upon +one pennyworth of stewed tapioca without either sugar or milk. Sometimes +the children had returned to school without even that insult to their +craving stomachs. But "natural causes" is the euphonious name given +by intelligent juries to starvation, when inquests are held in the +underworld. Herein is a mystery: in the land of plenty, whose granaries, +depots, warehouses are full to repletion, and whose countless ships are +traversing every ocean, bringing the food and fruits of the earth to its +shores, starvation is held to be a natural cause of death. + +Here let me say, and at once, that the two widows referred to are +but specimens of a very large company, and that from among my own +acquaintances I can with a very short notice assemble one thousand women +whose lives are as pitiful, whose food is as limited, whose burdens are +as heavy, but whose hearts are as brave as those I have mentioned. + +The more I know of these women and their circumstances, the more and +still more I am amazed. How they manage to live at all is a puzzle, but +they do live, and hang on to life like grim death itself. I believe I +should long for death were I placed under similar conditions to those my +underworld friends sustain without much complaining. + +They have, of course, some interests in life, especially when the +children are young, but for themselves they are largely content to be, +to do, and to suffer. + +Very simple and very limited are their ambitions; they are expressed in +the wish that their children may rise somehow or other from the world +below to the world above, where food is more plentiful and labour more +remunerative. But my admiration and love for the honest workers below +the line are leading me to forget the inhabitants that are far removed +from honesty, and to whom industry is a meaningless word. + +There are many of them, and a mixed lot they are. The deformed, the +crippled and the half-witted abound. Rogues and rascals, brutes in human +form, and human forms that are harking back to the brute abound also. +With some we may sound the lowest depths, with others we may ascend +to glorious heights. This is the wonder of underworld. Some of its +inhabitants have come down, and are going lower still. Others are +struggling with slippery feet to ascend the inclined plane that leads to +the world above. Some in their misery are feebly hoping for a hand that +will restore them to the world they have for ever lost! + +And there are others who find their joy in this netherworld! For here +every restraint may be abandoned and every decency may be outraged. Here +are men and women whose presence casts a blight upon everything fresh +and virtuous that comes near them. + +Here the children grow old before their time, for like little cubs they +lie huddled upon each other when the time for sleep comes. Not for them +the pretty cot, the sweet pillow and clean sheets! but the small close +room, the bed or nest on the floor, the dirty walls and the thick +air. Born into it, breathing it as soon as their little lungs begin to +operate, thick, dirty air dominates their existence or terminates their +lives. + +"Glorious childhood" has no place here, to sweet girlhood it is fatal, +and brave boyhood stands but little chance. + +Though here and there one and another rise superior to environment +and conditions, the great mass are robbed of the full stature of their +bodies, of their health, their brain power and their moral life. + +But their loss is not the nation's gain, for the nation loses too! For +the nation erects huge buildings falsely called workhouses, tremendous +institutions called prisons. Asylums in ever-increasing numbers are +required to restrain their feeble bodies, and still feebler minds! + +Let us look at the contrasts! Their houses are so miserably supplied +with household goods that even a rash and optimistic man would hesitate +before offering a sovereign for an entire home, yet pawnshops flourish +exceedingly, although the people possess nothing worth pawning. Children +are half fed, for the earnings of parents are too meagre to allow a +sufficient quantity of nourishing food; but public-houses do a roaring +trade on the ready-money principle, while the chandler supplies scraps +of food and half-ounces of tea on very long credit. + +Money, too, is scarce, very scarce, yet harpies grow rich by lending +the inhabitants small sums from a shilling up to a pound at a rate of +interest that would stagger and paralyse the commercial world. Doctors +must needs to content with a miserable remuneration for their skilled +and devoted services, when paid at all! but burial societies accumulate +millions from a weekly collection of ill-spared coppers. Strangest of +all, undertakers thrive exceedingly, but the butcher and baker find it +hard work to live. + +Yes, the underworld of London is full of strange anomalies and queer +contradictions. When I survey it I become a victim to strange and +conflicting emotions. + +Sometimes I am disgusted with the dirt and helplessness of the people. +Sometimes I burn with indignation at their wrongs. But when I enter +their houses I feel that I would like to be an incendiary on a wholesale +scale. Look again! I found the boot-machinist widow that I have +mentioned, in Bethnal Green; she was ill in bed, lying in a small room; +ill though she was, and miniature as the room was, two girls aged twelve +and fourteen slept with her and shared her bed, while a youth and a boy +slept in a coal-hole beneath the stairs. Nourishment and rest somewhat +restored the woman, and to give her and the children a chance I took for +them a larger house. I sent them bedding and furniture, the house being +repaired and repainted, for the previous tenant had allowed it to take +fire, but the fire had not been successful enough! I called on the +family at midday, and as I stood in the room, bugs dropped from the +ceiling upon me. The widow's work was covered with them; night and day +the pests worried the family, there was no escaping them; I had to +fly, and again remove the family. How can the poor be clean and +self-respecting under such conditions! + +For be it known this is the normal condition of thousands of human +habitations in London's great underworld. How can cleanliness and +self-respect survive? Yet sometimes they do survive, but at a terrible +cost, for more and still more of the weekly income must go in rent, +which means less and still less for food and clothing. Sometimes the +grossness and impurity, the ignorance and downright wickedness of the +underworld appal and frighten me. + +But over this I must draw a veil, for I dare not give particulars; I +think, and think, and ask myself again and again what is to be the end +of it all! Are we to have two distinct races! those below and those +above? Is Wells' prophecy to come true; will the one race become +uncanny, loathsome abortions with clammy touch and eyes that cannot face +the light? Will the other become pretty human butterflies? I hope not, +nay, I am sure that Wells is wrong! For there is too much real goodness +in the upper world and too much heroism and endurance in the underworld +to permit such an evolution to come about. + +But it is high time that such a possibility was seriously considered. +It is high time, too, that the lives and necessities, the wrongs and the +rights of even the gross poor in the underworld were considered. + +For the whole social and industrial system is against them. Though many +of them are parasites, preying upon society or upon each other, yet +even they become themselves the prey of other parasites, who drain their +blood night and day. + +So I ask in all seriousness, is it not high time that the exploitation +of the poor, because they are poor, should cease. See how it operates: +a decent married woman loses her husband; his death leaves her dependent +upon her own labour. She has children who hitherto have been provided +with home life, food and clothing; in fact the family had lived a little +above the poverty line, though not far removed from it. + +She had lived in the upper world, but because her husband dies, she +is precipitated into the lower world, to seek a new home and some +occupation whereby she and her children may live. + +Because she is a widow, and poor and helpless, she becomes the prey +of the sweater. Henceforth she must work interminable hours for a +starvation wage. Because she is a mother, poor and helpless, she becomes +the prey of the house farmer. Henceforward half her earnings must go in +rent, though her house and its concomitants are detestable beyond words. + +But though she is poor, her children must be fed, and though she is a +widowed mother, she, even she, must eat sometimes. Henceforward she must +buy food of a poor quality, in minute quantities, of doubtful weight, at +the highest price. She is afraid that death may enter her home and find +her unprepared for a funeral, so she pays one penny weekly for each of +her children and twopence for herself to some collection society. + +All through this procedure her very extremities provide opportunities +to others for spoliation, and so her continued life in the underworld is +assured. But her children are ill-nourished, ill-clothed, ill-lodged +and ill-bathed, and the gutter is their playground. They do not +develop properly in mind or body, when of age they are very poor assets +considered financially or industrially. They become permanent residents +of the underworld and produce after their kind. + +So the underworld is kept populated from many sources. Widows with their +children are promptly kicked into it, others descend into it by a +slow process of social and industrial gravitation. Some descend by +the downward path of moral delinquency, and some leap into it as if to +commit moral and social death. + +And surely 'tis a mad world! How can it be otherwise with all this +varied and perplexed humanity seething it, with all these social and +industrial wrongs operating upon it. But I see the dawn of a brighter +day! when helpless widow mothers will no longer be the spoil of the +sweater and the house "farmer." The dawn has broke! before these words +are printed thousands of toiling women in London's underworld will +rejoice! for the wages of cardboard box-makers will be doubled. The sun +is rising! for one by one all the terrible industries in which the +women of the underworld are engaged will of a certainty come within the +operations of a law that will stay the hand of the oppressors. And there +will be less toil for the widows and more food for the children in the +days that are to be. + +But before that day fully comes, let me implore the women of the upper +world to be just if not generous to the women below. Let me ask them +not to exact all their labours, nor to allow the extremities of +their sisters to be a reason for under-payment when useful service is +rendered. Again I say, and I say it with respect and sorrow, that many +women are thoughtless if not unjust in their business dealings with +other women. + +I am more concerned for the industrial and social rights of women than I +am for their political rights; votes they may have if you please. But +by all that is merciful let us give them justice! For the oppression of +women, whether by women or men, means a perpetuation of the underworld +with all its sorrows and horrors; and the under-payment of women has a +curse that smites us all the way round. + +And if a word of mine can reach the toiling sisters in the netherworld, +I would say to them: Be hopeful! Patient I know you to be! enduring you +certainly are! brave beyond expression I have found you. Now add to your +virtues, hope! + +For you have need of it, and you have cause for it. I rejoice that so +many of you are personally known to me! You and I, my sisters, have had +much communion, and many happy times together; for sometimes we have had +surcease from toil and a breath of God's fresh air together. + +Be hopeful! endure a little longer; for a new spirit walks this old +world to bless it, and to right your long-continued wrongs. + +Oh! how you have suffered, sisters mine! and while I have been writing +this chapter you have all been around me. But you are the salt of the +underworld; you are much better than the ten just men that were not +found in Sodom. And when for the underworld the day of redemption +arrives, it will be you, my sisters, the simple, the suffering, enduring +women that will have hastened it! + +So I dwell upon the good that is in the netherworld, in the sure and +certain hope, whether my feeble words and life help forward the time +or not, that the day is not far distant when the dead shall rise! When +justice, light and sweetness will prevail, and in prevailing will purify +the unexplored depths of the sad underworld. + +I offer no apology for inserting the following selections from London +County Council proceedings. Neither do I make any comment, other than +to say that the statements made present matters in a much too favourable +light. + +"LONDON'S CHILD SLAVES + +"OVERWORK AND BAD NUTRITION + +"Disclosures in L.C.C. Report. + +(From the Daily Press, December 1911) + +"The comments passed by members of the L.C.C. at the Education Committee +meeting upon the annual report of the medical officer of that committee +made it clear that many very interesting contents of the report had not +been made public. + +"The actual report, which we have now seen, contains much more that +deserves the serious attention of all who are interested in the problem +of the London school child. + +"There is, for example, a moving page on child life in a north-west +poverty area, where, among other conditions, it is not uncommon to find +girls of ten doing a hard day's work outside their school work; they are +the slaves of their mothers and grandmothers. + +"The great amount of anaemia and malnutrition among the children in this +area (says the report) is due to poverty, with its resultant evils of +dirt, ill-feeding and under-feeding, neglect and female labour. + +"Cheap food.--The necessity for buying cheap food results in the +purchasing of foodstuffs which are deficient in nutrient properties. The +main articles of diet are indifferent bread and butter, the fag ends +of coarse meat, the outside leaves of green vegetables, and tea, and +an occasional pennyworth of fried fish and potatoes. Children who are +supplied with milk at school, or who are given breakfast and dinner, +respond at once to the better feeding, and show distinct improvement in +their class work. The unemployment among the men obliges the women to +seek for work outside the home, and the under-payment of female labour +has its effect upon the nutrition of the family. + +"'Investigation in the senior departments of one school showed that 144 +children were being supported by their mothers only, 57 were living on +their sisters, 68 upon the joint earnings of elder brothers and +sisters, while another 130 had mothers who went out to work in order to +supplement the earnings of the father. + +"'Approximately one-third of the children in this neighbourhood are +supported by female labour. With the mother at work the children rapidly +become neglected, the boys get out of control, they play truant, they +learn to sleep out, and become known to the police while they are still +in the junior mixed department.' + +"The Girl Housewife.--The maintenance of the home, the cooking and +catering, is done by an elderly girl who sometimes may not be more than +ten years of age. The mother's earnings provide bread and tea for the +family and pay the rent, but leave nothing over for clothing or boots. + +"Many of the boys obtain employment out of school hours, for which they +are paid and for which they may receive food; others learn to hang about +the gasworks and similar places, and get scraps of food and halfpence +from the workmen. In consequence they may appear to be better nourished +than the girls 'who work beyond their strength at domestic work, +step cleaning, baby minding, or carrying laundry bundles and running +errands.' For this labour they receive no remuneration, since it is done +for the family. + +"A remarkable paragraph of the report roundly declares-- + +"'The provision generally at cost price of school meals for all who +choose to pay for them would be a national economy, which would do +much to improve the status of the feeding centres and the standard of +feeding. This principle is applied most successfully in schools of +a higher grade, and might well be considered in connection with the +ordinary elementary schools of the Council. Such a provision would +probably be of the greatest benefit to the respectable but very poor, +who are too proud to apply for charity meals, and whose children are +often penalised by want, and the various avoidable defects or ailments +that come in its train.' + +"Feeding wanted.--Of the children of a Bethnal Green school, the school +doctor is quoted as reporting that 'it was not hospital treatment but +feeding that was wanted.' + +"Among curious oddments of information contained in the report, it is +mentioned that the children of widows generally show superior physique. + +"The teeth are often better in children from the poorer homes, 'perhaps +from use on rougher food materials which leaves less DEBRIS to undergo +fermentation.' + +"'Children of poorer homes also often have the advantage of the fresh +air of the streets, whilst the better-off child is kept indoors and +becomes flabby and less resistant to minor ailments. The statistics of +infantile mortality suggest that the children of the poorer schools +have also gone through a more severe selection; disease weeding out by +natural selection, and the less fit having succumbed before school age, +the residue are of sturdier type than in schools or classes where such +selection has been less intense.'" + + + +CHAPTER III. THE NOMADS + +A considerable portion of the inhabitants of the world below the line +are wanderers, without home, property, work or any visible means of +existence. For twenty years it has been the fashion to speak of them +as the "submerged," and a notable philanthropist taught the public to +believe that they formed one-tenth of our population. + +It was currently reported in the Press that the philanthropist I have +referred to offered to take over and salve this mass of human wreckage +for the sum of one million pounds. His offer was liberally responded to; +whether he received the million or not does not matter, for he has at +any rate been able to call to his assistance thousands of men and women, +and to set them to work in his own peculiar way to save the "submerged." + +From a not unfriendly book just published, written by one who was for +more than twenty years intimately associated with him, and one of +the chief directors of his salvage work, we learn that the result has +largely been a failure. + +To some of us this failure had been apparent for many years, and though +we hoped much from the movement, we could not close our eyes to facts, +and reluctantly had to admit that the number of the "submerged" did not +appreciably lessen. + +True, shelters, depots, bridges, homes and labour homes were opened +with astonishing celerity. Wood was chopped and paper sorted in immense +quantities, but shipwrecked humanity passed over bridges that did +not lead to any promised land, and abject humanity ascended with the +elevators that promptly lowered them to depths on the other side. + +Stimulated by the apparent success or popularity of the Salvation Army, +the Church Army sprang into existence, and disputed with the former the +claim to public patronage, and the right to save! It adopted similar +means, it is certain with similar results, for the "submerged" are still +with us. + +I say that both these organisations pursued the same methods and worked +practically on the same lines, for both called into their service a +number of enthusiastic young persons, clothed them in uniforms, horribly +underpaid them, and set them to work to save humanity and solve social +and industrial problems, problems for which wiser and more experienced +people fail to find a solution. It would be interesting to discover what +has become of the tens of thousands of enthusiastic men and women who +have borne the uniform of these organisations for periods longer or +shorter, and who have disappeared from the ranks. + +How many of them are "submerged" I cannot say, but I know that some have +been perilously near it. + +I am persuaded that this is a dangerous procedure, very dangerous +procedure, and the subscribing public has some right to ask what has +become of all the "officers" who, drawn from useful work to these +organisations, have disappeared. + +But as a continual recruiting keeps up the strength, the subscribing +public does not care to ask, for the public is quite willing to part +with its vested interests in human wreckage. All this leads me to say +once more that the "submerged" are still with us. Do you doubt it? Then +come with me; let us take a midnight walk on the Thames Embankment; any +night will do, wet or dry, winter or summer! + +Big Ben is striking the hour as we commence our walk at Blackfriars; we +have with us a sack of food and a number of second-hand overcoats. The +night is cold, gusty and wet, and we think of our warm and comfortable +beds and almost relinquish our expedition. The lights on Blackfriars +Bridge reveal the murky waters beneath, and we see that the tide is +running out. + +We pass in succession huge buildings devoted to commerce, education, +religion and law; we pass beautiful gardens, and quickly we arrive at +the Temple. The lamps along the roadway give sufficient light for our +purpose, for they enable us to see that here and there on the seats and +in the recesses of the Embankment are strange beings of both sexes. + +Yonder are two men, unkempt and unshaven, their heads bent forward +and their hands thrust deep into their trousers pockets and, to all +appearance, asleep. + +Standing in a sheltered corner of the Temple Station we see several +other men, who are smoking short pipes which they replenish from time to +time with bits of cigars and cigarettes that they have gathered during +the day from the streets of London. + +I know something of the comedy and tragedy of cigar ends, for times and +again I have seen a race and almost a struggle for a "fat end" when some +thriving merchant has thrown one into the street or gutter. Suddenly +emerging from obscurity and showing unexpected activity, two half-naked +fellows have made for it; I have seen the satisfaction of the fellow who +secured it, and I have heard the curse of the disappointed; but there! +at any time, on any day, near the Bank, or the Mansion House, in +Threadneedle Street, or in Cheapside such sights may be seen by those +who have eyes to see. + +These two fellows have been successful, for they are assuaging the pangs +of hunger by smoking their odds and ends. They look at us as we pass to +continue our investigation. Here on a seat we find several men of motley +appearance; one is old and bent, his white beard covers his chest, he +has a massive head, he is a picturesque figure, and would stand well +for a representation of Old Father Thames, for the wet streams from his +hair, his beard and his ample moustache. Beside him sits a younger +man, weak and ill. His worn clothing tells us of better days, and we +instinctively realise that not much longer will he sit out the midnight +hours on the cold Embankment. + +Before we distribute our clothes and food, we continue our observation. +What strikes us most is the silence, for no one speaks to us, no hand is +held out for a gift, no requests are made for help. + +They look at us unconcernedly as we pass; they appear to bear their +privations with indifference or philosophy. Yonder is a woman leaning +over the parapet looking into the mud and water below; we speak to her, +and she turns about and faces us. Then we realise that Hood's poem +comes into our mind; we offer her a ticket for a "shelter," which she +declines; we offer her food, but she will have none of it; she asks us +to leave her, and we pass on. + +Here is a family group, father and mother with two children; their +attire and appearance tell us that they are tramps; the mother has a +babe close to her breast, and round it she has wrapt her old shawl; a +boy of five sits next to her, and the father is close up. + +The parents evidently have been bred in vagrancy, and the children, and, +unless the law intervenes, their children are destined to continue the +species. The whining voice of the woman and the outstretched hands of +the boy let us know that they are eager and ready for any gift that pity +can bestow. + +But we give nothing, and let me say that after years of experience, +I absolutely harden my heart and close my pocket against the tramping +beggar that exploits little children. And to those who drag children, +droning out hymns through our quiet streets on Sunday, my sympathies +extend to a horsewhip. + +We leave the tramps, and come upon a poor shivering wretch of about +thirty-five years; his face presents unmistakable signs of disease more +loathsome than leprosy; he is not fit to live, he is not fit to die; he +is an outcast from friends, kindred and home. He carries his desolation +with him, and the infirmary or the river will be the end of him. + +Here are two stalwart fellows, big enough and strong enough to do useful +work in the world. But they are fresh from prison, and will be back in +prison before long; they know us, for it is not the first time we have +made their acquaintance. + +They are by no means backward in speaking and telling us that they want +"just ten shillings to buy stock in Houndsditch which they can sell +in Cheapside." As we move away they beg insistently for "just a few +shillings; they don't want to get back to prison." + +Now we come to a youth of eighteen; he seems afraid, and looks at us +with suspicious eyes; what is he doing here? We are interested in him, +so young, yet alone on the Embankment. We open our bag and offer him +food, which he accepts and eats; as we watch him our pity increases: +he is thinly clad, and the night air is damp and cold; we select an old +coat, which he puts on. Then we question him, and he tells us that his +mother is dead, his father remarried; that his stepmother did not like +him, and in consequence his father turned him out; that he cannot get +work. And so on; a common story, no originality about it, and not much +truth! + +We suddenly put the question, "How long have you lived in +lodging-houses?" "About three years, sir." "What did you work at?" +"Selling papers in the streets." "Anything else?" "No, sir." "You had +not got any lodging money to-night.?" "No." "Ever been in prison?" +"Only twice." "What for?" "Gambling in the streets," and we leave him, +conscious that he is neither industrious, honest nor truthful. + +We come at length to Waterloo Bridge, and here in the corners and +recesses of the steps we find still more of the submerged, and a pitiful +lot they are. + +We look closely at them, and we see that some are getting back to +primeval life, and that some are little more than human vegetables. We +know that their chief requirements are food, sleep and open air; and +that given these their lives are ideal, to themselves! But we distribute +our food amongst them, we part with our last old coat, we give tickets +for free shelters, but we get no thanks, and we know well enough +that the shelter tickets will not be used, for it is much easier for +philosophic vagabondage to remain curled up where it is than to struggle +on to a shelter. + +So we leave them, and with a feeling of hopelessness hurry home to our +beds. + +But let us revisit the Embankment by day at 11 a.m. We take our stand +right close to Cleopatra's Needle; we see that numbers of wretched +people, male and female, are already there, and are forming themselves +into a queue three deep, the males taking the Westminster side of the +Needle, the females the City side. + +While this regiment of a very dolorous army is gathering together, +and forming silently and passively into the long queue, we look at the +ancient obelisk, and our mind is carried backward to the days of old, +when the old stone stood in the pride of its early life, and with its +clear-cut hieroglyphics spoke to the wonderful people who comprised the +great nation of antiquity. + +We almost appeal to it, and feel that we would like to question it, +as it stands pointing heavenwards beside our great river. Surely the +ancient stone has seen some strange sights, and heard strange sounds in +days gone by. + +Involuntarily we ask whether it has seen stranger sights, and heard more +doleful sounds than the sights to be seen under its shadow to-day, and +the sounds to be heard around it by night. Could it speak, doubtless +it would tell of the misery, suffering, slavery endured by the poor +in Egypt thousands of years ago. Maybe it would tell us that the great +empire of old had the same difficulties to face and the same problems to +solve that Great Britain is called upon to face and to solve to-day. + +For the poor cried for bread in the days of the Pharaohs, and they were +crowded into unclean places, but even then great and gorgeous palaces +were built. + +"Can you tell us, Ancient Stone, has there been an onward march of good +since that day? Are we much better, wiser, happier and stronger than the +dusky generations that have passed away?" But we get no response from +the ancient stone, as grim and silent it stands looking down upon us. So +we turn to the assembled crowd. See how it has grown whilst we have been +speculating. Silently, ceaselessly over the various bridges, or through +the various streets leading from the Strand they have come, and are +still coming. + +There is no firm footstep heard amongst them as they shufflingly take +their places. No eager expectation is seen on any face, but quietly, +indifferently, without crushing, elbowing, they join the tail-end of the +procession and stand silently waiting for the signal that tells them to +move. + +Let us walk up and down to count them, for it is nearly twelve o'clock, +and at twelve o'clock the slow march begins. So we count them by threes, +and find five hundred men to the right and one hundred women to the +left, all waiting, silently waiting! Stalwart policemen are there to +keep order, but their services are not required. + +In the distance the whirl of London's traffic raises its mighty voice; +nearer still, the passing tramcars thunder along, and the silence of the +waiting crowd is made more apparent by these contrasts. + +Big Ben booms the hour! it is twelve o'clock! and the slow march begins; +three by three they slowly approach the Needle, and each one is promptly +served with a small roll of bread and a cup of soup; as each one +receives the bread and soup he steps out of the ranks, promptly and +silently drinks his soup, and returns the cup. Rank follows rank till +every one is served, then silently and mysteriously the crowd melts +away and disappears. The police go to other duties, the soup barrows are +removed; the grim ancient stone stands once more alone. + +But a few hours later, even as Big Ben is booming six, the "Miserables" +will be again waiting, silently waiting for the rolls of bread and +the cups of soup, and having received them will again mysteriously +disappear, to go through the same routine at twelve o'clock on the +morrow. Aye! and to return on every morrow when soup and rolls are to be +had. + +It looks very pitiful, this mass of misery. It seems very comforting to +know that they are fed twice a day with rolls and soup, but after all +the matter wants looking at very carefully, and certain questions must +be asked. + +Who are these miserables? How comes it that they are so ready to receive +as a matter of course the doles of food provided for them? Are they +really helped, and is their position really improved by this kind of +charity? I venture to say no! I go farther, and I say very decidedly +that so long as the bulk of these people can get food twice a day, and +secure some kind of shelter at night, they will remain content to be +as they are. I will go still farther and say, that if this provision +becomes permanent the number of the miserables will increase, and the +Old Needle will continue to look down on an ever-growing volume of +poverty and wretchedness. + +For after receiving the soup and bread, these nomads disappear into the +streets and by-ways of London, there by hook or crook, by begging or +other means, to secure a few coppers, to pick up scraps of food, and to +return to the Embankment. + +I have walked up and down the Embankment, I have looked searchingly +at the people assembled. Some of them I have recognised as old +acquaintances; many of them, I know, have no desire to be other than +what they are. To eat, to sleep, to have no responsibility, to be free +to live an uncontrolled life, are their ambitions; they have no other. +Some of them are young men, only twenty years of age, who have seen +the inside of prison again and again. Some of them are older, who have +tramped the country in the summer time and have been drawn to London by +the attraction of an easy feeding in the winter. Search their ranks! and +you will find very little genuine, unfortunate, self-respecting poverty. +They are what they are, and unless other means are adopted they will, +remain what they are! + +And so they will eat the bread and drink the soup; they will come at +twelve o'clock noon; they will come at six o'clock in the evening. They +will sleep where they can, and to-morrow will be as to-day; and the next +day as to-morrow, unless some compulsion is applied to them. + +All this is very sad, but I venture to say it is true, and it seems to +be one of the evils almost inseparable from our present life. Probably +in every clime and every age such women and men have existed. The savage +lives in all of us, and the simple life has its attractions. To be free +of responsibility is, no doubt, a natural aspiration. But when I see how +easy it is for this class of people to obtain food, when I see how easy +it is for them to obtain shelter, when I see and know how thousands of +the poor are unceasingly at work in order to provide a modicum of food +and the semblance of a shelter, then it occurs to me, and I am sure it +will to any one who thinks seriously upon the matter, that these men and +women, who are harking back to the life of the idle savage, are treated +better in Christian England than the industrious, self-respecting but +unfortunate poor. But come with me to see another sight! It is again +afternoon, and we take our stand at 3.30 p.m. outside a shelter for +women which every night receives, for fourpence each, some hundreds of +submerged women. + +The doors will not be opened till six o'clock, so we are in time to +watch them as they arrive to take their places in the waiting queue. A +policeman is present to preserve order and keep the pavement clear; but +his service is not required, for the women are very orderly, and allow +plenty of room for passers-by. + +As the time for opening approaches, the number of waiting women +increases until there is a waiting silent crowd. No photograph could +give the slightest idea of their appearance, for dirt and misery are not +revealed by photography. + +Let us look at them, for the human eye sees most! What do we see? +Squalor, vice, misery, dementia, feeble minds and feeble bodies. Old +women on the verge of the grave eating scraps of food gathered from the +City dustbins. Dirty and repulsive food, dirty and repulsive women! who +have begged during the day enough coppers to pay for their lodging +by night. Girls of twenty, whose conduct in their homes has been +outrageous, and whose life in London must be left to imagination. +Middle-aged women, outcasts, whose day has past, but who have still +capabilities for begging and stealing. The whole company presents an +altogether terrible picture, and we are conscious that few of the women +have either the ability or the desire to render decent service to the +community, or to live womanly lives. + +At length the door opens, and we watch them pass silently in, to sleep +during the night in the boxes arranged on the floors, their bodies +unwashed, and their clothing unchanged. Happy are such women when some +trumpery theft lands them in prison, for there at any rate a change of +clothing is provided, and a bath is compulsory. + +If we stand outside a men's shelter, we see a similar state of things, a +waiting crowd. A passive, content, strange mixed lot of humans. Some of +them who have been well educated, but are now reaping the harvest that +follows the sowing of wild oats. The submerged males are, on the whole, +less repulsive than the women; dirt is less in evidence, and they +exhibit a better standard of health. But many of them are harking back +to nature, and remind us of the pictures we have seen of primeval man. + +I want to say a few words about the submerged that congregate on +the Thames Embankment, and the humanity we have seen enter the cheap +shelters. + +My experience has shown me that they constitute the lowest grade and the +least hopeful class of the submerged. Amongst them there are very few +decent and helpable men and women who are capable of rising to a higher +life. Say what we will, be as pitiful as we may, those of us who have +much experience of life know perfectly well that there exists a large +class of persons who are utterly incapable of fulfilling the duties of +decent citizenship. It may be that they are wicked, and it is certain +that they are weak, but whether wicked or weak, they have descended by +the law of moral gravitation and have found their level in the lowest +depths of civilised life. + +And they come from unexpected quarters, for some who have known comfort +and refinement are now quite content with their present conditions. +Whether born of refined parents, or of rude and ignorant parents, +whether coming from a tramping stock, or from settled home life, they +have one thing in common. It is this--the life they live has a powerful +attraction for them; they could not if they would, and would not if they +could, live lives that demand decency, discipline and industry. Nothing +but compulsion will ever induce them to submit themselves to disciplined +life. But let it be clearly understood that I am now speaking only of +the lowest class of the submerged. While my experience has taught me +that they, humanly speaking, are a hopeless lot, I have learned that +they have their qualities. They can endure if they cannot work; they can +suffer if they cannot strive. After all I am persuaded that they get a +fair amount of happiness. Simple pleasures are the greatest, perhaps the +only real pleasures. We all like to be free of responsibilities. There +is no rent-day coming round with dread certainty and irritating monotony +to the nomads. No rate collector irritates them with his imperious +"demand note." No school-board officer rouses them to a sense of duty by +his everlasting efforts to force their children to school. No butcher, +no baker, no milkman duns them for payment of bills long overdue! +They escape the danger of furniture on the "hire system." For them no +automatic gas meter grudgingly doles out its niggardly pennyworths of +gas. They are not implored to burden themselves with the ENCYCLOPAEDIA +BRITANNICA. + +They are free from the seductions of standard bread; paper-bag cookery +causes them no anxious thought. Even "sweet peas" do not enter into +their simple calculations. Finally no life assurance agent marks them +for his prey, and no income-tax tempts them to lie! From all these +things they are free, and I would like to know who would not wish to +be free of them and a thousand other worries I would escape them if I +could, but alas I cannot. + +Decidedly there is much to be said for the life of a nomad, but whether +or not I should place him among the inhabitants of the underworld I +am not sure; for he toils not, neither does he spin, and his bitterest +enemies cannot accuse him of taking thought for the morrow. I had almost +forgotten one great advantage he possesses: he need not wash; and when +this distasteful operation becomes, for sanitary reasons, absolutely +necessary, why then he can take a month in one of our great sanatoria, +either prison or workhouse will do, and be thoroughly cleansed! + +The idea of such free and easy folk being saved by a shelter and +wood-chopping is very funny. + +But we are all tramps, more or less; it is only a question of degree! +Who would not like to tramp with George Borrow through Spain or Wales +I would like the chance! Who does not feel and hear the "call of the +wild"? Most certainly all Britons thrill with it. Who does not like to +feel the "wind on the heath" beat on his face and fill his nostrils! +Who does not love the sweetness of country lanes, or the solitude of +mountains, or the whispering mystery of the wood, or the terrors of the +sea, or the silence of midnight? + +All these things are ingrained in us, part and parcel of our very +selves; we cannot get away from them if we would, and woe betide us if +we did! For this is a grand quality in itself, one that has made our +nation and our empire. But couple it with idleness, inertia, feebleness, +weak minds, and weaker bodies; why, then you get the complete article, +the vegetable human! the guinea-pig man; if you will, the "submerged," +or at any rate a portion of them. + +Originally I have no doubt the human family were nomads, and many of our +good old instincts still survive, but civilisation has killed others. +In every cross-bred species of animals or plants there are "reverts" +or "throwbacks," and the human family produces plenty of them. Every +civilised country has its "throwbacks," and the more monotonous +civilisation becomes, the more cast-iron its rules, and the more +scientific and educated its people, the more onerous and difficult +become the responsibilities and duties of citizenship; and the greater +the likelihood of in increased number of reverts to undisciplined and +wild life. In this direction the sea and our colonies are the safeguard +of England. But to-day we pay in meal or malt for our civilisation, +for many brave lads, with thews and muscles, are chafing, fretting and +wearing out their hearts in dull London offices or stores, where they +feel choked, hampered, cabined and confined, for civilisation chains +them to their desks. + +But I am wandering too! I will hark back. Another cause, and a fruitful +cause, of nomadic life is to be found in the ever-increasing number +of young incapables that our present-day life produces. Characterless, +backboneless, negative kind of fellows with neither wisdom nor stature +abound. Up to eighteen years they pass muster, but after that age they +are useless; in reality they need caring for all their lives. They +possess no initiative, no self-reliance, and little capability for +honest work, unless it be simple work done under close supervision. Our +industrial life is too strenuous for these young men; they are laggards +in life's race, they quickly fall behind, and ultimately become +disqualified altogether. + +Many of their parents refuse them shelter, the streets become their +home; absolute idleness supervenes; their day is past. Henceforward they +are lodging-house habitues, or wanderers on the face of the earth. + +More pitiable still is the case of those that may be classed as +feeble-minded, and who are just responsible enough to be quite +irresponsible. Idiots and imbeciles have largely disappeared from +country villages and small towns. They are well taken care of, for our +large asylums are full of them; they have good quarters, good food, +every attention, so they live long in the land. + +But the case is very different with the half imbeciles or the half mad. +Short terms of imprisonment with short periods of hopeless, useless +liberty and an occasional spell in the workhouse constitute the circle +of their lives; and a vicious circle it is. Can any life be more +pitiable? Sane enough to know that they are not quite sane, insane +enough to have no wish to control their animal or vicious instincts. +Possessing no education, strength or skill, of no possible use in +industrial life, with no taste for decency or social life; sleeping by +day in our parks, and by night upon the Embankment. But they mate; and +as like meets with like the result may be imagined! Here again we +are paying for our neglect of many serious matters. Bad housing, +overcrowding, incessant work by the mothers whilst bearing children, +drinking habits among the parents, insufficient food for the children, +endless anxieties and worries. All these things and more amongst that +portion of the nation which produces the largest families; what wonder +that many incapable bodies and minds result! + +But if civilisation allows all this, civilisation must pay the penalty, +which is not a light one, and continue to have the miserables upon the +Embankment. + +Have we no pity! no thought for the next generation, no concern for +ourselves! No! I do not recommend a lethal chamber, but I do strongly +advise permanent detention and segregation for these low types of +unfortunate humanity. Nothing less will avail, and expensive though it +might be for a time, it would pay in the near future, and would be at +once an act of mercy and justice. + +Yes, on the Thames Embankment extremes meet, the ages are bridged over, +for the products of our up-to-date civilisation stand side by side with +the products of primeval habits and nomadic life. + + + +CHAPTER IV. LODGING-HOUSES + +The inmates of the underworld lodging-houses are a queer and +heterogeneous lot; but they are much to be preferred to the sleepers +out; because rascally though many of them are, there is a good deal +of self-reliance and not a little enterprise amongst them. By hook and +crook, and, it is to be feared, mostly by crook, they obtain sufficient +money for food and lodging, and to this extent they are an improvement +upon the sleepers out. They have, too, some pluck, perseverance and +talents that, rightly applied, might be of considerable benefit to +the community. But having got habituated to the liberty of common +lodging-houses, and to the excitement of getting day by day just enough +for each day's need, though sometimes fasting and sometimes feasting, +the desire for settled home life and for the duties of citizenship has +vanished. For with the money to pay night by night for their lodgings, +responsibility to rent and tax collector ends. + +I must allow some exceptions, for once every year there comes upon +thousands of them the burden of finding five shillings to pay for the +hawker's licence that provides them with the semblance of a living, or +an excuse for begging. After much experience of this class, including +many visits to common lodging-houses, and some friendships with the +inmates, I am sure that the desire to be untrammelled with social and +municipal obligation leads a great percentage of the occupants to prefer +the life to any other. They represent to some extent in this modern and +industrial age the descendants of Jonadab, the son of Rechab, with this +exception, they are by no means averse to the wine-cup. It is to be +feared that there is a growth in this portion of our community, for +every scheme for providing decent lodgings for casually homeless men +is eagerly taken advantage of by men who might and who ought to live in +homes of their own, and so fulfil the duties of decent citizenship. In +this respect even Lord Rowton's estimable lodging-houses, and those, +too, of our municipal authorities prove no exception, for they attract +numbers of men who ought not to be there, but who might, with just a +little more self-reliance and self-respect, live comfortably outside. + +But I pass on to the common lodging-houses that accommodate a lower +class than is found in municipal or Rowton houses. Probably none, or +at any rate very few, of my readers have had a practical experience of +common lodging-houses. I have, so therefore I ask them to accompany me +to one of them. + +In a dingy slum stand a number of grimy houses that have been converted +into one big house. The various doorways have been blocked and one +enlarged entrance serves. + +As we enter, the money-taker in his office demands our business. We tell +him that we are anxious to have a look round, and he tells us that he +will send for the deputy. The deputy is the autocrat that governs with +undisputable sway in this domain of semi-darkness and dirt. We stand +aside in the half-lit passage, taking good care that we have no contact +with the walls; the air we breathe is thick with unpleasant odours, +and we realise at once, and to our complete satisfaction, the smell and +flavour of a common lodging-house. We know instinctively that we have +made its acquaintance before, it seems familiar to us, but we are +puzzled about it until we remember we have had a foretaste of it given +to us by some lodging-house habitues that we met. The aroma of a common +lodging-house cannot be concealed, it is not to be mistaken. The hour +is six o'clock p.m., the days are short, for it is November. The lodgers +are arriving, so we stand and watch them as they pass the little office +and pay their sixpences. Down goes the money, promptly a numbered ticket +takes its place; few words are exchanged, and away go the ticket-holders +to the general kitchen. + +Presently the deputy comes to interview us, and he does not put us at +our ease; he is a forbidding fellow, one that evidently will stand no +nonsense. Observe, if you please, that he has lost his right hand, and +that a formidable iron hook replaces it. Many a time has that hook been +serviceable; if it could speak, many tales would it tell of victories +won, of rows quelled, and of blood spilled. + +We have seen the fellow previously, and more than once, at the local +police-court. Sometimes he came as prosecutor, sometimes as prisoner, +and at other times as witness. When the police had been required to +supplement the power of his iron hand in quelling the many free fights, +he appeared sometimes in the dual capacity of prisoner and prosecutor. + +We know that he retains his position because of his strength and the +unscrupulous way in which he uses it. He knows us too, but he is not +well pleased to see us! Nevertheless, he accedes to our request for +"just a look round." So through a large passage we pass, and he ushers +us into the lodging-house kitchen. As the door opens a babel of many +voices greets us, a rush of warm air comes at us, and the evidence of +our noses proclaims that bloaters and bacon, liver and onions, sausages +and fresh fish are being cooked. We look and see, we see and taste! +Strange eyes are turned upon us just for a moment, but we are not +"'tecs," so the eyes are turned back to the different frying-pans or +roasting-forks, as the case may be. See how they crowd round the huge +and open fire, for there is no cooking range. See how they elbow each +other as they want space for this pan or that fork. See how the bloaters +curl and twist as if trying to escape from the forks and the fire. See +how the sausages burst and splutter in their different pans. See how +stolidly the tough steaks brown, refusing either to splutter, yield fat, +or find gravy to assist in their own undoing. + +Listen to the sizzling that pervades the place, acting as an orchestral +accompaniment to the chorus of human voices. Listen to it all, breathe +it all, let your noses and your ears take it all in. Then let your eyes +and your imagination have their turn before the pungency of rank tobacco +adds to the difficulty of seeing and breathing. And so we look, and we +find there are sixty human beings of both sexes and various ages in that +kitchen. Some of them we know, for have we not seen them in Cheapside, +St. Paul's Churchyard, or elsewhere acting as gutter merchants. Yonder +sit an old couple that we have seen selling matches or laces for many +years past! It is not a race day, and there being no "test match" or +exciting football match, a youth of sixteen who earns a precarious +living by selling papers in the streets sits beside them. To-day papers +are at a discount, so he has given up business for the day and sought +warmth and company in his favourite lodging-house. + +Ah! there is our old friend, the street ventriloquist! You see the back +of his hand is painted in vivid colours to resemble the face of an old +woman. We know that he has a bundle that contains caps and bonnets, +dresses and skirts that will convert his hand and arm into a quaint +human figure. Many a droll story can he tell, for he has "padded the +hoof" from one end of England to the other; he knows every lodging-house +from Newcastle-on-Tyne to Plymouth. He is a graceless dog, fond of a +joke, a laugh and a story; he is honest enough and intelligent enough +for anything. But of regular life, discipline and work he will have +none. By and by, after the cooking is all done, he will want to give a +performance and take up a collection. + +There are a couple, male and female, who tramp the country lanes; the +farm haystacks or outbuildings have been their resting-places during the +summer, but approaching winter has sent them back to London. + +You see that they have got a tattered copy of Moody and Sankey's hymns, +which is their stock-in-trade. They have at different lodging-house +"services" picked up some slight knowledge of a limited number of tunes, +now they are trying to commit the words to memory. + +To-morrow they will in quiet streets be whining out "Oh, where is my boy +to-night?" or "Will you meet me at the Fountain?" + +Look again--here is a shabby-genteel man who lives by his wits. He is +fairly educated and can write a plausible letter. He is dangerous; his +stock-in-trade comprises local directories, WHO'S WHO, annual reports +of charitable societies, clergymen's lists, etc. He is a begging-letter +writer, and moves from lodging-house to lodging-house; he writes letters +for any of the inmates who have some particular tale of woe to unfold, +or some urgent appeal to make, and he receives the major part of the +resultant charity. + +He is drunken and bestial, he is a parasite of the worst description, +for he preys alike on the benevolent and upon the poor wretches whose +cause he espouses. + +He assumes many names, he changes his addresses adroitly, and ticks off +very carefully the names and addresses of people he has defrauded. +In fact, he is so clever and slippery that the police and the Charity +Organisation Society cannot locate him. So he thrives, a type of many, +for every one of London's common lodging-houses can provide us with one +or more such cunning rogues. + +Yonder sits a "wandering boy" about twenty-eight years of age. He is not +thriving, and he must needs be content with simple bread and cheese. A +roll of cheap "pirated" music lies on his knee and proclaims his method +of living. His life has its dangers, for he has great difficulty in +providing five shillings for his pedlar's licence, and he runs great +risk of having his stock seized by the police, and being committed to +prison for a fine he cannot pay. + +He has brought sorrow and disgrace upon his parents, no eye brightens at +the mention of his name. Alas! he is a specimen of the "homeless boy" of +whom his neighbours the minstrels will sing to-morrow. He is silent and +moody, for he is not in funds. Are there none among the company whom +sheer misfortune has brought down into this underworld? we ask. Aye, +there are, for in this kitchen there are representatives of all sorts +and conditions. See that man in the corner by himself, speaking to no +one, cooking nothing, eating nothing; he is thinking, thinking! This +is his first night in a common lodging-house; it is all new to him, he +thinks it all so terrible and disgusting. + +He seems inclined to run and spend his night in the streets, and perhaps +it will be well for him to do so. He looks decent, bewildered and +sorrowful; we know at a glance that some misfortune has tripped him +up, we see that self-respect is not dead within him. We know that if he +stays the night, breathing the foul air, listening to the horrid talk, +seeing much and realising more, feeling himself attacked on every side +by the ordinary pests of common lodging-houses, we know that tomorrow +morning his self-respect will be lessened, his moral power weakened, and +his hope of social recovery almost gone. Let him stay a few weeks, then +the lodging-house will become his home and his joy. So we feel inclined +to cry out and warn him to escape with his life. This is the great evil +and danger of common lodging-houses; needful as they undoubtedly are for +the homeless and the outcast, they place the unfortunate on an inclined +plane down which they slide to complete demoralisation. + +I am told that there are four hundred large common lodging-houses in +London, many of them capable of holding several hundred lodgers, and +which night after night are filled with a weird collection of humanity. +And they cast a fatal spell upon all who get accustomed to them. Few, +very few who have become acclimatised ever go back to settled home +life. For the decencies, amenities and restraints of citizenship +become distasteful. And truly there is much excitement in the life for +excitement, at any rate, abounds in common lodging-houses. + +Nothing happens in them but the unexpected, and that brings its joys and +terrors, its laughter and its tears. Here a great deal of unrestrained +human nature is given free play, and the results are exciting if not +edifying. Let us spend an evening, but not a night--that is too much to +ask-with the habitues. + +We sit apart and listen to the babel of voices, but we listen in vain +for the lodging-house slang of which we are told so much. They speak +very much like other people, and speak on subjects upon which other +people speak. They get as excited as ordinary people, too. + +Yonder is a lewd fellow shouting obscenities to a female, who, in an +equally loud voice and quite as unmistakable language, returns him a +Roland for every Oliver. + +Here are a couple of wordy excitable fellows who are arguing the pros +and cons of Free Trade and Tariff Reform. They will keep at it till the +lights are put out, for both are supplied with a plentiful supply of +contradictory literature. Both have fluent tongues, equally bitter, +and, having their audience, they, like other people, must contend for +mastery. Not that they care for the rights or wrongs of either question, +for both are prepared, as occasion serves, to take either side. +Religion, too, is excitedly discussed, for an animated couple are +discussing Christian Evidences, while the ventriloquist gives parsons +generally and bishops in particular a very warm time; even the Pope and +General Booth do not escape his scurrilous but witty indictments. + +Meanwhile the street singers are practising songs, sacred and secular, +and our friend the street minstrel produces an old flute and plays an +obbligato, whilst the quivering voice of his poor old wife again wants +to know the whereabouts of her wandering boy. + +There will be a touching scene when they do meet--may I be there! but +I hope they will not meet in a common lodging-house. Another street +minstrel is practising new tunes upon a mouth-organ, wherewith to soften +the hearts of a too obdurate public. + +What a babel it all makes; now groups of card-players are getting +quarrelsome, for luck has been against some, or cheating has been +discovered; blows are exchanged, and blood flows! As the night advances, +men and women under the influence of drink arrive. Some are merry, +others are quarrelsome, some are moody and lachrymose. The latter become +the butt of the former, the noise increases, confusion itself becomes +confounded, and we leave to avoid the general MELEE, and to breathe the +night air, which we find grateful and reviving. Phew! but it was hot and +thick, we don't want to breathe it again. It is astonishing that people +get used to it, and like it too! But it leaves its taint upon them, for +it permeates their clothing; they carry it about with them, and any +one who gets a whiff of it gets some idea of the breath of a common +lodging-house. And its moral breath has its effect, too! Woe to all that +is fresh and fair, young and hopeful, that comes within its withering +influence. Farewell! a long farewell to honour, truth and self-respect, +for the hot breath of a common lodging-house will blast those and every +other good quality in young people of either sex that inhale it. Its +breath comes upon them, and lo! they become foul without and vile +within, carrying their moral and physical contagion with them wherever +they go. + +A moral sepulchre, or rather crematorium, is the common lodging-house, +for when its work is done, nothing is left but ashes. For the old +habitues I am not much concerned, and though generally I hold a brief +for old sinners, criminals and convicts, I hold no brief for the old and +middle-aged habitues of a common lodging-house. + +Can any one call the dead to life? Can any one convert cold flesh into +warm pulsing life? Nay, nay! Talk about being turned into a pillar of +salt! the common lodging-house can do more and worse than that! It can +turn men and women into pillars of moral death, for even the influence +of a long term of penal servitude, withering as it is, cannot for one +moment be compared with the corrupting effect of common lodging-house +life. + +So the old minstrels may go seeking their wandering boy! and the +begging-letter writers may go hang! + +The human vultures that prey upon the simple and good-natured may, if +middle-aged, continue in their evil ways. But what of the young people +of whom there ought to be hope? What of them? how long are these "lazar +houses" to stand with open door waiting to receive, swallow, transform +and eject young humanity? But there is money in them, of course there +is; there always is money to be made out of sin and misery if the +community permits. + +Human wreckage pays, and furnishes a bigger profit than more humdrum +investments. I am told by an old habitue with whom I have had endless +talks and who has taught me much, although he is a graceless rascal, +that one man owns eight of these large establishments, and that he and +his family live in respectability and wealth. + +I have no reason to doubt his statement, for these places are mines of +wealth, but the owners take precious good care not to live in them. And +infinite care that their families do not inhabit them. Some day when we +are wise--but wisdom comes so slowly--these things will not be left to +private enterprise, for municipalities will provide and own them at no +loss to the ratepayers either. + +Then decency, though homeless, will have a chance of survival, and +moral and physical cleanliness some chance to live, even in a common +lodging-house. + +Sadly we need a modern St. George who will face and destroy this +monstrous dragon with the fiery breath. + +Let it not be said that I am unduly hard upon them who from choice or +misfortune inhabit these places. From my heart I pity them, but one +cannot be blind to the general consequences. And these things must be +taken into consideration when efforts are made, as undoubtedly efforts +will some day be made, to tackle this question in a reasonable way. + +It is high time, too, that the public understood the difficulties that +attend any effort to lift lodging-house habitues to a higher form of +existence. + +I am bold enough to hazard the statement that the number of these +people increases year by year, and that no redemptive effort has had the +slightest effect in checking the continual increase. As Secretary of +the Howard Association, it is my business year by year to make myself +acquainted with the criminal statistics, and all matters connected with +our prisons. These statistics more than confirm my statement, for they +tell us that while drunkenness, brutality, crimes of violence show +a steady decrease, vagabondage, sleeping out, begging, etc., show a +continual increase as years roll by. + +Of course many of them appear again and again in the prison statistics, +nevertheless they form a great and terrible army, whose increase bodes +ill for dear and fair old England. + +Like birds they are migratory, but they pour no sweetness on the morning +or evening air. Like locusts they leave a blight behind. + +Like famished wolves when winter draws near they seek the habitations of +men. Food they must have! There is corn in Egypt! + +When gentle spring returns, then heigho! for the country lanes, villages +and provincial towns, and as they move from place to place they leave +their trail behind them. + +And what a trail it is! ask the governors of our local prisons, ask the +guardians of any country districts, ask the farmers, aye, and ask the +timid women and pretty children, and, my word for it, they will be able +to tell you much of these strange beings that returning summer brings +unfailingly before them. Their lodging is sometimes the cold hard +ground, or the haystack, or perchance, if in luck, an outbuilding. + +The prisons are their sanatoria, the workhouses their homes of rest, and +the casual ward their temporary conveniences. But always before them +is one objective, for a common lodging-house is open to them, and its +hypnotism draws them on and on. + +So on they go, procreating as they go. Carrying desolation with them, +leaving desolation behind them. The endurance of these people--I suppose +they must be called people--is marvellous and their rate of progression +is sometimes astonishing; weary and footsore, maimed, halt or blind they +get over the ground at a good uniform pace. + +Look at that strange being that has just passed us as we sat on the bank +of a country lane; he goes along with slouching gait and halting steps; +he has no boots worthy of the name, his tattered trousers, much too +long, give us glimpses of his flesh. He wears an old frock-coat that +hangs almost to his heels, and a cloth cap, greasy and worn, upon +his head. His beard is wild and abundant, and his hair falls upon his +shoulders in a way worthy of an artist or poet. + +Follow him, but not too closely, and you will find it hard to keep up +with him, he knows what he is making for. Neither George Borrow nor +Runciman would hold him for a week, for George would want to stop and +talk, but this fellow is silent and grim. A lazar house draws him on, +and he needs must reach it, weak and ill-fed though he is! And he will +reach others too, for he is on a circular tour. But next winter +will find him in a Westminster lodging-house if he has luck, on the +Embankment if he has not. + +He has an easy philosophy: "All the things in the world belong to all +the men in the world," is his outspoken creed, so he steals when he can, +and begs when he cannot steal. + +But think of this life when women share it, and children are born into +it, and lads and lassies are on the tramp. Dare we think of it? We dare +not! If we did, it would not be tolerated for a day. Neither dare I +write about it, for there are many things that cannot be written. So I +leave imagination to supply what words must not convey. + +But it is all so pitiful, it is too much for me, for sometimes I feel +that I am living with them, tramping with them, sleeping with them, +eating with them; I am become as one of them. I feel the horror, yet I +do not realise the charms. + +I am an Englishman! I love liberty! I must be free, or die! I want to +order my own life, to control my own actions, to run on my own lines; +I would that all men should have similar rights. But, alas! it cannot +be--civilisation claims and enchains us; we have to submit to its +discipline, and it is well that it should be so. We do not, cannot live +to ourselves, and for ourselves. Those days have long passed, and for +ever. Orderly life and regular duties are good for us, and necessary for +the well-being of the nation. + +A strong robust: nation demands and requires a large amount of freedom, +and this it must have, or perish! The individual man, too, requires a +fair amount if he is to be a man. But we may, and we do in some things +extend freedom beyond the legitimate bounds. For in a country of limited +area where the bulk of the people live onerous lives, and manfully +perform their duties, we allow a host of parasites to thrive and swarm. + +The more this host increases, the weaker the nation becomes, and its +existence may ultimately become not a sign of freedom but a proof of +national decay. For parasites thrive on weakly life, be it individual +or national. So while we have a profound pity for the nomads, let us +express it with a strong hand. They cannot care for themselves in any +decent way. Let us care for them, and detain them in places that will +allow permanent detention and segregation. And the results will be +surprising, for prisons will be less numerous, workhouses, casual wards +and asylums less necessary, lazar houses with their pestilential breath +will pass away, and England will be happier, sweeter and more free! + + + +CHAPTER V. FURNISHED APARTMENTS + +What fell power decreed that certain streets in London should be devoted +to the purpose of providing "furnished apartments" for the submerged +I do not know. But I do know that some streets are entirely devoted to +this purpose, and that a considerable amount of money is made out of +such houses. + +I ask my readers to accompany me for a visit to one of these streets, +and make some acquaintance with the houses, the furniture and the +inhabitants. + +The particular streets we select run at a right-angle from a main +thoroughfare, a railway divides them from a beautiful park, and on this +railway City merchants pass daily to and from their suburban homes. + +I question whether in the whole of London more misery, vice and poverty +can be found located in one limited area than in the streets we are +about to visit. I know them, and I have every reason for knowing them. +We make our visit in summer time, when poverty is supposed to be less +acute. As we enter the street we notice at once that a commodious +public-house stands and thrives at the entrance. We also notice +that there are in the street several "general" shops, where tea and +margarine, firewood, pickles, paraffin oil and cheese, boiled ham and +vinegar, corned beef and Spanish onions, bread and matches are to be +obtained. + +We stand in the middle of the roadway, in the midst of dirt and refuse, +and look up and down the street. Innumerable children are playing in +the gutter or on the pavements, and the whole place teems with life. We +observe that the houses are all alike, the shops excepted. They stand +three-storey high; there are nine rooms in each house. We look in vain +for bright windows and for clean and decent curtains. + +Every room seems occupied, for there is no card in any window announcing +"furnished apartments." The street is too well known to require +advertisement, consequently the "furnished apartments" are seldom +without tenants. + +The street is a cave of Adullam to which submerged married couples +resort when their own homes, happy or otherwise, are broken up. + +We notice that it is many days since the doors and window-frames of the +different houses made acquaintance with the painter. We notice that +all doors stand open, for it is nobody's business to answer a knock, +friendly or otherwise. We look in the various doorways and see in each +case the same sort of staircase and the same unclean desolation. + +Who would believe that Adullam Street is a veritable Tom Tiddler's +Ground? Would any one believe that a colony of the submerged could prove +a source of wealth? + +Let us count the houses on both sides of the street. Forty-five houses! +Leave out the two "general" shops, the greengrocer's and the "off +licence"; leave out also the one where the agent and collector lives, +that leaves us forty-one houses of nine rooms let out as furnished +apartments. + +If let to married couples that means a population of seven hundred +and thirty-eight, if all the rooms are occupied, and supposing that no +couple occupies more than one room. As for the children--but we dare not +think of them--we realise the advantage of the open street of which we +freely grant them the freehold. But we make the acquaintance of a tenant +and ask some questions. We find that she has two children, that they +have but one furnished room, for which they pay seven shillings and +sixpence weekly in advance! Always in advance! + +She further tells us that their room is one of the best and largest; it +faces the street, and is on the first floor. She says that some rooms +are let at six shillings, others at six shillings and sixpence, and some +at seven shillings. We ask her why she lives in Adullam Street, and she +tells us that her own furniture was obtained on the "hire system," and +when it was seized they came to Adullam Street, and they do not know how +they are to get out of it. + +That sets us thinking and calculating; three hundred and sixty-nine +rooms, rent always payable in advance--from the submerged, +too!--average six shillings and sixpence per week per room, why, that +is L120 per week, or L6,240 annually from forty-one houses, if they are +regularly occupied. Truly furnished apartments specially provided for +the submerged are extra specially adapted to the purpose of keeping them +submerged. + +As no deputy disputes our entrance, we enter and proceed to gain +some knowledge of the tenants, and take some stock of their rooms and +furniture. + +The rooms are simply but by no means sweetly furnished! Here is an +inventory and a mental picture of one room. A commodious bed with dirty +appointments that makes us shudder! A dirty table on which are some +odds and ends of unclean crockery, a couple of cheap Windsor chairs, a +forbidding-looking chest of drawers, a rusty frying-pan, a tin kettle, +a teapot and a common quart jug. He would be a bold man that bid ten +shillings for the lot, unless he bought them as a going concern. A cheap +and nasty paper covers the wall, excepting where pieces have been torn +away, and the broken walls are made of lath and plaster, to provide +splendid cover for innumerable insects which remain in undisputed +possession. + +One floor much resembles another, but the basement and the top storey +rooms are the worst of all. We look through the window of a second floor +back room, and see the out premises, but one look is sufficient. + +We want to know something of the tenants, so we enter into conversation +with them, and find them by no means reserved. + +Room 1. Husband and wife about thirty-five years of age, no children; +husband has been ill for some months, during which the rent got behind. +When he was taken to the infirmary they lost their home altogether; she +did washing and charing for a time, but ultimately got into the "House." + +When her husband got better, and was discharged from the infirmary, his +old mates collected ten shillings for him, he took the room in which +they now lived, and of course she joined him. + +How did they live? Well, it was hardly living; her husband looked round +every day and managed to "pick up something," and she got a day or +two days' work every week--their rent was always paid in advance. What +happened when her husband did not "pick up something" she did not say, +but semi-starvation seemed the only alternative. + +No. 2. Husband, wife and a girl of seven engaged in making coarse paper +flowers of lurid hue. They had been in that room for six months; they +sold the paper flowers in the streets, but being summer time they did +not sell many. At Christmas time people bought them for decorations; +sometimes people gave the girl coppers, but did not take the flowers +from her. The police watched them very closely, as they required a +licence for selling, and if they took the girl out in the wet or dark +the police charged them. + +It was very difficult to live at all, owing to police interference. The +girl did not go to school, but they had been warned that she must go; +they did not know what they should do when she could not help them. + +Room 3. A strong man about thirty, his wife and two young children. The +remains of a meal upon the table, a jug of beer and a smell of tobacco. +The man looks at us, and a flash of recognition is exchanged. He had +been released from prison at 8.30 that morning after serving a sentence +of nine months for shop robbery. + +We asked how much gratuity he had earned. Eight shillings, he told us. +His wife and children had met him at the prison gate; they had come +straight to that room, for which the wife had previously arranged; +they had paid a week in advance. "What was he going to do?" "He did not +know!" He did not appear to care, but he supposed he "must look round, +he would get the rent somehow." We felt that he spoke the truth, and +that he would "get the rent somehow" till the police again prevented +him. + +We know that prison will again welcome him, and that the workhouse gates +will open to receive his wife and children, the number of which will +increase during his next detention in prison. + +Room 4. Two females under thirty. No signs of occupation; they are not +communicative, neither are they rude, so we learn nothing from them +except that they were not Londoners. + +Room 5. A family group, father, mother and four children; they had come +to Adullam Street because they had been ejected from their own home. +Their goods and chattels had been put on the street pavement, whence the +parish had removed them to the dust destructor, probably the best thing +to do with them. + +The family were all unhealthy and unclean. The parents did not seem to +have either strength, grit or intelligence to fit them for any useful +life. But they could creep forth and beg, the woman could stand in the +gutter with a little bit of mortality wrapped in her old shawl, for +tender-hearted passers-by to see its wizened face, and the father could +stand not far away from her with a few bootlaces or matches exposed, as +if for sale. They managed to live somehow. + +Room 6. An elderly couple who had possessed no home of their own for +years past, but who know London well, for the furnished lodgings of the +east, west, north and south are familiar to them. + +He sells groundsel, she sells water-cress, at least they tell us so, +and point to baskets as evidence. But we know that groundsel business +of old. We have seen him standing in a busy thoroughfare with his +pennyworth of groundsel, and we know that though he receives many +pennies his stock remains intact, and we know also that pennyworths +of water-cress in the dirty hands of an old woman serve only the same +purpose. + +Room 7. Here we find a younger but not more hopeful couple; she is +fairly well dressed, and he is rather flashy. They have both food +and drink. We know that when the shades of night fall she will be +perambulating the streets, and he like a beast of prey will be watching +not far away. So we might go through the whole of the colony. There is +a strange assortment of humanity in Adullam Street. Vice and misery, +suffering and poverty, idleness and dishonesty, feeble-mindedness and +idiocy are all blended, but no set-off in virtue and industry is to be +found. + +The strong rogue lives next to the weak and the unfortunate, the +hardened old sinner next door to some who are beginning to qualify for a +like old age. The place is coated with dirt and permeated with sickening +odours. And to Adullam Street come young couples who have decided to +unite their lives and fortunes without any marriage ceremony; for in +Adullam Street such unions abound. + +Young fellows of nineteen earning as much as twelve shillings a week +couple with girls of less age earning ten shillings weekly. It looks so +easy to live on twenty-two shillings a week and no furniture to buy, and +no parson to pay. + +So a cheap ring is slipped on, and hand in hand the doomed couple go +to Adullam Street, which receives them with open arms, and hugs them +so long as six shillings and sixpence weekly is forthcoming in advance. +Their progress is very rapid; when the first child arrives, the woman's +earnings cease, and Adullam Street knows them no more. + +Ticket-of-leave men, ex-convicts, heroes of many convictions, come +to Adullam Street and bring their female counterparts with them. +They flourish for a time, and then the sudden but not unexpected +disappearance of the male leads to the disappearance of the female. She +returns to her former life; Adullam Street is but an incident in her +life. + +So there is a continual procession through Adullam Street; very little +good enters it, and it is certain that less good passes out. + +Where do its temporary inhabitants go? To prisons, to workhouses, to +hospitals, to common lodging-houses, to shelters, to the Embankment and +to death. + +Although those who seek sanctuary in Adullam Street are already +inhabitants of the underworld, a brief sojourn in it dooms them to lower +depths. I suppose there must be places of temporary residence for the +sort of people that inhabit it, for they must have shelter somewhere. +But I commend this kind of property to the searching eyes of the local +authorities and the police. + +But furnished apartments can tell another tale when they are not +situated in Adullam Street. For sometimes a struggling widow, or wife +with a sick husband, or a young married couple seek to let furnished +apartments as a legitimate means of income. When they do so, let them +beware of the underworld folk who happen to be better clothed and more +specious than their fellows, or they will bitterly rue it. + +Very little payment will they get. Couples apparently married and +apparently respectable, but who are neither, are common enough, who are +continually on the look-out for fresh places of abode, where they may +continue their depredation. + +They are ready enough with a deposit, but that is all the money they +mean to part with, and that has probably been raised by robbing their +last landlady. They can give references if required, and show receipts, +too, from their last lodgings, for they carry rent-books made out +by themselves and fully paid up for the purpose. They are adepts at +obtaining entrance, and, once in, they remain till they have secured +another place and marked another prey. + +Meanwhile their poor victims suffer in kind and money, and are brought +nearer destitution. I have frequently known a week's rent paid with the +part proceeds of articles stolen from either the furnished apartments, +or some other part of the house just entered. + +I could tell some sad stories of suffering and distress brought to +struggling and decent people by these pests, of whom a great number are +known to the police. + +And so the merry game goes on, for while vampires are sucking the impure +blood of the wretched dwellers in Adullam Street lodgings, the dwellers +in Adullam Street in their turn prey on the community at large. + +Meanwhile the honest and unfortunate poor can scarcely find cover, and +when they do, why, then their thin blood is drained, for they have to +pay exorbitantly. + +It is apparently easy to transmute wretched humanity into gold. But who +is going to call order out of this horrid chaos? No one, I am thinking, +for no one seems to dare attempt in any thorough way to solve the +question of housing the very poor, and that question lies at the root of +this matter. + +Let any one attempt it, and a thousand formidable vested interests rise +up and confront him, against which he will dash himself in vain. As to +housing the inhabitants of the underworld at a reasonable rental, no one +seems to have entertained the idea. + +Lease holders and sub-lease holders, landlords and ground landlords, +corporations and churches, philanthropists and clergymen have all got +vested interests in house property where wretchedness and dirt are +conspicuous. "But," said a notable clergyman in regard to some horrid +slum, "I cannot help it, I have only a life-interest in it," as if, +forsooth, he could have more; did he wish to carry his interests beyond +the grave? I would give life-interest in rotten house property short +shrift by burning the festering places. But such places are not burned, +though sometimes they are closed by the order of the local authorities. +But oftener still they are purchased by local authorities at great +public cost, or by philanthropic trusts. Then the human rabbits are +driven from their warrens to burrow elsewhere and so leave room for +respectability. + +Better-looking and brighter buildings are erected where suites of rooms +are to let at very high prices. Then a tax is placed upon children, and +a premium is offered to sterility. Glowing accounts appear in the Press, +and royalty goes to inspect the new gold mine! We rub our hands with +complacent satisfaction and say, "Ah! at last something is being done +for housing the very poor!" But what of the rabbits! have they ascended +to the seventh heaven of the new paradise? Not a bit; they cannot offer +the required credentials, or pay the exorbitant rent! not for them seven +flights of stone stairs night and morning; it is so much easier for +rabbits to burrow underground, or live in the open. So away they +scuttle! Some to dustheaps, some back to Adullam Street, some to nomadic +life. But most of them to other warrens, to share quarters with other +rabbits till those warrens in their turn are converted into "dwellings," +when again they must needs scuttle and burrow elsewhere. + +Can it be wondered at that these people are dirty and idle; and that +many of them ultimately prefer the settled conditions of prison or +workhouse life, or take to vagrancy? + +I cannot find a royal specific for this evil; humanity will, under any +conditions, have its problems and difficulties. Vagrants have always +existed, and probably will continue to exist while the human race +endures. But we need not manufacture them! Human rookeries and rabbit +warrens must go; England, little England, cannot afford them, and +ought not to tolerate them. But before we dispossess the rooks and the +rabbits, let us see to it that, somewhere and somehow, cleaner nests and +sweeter holes are provided for them. The more I think upon this question +the more I am convinced that it is the great question of the day, and +upon its solution the future of our country depends. + +See what is happening! Thousands of children born to this kind of +humanity become chargeable to the guardians or find entrance to the +many children's homes organised by philanthropy. One course is taken the +bright and healthy, the sound in body and mind, are emigrated; but the +smitten, the afflicted, the feeble and the worthless are kept at home +to go through the same life, to endure the same conditions as their +parents, and in their turn to produce a progeny that will burrow in +warrens or scuttle out of them even as their parents did before them. + +But the feebler the life, the greater the progeny; this we cannot +escape, for Nature will take care of herself. We, may drive out the +rabbits, we may imprison and punish them, we may compel them to live +in Adullam Street or in lazar houses, we may harry them and drive them +hither and thither, we may give them doles of food on the Embankment or +elsewhere. We may give them chopping wood for a day, we may lodge them +for a time in labour homes; all this we may do, but we cannot uplift +them by these methods. We cannot exterminate them. But by ignoring them +we certainly give them an easy chance of multiplying to such a degree +that they will constitute a national danger. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE DISABLED + +In this chapter I want to speak of those who suffer from physical +disabilities, either from birth, the result of accident, or disease. +If this great army of homeless afflicted humanity were made to pass in +procession before us, it would, I venture to say, so touch our hearts +that we should not want the procession repeated. + +Nothing gives us more pleasure than the sight of a number of people who, +suffering from some one or other physical deprivation, are being taught +some handicraft by which they will be able to earn a modest living. + +Probably nothing causes us greater sadness than the sight of deformed +and crippled men and women who are utterly unable to render any useful +service to the community, and who consequently have to depend upon +their wits for a miserable living. It is a very remarkable thing that an +accident which deprives a man of a leg, of an arm, or of eyesight, +not only deprives him of his living, but also frequently produces a +psychological change. And unless some counterbalancing conditions serve +to influence in an opposite direction he may become dangerous. It was +not without reason that our older novelists made dwarfs and hunchbacks +to be inhuman fiends. Neither was it without reason that Dickens, our +great student of human nature, made of Quilp a twisted dwarf, and Stagg +a blind man his most dangerous characters. Some years ago I was well +acquainted with a very decent man, a printer; he had lived for years +beyond reproach; he was both a good workman, husband and father. But +he lost his right arm, the result of an accident at his work, and his +character changed from that day. He became morose, violent and cruel, +and obsessed with altogether false ideas. He could not reason as other +men, and he became dangerous and explosive. Time after time I have seen +him committed to prison, until he became a hopeless prison habitue. +My experience has also shown me that physical deprivations are equally +likely to lead to sharpened wits and perverted moral sense as to +explosive and cruel violence. Probably this is natural, for nature +provides some compensation to those who suffer loss. + +This is what makes the army of the physically handicapped so dangerous. +The disabled must needs live, and their perverted moral sense and +sharpened wits enable them to live at the expense of the public. + +Very clever, indeed, many of these men are; they know how to provoke +pity, and they know how to tell a plausible tale. Many of them can get +money without even asking for it. They know full well the perils that +environ the man who begs. I am not ashamed to say that I have been +frequently duped by such fellows, and have learned by sad experience +that my wits cannot cope with theirs, and that my safety lies in +hasty retreat when they call upon me, for I have always found that +conversation with them leads to my own undoing. + +Witness the following. One winter night my eldest son, who lives about +a mile away, went out to post a letter at midnight. After dropping his +letter in the pillar-box, he was surprised to hear a voice say, "Will +you kindly show me the way to Bridlington?" "Bridlington! why, it is +more than two hundred miles away." The request made my son gasp, for, as +I have said, it was winter and midnight. + +The audacity of the request, however, arrested his attention, and that +doubtless was the end to be secured. So a conversation followed. The +inquirer was a Scotchman about thirty years of age; he wore dark glasses +and was decently clad; he had been discharged from St. Bartholomew's +Hospital. He was a seaman, but owing to a boiler explosion on board he +had been treated in the hospital. Now he must walk to Bridlington, where +an uncle lived who would give him a home. He produced a letter from his +uncle, but he had either lost or torn up the envelope. All this and more +he told my son with such candour and sincerity, that he was soon the +poorer by half-a-crown. Then, to improve the fellow's chance of getting +to Bridlington, he brought him to me. I was enjoying my beauty sleep +when that ill-fated knock aroused me. Donning a warm dressing-gown and +slippers, I went down to the front door, and very soon the three of us +were shivering round the remains of a fire in my dining-room. + +Very lucidly and modestly Angus repeated the above story, not once did +he falter or trip. He showed me the letter from his uncle, he pointed +out the condition of his eyes and the scars on his face; with some demur +he accepted my half-crown, saying that he did not ask for anything, and +that all he wanted was to get to Bridlington. + +In my pyjamas and dressing-gown I explored the larder and provided him +with food, after which my son escorted him to the last tramcar, saw him +safely on his way to the Seamen's Institute with a note to the manager +guaranteeing the expense of his bed and board for a few days. + +Next day my son visited the Seamen's Institute, but alas! Angus was not +there, he had not been there. Nevertheless the manager knew something of +him, for three separate gentlemen had sent Angus to the institute. One +had found him in the wilds of Finchley looking for Bridlington! Another +had found him pursuing the same quest at Highgate, while still another +had come on him, with his dark glasses, bundle and stick, looking for +Bridlington on the road to Southgate. + +I do not know whether the poor fellow ever arrived at Bridlington, but +this I do know, that he has found his way northwards, and that he is now +groping and inquiring for Dawlish in Devonshire. + +The Manchester Guardian tells us that one silent evening hour poor +Angus was discovered in several different places in the vicinity of +Manchester. The same paper of the next day's date stated that eleven out +of the twelve who met poor Angus were so overcome by the poignancy +of his narrative and the stupendous character of his task, that they +promptly gave him financial assistance. I am strongly of the opinion +that the twelfth man was entirely without money at the time he met +Angus, or I feel that he would have proved no exception to the rule. In +my heart I was glad to find that the hard-headed citizens of Manchester +are just as kind-hearted and likely to be imposed upon as we are in +London. + +But Angus has been playing his fame for six years at least, for one +gentleman who gave him explicit directions more than five years ago +writes to the Manchester Guardian saying, "I am afraid he took a wrong +turning." + +It is evident that Angus has done fairly well at his business, and yet +it would appear that he never asked for a single penny since he first +started on his endless search. He always accepts money reluctantly, +and I much question whether the police have right to arrest him, or the +gulled public any ground to complain. + +But if Angus should ever get to his kind uncle at Bridlington, and that +respected gentleman should return the five shillings we gave to help his +unfortunate nephew, I will promise to be more careful in pressing money +upon strangers in future. But whether the money comes to hand or not I +have made myself a promise, and it is this: never more to get out of a +warm bed on a cold night to open the house and entertain a half-blind +man that speaks with a rich Scotch accent. + +But how clever it all is! Why, its very audacity ensures its success, +and Angus, for aught I know, has many fellow-craftsmen. Certainly if he +is alone he must be almost ubiquitous. But Angus and such-like are not +to be wondered at, for Nature herself endows all living things with +the powers to adapt themselves to circumstances and obtain the means +of defence and offence from their conditions. So Nature deals with +the human family, in whom the struggle for existence develops varied, +powerful and maybe dangerous characteristics. + +At present it is nobody's business to see that the maimed, the halt, +the blind are taught and trained to be of some service, and made able +in some way to earn a subsistence. Philanthropy, it is true, does +something, and also those blessed institutions, the schools for +the blind, and training homes for the crippled. I never see such +institutions without experiencing great gladness, for I know how much +evil they avert. But the great body of the physically afflicted are +without the walls and scope of these institutions, consequently tens of +thousands of men and women, because of their afflictions, are enabled to +prey upon the community with a cunning that other people cannot emulate. + +We hear daily of accidents. We learn of men and women losing arms, legs +and hands; our hearts are touched for a brief moment, then we remember +the particulars no more. The ultimate consequences are unseen, but they +are not to be avoided, for every cripple left uncared for may become a +criminal of dangerous type. + +Their elemental needs and passions still exist, notwithstanding their +physical deprivations. They claim the right to eat and drink, they claim +the right of perpetuating their kind. + +Some day perhaps the community will realise what the exercise of the +latter right means. Some day, and Heaven send that day soon, we shall be +horrified at the thought that a vast number of unfortunates exist among +us who, demanding our pity and our care, are going down to the grave +without that care to which their physical disabilities entitle them. + +As we look at these unfortunates, feelings of pity, disgust or amusement +may be aroused, but one moment's reflection would convince us that these +afflicted homeless creatures manage to exist and extort an expensive +living from the community. + +I have said that every disabled man is a potential criminal, and that +unless he receives some compensation giving him the means of earning +honestly his living, he is certain to be a danger or a parasite. This is +but natural, for in the first place his physical nature has received a +shock, has sustained an outrage, Nature strikes back, and some one has +to suffer. The loss of a limb means severed muscles, bones and nerves. +Nature never forgets that they ought to be there, but as they are +not there she does without them; but none the less she feels for them +instinctively, and becomes disappointed and bitter because she is +refused the use of them. + +Add to this the anxiety, the sufferings the amputated man feels when he +is also deprived of his means of livelihood, as well as his limb, and +from comfort comes down to penury. Perhaps he has been able hitherto +to keep his wife and children with a fair amount of comfort; now he is +helpless and has to depend upon them. + +He may be of proud spirit, but he has to endure mortification by seeing +his wife labour and slave for him. He becomes moody, then passionate, a +little drink maddens him, then comes the danger. He does something, +then the police are required, and prison awaits him. There he thinks and +broods over his wrong, with bitterness and revengeful spirit. Perhaps +his wife has been compelled to give evidence against him; he remembers +that, he scores it up, and henceforth there is no peace for either of +them! + +Frequent convictions follow, ultimately the wife has to claim the +protection of the law, and gets a separation order on account of his +cruelty. Henceforward he is an outcast, his children and friends cast +him off, for they are afraid of him. But he lives on, and many have to +suffer because he has lost a limb. + +We read a great deal about the development of character through +suffering, and well I know the purifying effects suffering has upon our +race; but it is well sometimes to look at the reverse side, and consider +what evil follows in the wake of suffering. + +Blind men, the deaf and the dumb and the physically disabled need our +pitiful consideration. Some of the sweetest, cleverest, bravest men I +know suffer from great physical disabilities, but they have pleasures +and compensations, they live useful lives, their compensations have +produced light and sweetness, they are not useless in a busy world, they +are not mere cumberers of the ground. They were trained for usefulness +whilst they were young. + +But a far different case is presented with the disabled among the very +poor. What chance in life is there for a youth of twenty who loses an +arm or leg? He has no friends whose loving care and whose financial +means can soften his affliction and keep him in comfort while training +for service. Who in this rich, industrial England wants such service as +he can render? Very few! and those who do make use of him naturally feel +that his service is not worth much. + +Numbers of my acquaintances like Angus half lose their sight! Who +requires their service? No one! But these men live on, and they mean to +live on, and Nature furnishes them with the means by giving them extra +cunning. Many of these fellows, poor disabled fellows, inhabit the dark +places of the underworld. Let us call them out of their dark places and +number them, classify them, note their disabilities! + +Truly they came down to the underworld through great afflictions. They +form the disabled army of civilisation's industrial world who have been +wounded and crippled in the battle. All sorts of accidents have happened +to them: explosions have blinded them, steam has scalded them, buffers +have crushed them, coal has buried them, trains have run over them, +circular saws have torn them asunder. They are bent and they are +twisted, they are terrible to look at; as we gaze at them we are +fascinated. March! now see them move! Did you ever see anything like +this march of disabled men from the gloom of the underworld? + +How they shuffle and drag along; what strange, twisted and jerky +movements they have; what sufferings they must endure, and what pain +they must have had. All these thoughts come to us as we look at the +march of the disabled as they twist and writhe past us. + +The procession is endless, for it is continually augmented by men and +women from the upperworld, who as conscripts are sent to the army below, +because they have sustained injuries in the service of the world above. + +So they pass! But the upperworld has not done with them; it does not get +rid of its natural obligations so easily. It suffers with them, and pays +dearly for its neglect of them. The disabled live on, they will not die +to please us, and they extract a pretty expensive living from the world +above. The worst of it is that these unfortunates prey also upon those +who have least to spare, the respectable poor just above the line. They +do not always sit at the gates of the rich asking for crumbs, for the +eloquence of their afflictions and the pity of their woes strike home +to the hearts and pockets of the industrious poor who have so little to +spare. But it is always much easier to rob the poor! + +It is our boast that Englishmen love justice, and it is a true boast! +But when we read of accidents and of surgical operations, does our +imagination lead us to ask: What about the future of the sufferers? Very +rarely, I expect. + +The fact is, we have got so used to this sight of maimed manhood that it +causes us but little anxious thought, though it may cause some feelings +of revulsion. + +But there is the Employers' Liability Act! Yes, I admit it, and a +blessed Act it is. But the financial consideration given for a lost limb +or a ruined body is not a fortune; it soon evaporates, then heigho! for +the underworld, for bitterness and craft. + +But all accidents do not come within the scope of that Act, not by any +means. If a married woman about to become a mother falls or rolls +down the stairs, when climbing to her home in the seventh heaven of +Block-land, if she sustains long injuries, who compensates her? If the +child is born a monstrosity, though not an idiot, who compensates for +that? If the poor must be located near the sky, how is it that "lifts" +cannot be provided for them? Who can tell the amount of maimed child, +middle-aged and elderly life that has resulted from the greasy stairs +and dark landings of London dwellings. Industrial life, commercial life +and social life take a rare toll of flesh and blood from the poor. For +this civilisation makes no provision excepting temporary sustentation in +hospitals, workhouses or prisons. Even our prison commissioners tell us +that "our prisons are largely filled with the very poor, the ignorant, +the feeble, the incapable and the incapacitated." + +It would appear that if we can make no other provision for the disabled, +we can make them fast in prison for a time. But that time soon passes, +and their poor life is again resumed. But the disabled are not the only +suffering unfortunates in the netherworld who, needing our pity, receive +the tender mercies of prison. For there epileptics abide or roam in +all the horror of their lives "oft-times in water and oft-times in +the fire," a burden to themselves, a danger to others. Shut out from +industrial life and shut out from social life. Refused lodgings here +and refused lodgings there. Sometimes anticipating fits, sometimes +recovering from fits; sometimes in a semi-conscious state, sometimes in +a state of madness. Never knowing what may happen to them, never knowing +what they may do to others. Always suffering, always hopeless! Treated +as criminals till their deeds are fatal, then certified to be "criminal +lunatics." Such is the life of the underworld epileptic. Life, did I +call it?--let me withdraw that word; it is the awful, protracted agony +of a living death, in which sanity struggles with madness, rending and +wounding a poor human frame. Happy are they when they die young! but +even epileptics live on and on; but while they live we consign them to +the underworld, where their pitiful cry of "Woe! woe!" resounds. + +Do not say this is an exaggeration, for it is less than truth, not +beyond it. Poe himself, with all his imagination and power, could not do +full justice to this matter. + +Mendicity societies in their report tell of cunning rascals who impose +on the public by simulating "fits"; they tell of the "king of fits," the +"soap fits king," and others. They point with some satisfaction to the +convictions of these clever rogues, and claim some credit in detecting +them. + +Their statements are true! But why are they true? Because real +epileptics are so common in the underworld, and their sufferings so +palpable and striking, that parasites, even though afflicted themselves, +nay, because of their own disabilities, can and do simulate the weird +sufferings of epileptics. Will mendicity societies, when they tell us +about, enumerate for us, and convict for us the hoary impostors, also +tell us about and enumerate for us the stricken men and women who are +not impostors, and whose fits are unfortunately genuine? + +If some society will do this, they will do a great public service; +but at present no one does it, so this world of suffering, mystery and +danger remains unexplored. + +I do not wonder that the ancients thought that epileptics suffered from +demoniacal possessions; perhaps they do, perhaps we believe so still. +At any rate we deal with them in pretty much the same way as in days +of old. The ancients bound them with chains; we are not greatly +different--we put them in prison. The ancients did allow their +epileptics to live in the tombs, but we allow them no place but prison, +unless their friends have money! + +But let me end the subject by stating that the non-provision for +epileptics is a national disgrace and a national danger. That +incarceration of epileptics in prison and their conviction as criminals +is unjust and cruel. That it is utterly impossible for philanthropy to +restrain, detain and care for epileptics. That the State itself must see +to the matter! + +But just another word: epileptics marry! Imagine if you can the life of +a woman married to an epileptic. + +Epileptics have children of a sort! Can you imagine what they are likely +to be? You cannot! Well, then, I will tell you. Irresponsible beings, +with abnormal passions, but with little sense of truth and honour, with +no desire for continuous labour, but possessed of great cunning. The +girls probably immoral, the boys feckless and drunken. + +We have to pay for our neglect; we have no pity upon epileptics. He and +his children have no pity for us! + + + +CHAPTER VII. WOMEN IN THE UNDERWORLD + +The women of the underworld may be divided into three great classes. +Those who by reason of their habits or mental peculiarities prefer to +live homeless lives. Secondly, those whom misfortune has deprived of +settled home life. Thirdly, those who, having settled homes, live at +starvation point. + +In London there is a great number of each class. With class one I shall +deal briefly, for they do not form a pleasant theme. The best place to +study these wild homeless women is Holloway Prison, for here you will +find them by the hundreds any day you please. In Holloway Prison during +one year 933 women who had been in that gaol more than ten times were +again received into it. + +I am privileged sometimes to address them. As I write I see them sitting +before me. After one of my addresses I was speaking to one of the +wardresses about their repeated convictions, when the wardress said-- + +"Oh, sir, we are glad to see them come back again, for we know that they +are far better off with us than they are at liberty. They go out clean +and tidy with very much better health than they came in. It seems cruel +to let them out, to live again in dirt and misery, and though we have an +unpleasant duty to perform in cleansing them when they return, we feel +some comfort in the thought that for a short time they will be cared +for. Why, sir, it is prison and prison alone that keeps them alive." + +Now this army of women is a dolorous army in all truth, for their faces, +their figures are alike strange and repulsive, and many of them seem +to be clothed with the cerements of moral and spiritual death. They are +frequently charged with drunkenness, stealing, begging, or sleeping out. + +Their names appear on the "Black List," for the law says they are +"habitual inebriates," yet drink has little or nothing to do with their +actual condition. + +Let any one look them in the face as I have looked them in the face, +study their photographs as I have studied them, and I venture to affirm +that they will say with me, "These women are not responsible beings." +For years I have been drumming this fact into the ears of the public, +and at length the authorities acknowledged it, for in 1907 the Home +Office Inspector issued a report on inebriate reformatories, and gave +the following account of those who had been in such institutions: 2,277 +had been treated in reformatories; of these he says 51 were insane +and sent to lunatic asylums, 315 others were pronounced defectives or +imbeciles. Altogether he tells us that 62 out of every hundred were +irresponsible women and unfit for social and industrial life. + +My many years' experience of London's underworld confirms the testimony +of the Home Office, for I am persuaded that a very large proportion +of homeless women on our streets are homeless because they are quite +unfitted for, and have no desire for decent social life. + +Should I be asked about the birth and parentage of these women, I reply +that they come from all classes. Born of tramps and of decent citizens, +born in the slums and sometimes in villas, almost every rank and station +contributes its quota to this class of wild, hopeless women. + +But I pass on to the second class, those who by misfortune have become +submerged. This, too, is a large class, and a class more worthy of +sympathy and consideration than the others, for amongst them, in spite +of misfortune and poverty, there is a great deal of womanliness and +self-respect. Misfortune, ill-health, sorrow, loss of money, position or +friends, circumstances over which they have had but little or no control +have condemned them to live in the underworld. Such women present a +pitiful sight and a difficult problem. They cling to the relics of their +respectability with a passionate devotion, and they wait, hope, starve +and despair. + +Often misfortune has come upon them when the days of youth were passed, +and they found themselves in middle age faced with the grim necessity of +earning a living. I have seen many of them struggle with difficulty, and +exhibit rare courage and patience; I have watched them grow older and +feebler. Sometimes I have provided glasses that their old eyes might be +strengthened for a little needlework, but I have always known that it +was only helping to defer the evil day, when they would no longer be +able to pay the rent for a little room in a very poor neighbourhood. My +mind is charged with the memory of women who have passed through this +experience, who from comfortable homes have descended to the underworld +to wander with tired feet, weary bodies and hopeless hearts till they +lie down somewhere and their wanderings cease for ever. + +But before we consider these women, let us take a peep at the lower +depths. Come, then! Now we are in a charnel house, for we are down +among the drunken women, the dissolute women that stew and writhe in the +underworld, for whom there is no balm in Gilead and no physician. Now we +realise what moral death means. + +Like the horde of Comus they lie prone, and wallow in their impurity. +Hot as the atmosphere is, feverish though their defiled bodies be, +they call for no friendly hand to give them water to cool their parched +throats. The very suggestion of water makes them sick and faint. + +But a great cry smites us: "Give us drink! and we will forget our +misery; give us drink, and we will sing and dance before you! give us +drink, and you may have us body and soul! Drink! drink!" A passionate, +yearning, importunate cry everlastingly comes from them for drink. + +Now with Dante we are walking in Hell; see, there is a form, half human +and half animal, creeping towards us with lewd look and suggestion. +Yonder is an old hag fearful to look upon. Here a group of cast-off +wives, whom the law has allowed outraged husbands to consign to this +perdition; but who, when sober enough, come back to the upperworld and +drag others down to share their fate. + +Does any one want to know what becomes of the wives who, having +developed a love of drink, have been separated from their husbands, and +cast homeless into the streets? Here in this circle of Hell you may find +them, consigned to a moral death from which there is no resurrection. + +And the idle, the vicious, the lustful and the criminal are here too. +But we leave them, and get back to the everlasting workers, the +sober and virtuous women of whom I have told. What a contrast is here +presented! Drunkenness, vice, bestiality and crime! Virtue, industry, +honesty and self-respect condemned to live together! But let us look and +listen; we hear a voice speaking to us-- + +"Dear Mr. Holmes, I am deeply interested in your work, and feel one with +you in mind and heart in the different troubles of human life, and of +their causes and consequences. I feel that if only my health was better, +and I was placed in some other sphere of life, that I would do something +to help on your good work. But, alas! I shall never be strong again; +the hard grinding for a miserable pittance gives me no chance to get +nourishing food and recover my strength. Some people say to me, 'Why +don't you go into the workhouse or the infirmary?' This I bear in +silence, but it is simply killing me in a slow way. Oh! that it should +take so long to kill some of us. It makes me sad to think that so many +lives are wrecked in this way, that so many are driven to wrong, that +so many others should drift away into lives of hopelessness. I have been +stripped of all, and I am waiting for the worst." + +Can any language beat that for lucidity and pathos? My readers will, I +am sure, recognise that those are the words of an educated woman. Yes, +her education was begun in England and finished on the Continent. Were I +to mention the name of the writer's mother, hearts would leap, for that +name lives in story and song. + +But her parents died and left no competence, her health failed, and +teaching became impossible. All she now requires is an out-patient's +ticket for a chest hospital. + +She is a "trouser finisher," and earns one penny per hour; sometimes +she lies on her bed while at work. But by and by she will not be able to +earn her penny per hour; then there will be "homelessness," but not the +workhouse for her. + +But the voice speaks again: "Dear Mr. Holmes, please excuse me not +thanking you sooner for offering me a hospital letter. I shall, indeed, +be very grateful for one when able to get about, for I shall need +something to set me up a bit. + +"At present I am very sadly indeed; my foot seems very much better, yet +not right, the sister thinks. To make matters worse, I have a very bad +gathered finger, and this week I have not been able to do a stitch of +work; indeed, it is very little that I have been able to do this last +ten weeks. Oh, the cruel oppression of taking advantage and putting +extra work for less pay, because I cannot get out to fetch it myself! + +"The most I get is a penny per hour; it is generally less. Sister Grace +was so vexed by the rude message he sent to-day while she was here, +because I could not do the work, that she sent a letter to him telling +him the fact of my suffering. She thinks I am in a very bad state +through insufficient food, and, Mr. Holmes, it is true! for no one but +God and myself really know how I have existed. I rarely know what it is +to get a proper meal, for often I do not expend a sixpence on food in a +week when I pay my way, and thank God I have been able to do this up to +the present somehow or other; but all my treasures are gone, and I look +round and wonder what next! + +"My eyes rest on my dear old violin, which is a memory of the past, +although long silent. It has been a great grief to me the parting with +one thing after another, but I go on hoping for better days that I may +regain them; alas! many are now beyond recall. + +"The parish doctor has been suggested again, but I feel I would +rather die than submit, after all this long struggle and holding out, +especially, as I have been able to keep things a little near the mark; +when they get beyond me, rather than debt I must give in! + +"Still, I hope for better days, and trust things will brighten for me +and others, for God knows there are many silent sufferers ebbing their +lives away, plodding and struggling with life's battle. My heart bleeds +for them, yet I am powerless to help them or myself." + +Time and space do not avail, or I could tell story after story of such +lives, for in the underworld they are numerous enough. Who can wonder +that some of them "are made bitter by misfortune"? Who can wonder that +others "are driven to wrong"? Who can be surprised that "many drift +into lives of hopeless uselessness"? Surely our friend knew what she was +talking about, in the underworld though she be. She sees that there are +deeps below the depths, that she herself is in. Though ill, starving and +hopeless about her own future, she is troubled for others, for she adds, +"since I have known the horror of this life, my heart goes out to others +that are enduring it." + +Now this class of woman is not much in evidence till the final +catastrophe comes, when the doors of a one-roomed home are closed +against them. Even then they do not obtrude themselves on our +observation, for they hide themselves away till the river or canal gives +up its dead. + +But it is not every woman that maintains such a high tone, for once in +the underworld the difficulty of personal cleanliness confronts them, +and dirt kills self-respect. Poverty makes them acquainted with both +physical and moral dirt, and the effect of one night in a shelter or +lodging-house is often sufficient to destroy self-respect and personal +cleanliness for life. + +I am quite sure that I am voicing the opinion of all who have knowledge +of the underworld in which such women are compelled to live, when I say +that the great want in London and in all our large towns is suitable +and well-managed lodging-houses under municipal control and inspection, +where absolute cleanliness and decency can be assured. Lodging-houses to +which women in their hour of sore need may turn with the certainty +that their self-respect will not be destroyed. But under the present +conditions decent women have no chance of retaining their decency or +recovering their standing in social life. + +Listen again! a widowed tooth-brush maker speaks to us: "Dear Mr. +Holmes, I feel that I must thank you for still allowing me a pension, +and I do thank you so much in increasing it. When I received it my heart +was so full of joy that I could not speak. My little boys are growing, +and they require more than when my husband died six years ago. I am sure +it has been a great struggle, but I have found such a great help in you, +I do not know how to thank you for all that you have done for me and +many poor workers. + +"I do hope that God will still give you health and strength to carry +on the good work which you are doing for us. When I last spoke to you I +thought my little boys were much better, but I am sorry to say that when +I took them to Great Ormond Street Hospital, they said they were both +suffering from heart disease, and I was to keep them from school for a +time; and they also suffer from rheumatics. They are to get out all they +can. I have been taking them to the hospital for over two years, and +sometimes I feel downhearted, as I had hoped they would have improved +before this. + +"The eldest boy does not have fits now, and this I am thankful for. But +I feel that I am wasting a lot of your time reading this letter, so I +must thank you very much for all your great goodness to me." + +But one of the boys is now dead, to the other "fits" have returned, and +the widow still sits, sits and sits at her tooth-brushes in poverty and +hunger. + +Listen to an old maid's story; she is a shoe machinist: "Yes, sir, I +have kept them for six years, and I hope to keep them till they can keep +themselves, and then perhaps they will help to keep me." + +The speaker was a worn and feeble woman of fifty-five years, at least +that was the age she gave me, and most certainly she did not look less. +We were talking about her two boys, her nephews, whose respective ages +were eleven and thirteen. + +"Both their parents died six years ago; their father was my only +brother, and their mother had neither brothers nor sisters! Of course I +took them; what else could I do? What! Send them to the workhouse? Not +while I can work for them. Ah, sir! you were only joking!" In this she +was partly right, for I had merely offered the suggestion in order to +draw her out. + +"So after the double funeral they came to live with you?" "Yes." "Did +their parents leave any money?" "Money, no! How can poor people leave +any money? their club money paid for the funeral and the doctor's bill." +"So they owed nothing?" "Not a penny; if they had, I should have paid it +somehow." + +And doubtless she would, though how, it passes my wit to conceive. But +there, it would have meant only a few more hours' work daily for the +brave old spinster, but not for the boys, for they would have been fed +while she fasted, they would have slept while she worked. + +"Yes," she continued, "I am a boot machinist, and it is pretty hard +work; we had a tough time when I had to pay two shillings weekly for +that machine, but we managed, and now you see it is paid for, it is my +own; but really, times are harder for us. The boys are growing and want +more food and clothing; they go to school, and must have boots; it's the +boots that floor me, they cost a lot of money." + +I called the boys to me and examined their boots; their old aunt looked +as if she was going to prevent me, but presently she said, "I had no +work last week, or I should have got him a pair." "Him" was the younger +boy, whose boots, or the remains of them, presented a deplorable +appearance; and, truth to tell, the elder boy's were not much better. So +I said to the brave old soul, "Look here, I will give these boys a good +new pair of boots each on one condition!" "What is that." "That you +allow me to buy you a pair." Again there was a look of resentment, but +I continued, "I am quite sure that you require boots as badly as +your boys, and I cannot think of them having nice boots and you going +without, so I want you to all start equal; kindly put out your foot +and let me look." In a shamefaced sort of a way she put her left foot +forward; a strange, misshapen, dilapidated apology of a boot covered the +left foot. "Now the right," I said. "Never mind looking at the other, it +does not matter, does it?" she said. "Yes, it does," so the right foot +was presented; one glance was enough! "That will do; come along for +three pairs of boots." + +They returned home, the boys rejoicing in their new boots, and their +feeble old aunt tolerating hers for the sake of her boys. Dear, brave, +self-denying, indomitable old maid. She had visited the fatherless in +their afflictions, she had toiled unceasingly for six long years, she +had taken willingly upon her weak shoulders a heavy burden; a burden +that, alas! many strong men are only too willing to cast upon others. +She had well earned her pair of boots, and sincerely do I hope that +when her poor feet get accustomed to their circumscribed area, and the +pressure of well-made boots has become comforting, that she will derive +pleasure from them, even though they represent "the first charity that I +have ever received." + +But is it not wonderful, this marvellous self-denial of the very poor! +Other spheres of life doubtless produce many noble lives and heroic +characters, but was ever a braver deed done than this feeble and weary +old maid did? + +And it was all so natural, so commonplace, so very matter-of-fact, for +when I spoke warmly of her deed she said very simply, "Well, what else +could I do!" + +And in the underworld, amidst the dirt and squalor, the poverty, the +high rents, and the poor, poor earnings of poor, poor women, there are +plenty like her. + +God grant that when the lads can work they will lighten her burdens and +cheer her heart by working for her who had worked so hard for them. + +Listen also to the story of the blouse-makers disclosed to the upper +world by the Press. + +"A pathetic story of poverty was told to the Hackney coroner, who held +an inquiry into the death of Emily Langes, 59, a blouse-maker of Graham +Road, Dalston. Death was due to starvation. + +"Annie Marie, an aged sister, said they had both been in great poverty +for a very long time. They had worked at blouse-making as long as they +could, but that work had fallen off so much that really all they had got +to live on was by selling off their home. + +"They had not enough to live on, and had to pay four shillings and +sixpence rent. + +"The coroner: 'Selling your home will soon come to an end. You had best +apply in the proper direction for help; the parish must bury her. Don't +go on ruining yourself by selling off things.' + +"Mr. Ingham, relieving officer for the No. 7 ward at Hackney, said that +he knew the old couple. He remembered giving relief to both sisters +about two months ago, but had had no application since. He offered the +'House' to the living sister. + +"A juror: 'Are questions put which might upset a proud respectable old +couple when they ask for relief?' + +"Witness: 'Of course we have to inquire into their means pretty +closely.' + +"The coroner: 'It seems pretty clear that the old couple were too proud +to ask for help.' + +"The jury returned a verdict that Emily Langes died from exhaustion +caused by want of food." + +But listen again! as we stand in the land of crushed womanhood and +starving childhood. We hear a gentle voice, "Mother, it is nearly one +o'clock, the men have gone by from the public-house; you go to bed, +dear, and I will finish the work." A feeble woman, with every nerve +broken, rises from her machine, shakes her dress and lies down on her +bed, but her daughter sits on and on. + +Oh the sighs and groans and accents of sorrow that come upon our +listening ears! Oh the weariness, the utter weariness of this land below +the line! + +Midnight! and thousands of women are working! One o'clock, and thousands +are still at it! Two o'clock, the widows are still at work! Thank God +the children are asleep. Three o'clock a.m., the machines cease to +rattle, and in the land of crushed womanhood there is silence if not +peace. But who is to pay? Shall we ultimately evolve a people that +require no sleep, that cannot sleep if they would? Is crushed womanhood +to produce human automatic machines? Or is civilisation generally to pay +the penalty for all this grinding of human flesh and blood? Let me tell +the story of an old machinist! I have told part of it before, but the +sequel must be told. I had made the acquaintance and friendship of three +old women in Bethnal Green who lived together, and collaborated in their +work. They made trousers for export trade; one machined, one finished, +and one pressed, brave old women all! They all worked in the machinist's +room, for this saved gas and coal, and prevented loss of time. At night +they separated, each going to her own room. The machinist was a widow, +and her machine had been bought out of her husband's club and insurance +money when he died twenty-one years before. I had often seen it, heard +its rattle, and witnessed its whims. + +She once told me that it required a new shuttle, and I offered to pay +for one; but she said, "I cannot part with it; it will last my time, for +I want a new shuttle too!" + +Six months after she was found dead in her bed by her partners when they +came to resume work. + +Her words had come true! The old machine stood silent under the little +window; its old shuttle no longer whirred and rattled with uncertain +movements. It was motionless and cold. On a little bed the poor old +brave woman lay cold and motionless too! for the shuttle of her life had +stopped, never to move again. + +The heroic partnership of the old women was broken, never in this world +to be resumed, and so two old hearts sorrowed and two troubled minds +wondered how they would be able to live without her. + +I knew her well; it was my privilege to give her some happiness and some +change from grime and gloom, to take her away sometimes from the wayward +shuttle and rattling machine. I knew that she would have selected such +a death could she have chosen, for she dreaded the parish. I think, too, +that she would have wished for her old machine to be buried with her, +and for its silent shuttle to be beside her in her coffin. To her it was +a companion, and for it her husband died. Twenty-one years the machine +and herself had lived with each other and for each other. Sharing +with each other's toil, if not each other's hopes and fears! Working! +working! unceasingly through life--in death and rest they were not +divided. + +It was a blessed thing that her machine partner required no food, or +life would have been even more serious than it was. But it had its +whims and its moods, sometimes it resented everlasting work at +three-half-pence per hour for the pair of them, and it "jibbed." But a +little oil and a soothing word, and, it must be feared, sometimes with a +threat, and the old thing went again. + +Surely it will be sacrilege for any one else to sit upon that old chair +and try to renew the life and motion of the old machine! + +It is strange that this oppression of women which is the cause of my +greatest sorrow should also be the cause of my keenest joy. But it is +so! And why? Because I number two thousand of these underworld women +slaves among my personal friends, and I am proud of it! The letters I +have given are a few out of hundreds that I have received. I know these +women as few know them. I know their sufferings and their virtues, their +great content and their little requirements. I know that they have the +same capabilities for happiness as other people, and I know that they +get precious little chance of exercising those capabilities. Strange +again, I get no begging letters from them, though I do from others who +are better placed. I declare it to be wonderful! This endurance and +patience of London's miserably paid women. I tell you that I am the +happiest man alive! Why? Because during the present year a thousand +of my poor friends from the underworld came up for a time and had a +fortnight, a whole fortnight's rest each with food and comfort in a +beautiful rest home by the sea. For kind friends have enabled me to +build one for them and for them alone! + +And I was there sometimes to see, and it was good for me. So Mrs. Holmes +and myself make frequent visits to the rest home, and every time we +visit it we become more and more convinced that not only is it a "Palace +Beautiful," but that it is also a joy to the slave women who have the +good fortune to spend a holiday (all too short) in it. + +Gloom cannot enter "Singholm" or, if it does enter, it promptly and +absolutely disappears. Ill-temper cannot live there, the very flowers +smile it away. The atmosphere itself acts like "laughing gas." So the +house fairly rings with merry laughter from elderly staid women equally +as from the younger ones, whose contact with serious and saddening life +has not been so paralysing to joyous emotions. + +It did us good to hear such jolly laughter from throats and organs that, +but for Singholm, must have rusted and decayed. + +One of our trustees was with us, it being his first visit to the home. +I know that he was surprised at the size, the beauty, the comfort and +refinement of the whole place. The garden filled him with delight, +the skill of the architect in planning the building, together with the +style, gave him increased pleasure. + +The great drawing-room and the equally large dining-room rather +astonished him. The little bedrooms he declared perfect. But what +astonished him most of all was the unaffected happiness of the women; +for this I do not think he was prepared. Well, as I have said, +gloom cannot live in Singholm, and this I have found out by personal +experience, for if I am quite cross and grumpy in London, I cannot +resist the exhilaration that prevails at Singholm among London's +underworld women. + +I think I may say that our trustee was surprised at something else! But +then he is a bachelor, and so of course does not understand the infinite +resources of femininity. + +"How nice they look," he said. "How well they dress"; and, once again, +"How clean and tidy they are; how well their colours blend!" + +Thank God for this! we hold no truce with dirt at Singholm; we bid +dowdyism begone! avaunt! I will tell you a secret! Singholm demands +respect for itself and self-respect for its inmates. + +Our trustee's testimony is true; the women belonging to our association +do look nice; when they are at Walton they rise to the occasion as if +they were to the manner born. + +When, with their cheap white or blue blouses, they sit under the palms +in our drawing-room, all, even the oldest and poorest, neat--nay, smart +if you will--they present a picture that can only be appreciated by +those who know their lives. Some people might find fault, but to me the +colour and tone of the picture is perfect. + +As there were seventy of them, there was room for variety, and they gave +it! Look at them! There they sit as the shades of night are falling. +They have been out all day long, and have come in tired. Are they +peevish? Not a bit! Are they downhearted? No! + +There is my friend who makes no secret about it, and tells us that she +is forty-six years of age; this is the first time she has ever seen the +sea, and she laughs at the thought. The sun has browned, reddened and +roughened her face, and when I say, "How delicate you look," she bursts +again into merry laughter, and the whole party join her. Mrs. Holmes and +myself join in, and our worthy trustee, bachelor and Quaker though he +be, laughs merriest of all. + +Aye! but this laughter was sweet music, but somehow it brought tears to +my eyes. + +Now just look at my friend over there beside one of the palms, her +feet resting so naturally on the Turkey carpet! You observe she sits +majestically in a commodious chair; she needs one! For she is five +feet eleven inches in height, and weighs sixteen stone. I call her "The +Queen," for when she stands up she is erect and queenly with a noble +head and pleasing countenance. + +She makes no secret about her age; "I am sixty, and I have been here +four times, and, please God, I'll come forty-four more times," and she +looks like it. But what if there had been no Singholm to look forward to +year by year? Why, then she would have been heavy in heart as well as in +body, and her erect form would have been bent, for she is a hard worker +from Bethnal Green. + +The idea of coming forty-four more times to Singholm, and she sixty-six, +was the signal for more laughter, and again Singholm was tested; but our +builder had done his work well. + +"Turn on the electric light, matron!" There is a transformation scene +for you! Now you see the delicate art colours in the Turkey carpets, and +the subdued colours in the Medici Society's reproduced pictures. + +See how they have ranged their chairs all round by the walls, and the +centre of the room is unoccupied, saving here and there maidenhair ferns +and growing flowers. Now look at the picture in its fulness! and we see +poor old bent and feeble bodies bowed with toil, and faces furrowed by +unceasing anxiety; but the sun, the east wind, the sea air and Singholm +have brightened and browned them. + +There is my poor old friend, long past threescore and ten, to whom +Singholm for a time is verily Heaven; but--"Turn on the gramophone, +please, matron." Thanks to a kind friend, we have a really good one, +with a plentiful supply of records. The matron, in the wickedness of +her heart, turns on an orchestral "cakewalk." The band plays, old bodies +begin to move and sway, and seventy pair of feet begin unconsciously to +beat the floor. Laughter again resounds; our Quaker himself enters into +the spirit of it, so I invite him to lead off with the "Queen" for his +partner, at which he was dismayed, although he is a veritable son of +Anak. + +But to my dismay the bent and feeble septuagenarian offered to lead off +with myself as partner, at which I collapsed, for alas, I cannot +dance. Then our trustee led the roars of laughter that testified to my +discomfiture. + +So we had no dancing, only a cakewalk. But we had more merriment and +music, and then our little evening service. "What hymn shall we have?" +Many voices called out, "Sun of my soul," so the matron went to the +piano, and I listened while they sang "Watch by the sick, enrich the +poor," which for me, whenever the poor, the feeble and aged sing it, +has a power and a meaning that I never realise when the organ leads a +well-trained choir and a respectable church congregation to blend their +voices. + +Then I read to them a few words from the old, but ever new, Book, and +closed with a few simple, well-known prayers, and then--as old Pepys has +it--"to bed." + +We watch them file up the great staircase one by one, watch them +disappear into their sweet little rooms and clean sheets. To me, at any +rate, the picture was more comforting and suggestive than Burne Jones's +"Golden Stairs." In fifteen minutes the electric light was switched off, +and Singholm was in darkness and in peace. But outside the stars were +shining, the flowers still blooming, the garden was full of the mystery +of sweet odours; close by the sea was singing its soothing lullaby, and +God was over all! + +But let us get back to the underworld! + +"How long have we lived together, did you ask? well, ever since we were +born, and she is sixty-seven," pointing to a paralysed woman, who was +sitting in front of the window. "I am two years younger," she continued, +"and we have never been separated; we have lived together, worked +together, and slept together, and if ever we did have a holiday, we +spent it together. And now we are getting old, just think of it! I am +sixty-five, isn't it terrible? They always used to call us 'the girls' +when mother, father and my brothers were alive, but they have all +gone--not one of them left. But we 'girls' are left, and now we are +getting old--sixty-five--isn't it terrible? We ought to be ashamed of +it, I suppose, but we are not, are we, dear? For we are just 'the girls' +to each other, and sometimes I feel as strong and as young as a girl." + +"How long have you lived in the top of this four-storey house?" I asked. +"Sixteen years," came the reply. "All alone?" "No, sir, we have been +together." "And your sister, how long has she been paralysed?" "Before +we came to this house." "Does she ever go out?" "Of course she does; +don't I take her out in the bath-chair behind you?" "Can she wash and +dress herself, do her hair, and make herself as clean and tidy as she +is?" "I do it for her." + +"But how do you get her down these interminable stairs?" I asked. + +"She does that herself, sitting down and going from step to step," she +said, and then added, "but it is hard work for her, and it takes her a +very long time." + +"Now tell me," I said, "have you ever had a holiday?" "Yes, we have had +one since my sister became paralysed, and we went to Herne Bay." "Did +you take the bath-chair with you?" "Of course we did; how could she go +without it?" "And you pushed her about Herne Bay, and took her on the +sands in it?" I said. "Of course," she said quite naturally, as if she +was surprised at my question. "Now tell me how much rent do you pay for +these two rooms?" "Seven shillings and sixpence per week; I know it is +too much, but I must have a good window for her, where she can sit and +look out." "How do you do your washing?" "I pay the landlady a shilling +a week to do it." "How long have you worked at umbrella covering?" "Ever +since we left school, both of us; we have never done anything else." +"How long have your parents been dead" "More than forty years," was the +answer. + +To every one of the replies made by the younger sister, the paralytic +at the window nodded her head in confirmation as though she would say, +"Quite true, quite true!" + +"Forgive me asking so many questions, but I want to understand how you +live; you pay seven-and-six rent, and one shilling for washing every +week; that comes to eight shillings and sixpence before you buy food, +coal, and pay for gas; and you must burn a lot of gas, for I am sure +that you work till a very late hour," and the elder sister nodded her +head. "Yes, gas is a big item, but I manage it," and then the elder one +spoke. "Yes, she is a wonderful manager! a wonderful manager! she is +better than I ever was." "Well, dear, you managed well, you know you +did, and we saved some money then, didn't we!" + +"Ah! we did, but mine is all gone, and I can't work now; but you are a +good manager, better than I ever was." + +I looked at the aged and brave couple, and took stock of their old but +still good furniture that told its own story, and said, "You had two +accounts in the Post-Office Savings Bank, and when you both worked +you saved all you could?" "Yes, sir, we worked hard, and never wasted +anything." Again the sixty-seven old girl broke in: "But mine is all +gone, all gone, but she is a wonderful manager." "And mine is nearly all +gone, too," said the younger, "but I can work for both of us," and the +elder sister nodded her head as if she would say, "And she can, too!" I +looked at the dozen umbrellas before me, and said, "What do you get for +covering these?" "Ah! that's what's called, vulgarly speaking, a bit of +jam! they are gents' best umbrellas, and I shall get three shillings for +them. I got them out yesterday from the warehouse, after waiting there +for two hours. I shall work till twelve to-night and finish them by +midday to-morrow; they are my very best work." Three shillings for +a dozen! her very best work! and she finding machine and thread, and +waiting two hours at the factory! + +"Come," I said, "tell me what you earned last week, and how many hours +you worked?" "I earned ten shillings and sixpence; but don't ask me how +many hours I worked, for I don't know; I begin when it is light, because +that saves gas, and I work as long as I can, for I am strong and have +good health." "But," I said, "you paid eight shillings and sixpence for +rent and washing; that left you with two shillings. Does your sister +have anything from the parish?" I felt sorry that I had put the +question, for I got a proud "No, sir," followed by some tears from the +sixty-five-year-old "girl." Presently I said, "However do you spend +it?" "Didn't I tell you that I had saved some, and was drawing it? But +I manage, and get a bit of meat, too!" Again from the window came the +words, "She is a good manager." + +"What will you do when you have drawn all your savings?" "Oh! I shall +manage, and God is good," was all I could get. + +A brave, heroic soul, surely, dwells in that aged girl, for in her I +found no bitterness, no repining; nay, I found a sense of humour and +the capability of a hearty laugh as we talked on and on, for I was in +wonderland. + +When I rose to leave, she offered to accompany us--for a friend was with +me--downstairs to the door; I said, "No, don't come down, we will find +our way; stop and earn half-a-crown, and please remember that you are +sixty-five." "Hush!" she said, "the landlady will hear you; don't tell +anybody, isn't it awful? and we were called the girls," and she burst +into a merry laugh. During our conversation the paralysed sister had +several times assured me that she "would like to have a ride in a +motor-car." This I am afraid I cannot promise her, much as I would like +to do so; but the exact object of my visit was to make arrangements for +"the girls" to go to our home of rest for a whole fortnight. + +And they went, bath-chair as well. For sixteen long years they had not +seen the sea or listened to its mighty voice, but for a whole fortnight +they enjoyed its never-ending wonder and inhaled its glorious breath. +And the younger "girl" pushed the chair, and the older "girl" sat in it +the while they prattled, and talked and managed, till almost the days of +their real girlhood came back to them. Dull penury and sordid care were +banished for a whole fortnight and appetite came by eating. The older +"girl" said, "If I stop here much longer, I know I shall walk," and she +nearly managed it too, for when helped out of her chair, she first began +to stand, and then to progress a little step by step by holding on +to any friendly solid till she almost became a child again. But the +fortnight ended all too soon, and back to their upper room, the window +and the umbrellas they came, to live that fortnight over and over again, +and to count the days, weeks and months that are to elapse before once +again the two old girls and an old--so old--bath-chair will revel and +joy, eat and rest, prattle and laugh by the sea. + +But they have had their "motor ride," too! and the girls sat side by +side, and although it was winter time they enjoyed it, and they have a +new theme for prattle. + +I have since ascertained that the sum of ten shillings, and ten +shillings only, remained in the Post-Office Savings Bank to the credit +of the managing sister. + +But I have also learned something else quite as pitiful--it is this: the +allowance of coal during the winter months for these heroic souls +was one half-hundredweight per week, fifty-six lb., which cost them +eightpence-halfpenny. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. MARRIAGE IN THE UNDERWORLD + +Young folk marry and are given in marriage at a very early age in the +underworld. Their own personal poverty and thousands of warning examples +are not sufficient to deter them. Strange to say, their own parents +encourage them, and, more strange still, upperworld people of education +and experience lend a willing hand in what is at the best a deplorable +business. + +Under their conditions it is perhaps difficult to say what other +course can or ought to be taken, for their homes are like beehives, +and "swarming" time inevitably comes. That oftentimes comes when young +people of either sex are midway in their "teens." The cramped little +rooms or room that barely sufficed for the parents and small children +are altogether out of the question when the children become adolescent. +The income of the family is not sufficient to allow the parents, even +if they were desirous of doing so, taking larger premises with an extra +bedroom. Very few parents brace themselves to this endeavour, for it +means not only effort but expense. So the young folks swarm either to +lodgings, or to marriage, and the pretence of home life. + +Private lodgings for girls are dangerous and expensive, while public +lodgings for youths are probably a shade worse. So marriage it is, and +boys of nineteen unite with girls one or two years younger. + +I have no doubt that the future looks very rosy to the young couple +whose united earnings may amount to as much as thirty shillings weekly, +for it is an axiom of the poor that two can live cheaper than one. + +It is so easy to pay a deposit on a single room, and so easy, so very +easy, to purchase furniture on the hire system. Does not the youth give +his mother ten shillings weekly? Why not give it to a wife? Does not the +girl contribute to her mother's exchequer? Why may not she become a wife +and spend her own earnings? Both are heartily sick of their present home +life, any change must be for the better! So marriage it is! But they +have saved nothing, they are practically penniless beyond the current +week's wages. Never mind, they can get their wedding outfit on the pay +weekly rule, the parson will marry them for nothing. "Here's a church, +let's go in and get married." Christmas, Easter or Bank Holiday comes to +their aid, and they do it! and, heigho! for life's romance. + +The happy bride continues at the factory, and brings her shillings to +make up the thirty. They pay three shillings and sixpence weekly for +their room, one-and-six weekly for their household goods, two more +shillings weekly are required for their wedding clothes, that is all! +Have they not twenty-three shillings left! + +They knew that they could manage it! All goes merrily as a marriage +bell! Hurrah! They can afford a night or two a week at a music-hall; why +did they not get married before? how stupid they had been! + +But something happens, for the bride becomes a mother. Her wages cease, +and thirty shillings weekly for two is a very different matter to twenty +shillings for three! + +They had to engage an old woman for nurse for one week only. But +that cost seven shillings and sixpence. A number of other extras are +incurred, all to be paid out of his earnings. They have not completed +the hire purchase business; they have even added to that expense by +the purchase of a bassinet at one shilling weekly for thirty weeks. The +bassinet, however, serves one useful purpose, it saves the expense of a +cradle. + +In less than a fortnight the girl mother is again knocking at the +factory door. She wishes to become an "out-worker"; the manager, knowing +her to be a capable machinist, gives her work, and promises her a +constant supply. + +Now they are all right again! Are they? Why, she has no sewing-machine! +Stranded again! not a bit of it. The hire purchase again comes to her +help. Eighteenpence deposit is paid, a like weekly payment promised, +signed for and attended to; and lo! a sparkling new sewing-machine is +deposited in their one room. Let us take an inventory of their goods: +one iron bedstead, flock mattress, two pairs of sheets, two blankets and +a common counterpane, a deal chest of drawers, a deal table, two Windsor +chairs, a bassinet carriage, a sewing-machine, fire-shovel, fender and +poker, some few crocks, a looking-glass, a mouth-organ and a couple of +towels, some knives, forks and spoons, a tea-pot, tea-kettle, saucepan +and frying-pan. But I have been very liberal! They stand close together, +do those household goods; they crowd each other, and if one moves, it +jostles the other. The sewing-machine stands in front of the little +window, for it demands the light. It took some scheming to arrange this, +but husband and wife ultimately managed it. The bassinet stands close to +the machine, that the girl mother may push it gently when baby is cross, +and that she may reach the "soother" and replace it when it falls from +baby's mouth. + +Now she is settled down! off she goes! She starts on a life of toil, +compared to which slavery is light and pleasant. Oh, the romance of it; +work from morn till late at night. The babe practically unwashed, the +house becomes grimy, and the bed and bassinet nasty. The husband's wages +have not risen, though his expenses have; other children come and some +go; they get behind with their rent; an "ejectment order" is enforced. +The wretched refuse of the home is put on the street pavement, the door +is locked against them, and the wretched couple with their children +are on the pavement too! The only thing to survive the wreck is the +sewing-machine. The only thing that I know among the many things +supplied to the poor on the hire system that is the least bit likely to +stand the wear and tear is the machine. Doubtless the poor pay highly +for it; still it is comforting to know that in this one direction +the poor are supplied with good articles. And the poor respect their +machines, as the poor always respect things that are not shoddy. + +I have drawn no fancy picture, but one that holds true with regard to +thousands. Evils that I cannot enumerate and that imagination cannot +exaggerate wait upon and attend these unfortunate, nay, criminal +marriages; which very largely are the result of that one great +all-pervading cause--the housing of the poor. + +But in the underworld there are much worse kinds of married life than +the one I have pictured, for those young people did start life with +some income and some hopes. But what can be said about, and what +new condemnation can be passed upon, the marriage of feeble-minded, +feeble-bodied, homeless wanderers? United in the bonds of holy matrimony +by an eager clergy, and approved in this deplorable step by an all-wise +State, thousands of crazy, curious, wretched, penniless individuals, to +whom even the hire system is impossible, join their hopeless lives. + +Half idiots of both sexes in our workhouses look at each other, and then +take their discharge after a mutual understanding. They experience no +difficulty in finding clergymen ready to marry them and unite them in +the bonds of poverty and the gall of wretchedness. The blessing of the +Church is pronounced upon this coupling, and away they go! + +Over their lives and means of living I will draw a veil, for common +decency forbids me to speak, as common decency ought to have forbidden +their marriage. + +But down in the underworld, and very low down, too, are numberless +couples whose plight is perhaps worse, for they have at any rate known +the refined comfort of good homes, but remembrance only adds poignancy +to suffering and despair. + +Read the following story, and after condemnation upon condemnation has +been passed upon the thoughtless or wicked marriages of the poor, tell +me, if you will, what condemnation shall be passed upon the educated +when they, through marriage, drag down into this inferno innocent, +loving and pure women? + +It was Boxing Day in a London police-court. Twenty-five years have +passed, but that day is as fresh in my memory as though it were +yesterday. The prisoners' rooms were filled, the precincts of the court +were full, and a great crowd of witnesses and friends, or of the curious +public, were congregated in the street. + +Yesterday had been the great Christian festival, the celebration of the +birth of the Prince of Peace, when the bells had rang out the old story +"Peace on earth, good-will to men." To-day it looked as though Hell had +been holding carnival! + +Nearly one hundred prisoners had to come before the magistrate. I can +see them now! as one by one they passed before him, for time has not +dimmed the vivid picture of that procession. I remember their stories, +and think still of their cuts and wounds. Outside the court the day was +dull, and inside the light was bad and the air heavy with the fumes of +stale debauch and chloride of lime. And yesterday had been Christmas Day +in the metropolis of Christendom. + +Hours passed, and the kindly magistrate sat on apportioning punishment, +fitting the sentence as it were by instinct. At two o'clock he rose for +a short recess, a hasty luncheon, and then back to his task. + +At the end of the long procession came a smitten woman. Darkness and +fog now enveloped the court as the woman stood in the dock. Her age +was given as twenty-eight; her occupation pickle-making. First let me +picture that woman and then tell her story, for she represents a number +of women into whose forlorn faces I have looked and of whose hopeless +hearts I have an intimate knowledge. + +Some men have conquered evil habits, helped by the love of a pure +woman, without which they would have vainly struggled or have readily +succumbed. But while I know this, I think of the women who have fastened +the tendrils of their heart's affection round unworthy men, and have +married them, hoping, trusting and believing that their love and +influence would be powerful enough to win the men to sobriety and +virtue. Alas! how mistaken they have been! What they have endured! Of +such was this woman! There she stood, the embodiment of woe. A tall, +refined woman, her clothing poor and sparse, her head enveloped in +surgical bandages. + +In the darkness of the Christmas night she had leaped from the wall of a +canal bridge into the murky gloom, her head had struck the bank, and she +rolled into the thick, black water. + +It was near the basin of the Surrey Canal, and a watchman on duty had +pulled her out; she had been taken to a hospital and attended to. Late +in the afternoon the policeman brought her to the court, where a charge +of attempted suicide was brought against her. But little evidence was +taken, and the magistrate ordered a week's remand. In the cells I had a +few moments' conversation with her, but all I could get from her was the +pitiful moan, "Why didn't they let me die? why didn't they let me die?" + +In a week's time I saw her again; surgical bandages were gone, medical +attention and a week's food and rest had done something for her, but +still she was the personification of misery. + +I offered to take charge of her, and as she quietly promised not to +repeat the attempt, the magistrate kindly committed her to my care. +So we went to her room: it was a poor place, and many steps we climbed +before we entered it. High up as the room was, and small as were its +dimensions, she, out of the nine shillings she earned at the pickle +factory paid three and sixpence weekly for it. I had gathered from what +she had told me that she was in poverty and distress. So on our way I +brought a few provisions; leaving these and a little money with her, I +left her promising to see her again after a few days. But before leaving +she briefly told me her story, a sad, sad story, but a story to be read +and pondered. + +She was the only daughter of a City merchant, and had one brother. While +she was quite a child her mother died, and at an early age she managed +her father's household. She made the acquaintance of a clever and +accomplished man who was an accountant. He was older than she, and +of dissipated habits. Her father had introduced him to his home and +daughter, little thinking of the consequences that ensued. She had no +mother to guide her, she was often lonely, for her father was immersed +in his business. + +In a very short time she had fixed her heart on to the man, and when +too late her father expostulated, and finally forbade the man the house. +This only intensified her love and led to quarrels with her father. +Ultimately they married, and had a good home and two servants. In a +little over three years two children added to her joys and sorrows. +Still her husband's faults were not amended, but his dissipation +increased. Monetary difficulties followed, and to avoid disgrace her +father was called upon to provide a large sum of money. + +This did not add to his sympathy, but it estranged the father and child. + +Then difficulties followed, and soon her husband stood in the dock +charged with embezzlement. Eighteen months' imprisonment was awarded +him, but the greater punishment fell upon the suffering wife. Her father +refused to see her, so with her two little ones she was left to face the +future. Parting with most of her furniture, jewellery, servant, she gave +up her house, took two small rooms, and waited wearily for the eighteen +months to pass. + +They passed, and her husband came back to her. But his character was +gone, the difficulty of finding employment stared him in the face. + +He joined the ranks of the shabby-genteel to live somehow by bits of +honest work, mixed with a great deal of dishonest work. Four years of +this life, two more children for the mother, increasing drunkenness, +degenerating into brutality on her husband's part. Her father's death +and some little money left to her gave momentary respite. But the money +soon went. Her brother had taken the greater portion and had gone into +a far country. This was the condition of affairs when her husband was +again arrested; this time for forgery. There was no doubt about his +guilt, and a sentence of five years' penal servitude followed. Again she +parted with most of her home, reducing it to one room. + +With her four children round her she tried to eke out an existence. She +soon became penniless, and ultimately with her children took refuge in +a London workhouse. After a time the guardians sent the four children +to their country school and nursing home, when she was free to leave the +workhouse and get her own living. + +She came out with a letter of introduction to the pickle factory, and +obtained employment at nine shillings a week. The weeks and months +passed, her daily task and common round being a mile walk to the +factory, ten hours' work, and then the return journey. One week-end on +her homeward journey she was attracted and excited by a fire; when she +resumed her journey she was penniless, her week's wages had been stolen +from her. Her only warm jacket and decent pair of boots then had to +be pawned, for the rent must be paid. Monday found her again at the +monotonous round, but with added hardships. + +She missed the jacket and the boots, and deprived herself of food +that she might save enough money wherewith to take them out of pawn. +Christmas Eve came, and she had not recovered them. She sat in her room +lonely and with a sad heart, but there was mirth and noise below her, +for even among the poor Bacchus must be worshipped at Christmas time. + +One of the women thought of the poor lone creature up at the top of the +house, and fetched her down. They had their bottles of cheap spirits, +for which they had paid into the publican's Christmas club. She drank, +and forgot her misery. Next morning, when the bells of a neighbouring +church were ringing out, they awoke her as she lay fully dressed on her +little bed. She felt ill and dazed, and by and by the consciousness came +to her of fast night's drinking. Christmas Day she spent alone, ill, +miserable and ashamed. "I must have been drunk!" she kept repeating to +herself, and on Christmas night she sought her death. + +I wrote to kind friends, and interested some ladies in her welfare. +Plenty of clothing was sent for her; a better room, not quite so +near the sky, was procured for her. Her daily walk to the factory was +stopped, for more profitable work was given to her. Finally I left her +in the hands of kind friends that I knew would care for her. + +Two years passed, and on Christmas Eve I called with a present and a +note sent her by a friend. She was gone--her husband had been released +on ticket-of-leave, had found her and joined her, and for a time she +kept him as well as herself. He was more brutal than before, and in his +fury, either drunk or sober, he frequently beat her, so that the people +of the house had to send them away. Where they had moved to, I failed to +find out, but they had vanished! + +Fourteen months passed, and one bitterly cold day in February at the +end of a long row of prisoners, waiting their turn to appear before +the magistrate, stood the woman wretched and ill, with a puling bit of +mortality in her arms. + +She was a "day charge," having been arrested for stealing a pot of +condensed milk. At length she stood before the magistrate, and the +evidence was given that she was seen to take the milk and hurry away. +She was arrested with the milk on her. + +It was believed that she had taken milk from the same place at other +times. When asked what she had to say in extenuation, she held her child +up and said, "I did not take it for myself, I took it for this!" She did +not call it her child. The magistrate looked, shuddered, and sentenced +her to one day. + +So once again I stood face to face with her, and face to face with a big +man who had been waiting for her, who insolently asked me what I wanted +with his wife. I turned from him to the woman, and asked if she would +leave him, for if so I would provide for her. + +Mournfully she shook her head; leave him, no!--to the bitter end she +stood by him. + +So they passed from my view, the educated brute and the despairing, +battered, faithful drudge of a woman, to migrate from lodging-house to +lodging-house, to suffer and to die! + +If all the girls of England could see what I have seen, if they could +take, as I have taken, some measure of the keen anguish and sorrow that +comes from such a step, they would never try the dangerous experiment +of marrying a man in the hope of reforming him. Should, perchance, young +women read this story, let me tell them it is true in every particular, +but not the whole truth, for there are some things that cannot be told. + +Again and again I have heard poor stricken women cry: "How can you! how +can you!" More than once my manhood has been roused, and I have struck a +blow in their defence. + +If there is one piece of advice that, in the light of my experience, +I would like to burn into the very consciousness of young women, it is +this: if they have fastened their heart's love about a man, and find +that thorough respect does not go with that love, then, at whatever +cost, let them crush that love as they would crush a serpent's egg. + +And the same holds good with men: I have known men in moments of passion +marry young women, trusting that a good home and an assured income would +restore them to decency and womanhood--but in vain! I saw a foul-looking +woman far from old sent again to prison, where she had been more than +a hundred times. She had also served two years in an inebriate +reformatory. Fifteen years ago, when I first met her, she was +a fair-looking young woman. Needless to say, I met her in the +police-court. A short time afterwards she came to tell me that she was +married. She had a good home, her husband was in good circumstances, and +knew of her life. A few years of home life, two little children to +call her mother; then back to her sensual ways. Prisons, rescue homes, +workhouses, inebriate reformatories, all have failed to reclaim her, and +she lives to spread moral corruption. + + + +CHAPTER IX. BRAINS IN THE UNDERWORLD + +I hope that, in some of my chapters, I have made it clear that a large +proportion of the underworld people are industrious and persevering. +I want in this chapter to show that many of them have also ability and +brains, gifts and graces. This is a pleasant theme, and I would revel in +it, but for the sorrowful side of it. + +It may seem strange that people living under their conditions should +possess these qualities, but in reality there is nothing strange +about it, for Nature laughs at us, and bestows her gifts upon whom she +pleases, though I have no doubt that she works to law and order if we +only understood. + +But we do not understand, and therefore she appears whimsical and +capricious. I rather expect that even when eugenists get their way and +the human race is born to order, that Dame Nature, the mother of us all, +will not consent to be left out of the reckoning. Be that as it may, it +is certain she bestows her personal gifts among the very poor equally +with the rich. She is a true socialist, and, like Santa Claus, she +visits the homes of the very poor and bestows gifts upon their children. + +Some of the most perfect ladies I have ever met have been uneducated +women living in poverty and gloom. I do not say the most beautiful, for +suffering and poverty are never beautiful. Neither can rings of care +beneath the eyes, and countless furrows upon the face be considered +beautiful. But, apart from this, I have found many personal graces +and the perfection of behaviour among some of the poorest. All this I +consider more wonderful than the possession of brains, though of brains +they are by no means deficient. + +Have you ever noticed how pretty the healthy children of the very poor +are? I am not speaking of unhealthy and feeble children, who are all too +numerous, but of the healthy; for, strange as it may appear, there are +many such, even in the underworld. Where do you find such beautiful +curly hair as they possess? in very few places! It is perfect in its +freedom, texture, colour and curl. Dame Nature has not forgotten +them! Where do you find prettier faces, more sparkling eyes and eager +expressions? Nowhere! And though their faces become prematurely old, +and their eyes become hard, still Dame Nature had not forgotten them at +birth; she, at any rate, had done her best for them. + +Search any families, bring out the hundreds of pretty children, and I +will bring hundreds of children from below the line that will compare +with them in beauty of body, face and hair. But they must be under four +years of age! No! no! the children of the upperworld have not a monopoly +of Dame Nature's gifts. + +And it is so with mental gifts and graces; the poor get a good share of +them, but the pity is they get so little chance of exercising them. +For many splendid qualities wither from disuse or perish from lack of +development. But some survive, as the following stories will prove. + +It was a hot day in June, and, in company with a friend who wished to +learn something about the lives of the very poor, I was visiting in the +worst quarters of East London. + +As we moved from house to house, the thick air within, and the dirt +within and without were almost too much for us. The box-like rooms, the +horrible backyards, the grime of the men, women and children, combined +with the filth in the streets and gutters, made us sick and faint. We +asked ourselves whether it was possible that anything decent, virtuous +or intelligent could live under such conditions? + +The "place" was dignified by the name of a street, although in reality +it was a blind alley, for a high wall closed one end of it. It was very +narrow, and while infants played in the unclean gutters, frowsy women +discussed domestic or more exciting matters with women on the opposite +side. + +They discussed us too as we passed, and audibly commented, though not +favourably, on our business. I had visited the street scores of times, +and consequently I was well known. Unfortunately my address was also +well known, for every little act of kindness that I ventured to do +in that street had been followed by a number of letters from jealous +non-recipients. + +I venture to say that from every house save one I had received begging +or unpleasant letters, for jealousy of each other's benefits was a +marked characteristic of that unclean street. As we entered the house +from which no letter had been received, we heard a woman call to her +neighbour, "They are going to see the old shoemaker." She was correct in +her surmise, and right glad we were to make the old man's acquaintance; +not that he was very old, but then fifty-nine in a London slum may +be considered old age. He sat in a Windsor arm-chair in a very small +kitchen; a window at his back revealed that abomination of desolation, a +Bethnal Green backyard. He sat as he had sat for years, bent and doubled +up, for some kind of paralysis had overtaken him. + +He had a fine head and a pointed beard, his thin and weak neck seemed +hardly able to bear its heavy burden. He was not overclean, and his +clothes were, to say the least, shabby. But there he sat, his wife at +work to maintain him. We stood, for there was no sitting room for us. +Grime, misery and poverty were in evidence. + +He told us that his forefathers were Huguenots, who fled from France +and settled as silk weavers in Spitalfields. He had been apprenticed to +boot- and shoe-making, his particular branch of work having been boots +and shoes for actresses and operatic singers. That formerly he had +earned good money, but the trade declined as he had grown older, and now +for some years he had been crippled and unable to work, and dependent +upon his wife, who was a machinist. + +There did not seem much room for imagination and poetry in his home and +life, but the following conversation took place-- + +"It is a very hard life for you sitting month after month on that chair, +unable to do anything!" "It is hard, I do not know what I should do if +I could not think." "Oh, you think, do you well, thinking is hard +work." "Not to me, it is my pleasure and occupation." "What do you think +about?" "All sorts of things, what I have read mostly." "What have you +read" "Everything that I could get hold of, novelists, poetry, history +and travel." "What novelist do you like best" The answer came prompt +and decisive: "Dickens," "Why?" "He loved the poor, he shows a greater +belief in humanity than Thackeray." "How do you prove that?" "Well, take +Thackeray's VANITY FAIR, it is clever and satirical, but there is only +one good character, and he was a fool; but in Dickens you come across +character after character that you can't help loving." + +"Which of his books do you like best?" "A TALE OF TWO CITIES." "Why?" +"Well, because the French Revolution always appeals to me, and secondly +because I think the best bit of writing in all his books is the +description of Sydney Carton's ride on the tumbrel to the guillotine." +"Have you ever read Carlyle's FRENCH REVOLUTION?" "No" "I will lend it +to you." "If you do, I will read it." + +"How about poetry, what poets do you like?" "The minor poets of two +hundred years ago, Herrick, Churchill, Shenstone and others." "Why do +you like them?" "They are so pretty, so easy to understand, you know +what they mean; they speak of beauty, and flowers and love, their +language is tuneful and sweet." Thus the grimy old shoemaker spoke, but +I continued: "What about the present-day poets?" Swift came the reply, +"We have got none." This was a staggerer, but I suggested: "What about +Kipling?" "Too slangy and Coarse!" "Austin?" "Don't ask me." "What of +Wordsworth, Tennyson and Browning?" "Well, Wordsworth is too prosy, you +have to read such a lot to get a little; Tennyson is a bit sickly +and too sentimental, I mean with washy sentiment; Browning I cannot +understand, he is too hard for me." + +"Now let us talk: about dramatists; you have read Shakespeare?" "Yes, +every play again and again." "Which do you like best?" "I like them all, +the historical and the imaginative; I have never seen one acted, but to +me King Lear is his masterpiece." + +So we left him doubled up in his chair, in his grime and poverty, +lighting up his poor one room with great creations, bearing his heavy +burdens, never repining, thinking great thoughts and re-enacting great +events, for his mind to him was a kingdom. + +The next day my friend sent a dozen well-selected books, but the old +shoemaker never sought or looked for any assistance. + +Only a few doors away we happened on a slum tragedy. We stood in a queer +little house of one room up and one down stairs. Let me picture +the scene! A widow was seated at her machine sewing white buckskin +children's boots. Time, five o'clock in the afternoon; she had sat there +for many hours, and would continue to sit till night was far advanced. + +Suddenly a girl of twelve burst in and threw herself into her mother's +arms, crying, "Oh, mother, mother, I have lost the scholarship! Oh, +mother, the French was too hard for me!" To our surprise the mother +seemed intensely relieved, and said, "Thank God for that!" + +But the girl wept! After a time we inquired, and found that the girl, +having passed the seventh standard at an elementary school, had been +attending a higher grade school, where she had been entered for a +competitive examination at a good class secondary school. If she +obtained it, the widow would have been compelled to sign an agreement +for the girl to remain at school for at least three years. But the widow +was practically starving, although working fourteen hours daily. Verily, +the conflict of duties forms the tragedy of everyday life. The widow was +saved by the advanced French; poor mother and poor girl! + +By and by the girl was comforted as we held the prospective of a bright +future before her, and got her to talk of her studies; she recited for +us a scene from AS YOU LIKE IT, and also Portia's speech, "The quality +of mercy is not strained." + +Standing near was a boy of not more than ten years, who looked as if he +would like to recite for us, and I asked him what standard he was in. +"The sixth, sir." "And do you like English Literature?" He did not +answer the question exactly, but said, "I know the 'Deserted Village,' +by Oliver Goldsmith." + +"Where was the 'Deserted Village'?" "Sweet Auburn was supposed to be +in Ireland, but it is thought that some of the scenes are taken from +English villages." + +"Can you give us the 'Village Schoolmaster'?" And he did, with point +and emphasis. "Now for the 'Village Parson.'" His memory did not fail +or trip, and the widow sat there machining; so we turned to her for more +information, and found that she was a Leicester woman, and her parents +Scots; she had been a boot machinist from her youth. + +Her husband was a "clicker" from Stafford; he had been dead eight years. +She was left with four children. She had another daughter of fourteen +who had done brilliantly at school, having obtained many distinctions, +and at twelve years had passed her "Oxford Local." This girl had picked +up typewriting herself, and as she was good at figures and a splendid +writer, she obtained a junior clerk's place in the City at seven +shillings and sixpence per week. Every day this girl walked to and from +her business, and every day the poor widow managed to find her fourpence +that the girl might have a lunch in London City. + +I felt interested in this girl, so I wrote asking her to come to lunch +with me on a certain day. She came with a book in her hand, one of +George Eliot's, one of her many prizes. A fourpenny lunch may be +conducive to high thinking, may even lead to an appreciation of great +novels: it certainly leaves plenty of time for the improvement of the +mind, though it does not do much for nourishing the body. I found +her exceedingly interesting and intelligent, with some knowledge of +"political economy," well up in advanced arithmetic, and quite capable +of discussing the books she had read. Yet the family had been born in +an apology of a house, they had graduated in the slums, but not in the +gutter. Their widowed mother had worked interminable hours and starved +as she worked, but no attendance officer had ever been required to +compel her children to school. It would have taken force to keep them +away. But what of their future? Who can say? But of one thing I am very +sure, and it is this: that, given fair opportunity, the whole family +will adorn any station of life that they may be called to fill. + +But will they have that opportunity? Well, the friend that was with me +says they will, and he has commissioned me to act for him, promising +me that if I am taken first and he is left, the cultured family of the +slums shall not go uncared for. And amidst the sordid life of our mean +streets, there are numbers of brilliant children whose God-given talents +not only run to waste, but are actually turned into evil for lack of +opportunity. + +Here and there one and another rise superior to their environment, and +with splendid perseverance fight their way to higher and better life. +And some of them rise to eminence, for genius is not rare even in +Slumdom. + +One of our greatest artists, lately dead, whose work all civilisation +delights to honour, played in a slum gutter, and climbed a lamp-post +that he might get a furtive look into a school of art. + +All honour and good wishes to the rising young, but all glory to the +half-starved widows who shape their characters and form their tastes. +To the old shoemaker good wishes; may the small pension that a friend +of mine has settled on him add to his comfort and his health, may his +beloved minor poets with Dickens and Shakespeare long be dear to him, +and may his poor little home long continue to be peopled with bright +creations that defy the almost omnipotent power of the underworld. + +If any who may read these words would like to do a kind action that will +not be void of good results and sure reward, I would say lend a +helping hand to some poor family where, in spite of their poverty and +surroundings, the children are clean and intelligent, and have made +progress at school. For they are just needing a hand, it may be to help +with their education, or it may be to give them a suitable start in +life. If the mother happens to be a widow, you cannot do wrong. + +If one half of the money that is spent trying to help unhelpable people +was spent in helping the kind of families I refer to in the manner I +describe, the results would be surprising. + +If there is any difficulty in finding such families, I would say apply +to the head mistress or master of a big school in a poor neighbourhood, +they can find them for you. If they cannot, why then I will from among +my self-supporting widow friends. + +But do not, I beseech you, apply to the clergyman of the parish, for he +will naturally select some poor family to whom he has charitably acted +the part of relieving officer. Remember it is brains and grit that you +are in search of, and not poor people only. + +If in every neighbourhood a few people would band themselves together +for this purpose and spend money for this one charitable purpose, it +would of itself, and in reasonable time, effect mighty results. Believe +me, there is plenty of brain power and grit in the underworld that +never gets a chance of developing in a useful direction. Boys and girls +possessing such talents are doomed, unless a miracle happens, for they +have to start in life anyhow and anywhere. + +Nothing is of more importance than a correct start in life for any boy +or girl; but a false start, a bad beginning for the children of the very +poor who happen to possess brain power is fatal. Their talents get no +chance, for they are never used, consequently they atrophy, or, worse +still, are used in a wrong direction and possibly for evil. Good is +changed into evil, bright and useful life is frustrated, and the State +loses the useful power and influence that should result from brains and +grit. + +How can my widow friends, who are unceasingly at work, have either +the time, opportunity or knowledge to find proper openings for their +children? The few shillings that a boy or girl can earn at anything, +or anyhow that is honest, are a great temptation. The commencement +dominates the future! Prospective advantage must needs give place to +present requirements. + +So we all lose! The upperworld loses the children's gifts, character and +service. The underworld retains their poor service for life. + +"It is better," said Milton, "to kill a man than a book." Which may be +true, but probably the truth depends upon the quality of the man and the +book. But what about killing mind, soul, heart, aspirations and every +quality that goes to make up a man? "Their angels do always behold the +face of my Father"; yes, but we compel them to withdraw that gaze, and +look contentedly into the face of evil. + +I am now pleading for the gifted boys and girls of the underworld, not +the weaklings, for of them I speak elsewhere. But I will say, that while +the weaklings are the more hopeless, it is the talented that are the +most dangerous. Let us see to it that their powers have some chance of +developing in a right direction. When by some extraordinary concurrence +of circumstances a Council School boy passes on to a university and +takes a good degree, it is chronicled all over the world; the school, +the teacher, the boy and his parents are all held up for show and +admiration. I declare it makes me ill! Why? Because I know that in the +underworld thousands of men are grubbing, burrowing and grovelling who, +as boys, possessed phenomenal abilities, but whose parents were poor, so +poor that their gifted children had no chance of developing the talent +that was in them. Let us give them a chance! Sometimes here and there +one and another bursts his bonds, and, rejoicing in his freedom, does +brilliant things. But in spite of Samuel Smiles and his self-help they +are but few, though, if the centuries are searched, the catalogue will +be impressive enough. + +Of course there must be self-help. But there must be opportunity also. +There is a great deal of talk about the children of the poor being +"over-educated," and the delinquencies of the youthful poor are +attributed to this bogy. It is because they are under-educated, not +over-educated, that the children of the very poor so often go wrong. + +But the attempt to cast them all in the same mould is disastrous; there +is an over-education going on in this direction. Not all the children of +the poor can be great scholars, but some of them can! Let us give them a +chance. Not all of them can be scientists and engineers, etc., but some +of them have talents for such things! Give them a chance! A good many of +them have unmistakably artistic gifts! Why not give them a chance too! +And the mechanically inclined should have a chance! Why can we not +differentiate according to their tastes and gifts? + +For even then we shall have enough left to be our hewers of wood and +carriers of water; an abundance will remain to do all the work that +requires neither brains nor gifts. + +But let us stop at once and for ever trying to cram thick heads and poor +brains with stuff that cannot possibly be appreciated or understood. Let +us teach their mechanical fingers to do something useful, and give them, +even the degenerates, some chance! + +And we must stop our blind alley occupation for growing lads, for at the +end of the alley stands an open door to the netherworld, and through it +youthful life passes with little prospect of return. + + + +CHAPTER X. PLAY IN THE UNDERWORLD + +It may seem a strange thing, but children do play in the underworld. +They have their own games and their times and seasons too! + +Yet no one can watch them as they play without experiencing feelings +more or less pathetic. There is something incongruous about it that may +cause a smile, but there is also something that will probably cause a +tear. + +For their playgrounds are the gutters or the pavements. Happy are +the children when they can procure a spacious pavement, for in the +underworld wide pavements are scarce; still narrow pavements and gutters +are always to hand. + +It is summer time, the holidays have come! No longer the hum, babble +and shouts of children are heard in and around those huge buildings, the +County Council schools. + +The sun pours its rays into the unclean streets, the thermometer +registers eighty in the shade. Down from the top storey and other +storeys of the blocks the children come, happy in the consciousness that +for one month at least they will be free from school, without dodging +the school attendance officer. + +"Hop-scotch" season has commenced, and as if by magic the pavements of +the narrow streets are covered with chalked lines, geometrical figures +and numerals, and the mysterious word "tod" confronts you, stares at +you, and puzzles you. + +Who can understand the intricacies of "hop-scotch" or the fascination +of "tod"? None but the girls of the underworld. Simple pleasures please +them--a level pavement, a piece of chalk, a "pitcher," the sun overhead, +dirt around, a few companions and non-troublesome babies, are their +chief requirements; for few of these girls come out to play without the +eternal baby. + +Notice first, if you will, how deftly these foster-mothers handle the +babies; their very method tells of long-continued practice. What slaves +these girls are! But they have brought the baby's feeding-bottle, and +also that other fearsome indispensable of underworld infant life, "the +comforter." + +They are going to make a day of it, a mad and merry day, for they have +with them some pieces of bread and margarine to sustain them in the toil +of nursing and the exhaustion of "hop-scotch." + +The "pitcher" is produced, and we notice how punctiliously each girl +takes her proper turn and starts from the correct place; we notice also +the dilapidated condition of their boots, that act as golf clubs and +propel the "pitcher." We wonder how with such boots, curled and twisted +to every conceivable shape, they can strike the "pitcher" at all. There +is some skill in "hop-scotch" played as these girls play it, and with +their "boots" too! + +A one-legged game is "hop-scotch," for the left foot must be held clear +of the pavement, and the "pitcher" must be propelled with the right foot +as the girl "hops." + +If she hops too high and misses it, she is "out"; if she strikes too +hard, and it travels beyond one of the boundaries, she is "out" too; if +she does not propel it far enough, again "out." + +Why, of course there is skill and fascination in it, for it combines the +virtues of golf and baseball, and "tod" is quite as good as a football +goal. And there is good fellowship and self-denial going on, too; not +quite every girl, thank Heaven, is hampered or blessed with a baby, +and we notice how cheerfully they take their turn in nursing while the +foster-mother arrives at "tod." + +The substitute, too, understands the use of the "comforter," for should +it roll in the dirty gutter she promptly returns it to its proper +place, the baby's mouth. Untidy, slatternly girls, not over-clean, not +over-dressed, and certainly not over-fed, we leave them to their play +and their babies. + +Here are a lot of half-naked boys, some standing, some sitting on the +hot pavement; they are playing "cherry hog"; why "hog" I don't know! +Their requisites are a pocketful of cherry stones and a small screw, not +an expensive outfit, for they save the "hogs" when they are permitted +to eat cherries, as sometimes, by the indulgence of a kindly fruiterer, +they are, for he kindly throws all his rotten or unsaleable fruit into +the gutter. + +If these are not to hand, there are plenty of "hogs" to be picked up. As +to the little screw, well, it is easy to get one or steal one. + +The advantage of a screw is that it possesses a flat end, on which it +will stand erect. In this position it is delicately placed so that when +struck by a cherry "hog" it falls. Each boy in turn throws a certain +number of "hogs" at the screw, the successful thrower gathers in the +spoil and goes home with his pocket bursting with cherry "hogs." + +It's an exciting game, but it is gambling nevertheless; why do not the +police interfere? + +Here are some boys playing "buttons"--gambling again! This game is +good practice, too, and a capital introduction to that famous game of +youthful capitalists, "pitch and toss," for it is played in precisely +the same way, only that buttons take the place of half-pennies. + +The road, gutter or pavement will do for "buttons"; a small mark +or "jack" is agreed upon, a line is drawn at a certain distance; +alternately the lads pitch their buttons towards the "jack," three +buttons each. When all have "pitched," the boy whose button is nearest +the "jack" has first toss, that is, he collects all the pitched buttons +in his hand and tosses them; as the buttons lie again on the ground the +lads eagerly scan them, for the buttons that lie with their convex side +upwards are the spoil of the first "tosser." The remaining buttons are +collected by the second, who tosses, and then collects his spoil, and +so on till the buttons are all lost and won. The boy whose buttons are +farthest from "jack" of course gets the last and least opportunity. When +playing for halfpence, "heads or tails" is the deciding factor. + +Why, you say, of course it is a game of skill, just as much as bowls or +quoits; but there are also elements of luck about "pitch and toss" which +gives it an increased attraction. + +Sunday in the underworld is the great day for "pitch and toss," for many +boys have halfpence on that day. They have been at work during the week, +and, having commenced work, their Sunday-school days are at an end. And +having a few halfpence they can indulge their long-continued and fervent +hope of discarding "buttons" and playing the man by using halfpence. + +But how they enjoy it! how intent they are upon it. Sunday morning will +turn to midday, and midday to evening before they are tired of it! Meal +times, or the substitute for meal times, pass, and they remain at it! +always supposing their halfpence last, and the police do not interfere, +the latter being the most likely. + +It takes an interminably long time to dispossess a lad of six halfpence +at this game; fortune is not so fickle as may be supposed. The unskilled +"pitcher" may have luck in "tossing," while the successful "pitcher" may +be an unlucky "tosser." If at the end of a long day they come off pretty +equal, they have had an ideal day. + +But they have had their ups and downs, their alternations of joy and +despair. Sometimes a boy may win a penny; if so, it is evident that +another boy has lost one, and this is sad, though I expect they lose +more coppers to the police than they do to their companions, for the +police harry them and hunt them. Special constables are put on to detect +them, and they know the favourite resorts of the incipient gamblers. +They hunt in couples, too, and they enter the little unclean street at +each end. + +Now for the supreme excitement; they are observed by the watchful eye of +a non-player, who is copperless. There is a rush for the halfpence, +some of which the non-player secures. There's a scamper, but there is no +escape; the police bag them, and innocent boys who join in the scamper +are bagged too. The police search the ground for halfpence, find a few +which they carefully pack in paper, that they may retain some signs +of dirt upon them, for this will be invaluable legal evidence on the +morrow. There is a procession of police, prisoners and gleeful lads who +are not in custody to the nearest police-station. + +On Monday they stand in the dock, when the police with the halfpence and +the dirt still upon them give evidence against them. + +One worthy magistrate will ask them why they were not at home or school. +Another will sternly admonish them upon the evils of street gambling. A +third will tell them that it would have paid them better in health and +pocket to have taken a country walk. But all agree on one point, "that +this street gambling must be put down," and they "put it down," or +attempt to do so, by fining the young ragamuffins five shillings each. + +The excitement of the cells then awaits them, to be followed by a free +ride in "Black Maria," unless "muvver" can pawn something and raise the +money, But many mothers cannot do this, others do not trouble; as to +"farver," well, he does not come in at all, unless it is to give a +"licking" to the boy when he comes out of prison for losing his job and +his wages. + +Truly, the play of the underworld children is exciting enough: there is +danger attaching to it; perhaps that gives a piquancy to it. + +The fascination of "pitch and toss" is felt not only all over England, +where it holds undisputed sway, for it has no real rival, but in America +too! Whilst in America last summer I explored the mean streets of New +York, and not far from the Bowery I found lots of lads at the game. It +was Sunday morning, too, and having some "nickels," I played several +games with them. I was but a poor pitcher, the coins were too light for +me--perhaps I could do better with solid English pennies--but what I +lost in pitching I gained in tossing, so I was not ruined, neither did +the Bowery lads sustain any loss. + +But I found the procedure exactly the same as in England, and I felt the +fascination of it; and some day when I can afford it, I will have a lot +of metal counters made, and I will organise lads into a club; I will +give them "caps," and they shall play where the police won't interfere. + +I will give them trophies to contend for, and Bethnal Green shall +contend with Holloway; a halfpenny "gate" would bring its thousands, and +private gain would give place to club and district "esprit de corps," +for the lads want the game, not the money; the excitement, not the +halfpence. There is nothing intrinsically wrong about "pitch and toss," +only the fact that ragamuffins play it. + +There is a great deal of nonsense talked about the game by superior +people who pose as authorities upon the delinquencies of ragamuffin +youth, and who declaim upon the demoralisation attending this popular +game of poor lads. + +I heard at a meeting of a rich Christian Church, held in a noble hall +in the heart of London's City, one gentleman declare that a smart +ragamuffin youth of his acquaintance possessed a penny with a "head" on +each side for the purpose of enabling him to cheat at this game. + +He did not know what he was talking about, for such pennies would be +as useless for this game as the stones in the streets, for "heads and +tails" are the essence of the game. The boys of the underworld must +play, and ought to play; if those above them do not approve of their +games, well, it is "up to them," as the Americans have it, to find +them better games than pitch and toss, and better playing grounds than +unclean streets. + +Of public parks we have enough; they are very well for sedate and +elderly people. They are useful to foster-mothers, slave girls hugging +babies about, and a boon for nurses with perambulators. But what of +Tom, Dick and Harry, who have just commenced work; what of them? "Boy +Scouting," even with royal patronage, is not for them, for they have +no money to buy uniforms, nor time to scour Epping Forest and Hampstead +Heath for a non-existent enemy. + +Church Lads' Brigade with bishops for patrons, did I hear some one +say? Well, blowing a bugle, no matter how discordantly, is certainly +an attraction for a boy; and wearing a military cap set jauntily on +one side of the head is attractive, too, while the dragging of a +make-believe cannon through the streets may perhaps please others. But +Tom, Dick and Harry from below care for none of these things, for they +are "make-believes," and Tom, Dick and Harry want something real, even +if it is vulgar, something with a strong competitive element in it, even +if it is a little bit rough or wicked. + +Besides Tom, Dick and Harry are not over-clean in person, nor nice +in speech, so they are not wanted. Boy Scouts and Boys' Brigades are +preached at, but Tom, Dick and Harry do not want to be preached at by a +parson, or coddled by a curate. + +They want something real, even though it be punching each other's head, +for that at any rate is real. Give us play, play, real play! is the +cry that is everlastingly rising from the underworld youth. But +the overworld gives them parks and gardens, which are closed at a +respectable hour. But the lads do not go to bed at respectable hours, +for their mothers are still at work and their fathers have not arrived +home. So they play in the streets; then we call them "hooligans," and of +course they must be "put down." + +There is a good deal of "putting down" for the underworld, but it is all +of the wrong sort. For there is no putting down of public playgrounds +for lads of fifteen and upwards open in the evening, lighted by +electricity, and under proper control. Not one in the whole underworld. +So they play in the streets, or rather indulge in what is called +"horse-play." + +But there are youths' clubs! Yes, a few mostly in pokey places, yet they +are useful. But Tom, Dick and Harry want space, room and air, for they +get precious little of these valuable commodities at their work, and +still less in their homes. Watch them if you will, as I have watched +them scores of times in the streets, how foolish, yet how pitiable their +conduct is; you will see that they walk for about two hundred yards and +then walk back again, and then repeat the same walk, till the hours have +passed; they seem to be as circumscribed as caged animals. They walk +within bounds up and down the "monkey's parade." + +How inane and silly their conversation is! Sometimes a whim comes upon +them, and one runs for a few yards; the whim takes possession of others, +and they do exactly the same. One seizes another round the body and +wrestles with him. Immediately the others begin to wrestle too; their +actions are stereotyped, silly and objectionable, even when they do not +quarrel. + +They bump against the people, women included, especially young women. +They push respectable people into the gutters, and respectable people +complain to the police. An extra force is told off to keep order, and to +put Tom, Dick and Harry down. + +Sunday night is the worst night of all! for now these youths are out +in their thousands; certain streets are given up to them, and become +impassable for others. Respectable folk are shocked, and church-going +folk are scandalised! Surely the streets are the property of respectable +people! and yet they cannot pass through them without annoyance. + +At length the street is cleared and patrolled, for respectability must +be protected, not that there has been either violence or robbery. Oh +dear, no! There has only been foolish horse-play by the Toms, Dicks and +Harrys who, having nowhere else to go, and nothing else to do, having, +moreover, been joined by their female counterparts, have been enjoying +themselves in their own way, for they have been "at play." + +It is astonishing how fond of water the unwashed children of the +underworld are! It has an attraction for them, often a fatal attraction, +even though it be thick with dirt and very malodorous. During the summer +time the boys' bathing lakes in Victoria Park are crowded and alive with +youngsters, who splash and flounder and choke, splutter and laugh +in them. They present a sight worth seeing, and teach a lesson worth +remembering. + +The canals of Hoxton, Haggerston and Islington, too, dirty and dangerous +as they are, prove seductive to the boys who live close to them. Now the +police have an anxious time. Again they must look after Tom, Dick and +Harry, for demure respectability must not be outraged by a sight of +their naked bodies. + +So the police keep a sharp outlook for them. Some one kindly informs +them that a dozen boys are bathing in the canal near a certain bridge, +and quickly enough they find them in the very act. There the little +savages are! Some can swim, and some cannot; those that cannot are +standing in the slime near the side, stirring up its nastiness. They see +the policeman advancing, and those that can swim get ashore and run +for their little bits of clothing, tied up in a bundle ready for +emergencies. Into the water again they go for the other side! But, alas! +another policeman is waiting on the other side at the place where they +expected to land, so they must needs swim till another landing place +offers security. But even here they find that escape is hopeless, for +yet another policeman awaits them. + +Those who cannot swim seize their bundles, and, without waiting to +dress, run naked and unashamed along the canal, side, to the merriment +of the bargees, and the joy of the women and girls who happen to have no +son or brother amongst them, for the underworld is not so easily shocked +as the law and its administrators imagine. + +Ultimately they, too, find a policeman waiting for them, and a "good +bag" results. But the magistrate is very lenient; with a twinkle in his +eye he reproves them, and fines them one shilling each, which with great +difficulty their "muvvers" pay. + +But it has been a good day for the police, for four of them have helped +to convey six shillings from the wretchedly poor to the coffers of the +police-court receiver. But when the school holidays come round, that is +the time for the dirty canal to tell its tale, and to give up its dead, +too! + +Read this from the Daily Press, July 16th, 1911-- + +"A remarkable record in life-saving was disclosed at a Bethnal Green +inquest to-day on a child of six, named Browning, who was drowned in the +Regent's Canal on Bank Holiday. + +"Henry H. Terry, an out-of-work carman, said he was called from his +home near by, and raced down to the canal. There was a youth on the bank +holding a stick over the water, apparently waiting for the child to come +up to the surface. + +"The coroner: 'How old was the youth?' 'Well, he stood five feet six +inches, and might have gone in without getting out of his depth. I heard +a woman cry, "Why don't you go in!" I dived in five or six times, but +did not bring up the body.' The witness added that he and his brother +had saved many lives at this spot, the latter having effected as many +as twenty-five rescues in a year. Alfred Terry, a silk weaver, described +the point at which the child was drowned as a veritable death-trap, and +mentioned that he had been instrumental during the past twelve years in +saving considerably over one hundred lives at that spot. + +"'One hot July afternoon in 1900,' he added,'my mother and I had five of +them in the kitchen at one time with a roaring fire to bring them round. +That was during the school holidays; they dropped in like flies.' + +"Accidental death was the verdict." + +But when the little ones play in the gutter, danger lurks very near, as +witness the extract of the same date-- + +"At an inquest at the Poplar coroner's court to-day, on a +three-years'-old girl named Bertiola, it was stated that while playing +with other children she was struck on the head with a tin engine. Three +weeks later she was playing with the same children, and one of them hit +her on the head with the wooden horse. + +"The coroner: 'Two similar blows in a few days, that is very strange.' + +"Dr. Packer said that death was due to cerebral meningitis, the result +of a blow on the head. + +"The coroner: 'I suppose you can't tell which blow caused the trouble' +'No, sir, I am afraid not.' + +"The jury returned a verdict of accidental death." + +But sometimes the boys and girls of the underworld collaborate in their +play, for just now (July) "Remember the grotto! please to remember the +grotto!" is a popular cry. Who has not seen the London grottos he who +knows them not, knows nothing of the London poor. + +I was watching some girls play "hop-scotch" when a boy and girl with +oyster shells in their hands came up to me preferring the usual request, +"Please to remember the grotto!" Holding out their shells as they spoke. + +"Where is your grotto?" I said. "There, sir, over there; come and see +it." Aye! there is was, sure enough, and a pretty little thing it was +in its way, built up to the wall in a quiet corner, glistening with its +oyster shells, its bits of coloured china and surmounted with a little +flag. + +"But where are the candles?" "Oh, sir, we haven't got any yet; we shall +get candles when we get some money, and light them to-night; we have +only just finished it." "Where did you get your shells?" "From the +fish-shops." "Where did you get the pretty bits of china from?" "We +saved them from last year." "Does grotto time come the same time every +year, then" "Oh yes, sir." "How is that?" "'Cos it's the time for it." +"Why do you build grottos" "To get money." "Yes, but why do people give +you money; what do grottos commemorate, don't you know?" "No, sir." + +I looked at a poor half-paralysed boy with sharp face and said, "Well, +my boy, you ought to know; do you go to Sunday School?" "Yes, sir, both +of us; St. James the Less." "Well, I shall not tell you the whole story +to-day, but here is sixpence for you to buy candles with; and next +Sunday ask your teacher to tell you why boys and girls build grottos; +I shall be here this day week, and if you can tell me I will give you a +shilling." + +There were at least six grottos in that street when I got there on +the appointed day. A large crowd of children with oyster shells were +waiting; evidently the given sixpence and the promised shilling had +created some excitement in that corner of Bethnal Green. + +They were soon all round me, and a general chorus arose with hands +outstretched, "Please to remember the grotto! please to remember the +grotto!" I called them to silence, and said, "Can any one tell me why +you build grottos?" There was a general chorus, "To get money, sir." +That was all they knew, and it seemed to them a sufficient reason. + +Turning to the little cripple, I said, "Did you ask your teacher?" +"Yes, sir, but she said it was only children's play; but I bought some +candles, and they are lighted now." + +I said, "Now, children, listen to me, for I am going to tell you about +the beginning of grottos. + +"A good many hundred years ago, when Jesus was on earth, He had two +disciples named James; in after years one was called 'James the Greater' +and the other 'James the Less.' After the death of Jesus, James the +Greater was put to death, and the disciples were scattered, and wandered +into many far countries. James the Less wandered into Spain, telling the +people about Jesus. He lived a good and holy life, helping the poor and +the afflicted. + +"When he died, the people who loved him and reverenced him made a +great funeral, and built him a costly tomb, but instead of putting up a +monument to him, they built a large and beautiful grotto over the place +where his body lay. They lined it with beautiful and costly shells and +other rich things, and lit it with many candles. + +"Thousands of people came to see the grotto, and gave money to buy +candles that it might always be lighted. + +"Every year, on the anniversary of St. James's death, the people came +by thousands to the grotto. One year it was said that a crippled man had +been made quite well while praying at the grotto. This event was told +everywhere, and from that day forth on St. James's Day people came from +many countries, many of them walking hundreds of miles to the grotto. + +"Some of these people were ill and diseased, and others were sick and +blind, and some were cripples. + +"It is said that a good many of them were cured of their afflictions. + +"Now all these poor people that walked slowly and painfully to St. +James's tomb carried big oyster shells, in which they made holes for +cords to pass through, and they placed the cords round their necks. + +"When they came near to people they would hold out their shells and say, +'Please to remember the grotto!' And people gave them money to help them +on their way and to buy candles for the grotto, hoping that the poor +people would get there safely and come back cured. + +"So it came to pass that whenever people saw a man with an oyster shell, +they knew he was going or returning from St. James's tomb in Spain, +and they helped him. The custom of building grottos on St. James's Day +spread to many countries besides Spain. In Russia they build very fine +grottos. At length the custom came to England, and you boys and girls do +what other boys and girls have done for many years in other countries, +and in reality you celebrate the death of a great and good man." + +The children were very silent for a while; the cripple boy looked at me +with tears in his eyes, and I knew what his tears expressed. I gave +him a shilling, but he did not speak; to all the other children who had +built grottos I gave threepence each, and there was joy in that corner +of Bethnal Green. + +There is always something pathetic about play in the underworld. We feel +that there is something wanting in it, perhaps that something would come +into it, if there were more opportunities of real and competitive play. +Keeping shops, or teaching schools may do for girls to play at, but a +lad, if he is any good, wants something more robust. + +I often find cripple boys playing "tip-cat," another game upon which +the law has its eye, or hurrying along on crutches after something that +serves as a football, and getting there in time, too, for a puny kick. +But that kick, little as it is, thrills the poor chap, and he feels that +he has been playing. I am sure that football is going to play a great +part in the physical salvation of Tom, Dick and Harry, but they must +have other places than the streets in which to learn and practise the +game. + +We have heard a great deal about the playing-fields of public schools; +we are told that we owe our national safety to them; perhaps it +is correct, but I really do not know. But this I do know, that the +non-provision of playing-fields, or grounds for the male youthful poor, +is a national danger and a menace to activity, endurance, health and +pluck. + +Nothing saves them now but the freehold of the streets. Rob them of this +without giving them something better, and we shall speedily have a race +of flat-footed, flat-chested, round-shouldered poor, with no brains for +mental work, and no strength for physical work. A race exactly qualified +for the conditions to which we so freely submit it in prison. And above +those conditions that race will have no aspirations. So give them play, +glorious play, manly strife; let their hearts beat, and their chests +expand that they may breathe from their bottom lungs, that their limbs +may be supple and strong, for it will pay the nation to give Tom, Dick +and Harry healthy play. + +And they long for it, do Tom, Dick and Harry! Did you ever see hundreds +of them on a Sunday morning coming up from their lairs in Hoxton, +Shoreditch, Spitalfields and Bethnal Green, to find a field or open +space in the suburbs where they might kick a football? I have seen it +scores of times. A miserable but hopeful sight it is; hopeful because +it bears testimony to the ingrained desire that English lads have for +active healthy play. Miserable because of their appearance, and because +of the fact that no matter what piece of open ground or fields they +may select, they are trespassers, and may be ejected, or remain on +sufferance only. + +Happy are they if they can find a piece of land marked for sale, where +the jerry-builder has not yet commenced a suburban slum. Like a swarm +of locusts they are down on it, and quickly every blade of grass +disappears, "kicked off" as if by magic. + +Old walking-sticks, pieces of lath or old coats and waistcoats serve as +goal-posts. Touch-lines they have none, one playing-ground runs across +the other, and a dozen teams are soon hard at it. They have no caps to +distinguish them, no jerseys or knickers of bright hues. There are no +"flannelled fools" among them, but quickly there are plenty of "muddied +oafs." Trousers much too long are rolled up, coats and vests are +dispensed with, braces are loosed and serve as belts. There is running +to and fro, mud, and poor old footballs are kicked hither and thither. +They knock, kick and shoulder each other, their bare arms and faces are +coated with mud, they fall over the ball and over each other. If they +cannot kick their own ball, they kick one that belongs to another team. +There is much shouting, much laughter and some bad language! and so they +go at it till presently there is a great cheer, for Hoxton has got a +second goal, and Haggerston is defeated. And they keep at it for two +long hours, if they are not interfered with, then back to their lairs +and food. + +All this time good people have been in the churches close by, and the +shouting of the Hoxtonians has disturbed them, and the gentle whisper of +the Haggerstonians has annoyed them. Some of them are scandalised, and +say the police ought to stop such nuisances; perhaps they are right, for +there is much to be said against it. But there is something to be said +on the other side, too; for the natural instinct of English boys must +have an outlet or perish. If it perish they perish too, and then old +England would miss them. + +So let them play, but give them playgrounds! For playgrounds will pay +better than nice, respectable parks. The outlay will be returned in +due time in a big interest promptly paid from the increased vitality, +energy, industry and honesty of our Toms, Dicks and Harrys. So let them +play! + +With much pleasure I quote from the Daily Press, November 24th, the +following-- + +"LEARNING TO PLAY + +"ORGANISED GAMES IN HYDE PARK IN SCHOOL HOURS + +"It is good news that arrangements are being made by the Office of +Works for the use of a part of Hyde Park for organised games under the +direction of the London County Council. Hitherto the only royal parks +in which space has been allotted for this purpose are Regent's Park and +Greenwich Park. But the King, as is well known, takes a keen interest in +all that concerns the welfare of the children, and has gladly sanctioned +the innovation. + +"During the year an increasing number of the elementary schools in +London have taken advantage of the article in the code of regulations +which provides that, under certain conditions, organised games may, if +conducted under competent supervision and instruction, be played during +school hours. Up to the present the London County Council has authorised +the introduction of organised games by 580 departments, 295 boys', 225 +girls', and 60 mixed. + +"The games chiefly played by boys are football, cricket and rounders, +according to the season. Girls enjoy a greater variety, and in addition +to cricket and rounders, are initiated into the mysteries of hockey, +basket ball, target ball, and other ball games. + +"The advantages of the children being taught to get the best exercise +out of the games, and to become skilful in them, are obvious. + +"Arrangements have been made with the various local athletic +associations and consultative committees whereby in each metropolitan +borough there are hon. district representatives (masters and mistresses) +in connection with organised games. Pitches are reserved in over +thirty of the L.C.C. parks and open spaces for the use of schools. The +apparatus required is generally stored at the playing-fields for the +common use of all schools attending, but small articles such as balls, +bats, sticks are supplied to each school. + +"The Council has decided that, so far as practicable, the apparatus for +organised games shall be made at the Council's educational institutes, +and, as a result of this decision, much of it is fashioned at the +handicraft centres." + +This is all for good. But I am concerned for adolescent youth that +has left school--the lads whose home conditions absolutely prevent the +evening hours being spent indoors. Is there to be no provision for them? + + + +CHAPTER XI. ON THE VERGE OF THE UNDERWORLD + +Charles Dickens has somewhere said, "The ties that bind the rich to +their homes may be made on earth, but the ties that bind the poor to +their homes are made of truer metal and bear the stamp of Heaven." And +he adds that the wealthy may love their home because of the gold, silver +and costly things therein, or because of the family history. But that +when the poor love their homes, it is because their household gods +are gods of flesh and blood. Dickens's testimony is surely true, for +struggle, cares, sufferings and anxieties make their poor homes, even +though they be consecrated with pure affection, "serious and solemn +places." + +To me it has always been evident that the heaviest part of the burden +inseparable from a poor man's home falls upon the wife. + +Blessed is that home where the wife is equal to her duties, and doubly +blessed is the home where the husband, being a true helpmate, is anxious +to carry as much of the burden as possible. For then the home, even +though it be small and its floors brick, becomes in all truth "a sweetly +solemn place." It becomes a good training ground for men and women that +are to be. But I am afraid the working men do not sufficiently realise +what heavy, onerous and persistent duties fall upon the wife. With +nerves of brass they do not appreciate the fact that wives may be, and +are, very differently constituted to themselves. Many wives are lonely; +but the husbands do not always understand the gloomy imaginations that +pervade the lonely hours. The physical laws that govern women's personal +health make periods of depression and excitement not only possible, but +certain. + +Let us consider for a moment the life of a poor man's wife in London, +where her difficulties are increased by high rent and a long absence +of the husband. She has the four everlasting walls to look at, eternal +anxieties as to the future, the repeated weekly difficulties of making +ends meet, and too often the same lack of consideration from the +husband. + +The week's washing for the family she must do, the mending and darning +for the household is her task, the children must be washed and clothed +and properly cared for by her. Of her many duties there is no end. + +Sickness in the family converts her into a nurse. She herself must bear +the pangs and sufferings of motherhood, and for that time must make +preparation. For death in the family she must also provide, so the +eternities are her concern. Things present and things to come leave her +little time to contemplate the past. + +Ask me the person of many duties, and I point to the wife of a poor man. + +Thank God, the law of compensation rules the universe, and she is not +exempt from its ruling. She has her compensations doubtless, but I am +seriously afraid not to the extent to which she is entitled, though, +perhaps, they are greater than we imagine. + +Her duties are not always pleasant, for when her husband falls out of +work the rent must be paid, or she must mollify a disappointed landlord. +In many of our London "model" dwellings, if she is likely to have a +fourth child, three being the limit, she must seek a new home. And it +ought to be known that on this account there is a great exodus every +year from some of our London "dwellings." + +It seems scarcely credible, but it is nevertheless a fact, that in some +dwellings she may not keep a cat, a dog, or even a bird, neither may +she have flowers in pots on her window-sills. She is hedged round with +prohibitions, but she is expected to be superior and to abide in staid +respectability on an income of less than thirty shillings per week. And +she does it, though how she does it is a marvel. + +Come with me to visit Mrs. Jones, who lives at 28, White Elephant +Buildings. Mr. Jones is a painter at work for eight months in the year, +if he has good luck, but out of work always at that time of the year +when housekeeping expenses are highest. For every working man's wife +will tell you that coal is always dearer at the time of the year when it +is most required. In White Elephant Buildings there is no prohibition as +to the number of children, or the Jones family would not be there, for +they number eight all told. It is dinner time, and the children are all +in from school, and, being winter time, Jones is at home too! He has +been his wearying round in search of work earlier in the day, and has +just returned to share the midday meal which the mother serves. In all +conscience the meal is limited enough, but we notice that Jones gets an +undue proportion, and we wonder whether the supply will go round. + +We see that the children are next served in their order, the elder +obtaining just a little more food than the younger, and, last of +all--Mrs. Jones. + +It is true that self-denial brings its own reward, for in her case there +is little to reward her in the shape of food. + +To me it is still astonishing, although I have known it for years, +that thousands of poor men's wives go through years of hard work, +and frequent times of motherhood on an amount of food that must be +altogether inadequate. + +Brave women! Aye, brave indeed! for they not only deny themselves food, +but clothing, and all those little personal adornments that are so dear +to the heart of women. There is no heroism to equal it. It only ends +when the children have all passed out of hand, and then it is too late, +for in her case appetite has not been developed with eating, so that +when the day comes that food is more plentiful, the desire for it is +lacking. + +It is small wonder, then, that Mrs. Jones has a careworn look, and does +not look robust. She has been married twelve years, so that every second +year she has borne a child. The dark rings beneath her eyes tell of +protracted hours of work, and the sewing-machine underneath the window +tells us that she supplements the earnings of her husband by making old +clothes into new, and selling them to her neighbours, either for their +children's wear or their own. This accounts for the fact that her +own children are so comfortably clothed. The dinner that we have seen +disappear cost ninepence, for late last evening, just before the cheap +butchers close by shut up for the night, Mrs. Jones bought one pound +and a half of pieces, and, with the aid of two onions and some potatoes, +converted them into a nourishing stew. + +Many times near midnight I have stood outside the cheap butchers' and +watched careful women make their purchases. It is a pitiful sight, and +when one by one the women have made their bargains, we notice that the +shopboard is depleted of its heap of scrags and odds and ends. + +So day by day Mrs. Jones feeds her family, limiting her expenditure to +her purse. And, truth to tell, Jones and the little Joneses look well +on it. But two things in addition to the rent test her managing powers. +Boots for the children! and coal for the winter! The latter difficulty +she gets over by paying one shilling per week into a coal club all the +year through. When Jones is in work she buys extra coal, but when the +winter comes she draws upon her reserves at the coal merchant's. + +But the boots are more difficult. To his credit let it be said that +Jones mends the family's boots. That is, he can "sole and heel," though +he cannot put on a patch or mend the uppers. But with everlasting +thought for the future, Mrs. Jones makes certain of boots for the +family. Again a "club" is requisitioned, and by dint of rigid management +two shillings weekly pass into a shoemaker's hands, and in their turn +the family gets boots; the husband first, the children one by one, +herself last--or never! + +Week by week she lives with no respite from anxiety, with no surcease +from toil. By and by the eldest boy is ready for work, and Mrs. Jones +looks forward to the few shillings he will bring home weekly, and builds +great things upon it. Alas! it is not all profit; the boy must have +a new suit, he requires more food, and he must have a little spending +money, "like other boys"; and though he is a good lad, she finds +ultimately that there is not much left of Tom's six shillings. + +Never mind! on she goes, for will he not get a rise soon and again +expectation encourages her. + +So the poor woman, hampered as she is with present cares, looks forward +to the time when life will be a bit easier, when the united earnings of +the children will make a substantial family income. Oh, brave woman! it +is well for her to live in hope, and every one who knows her hopes too +that disappointment will not await her, and that her many children will +"turn out well." + +Mrs. Jones is typical of thousands of working men's wives, and such +women demand our admiration and respect. What matter though some of them +are a bit frowsy and not over-clean? they have precious little time +to attend to their personal adornment. I ask, who can fulfil all their +duties and remain "spick-and-span"? + +"Nagging," did I hear some one say? My friend, put yourself in her +place, and imagine whether you would remain all sweetness and courtesy. +Again I say, that I cannot for the life of me understand how she can +bear it all, suffering as she does, and yet remain so patient and so +hopeful. + +Add to the duties I have enumerated the time when sickness and death +enter the home. Mrs. Grundy has declared that even poor people must put +on "mourning," and must bury their dead with excessive expenditure, and +Mrs. Grundy must be obeyed. + +But what struggles poor wives make to do it! but a "nice" funeral is +a fascinating sight to the poor. So thousands of poor men's wives deny +themselves many comforts, and often necessaries, that they may for +certain have a few pounds, should any of their children die. Religiously +they pay a penny or twopence a week for each of their children to some +industrial insurance company for this purpose. + +A few pounds all at once loom so large that they forget all the toil, +stress and self-denial they have undergone to keep those pence regularly +paid. Decent "mourning" and "nice funerals" are greatly admired, for if +a working man's wife accepts parish aid at such time, why then she has +fallen low indeed. + +And for the time when a new life comes into light, the poor man's wife +must make provision. At this time anxiety is piled upon anxiety. There +must be no parish doctor, no parish nurse; out of her insufficient +income she makes weekly payments to a local dispensary that during +sickness the whole household may be kept free of doctor's bills. An +increased payment for herself secures her, when her time comes, from +similar worry. But the nurse must be paid, so during the time of her +"trouble" the poor woman screws, schemes and saves a little money; money +that ought in all truth to have been spent upon herself, that a weekly +nurse may attend her. But every child is dearer than the last, and the +wonderful love she has for every atom of humanity born to her repays all +her sufferings and self-denial. + +So I ask for the poor man's wife not only admiration and consideration, +but, if you will, some degree of pity also. I would we could make her +burdens easier, her sorrows less, and her pleasures more numerous. Most +devoutly I hope that the time may soon arrive when "rent day" will +be less dreaded, and when the collector will be satisfied with a less +proportion of the family's earnings. For this is a great strain upon +the poor man's wife, a strain that is never absent! for through times +of poverty and sickness, child birth and child death, persistently and +inexorably that day comes round. Undergoing constant sufferings and +ceaseless anxieties, it stands to the poor man's wife's credit that +their children fight our battles, people our colonies, uphold the credit +of our nation, and perpetuate the greatness of the greatest empire the +world has ever known. + +But Mrs. Jones' eldest girl has a hard time too! for she acts as nurse +and foster-mother to the younger children. It was well for her that Tom +was born before her or she would have nursed him. Perhaps it was well +for Tom also that he got the most nourishment. As it is the girl has her +hands full, and her time is more than fully occupied. She goes to +school regularly both Sunday and week-day. She passes all her standards, +although she is not brilliant. She washes the younger children, she +nurses the inevitable baby, she clears the "dinner things" away at +midday, and the breakfast and tea-cups in their turn. She sits down to +the machine sometimes and sews the clothing her mother has cut out and +"basted." She is still a child, but a woman before her time, and Mrs. +Jones and all the young Joneses will miss her when she goes "out." + +When that time comes, Mrs. Jones will not be so badly put to it as +she was when Tom went "out." For she has been paying regularly into a +draper's club, and with the proceeds a quantity of clothing material +will be bought. So Sally's clothing will be made at home, and Sally and +her mother will sit up late at night to make it. + +It is astonishing how "clubs" of all descriptions enter into the lives +of the poor. There is, of course, the "goose club" for Christmas, for +the poor make sure of one good meal during the year. Some of them are +extravagant enough to join "holiday clubs," but this Mrs. Jones cannot +afford, so her clubs are limited to her family's necessities, excepting +the money club held at a neighbour's house into which she pays one +shilling weekly. This club consists of twenty members, who "draw" +for choice. Thus once in twenty weeks, sooner or later, Mrs. Jones is +passing rich, for she is in possession of twenty shillings all at once. + +There is some discussion between Sally and her mother as to the spending +of it; Tom's first suit was bought by this means, and Jones himself is +not forgotten; but for Mrs. Jones no thought is given. + +The planning, scheming and contrivance it takes to run a working man's +home, especially when the husband has irregular work, is almost past +conception, and the amount of self-denial is extraordinary. + +But it is the wife who finds the brains and exercises the self-denial. +Her methods may be laughed at by wiser people, for there is some +wastage. The friendly club-keeper must have a profit, and the possession +of wealth represented by a whole sovereign costs something. But when +Mrs. Jones gets an early "draw," she exchanges her "draw" for a later +one, and makes some little profit. + +Oh, the scheming and excitement of it all, for even Mrs. Jones cannot do +without her little "deal." But what will Sally settle down to? Now comes +the difficulty and deciding point in her life, and a critical time it +is. + +Mrs. Jones has not attended a mother's meeting, she has been too busy; +church has not seen much of her except at the christenings; district +visitors and clergymen have not shown much interest in her; Jones +himself is almost indifferent, and quite complacent. + +So Sally and her mother discuss the matter. The four shillings weekly +to be obtained in a neighbouring factory are tempting, but the girls are +noisy and rude; yet Sally will be at home in the evenings and have +time to help her mother, and that is tempting too! A neighbouring +blouse-maker takes girls to teach them the trade, and Sally can machine +already, so she will soon pick up the business; that looks nice too, but +she would earn nothing for the first three months, so that is ruled out. +Domestic service is thought of, but Sally is small for her age, and +only fourteen; she does not want to be a nurse girl; she has had enough +nursing--she has been a drudge long enough. + +So to the factory she goes, though Mrs. Jones has her misgivings, and +gives her strong injunctions to come straight home, which of course +Sally readily promises, though whether that promise will be strictly +kept is uncertain. But her four shillings are useful in the family +exchequer; they are the deciding factor in Sally's life! + +So on through all the succeeding years of the developing family life +comes the recurring anxiety of getting her children "out." These +anxieties may be considered very small, but they are as real, as +important, and as grave as the anxieties that well-to-do people +experience in choosing callings or professions for sons and daughters to +whom they cannot leave a competency. + +And all this time the family are near, so very near to the underworld. +The death of Jones, half-timer as he is, would plunge them into it; and +the breakdown or death of Mrs. Jones would plunge them deeper still. + +What an exciting and anxious life it really is! Small wonder that +many descend to the underworld when accident overtakes them. But for +character, grit, patience and self-denial commend me to such women. All +honour to them! may their boys do well! may their girls in days to come +have less anxieties and duties than fall to the lot of working men's +wives of to-day. + + + +CHAPTER XII. IN PRISONS OFT + +If every chapter in this book is ignored, I hope that this one will be +read thoughtfully. For I want to show that a great national wrong, a +stupidly cruel wrong, exists. + +Probably all injustice is stupid, but this wrong is so foolish, that +any man who thinks for one moment upon it will wonder how it came into +existence. + +I have written and spoken about it so often that I am almost ashamed of +returning to the subject. Yet all our penal authorities, from the Home +Secretary downwards, know all there is to be known about it. + +I am going, then, to reiterate a serious charge! It is this: no boy from +eight years of age up to sixteen, unless sound in mind and body, can +find entrance into any reformatory or industrial school! No matter how +often he falls into the hands of the police, or what charges may be +brought against him, not even if he is friendless and homeless. Again, +no youthful prisoner under twenty-one years of age, no matter how bad +his record, is allowed the benefit of Borstal training unless he, too, +be sound in mind and body. This is not only an enormity, but it is also +a great absurdity; for it ultimately fills our prisons with weaklings, +and assures the nation a continuous prison population. + +It seems very extraordinary that prison and prison alone should be +considered the one and only place suitable for the afflicted children of +the poor when they break any law, but so it is. + +The moral hump is tolerated, even patronised in reformative +institutions, but the physical hump, never! + +Cunning, dishonesty and rascality generally may be tolerated, but +feebleness of mind or infirmity of body never! All through our penal +administration and prison discipline this principle prevails, and is +strictly acted upon. + +Let me put it briefly; prison, and prison only, is the one and only +place for afflicted youth when it happens to break one or the other of +our laws. + +We have numerous institutions, half penal and half educative, that exist +absolutely for the purpose of receiving homeless, wayward or criminally +inclined youthful delinquents. + +These institutions, I say, although kept going from public funds, +refuse, absolutely refuse, to give training to any youthful delinquent +who suffers from physical infirmity or mental weakness. + +Think of it again! all youthful delinquents suffering from any infirmity +of body or mind, are refused reformative treatment or training in all +publicly supported institutions established for delinquent youth. + +He may be a thief, but if he is a hunchback they will have none of him. +He may be a danger to other children, if he has fits he will not be +received. He may rob the tills of small shopkeepers, but if he is lame, +half-blind, has heart disease, or if his brain is not sound and his body +strong, if he has lost a hand, got a wooden leg, if he suffers from any +disease or deprivation, prison, and prison only, is the place for him. +So to prison the afflicted one goes if over fourteen; if under fourteen +back to his home, to graduate in due time for prison. + +This is no exaggeration, it is a true picture, and this procedure has +gone on till our prisons have become filled with broken and hopeless +humanity. + +Could any one ever suggest a more disastrous course than this? Why, +decency, pity, or just a grain of common sense ought to teach us, and +would teach us if we thought for a moment, that it is not only wrong but +supremely foolish. + +For there is a very close connection between neglected infirmity, mental +or physical, and crime, a connection that ought to be considered, and +few questions demand more instant attention. Yet no question is more +persistently avoided and shelved by responsible authorities, for no +means of dealing with the defective in mind or body when they commit +offences against the law, other than by short terms of useless +imprisonment, have at present been attempted or suggested. It seems +strange that in Christianised, scientised England such procedure should +continue even for a day, but continue it does, and to-day it seems as +little likely to be altered as it was twenty years ago. Let me +then charge it upon our authorities that they are responsible for +perpetuating this great and cruel wrong. They are not in ignorance, +for the highest authorities know perfectly well that every year +many hundreds of helpless and hopeless degenerates or defectives are +committed to prison and tabulated as habitual criminals. Our authorities +even keep a list on which is placed the names of these unfortunates who, +after prolonged experience and careful medical examinations, are found +to be "unfit for prison discipline." + +This list is of portentous length, and to it four hundred more names are +added every year. This is of itself an acknowledgment by the State that +every year four hundred unfortunate human beings who cannot appreciate +the nature and quality of the acts they have committed, are treated, +punished and graded as criminals. Now the State knows perfectly well +that these unfortunates need pity, not punishment; the doctor, not the +warder; and some place where mild, sensible treatment and permanent +restraint can take the place of continual rounds of short imprisonment +alternated with equally senseless short spells of freedom. + +No! not freedom, but a choice between starvation, prison or workhouse. +Now this list grows, and will continue to grow just so long as the +present disastrous methods are persisted in! + +Why does this list grow? Because magistrates have no power to order +the detention of afflicted youthful offenders in any place other than +prison; they cannot commit to reformatory schools only on sufferance and +with the approval of the school managers, who demand healthy boys. + +So ultimately to prison the weaklings go, and an interminable round +of small sentences begins. But even in prison they are again punished +because of their afflictions, for only the sound in mind and body are +given the benefit of healthy life and sensible training. + +Consequently in prison they learn little that can be of service to +them; they only graduate in idleness, and prison having comforts but +no terrors, they quickly join the ranks of the habitues. When it is too +late they are "listed" as not suitable for prison treatment. Year by +year in a country of presumably sane people this deplorable condition +of things continues, and I am bold enough to say that there will be no +reduction in the number of our prison population till proper treatment, +training, and, if need be, detention, is provided in places other than +prison for our afflicted youthful population when they become offenders +against the law. + +But reformatory and industrial schools have not only power to refuse +youthful delinquents who are unsound in mind or body; they have also the +power to discharge as "unfit for training" any who have managed to +pass the doctor's examination, whose defects become apparent when under +detention. + +From the last Official Report of Reformatory Schools in England and +Wales I take the following figures-- + +During the years 1906-7-8 14 imbeciles (males) were discharged on +licence from reformatory schools; and during the same three years no +less than 93 (males) were discharged by the Home Secretary's permission +as "unfit for physical training." The 14 imbeciles in the Official +Report are classified as dead, and the 93 physically unfit are included +among them "not in regular employment." + +For the same period of years I find that 28 (girls) were discharged from +English reformatory schools as being physically unfit. + +The Official Report of Industrial Schools includes England, Wales and +Scotland, and for the same three years I find that 13 (males) were +discharged from industrial schools as being imbeciles, and 116 (males) +as being "unfit for physical training." + +Strange to say, in the Annual Report the physically unfit are included +among those "in casual employment," and the imbeciles are included among +the "dead." + +From the same Official Report we have the statement that in one year, +1909, in England and Scotland 991 (males) and 20 (females) who had been +discharged from reformatory schools were re-convicted and committed to +prison. + +How many of them were mentally or physically defective we have no means +of knowing, for no information is given upon this point; but there is +not the slightest doubt that a large number of them were weak-minded, +though not sufficiently so to allow them being classified as imbeciles. + +The terrible consequence of this procedure may also be gathered from +the Report of the Prison Commissioners for England and Wales 1910, from +which it appears that during the year 157 persons were certified +insane among the prisoners in the local and convict prisons, Borstal +institutions and of State reformatories, during the year ending March +31, 1910. + +In addition to the above there were 290 (213 males and 77 females) +cases of insanity in remanded and other unconvicted prisoners dealt +with during the year, including 14 males and 2 females found "insane on +arraignment," and 173 males and 65 females found insane on remand +from police or petty sessional courts. There were 30 (20 males and 10 +females) prisoners found "guilty" but "insane" at their trial. + +But the most illuminating report comes from the medical officer at +Parkhurst Convict Prison; these are his words-- + +Weak-minded convicts and others whose mental state is doubtful continue +to be collected here. The special rules for their management are adhered +to. The number classified as weak-minded at the end of the year was +117, but in addition there were 34 convicts attached to the parties of +weak-minded for further mental observation. + +"The conduct and tractability of these prisoners naturally vary with the +individual; a careful consideration of the history of each of the 117 +classified weak-minded convicts indicates that about 64 are fairly +easily managed, the remainder difficult to deal with, and a few are +dangerous characters. + +CLASSIFICATION OF WEAK-MINDED CONVICTS:-- + + (a) Congenital deficiency:- + 1. With epilepsy . . . . . . 9 + 2. Without epilepsy. . . . . . 46 + (b) Imperfectly developed stage of insanity 18 + (c) Mental debility after attack of insanity 8 + (d) Senility . . . . . . 2 + (e) Alcohol . . . . . . 6 + (f) Undefined . . . . . . 28 + ----- + 117 + ===== + +"The following is a list of the crimes of the classified weak-minded for +which they are undergoing their present sentences of penal servitude, +and the number convicted for each type of crime-- + + False pretences . . . . . . . 3 + Receiving stolen property . . . . . 3 + Larceny . . . . . . . 18 + Burglary . . . . . . . 7 + Shop-breaking, house-breaking, etc. . . . 19 + Uttering counterfeit coins . . . . . 1 + Threatening letters . . . . . . 4 + Threatening violence to superior officer. . 1 + Robbery with violence . . . . . . 3 + Manslaughter . . . . . . . 6 + Wounding with intent. . . . . . . 8 + Grievous bodily harm. . . . . . . 2 + Attempted murder . . . . . . . 1 + Wilful murder . . . . . . . . 7 + Rape . . . . . . . . . 5 + Carnal knowledge of little girls. . . . 8 + Arson . . . . . . . . . 15 + Cattle maiming . . . . . . . . 1 + Placing obstruction on railway . . . . 2 + Unnatural offences . . . . . . . 3 + +"During the year 35 convicts were certified insane; of these 27 were +removed to the criminal asylum at Parkhurst, 2 to Broadmoor asylum, 3 to +county or borough asylums, and 3 remained in the prison infirmary at the +end of the year. + +"The average length of the last sentences for which these unfortunates +were committed was seven years' penal servitude each. That their mental +condition was not temporary but permanent may be gathered from their +educational attainments, for 12 had no education at all, 18 were only in +Standard I, 29 in Standard II, 15 in Standard III, and 12 others were of +poor education." + +The statement that the average length of the last sentences of these +unfortunates was seven years' penal servitude is appalling. It ought to +astound us! But no one seems to care. Penal servitude is good enough +for them. Perhaps it is! But it ought to be called by another name, +and legally signify the inmates to be "patients," not criminals. Let us +visit a prison where we shall find a sufficient number of prisoners to +enable us to form an idea as to their physical and mental condition. + +Come, then, on Sunday morning into a famous prison that long stood as a +model to the world. We are going to morning service, when we shall have +an opportunity of seeing face to face eight hundred male prisoners. But +before we enter the chapel, let us walk round the hospital and see those +who are on the sick list. + +One look as we enter the ward convinced us that some are lying there +whose only chance of freedom is through the gates of death. + +In yonder corner lies a young man of twenty-one years; the governor +tells us that he is friendless, homeless, and a hopeless consumptive. He +says, "We would have sent him out, but he has nowhere to go, for he +does not know his parish, so he must lie here till he dies, unless his +sentence expires first." + +We speak to the young man a few kindly words, but he turns his face from +us, and of his history we learn nothing. + +On another bed we find an old man whose days also will be short; of +his history we learn much, for he has spent a great deal of his life in +prison, and now, aged, feeble and broken, there is nothing before him +but death or continued imprisonment. We pass by other beds on which +prisoners not so hopeless in health are lying. We see what is the matter +with most of them: they are not strong enough for ordinary prison work, +or indeed for any kind of vigorous labour. So they remain in prison well +tended in the hospital. But some of them pass into freedom without +the slightest ability or chance of getting a living otherwise than by +begging or stealing. + +What strikes us most about the inmates of the prison hospital is the +certainty that many of the prisoners have not sufficient health and +strength to enable them to be useful citizens. + +So we pass through the hospital into the chapel, and find eight hundred +prisoners before us. The organ plays, the morning service is read by the +chaplain; the prisoners sing, and as they sing there is such a volume of +sound that we cannot fail to be touched with it. + +We enter the pulpit, and as we stand and look down upon that sea of +upturned faces, we see a sight that is not likely to be forgotten. +There, in front of us, right underneath the pulpit, are rows of young +men under twenty-two years of age; we look at them; they are all clad in +khaki, and we take a mental sketch of them. + +One or two among them are finely developed young men, but the great +bulk we see are small in stature and weak in body. Some of them have +a hopeless expression of countenance that tells us of moral and mental +weakness. + +We note that most of them can have had but little chance in life, and +that their physical or mental infirmities come from no fault of their +own. They have all been to school; they have started in life, if it can +be called starting, as errand boys, paper sellers in the streets, or +as street merchants of some description. They have grown into early +manhood, but they have not increased in wisdom or stature. They have +learned no occupation, trade or handicraft; they have passed from school +age to early manhood without discipline, decent homes or technical +training. + +When at liberty their homes are lodging-houses or even less desirable +places. So they pass from the streets to the police, from police-courts +to prison, with positive regularity. + +They behave themselves in prison, they obey orders, they do the bit +of work that is required of them, they eat the food, and they sleep +interminable hours away. + +At the back of the young men we see row after row of older men, and +their khaki clothing and broad arrows produce a strange impression upon +us; but what impresses us most is the facial and physical appearance of +the prisoners. + +Cripples are there, twisted bodies are there, one-armed men are there, +and blind men are there. Here and there we see a healthy man, with +vigour and strength written on his face; but the great mass of faces +strikes us with dismay, and we feel at once that most of them are +handicapped In life, and demand pity rather than vengeance. + +We know that they are not as other men, and we realise that their +afflictions more than their sins are responsible for their presence in +that doleful assembly. + +Yet some of them are clever in crime, and many of them persistent in +wrong-doing, but their afflictions were neglected in days when those +afflictions should have been a passport to the pity and care of the +community. + +We see men who have grown old in different prisons, and we know that +position in social and industrial life is impossible for them. + +We see a number whom it is evident are not mentally responsible, for +whom there is no place but the workhouse or prison; yet we realise that, +old as they are, the day of liberty must come once more, and they will +be free to starve or steal! + +We know that there are some epileptics among them, and that their dread +complaint has caused them to commit acts of violence. + +We see among them men of education that have made war upon society. +Drunkards, too, are there, and we know that their overmastering passion +will demand gratification when once again the opportunity of indulging +in its presented to them. So we look at this strange mass of humanity, +and as we look a mist comes over our eyes, and we feel a choking +sensation in our throats. + +But we look again, and see that few throughout this great assembly show +any sense of sorrow or shame. As we speak to them of hope, gladness, of +manliness, and of the dignity of life, we feel that we are preaching to +an east wind. Come round the same prison with me on a week-day; in +one part we find a number of men seated about six feet from each other +making baskets; warders are placed on pedestals here and there to keep +oversight. + +We walk past them, and notice their slow movements and see hopelessness +written all over them. They are working "in association," they are +under "observation," which, the governor tells us, means that they are +suspected of either madness or mental deficiency. + +As we look at them we are quite satisfied that this suspicion is true, +and that, if not absolutely mad, they are mentally deficient. + +If absolute madness be detected, they will be sent to asylums. If +feeble-mindedness be proved, they will again be set at liberty. Their +names will be placed on a list, and they will be declared "unfit +for prison discipline," but nothing more will be done. They will be +discharged to prowl about in the underworld, to commit other criminal +acts and to be returned again and again to prison, to live out hopeless +lives. + +And there is another cause, almost as prolific in producing a prison +population. For while the State has been, and still is, ready to thrust +afflicted youth into prison, it has been, and still is, equally ready to +thrust into prison the half-educated, half-fed, and half-employed young +people who break its laws or by-laws. It is true that the State in its +irony allows them the option of a fine; but the law might as well ask +the youths of the underworld to pay ten pounds as ask them to pay ten +shillings; nor can they procure all at once the smaller sum, so to +prison hundreds of lads are sent. + +Does it ever occur to our esteemed authorities that this is a most +dangerous procedure! What good can possibly come either to the State or +to the youthful offender? + +What are the offences of these boys? Disorder in the streets, loitering +at railway stations, playing a game of chance called "pitch and toss," +of which I have something to say in another chapter, gambling with a +penny pack of cards, playing tip-cat, kicking a football, made of old +newspapers maybe, playing cricket, throwing stones, using a catapult, +bathing in a canal, and a hundred similar things are all deemed worthy +of imprisonment, if committed by the youngsters of the world below the +line. + +Thousands of lads have had their first experience of prison for +trumpery offences that are natural to the boys of the poor. But a first +experience of prison is to them a pleasant surprise. They are astonished +to find that prison is not "half a bad place." They do not object to +going there again, not they! Why? Because the conditions of prison life +are better, as they need to be, than the conditions of their own homes. +The food is better, the lodging is better, the bed is decidedly better, +and as to the work, why, they have none worthy of the name to do. They +lose nothing but their liberty, and they can stand that for a week or +two, what matters! + +Well, something does matter, for they lose three other things of +great moment to them if they only knew; but they don't know, and our +authorities evidently consider these three things of no moment. What do +they lose? First, their fear of prison; secondly, their little bit +of character; thirdly, their work, if they have any. What eventuates? +Idleness, hooliganism and repeated imprisonments for petty crime, until +something more serious happens, and then longer sentences. Such is the +progress of hundreds whom statisticians love to call "recidivists." + +Am I wrong when I say that the State has been too ready, too prompt in +sending the youths of the ignorant poor to prison? Am I wrong in saying +that the State has been playing its "trump ace" too soon, and that it +ought to have kept imprisonment up its sleeve a little longer? These +lads, having been in prison, know, and their companions know, too, the +worst that can happen to them when they commit real crime. Prison has +done its worst, and it cannot hurt them. + +If prisons there must be, am I wrong in contending that they should be +reserved for the perpetrators of real and serious crime; and that the +punishment, if there is to be punishment, should be certain, dignified +and severe, educational and reformative? At present it includes none of +these qualities. + +To such a length has the imprisonment of youths for trumpery offences +gone, not only in London, but throughout the country, that visiting +justices of my acquaintance have spent a great deal of money in part +paying the fines of youths imprisoned under such conditions, that they +might be released at once. Here we have a curious state of affairs, +magistrates generally committing youths to prison in default for +trumpery offences, and other magistrates searching prisons for +imprisoned youths, paying their fines, setting them free, and sending on +full details to the Home Secretary. + +It would be interesting to know how many "cases" of this kind have been +reported to the Home Secretary during the last few years. Time after +time the governors of our prisons have called attention to this evil in +their annual reports. They know perfectly well the disaster that attends +the needless imprisonment of boys, and it worries them. They treat +the boys very kindly, all honour to them! But even kindness to young +prisoners has its dangers, and every governor is able to tell of the +constant return of youthful prisoners. + +I do not like the "birch" or corporal punishment at all. I do not +advocate it, but I am certain that the demoralising effect of a few' +days' imprisonment is far in excess of the demoralisation that follows a +reasonable application of the birch. + +But the birch cannot be applied to lads over fourteen years of age, so +it would be well to abolish it altogether, except in special cases, +and for these the age might with advantage be extended. And, after all, +imprisonment itself is physical punishment and a continued assault +upon the body. But why imprison at all for such cases? We talk about +imprisonment for debt; this is imprisonment for debt with a vengeance. +Look! two lads are charged with one offence or two similar offences; +one boy is from the upperworld, the other from below the line. The same +magistrate fines the two boys an equal amount; the one boy pays, or +his friends pay; but the other goes of a certainty to prison. Is it not +absurd! rather, is it not unjust? + +But whether it is absurd or unjust the result is certain--mathematically +certain--in the development of a prison population. + +During my police-court days I have seen hundreds of youths sitting +crying in their cells consumed with fear, waiting their first experience +of prison; I have seen their terror when first entering the prison van, +and I know that when entering the prison portals their terror increased. +But it soon vanished, for I have never seen boys cry, or show any signs +of fear when going to prison for the second time. The reason for this +I have already given: "fear of the unknown" has been removed. This fear +may not be a very noble characteristic, but it is part of us, and it has +a useful place, especially where penalties are likely to be incurred. + +For many years I have been protesting against this needless imprisonment +of youths, and now it has become part of my duty to visit prisons and to +talk to youthful prisoners, I see the wholesale evil that attends this +method of dealing with youthful offenders. And the same evils attend, +though to perhaps a less degree, the prompt imprisonment of adults, who +are unable to pay forthwith fines that have been imposed upon them. + +It is always the poor, the very poor, the people below the line that +suffer in this direction. Doubtless they merit some correction, and the +magistrates consider that fines of ten shillings are appropriate, but +then they thoughtlessly add "or seven days." + +Think of the folly of it! because a man cannot pay a few shillings +down, the State conveys him to prison and puts the community to the +very considerable expense of keeping him. The law has fined him, but he +cannot pay then, so the law turns round and fines the community. + +What sense, decency, or profit can there possibly be in committing women +to prison, even for drunkenness, for three, five or seven days? How can +it profit either the State or the woman? It only serves to familiarise +her with prison. + +I could laugh at it, were it not so serious. Just look at this +absurdity! A woman gets drunk on Thursday, she is charged on Friday. +"Five shillings, or three days!" On Friday afternoon she enters prison, +for the clerk has made out a "commitment," and the gaoler has handed +her into the prison van. Her "commitment" is handed to the prison +authorities; it is tabulated, so is she; but at nine o'clock next +morning she is discharged from prison, for the law reckons every part of +a day to be a complete day; and the law also says that there must be no +discharge from prison on a Sunday, and to keep her till Monday would be +illegal, for it would be "four days." How small, how disastrous, and how +expensive it is! + +If offenders, young or old, must be punished, let them be punished +decently. If they ought to be sent to prison, to prison send them. +But if their petty offences can be expunged by the payment of a few +shillings, why not give them a little time to pay those fines? Such +a course would stop for ever the miserable, deadly round of short +expensive imprisonments. I have approached succeeding Home Secretaries +upon this matter till I am tired; succeeding Home Secretaries have sent +memorandums and recommendations to courts of summary jurisdiction till, +I expect, they are tired, for generally they have had no effect in +mitigating the evil. + +Magistrates have the power to grant time for the payment of fines, but +it is optional, not imperative. It is high time for a change, and surely +it will come, for the absurdity cannot continue. + +Surely every English man and woman who possesses a settled home ought +to have, and must have, the legal right of a few days' grace in which to +pay his or her fine. And every youthful offender ought to have the same +right, also, even if he paid by instalments. + +But at present it is so much easier, and therefore so much better, to +thrust the underworld, youthful and adult, into prison and have done +with them, than it is to pursue a sane but a little bit troublesome +method that would keep thousands of the poor from ever entering prison. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. UNEMPLOYED AND UNEMPLOYABLE + +My life has been one of activity; from an early age I have known what it +was to be constantly at work. To have the certainty of regular work, and +to have the discipline of constant duty, seem to me an ideal state +for mind and body. Labour, we are sometimes told, is one of God's +chastisements upon a fallen race; I believe it to be one of our choicest +blessings. I can conceive only one greater tragedy than the man who +has nothing to do, and that is the man who, earnestly longing for work, +seeks it day by day, and fails to find it. + +Imagine his position, and imagine also, if you possibly can, the great +qualities that are demanded if such a man is to go through a lengthened +period of unemployment without losing his dignity, his manhood and his +desire for work. + +I can tell at a glance the man who has had this experience. There is +something about his face that proclaims his hopelessness, the very +poise of his body and his peculiar measured step tell that his heart is +utterly unexpectant. To-morrow morning, and every morning, thousands +of men will rise early, even before the sun, and set out on their +weary tramp and hopeless search for work. To-morrow morning, and every +morning, thousands of men will be waiting at various dock-gates for a +chance of obtaining a few hours' hard work. And while these wait, others +tramp, seeking and asking for work. + +Wives may be ill at home, children may be wanting food and clothing, but +every day thousands of husbands set out on the interminable search for +work, and every day return disappointed. Small wonder that some of them +descend to a lower grade and in addition to being unemployed, become +unemployable. + +Look at those thousands of men clamouring daily at our dock-gates; about +one-half of them will obtain a few hours' hard work, but the other half +will go hopeless away. They will gather some courage during the night, +for the next morning they will find their way to, and be knocking once +more at, the same dock-gates. It takes sterling qualities to endure this +life, and there can be no greater hero than the man who goes through it +and still retains manhood. + +But it would be more than a miracle if tens of thousands of men could +live this life without many of them becoming wastrels, for it is certain +that a life of unemployment is dangerous to manhood, to character and +health. + +As a matter of fact the ranks of the utterly submerged are being +constantly recruited from the ranks of those who have but casual +work. During winter the existence of the unemployed is more amply +demonstrated, for then we are called upon to witness the most depressing +of all London's sights, a parade of the unemployed. I never see one +without experiencing strange and mixed emotions. Let me picture a +parade, for where I live they are numerous, and at least once a week one +will pass my window. + +I hear the doleful strains of a tin whistle accompanied with a +rub-a-dub-dub of a kettledrum that has known its best days, and whose +sound is as doleful as that of the whistle. I know what is coming, and, +though I have seen it many times, it has still a fascination for me, +so I stand at my window and watch. I see two men carrying a dilapidated +banner, on which is inscribed two words, "The Unemployed." The man with +the tin whistle and the man with the drum follow the banner, and behind +them is a company of men marching four abreast. Two policemen on the +pavement keep pace with the head of the procession, and two others +perform a similar duty at the end of it. + +On the pavement are a number of men with collecting boxes, ready to +receive any contribution that charitably inclined people may bestow. +They do not knock at any door, but they stand for a moment and rattle +their boxes in front of every window. + +The sound of the whistle and the drum, and the rattle of boxes is, +in all conscience, depressing enough, but one glimpse at the men is +infinitely more so. + +Most of them are below the average height and bulk. Their hands are in +their trousers pockets, their shoulders are up, but their heads are +bent downwards as if they were half ashamed of their job. A peculiar +slouching gait is characteristic of the whole company, and I look in +vain for a firm step, an upright carriage, and for some signs of alert +manhood. As they pass slowly by I see that some are old, but I also see +that the majority of them are comparatively young, and that many of them +cannot be more than thirty years of age. But whether young or old, I +am conscious of the fact that few of them are possessed of strength, +ability and grit. There are no artisans or craftsmen among them, and +stalwart labourers are not in evidence. + +Pitiful as the procession is, I know that it does not represent the +genuine and struggling unemployed. They pass slowly by and go from +street to street. So they will parade throughout the livelong day. The +police will accompany them, and will see them disbanded when the evening +closes in. The boxes will be emptied, the contents tabulated, and a pro +rata division will be made, after which the processionists will go home +and remain unemployed till the next weekly parade comes round. + +Unemployable! yes, but so much the greater pity; and so much more +difficult the problem, for they represent a very large class, and it is +to be feared a growing class of the manhood of London's underworld. + +We cannot blame them for their physical inferiority, nor for their lack +of ability and grit. To expect them to exhibit great qualities would +be absurd. They are what they are, and a wise country would ponder the +causes that lead to such decadent manhood. During my prison lectures +I have been frequently struck with the mean size and appearance of the +prisoners under twenty-two years of age, who are so numerous in our +London prisons. From many conversations with them I have learned that +lack of physical strength means also lack of mental and moral strength, +and lack of honest aspiration, too! I am confirmed in this judgment by +a statement that appeared in the annual report of the Prison +Commissioners, who state that some years ago they adapted the plan in +Pentonville prison of weighing and measuring all the prisoners under the +age of twenty-two. + +The result I will tell in their own words: "As a class they are +two-and-a-half inches below the average height of the general youthful +population of the same age, and weigh approximately fourteen pounds +less." + +Here, then, we have an official proof of physical decadence, and of its +connection with prison life. For these young men, so continuously +in prison, grow into what should be manhood without any desire or +qualification for robust industrial life. + +I never speak to them without feeling a deep pity. But as it is my +business to interest them, I try to learn something from them in return, +as the following illustration will show. + +I had been giving a course of lectures on industrial life to the young +prisoners in Wormwood Scrubbs, who numbered over three hundred. On my +last visit I interrogated them as follows-- + +"Stand up those of you that have had regular or continuous work." None +of them stood up! "Stand up those of you who have been apprentices." +None of them stood up! "Stand up those of you who sold papers in the +street before you left school." Twenty-five responded! "How many sold +other things in the streets before leaving school?" Thirty! Seventeen +others sold papers after leaving school, and thirty-eight sold various +articles. Altogether I found that nearly two hundred had been in street +occupations. + +To my final question: "How many of you have met me in other prisons?" +Thirty-five stood up! I give these particulars because I think my +readers will realise the bearing they have on unemployment. + +Surely it is obvious that if we continue to have a growing number of +physically inferior young men, who acquire no technical skill and have +not the slightest industrial training, that we shall continue to have an +increasing number of unemployed unemployables. + + +CHAPTER XIV. SUGGESTIONS + +I propose in this last chapter to make some suggestions, which, I +venture to hope, will be found worthy of consideration and adoption. + +The causes of so much misery, suffering and poverty in a rich and +self-governing country are numerous; and every cause needs a separate +consideration and remedy. + +There is no royal road by which the underworld people can ascend to +the upperworld; there can be no specific for healing all the sores from +which humanity suffers. + +Our complex civilisation, our industrial methods, our strange social +system, combined with the varied characteristics mental and physical +of individuals, make social salvation for the mass difficult and quite +impossible for many. + +I shall have written with very little effect if I have not shown what +some of these individual characteristics are. They are strange, powerful +and extraordinary. So very mixed, even in one individual, that while +sometimes they inspire hope, at others they provoke despair. + +If we couple the difficulties of individual character with the social, +industrial and economic difficulties, we see at once how great the +problem is. + +We must admit, and we ought frankly to admit the truth, and to face it, +that there exists a very large army of people that cannot be socially +saved. What is more important, they do not want to be saved, and will +not be saved if they can avoid it. Their great desire is to be left +alone, to be allowed to live where and how they like. + +For these people there must be, there will be, and at no far distant +date, detention, segregation and classification. We must let them +quietly die out, for it is not only folly, but suicidal folly to allow +them to continue and to perpetuate. + +But we are often told that "Heaven helps those who help themselves"; +in fact, we have been told it so often that we have come to believe it, +and, what is worse, we religiously or irreligiously act upon it when +dealing with those below the line. + +If any serious attempt is ever made to lessen the number of the homeless +and destitute, if that attempt is to have any chance of success, it +will, I am sure, be necessary to make an alteration in the adage and a +reversal of our present methods. + +If the adage ran, "Heaven helps those who cannot help themselves," and +if we all placed ourselves on the side of Heaven, the present abominable +and distressing state of affairs would not endure for a month. + +Now I charge it upon the State and local authorities that they avoid +their responsibilities to those who most sorely need their help, and +who, too, have the greatest claim upon their pity and protecting care. +Sometimes those claims are dimly recognised, and half-hearted efforts +are made to care for the unfortunate for a short space of time, and to +protect them for a limited period. + +But these attempts only serve to show the futility of the efforts, for +the unfortunates are released from protective care at the very time when +care and protection should become more effectual and permanent. + +It is comforting to know that we have in London special schools for +afflicted or defective children. Day by day hundreds of children are +taken to these schools, where genuine efforts are made to instruct them +and to develop their limited powers. But eight hundred children leave +these schools every year; in five years four thousand afflicted children +leave these schools. Leave the schools to live in the underworld of +London, and leave, too, just at the age when protection is urgently +needed. For adolescence brings new passions that need either control or +prohibition. + +I want my reader's imagination to dwell for a moment on these four +thousand defectives that leave our special schools every five years; +I want them to ask themselves what becomes of these children, and to +remember that what holds good with London's special schools, holds good +with regard to all other special schools our country over. + +These young people grow into manhood and womanhood without the +possibility of growing in wisdom or skill. Few, very few of them, +have the slightest chance of becoming self-reliant or self-supporting; +ultimately they form a not inconsiderable proportion of the hopeless. + +Philanthropic societies receive some of them, workhouses receive others, +but these institutions have not, nor do they wish to have, any power of +permanent detention, the cost would be too great. Sooner or later the +greater part of them become a costly burden upon the community, and +an eyesore to humanity. Many of them live nomadic lives, and make +occasional use of workhouses and similar institutions when the weather +is bad, after which they return to their uncontrolled existence. +Feeble-minded and defective women return again and again to the +maternity wards to deposit other burdens upon the ratepayers and to add +to the number of their kind. + +But the nation has begun to realise this costly absurdity of leaving +this army of irresponsibles in possession of uncontrolled liberty. The +Royal Commission on the Care and Control of the Feeble-minded, after +sitting for four years, has made its report. This report is a terrible +document and an awful indictment of our neglect. + +The commissioners tell us that on January 1st, 1906, there were in +England and Wales 149,628 idiots, imbeciles, and feeble-minded; in +addition there were on the same date 121,079 persons suffering from some +kind of insanity or dementia. So that the total number of those who came +within the scope of the inquiry was no less than 271,607, or 1 in every +120 of the whole population. + +Of the persons suffering from mental defect, i.e. feeble-minded, +imbeciles, etc., one-third were supported entirely at the public cost in +workhouses, asylums, prisons, etc. + +The report does not tell us much about the remaining two-thirds; but +those of us who have experience know only too well what becomes of them, +and are painfully acquainted with the hopelessness of their lives. + +Here, then, is my first suggestion--a national plan for the permanent +detention, segregation and control of all persons who are indisputably +feeble-minded. Surely this must be the duty of the State, for it is +impossible that philanthropic societies can deal permanently with them. + +We must catch them young; we must make them happy, for they have +capabilities for childlike happiness, and we must make their lives +as useful as possible. But we must no longer allow them the curse of +uncontrolled liberty. + +Again, no boy should be discharged from reformatory or industrial +schools as "unfit for training" unless passed on to some institution +suitable to his age and condition. If we have no such institutions, +as of course we have not, then the State must provide them. And the +magistrates must have the power to commit boys and girls who are charged +before them to suitable industrial schools or reformatories as freely, +as certainly, as unquestioned, and as definitely as they now commit them +to prison. + +At present magistrates have not this power, for though, as a matter +of course, these institutions receive numbers of boys and girls from +police-courts, the institutions have the power to Refuse, to grant +"licences" or to "discharge." So it happens that the meshes of the net +are large enough to allow those that ought to be detained to go free. + +No one can possibly doubt that a provision of this character would +largely diminish the number of those that become homeless vagrants. + +But I proceed to my second suggestion--the detention and segregation +of all professional tramps. If it is intolerable that an army of poor +afflicted human beings should live homeless and nomadic lives, it +is still more intolerable that an army of men and women who are not +deficient in intelligence, and who are possessed of fairly healthy +bodies should, in these days, be allowed to live as our professional +tramps live. + +I have already spoken of the fascination attached to a life of +irresponsible liberty. The wind on the heath, the field and meadow +glistening with dew or sparkling with flowers, the singing of the bird, +the joy of life, and no rent day coming round, who would not be a tramp! +Perhaps our professional tramps think nothing of these things, for +to eat, to sleep, to be free of work, to be uncontrolled, to have no +anxieties, save the gratification of animal demands and animal passions, +is the perfection of life for thousands of our fellow men and women. + +Is this kind of life to be permitted? Every sensible person will surely +say that it ought not to be permitted. Yet the number of people who +attach themselves to this life continually increases, for year by year +the prison commissioners tell us that the number of persons imprisoned +for vagrancy, sleeping out, indecency, etc., continues to increase, and +that short terms of imprisonment only serve as periods of recuperation +for them, for in prison they are healed of their sores and cleansed from +their vermin. + +With every decent fellow who tramps in search of work we must have the +greatest sympathy, but for professional tramps we must provide very +simply. Most of these men, women and children find their way into +prison, workhouses and casual wards at some time or other. When the man +gets into prison, the woman and children go into the nearest workhouse. +When the man is released from prison he finds the woman and children +waiting for him, and away they go refreshed and cleansed by prison and +workhouse treatment. + +We must stop for ever this costly and disastrous course of life. How? +By establishing in every county and under county authorities, or, if +necessary, by a combination of counties, special colonies for vagrants, +one for males and another for females. Every vagrant who could not give +proof that he had some definite object in tramping must be committed to +these colonies and detained, till such time as definite occupation or +home be found for him. + +Here they should live and work, practically earning their food and +clothing; their lives should be made clean and decent, and certainly +economical. For these colonies there must be of course State aid. + +The children must be adopted by the board of guardians or education +authorities and trained in small homes outside the workhouse gates this +should be compulsory. + +These two plans would certainly clear away the worst and most hopeless +tribes of nomads, and though for a short time they would impose +considerable pecuniary obligations upon us, yet we should profit even +financially in the near future, and, best of all, should prevent a +second generation arising to fill the place of those detained. + +The same methods should be adopted with the wretched mass of humanity +that crowds nightly on the Thames Embankment. Philanthropy is worse than +useless with the great majority of these people. Hot soup in the small +hours of a cold morning is doubtless comforting to them, and if the +night is wet, foggy, etc., a cover for a few hours is doubtless a +luxury. They drink the soup, they take advantage of the cover, and go +away, to return at night for more soup and still another cover. Oh, the +folly of it all! + +We must have shelters for them, but the County Council must provide +them. Large, clean and healthy places into which, night by night, the +human derelicts from the streets should be taken by special police. + +But there should be no release with the morning light, but detention +while full inquiries are made regarding them. Friends would doubtless +come forward to help many, but the remainder should be classified +according to age and physical and mental condition, and released only +when some satisfactory place or occupation is forthcoming for them. + +The nightly condition of the Embankment is not only disgraceful, but it +is dangerous to the health and wellbeing of the community. + +It is almost inconceivable that we should allow those parts of London +which are specially adapted for the convenience of the public to be +monopolised by a mass of diseased and unclean humanity. If we would +but act sensibly with these classes, I am sure we could then deal in an +effectual manner with that portion of the nomads for whom there is hope. + +If the vast amount of money that is poured out in the vain effort to +help those whom it is impossible to help was devoted to those that are +helpable, the difficulty would be solved. + +So I would suggest, and it is no new suggestion, that all philanthropic +societies that deal with the submerged should unite and co-ordinate +with the authorities. That private individuals who have money, time +or ability at their command should unite with them. That one great +all-embracing organisation, empowered and aided by the State, should +be formed, to which the man, woman or family that is overtaken or +overwhelmed by misfortune could turn in time of their need with the +assurance that their needs would be sympathetically considered and their +requirements wisely attended to. + +An organisation of this description would prevent tens of thousands from +becoming vagrants, and a world of misery and unspeakable squalor would +be prevented. + +The recent Report on the Poor Law foreshadows an effort of this +description, and in Germany this method is tried with undoubted success. + +Some day we shall try it, but that day will not come till we have +realised how futile, how expensive our present methods are. The Poor +Law system needs recasting. Charity must be divorced from religion. +Philanthropic and semi-religious organisations must be separated from +their commercial instincts and commercial greed. The workhouse, the +prison, the Church Army and the Salvation Army's shelters and labour +homes must no longer form the circle round which so many hopelessly +wander. + +No man or set of men must be considered the saviour of the poor, and +though much knowledge will be required, it perhaps will be well not to +have too much. + +Above all, the desire to prevent, rather than the desire to restore, +must be the aim of the organisation which should embrace every parish in +our land. + +Finally, and in a few words, my methods would be detention and +protective care for the afflicted or defective, detention and +segregation for the tramps, and a great charitable State-aided +organisation to deal with the unfortunate. + +Tramps we shall continue to have, but there need be nothing degrading +about them, if only the professional element can be eliminated. + +Labour exchanges are doing a splendid work for the genuine working man +whose labour must often be migratory. But every labour exchange should +have its clean lodging-house, in which the decent fellows who want +work, and are fitted for work, may stay for a night, and thus avoid the +contamination attending the common lodging-houses or the degradation and +detention attending casual wards. + +There exists, I am sure, great possibilities for good in labour +exchanges, if, and if only, their services can be devoted to the +genuinely unemployed. + +Already I have said they are doing much, and one of the most useful +things they do is the advancement of rail-fares to men when work is +obtained at a distance. A development in this direction will do much +to end the disasters that attend decent fellows when they go on tramp. +Migratory labour is unfortunately an absolute necessity, for our +industrial and commercial life demand it, and almost depend upon it. +The men who supply that want are quite as useful citizens as the men +who have permanent and settled work. But their lives are subject to +many dangers, temptations, and privations from which they ought to be +delivered. + +The more I reflect upon the present methods for dealing with +professional tramps, the more I am persuaded that these methods are +foolish and extravagant. But the more I reflect on the life of the +genuinely unemployed that earnestly desire work and are compelled +to tramp in search of it, the more I am persuaded that such life is +attended by many dangers. The probability being that if the tramp and +search be often repeated or long-continued, the desire for, and the +ability to undergo, regular work will disappear. + +But physical and mental inferiority, together with the absence of moral +purpose, have a great deal to say with regard to the number of our +unemployed. + +If you ask me the source of this stunted manhood, I point you to the +narrow streets of the underworld. Thence they issue, and thence alone. + +Do you ask the cause? The causes are many! First and foremost stands +that all-pervading cause--the housing of the poor. Who can enumerate +the thousands that have breathed the fetid air of the miserable +dwelling-places in our slums? Who dare picture how they live and sleep, +as they lie, unripe sex with sex, for mutual taint? I dare not, and if I +did no publisher could print it. + +Who dare describe the life of a mother-wife, whose husband and children +have become dependent upon her earnings! I dare not! Who dare describe +the exact life and doings of four families living in a little house +intended for one family? Who can describe the life, speech, actions +and atmosphere of such places? I cannot, for the task would be too +disgusting! + +For tens of thousands of people are allowed, or compelled, to live and +die under those conditions. How can vigorous manhood or pure womanhood +come out of them? Ought we to expect, have we any right to expect, +manhood and womanhood born and bred under such conditions to be other +than blighted? + +Whether we expect it or not matters but little, for we have this mass +of blighted humanity with us, and, like an old man of the sea, it is a +burden upon our back, a burden that is not easily got rid of. + +What are we doing with this burden in the present? How are we going +to prevent it in the future? are two serious questions that must be +answered, and quickly, too, or something worse will happen to us. + +The authorities must see to it at once that children shall have as much +air and breathing space in their homes by night as they have in the +schools by day. + +What sense can there be in demanding and compelling a certain amount +of air space in places where children are detained for five and a half +hours, and then allow those children to stew in apologies for rooms, +where the atmosphere is vile beyond description, and where they are +crowded indiscriminately for the remaining hours? + +This is the question of the day and the hour. Drink, foreign invasion, +the House of Lords or the House of Commons, Tariff Reform or Free Trade, +none of these questions, no, nor the whole lot of them combined, compare +for one moment in importance with this one awful question. + +Give the poor good airy housing at a reasonable rent, and half the +difficulties against which our nation runs its thick head would +disappear. Hospitals and prisons would disappear too as if by magic, for +it is to these places that the smitten manhood finds its way. + +I know it is a big question! But it is a question that has got to be +solved, and in solving it some of our famous and cherished notions will +have to go. Every house, no matter to whom it belongs, or who holds the +lease, who lets or sub-lets, every inhabited house must be licensed by +the local authorities for a certain number of inmates, so many and no +more; a maximum, but no minimum. + +Local authorities even now have great powers concerning construction, +drains, etc. Let them now be empowered to make stringent rules about +habitations other than their municipal houses. The piggeries misnamed +lodging-houses, the common shelters, etc., are inspected and licensed +for a certain number of inmates; it is high time that this was done with +the wretched houses in which the poor live. + +Oh, the irony of it! Idle tramps must not be crowded, but the children +of the poor may be crowded to suffocation. This must surely stop; if +not, it will stop us! Again I say, that local authorities must have +the power to decide the number of inhabitants that any house shall +accommodate, and license it accordingly, and of course have legal power +to enforce their decision. + +The time has come for a thorough investigation. I would have every room +in every house visited by properly appointed officers. I would have +every detail as to size of room, number of persons and children, rent +paid, etc., etc.; I would have its conditions and fitness for human +habitation inquired into and reported upon. + +I would miss no house, I would excuse none. A standard should be set as +to the condition and position of every house, and the number it might be +allowed to accommodate. This would bring many dark things into the light +of day, and I am afraid the reputation of many respectable people would +suffer, and their pockets too, although they tell us that they "have but +a life-interest" in the pestiferous places. But if we drive people out +of these places, where will they go? + +Well, out they must go! and it is certain that there is at present no +place for them! + +Places must be prepared for them, and local authorities must prepare +them. Let them address themselves to this matter and no longer shirk +their duty with regard to the housing of the poor. Let them stop for +ever the miserable pretence of housing the poor that they at present +pursue. For be it known that they house "respectable" people only, those +that have limited families and can pay a high rental. + +If local authorities cannot do it, then the State must step in and +help them, for it must be done. It seems little use waiting for private +speculation or philanthropic trusts to show us the way in this matter, +for both want and expect too high an interest for their outlay. But a +good return will assuredly be forthcoming if the evil be tackled in a +sensible way. + +Let no one be downhearted about new schemes for housing the poor not +paying! Why, everything connected with the poor from the cradle to the +grave is a source of good profit to some one, if not to themselves. + +Let a housing plan be big enough and simple enough, and I am certain +that it will pay even when it provides for the very poor. But old ideals +will have to be forsaken and new ones substituted. + +I have for many years considered this question very deeply, and from +the side of the very poor. I think that I know how the difficulty can +be met, and I am prepared to place my suggestions for housing the poor +before any responsible person or authority who would care to consider +the matter. + +Perhaps it is due to the public to say here that one of the greatest +sorrows of my life was my inability to make good a scheme that a rich +friend and myself formulated some years ago. This failure was due to the +serious illness of my friend, and I hope that it will yet materialise. + +But, in addition to the housing, there are other matters which affect +the vigour and virility of the poor. School days must be extended till +the age of sixteen. Municipal playgrounds open in the evening must be +established. If boys and girls are kept at school till sixteen, older +and weaker people will be able to get work which these boys have, but +ought not to have. The nation demands a vigorous manhood, but the nation +cannot have it without some sacrifice, which means doing without child +labour, for child labour is the destruction of virile manhood. + +Emigration is often looked upon as the great specific. But the +multiplication of agencies for exporting the young, the healthy, and +the strong to the colonies causes me some alarm. For emigration as at +present conducted certainly does not lessen the number of the unfit and +the helpless. + +It must be apparent to any one who thinks seriously upon this matter +that a continuance of the present methods is bound to entail disastrous +consequences, and to promote racial decay at home. The problem of the +degenerates, the physical and mental weaklings is already a pressing +national question. But serious as the question is at the present moment, +it is but light in its intensity compared with what it must be in +the near future, unless we change our methods. One fact ought to +be definitely understood and seriously pondered, and it is this: no +emigration agency, no board of guardians, no church organisation and no +human salvage organisation emigrates or assists to emigrate young +people of either sex who cannot pass a severe medical examination and +be declared mentally and physically sound. This demands serious thought; +for the puny, the weak and the unfit are ineligible; our colonies will +have none of them, and perhaps our colonies are wise, so the unfit +remain at home to be our despair and affliction. + +But our colonies demand not only physical and mental health, but moral +health also, for boys and girls from reformatory and industrial schools +are not acceptable; though the training given in these institutions +ought to make the young people valuable assets in a new country. + +The serious fact that only the best are exported and that all the +afflicted and the weak remain at home is, I say, worthy of profound +attention. + +Thousands of healthy working men with a little money and abundant grit +emigrate of their own choice and endeavour. Fine fellows they generally +are, and good fortune attends them! Thousands of others with no money +but plenty of strength are assisted "out," and they are equally good, +while thousands of healthy young women are assisted "out" also. All +through the piece the strong and healthy leave our shores, and the +weaklings are left at home. + +It is always with mixed feelings that I read of boys and girls being +sent to Canada, for while I feel hopeful regarding their future, I know +that the matter does not end with them; for I appreciate some of the +evils that result to the old country from the method of selection. + +Emigration, then, as at present conducted, is no cure for the evil it +is supposed to remedy. Nay, it increases the evil, for it secures to our +country an ever-increasing number of those who are absolutely unfitted +to fulfil the duties of citizenship. + +Yet emigration might be a beneficent thing if it were wisely conducted +on a comprehensive basis, which should include a fair proportion of +those that are now excluded because of their unfitness. + +Are we to go on far ever with our present method of dealing with those +who have been denied wisdom and stature? Who are what they are, but +whose disabilities cannot be charged upon themselves, and for whom there +is no place other than prison or workhouse? + +Yet many of them have wits, if not brains, and are clever in little +ways of their own. At home we refuse them the advantages that are +solicitously pressed upon their bigger and stronger brothers. Abroad +every door is locked against them. What are they to do? The Army and +Navy will have none of them! and industrial life has no place for them. +So prison, workhouse and common lodging-houses are their only homes. + +Wise emigration methods would include many of them, and decent fellows +they would make if given a chance. Oxygen and new environment, with +plenty of food, etc., would make an alteration in their physique, and +regular work would prove their salvation. But this matter should, and +must be, undertaken by the State, for philanthropy cannot deal with it; +and when the State does undertake it, consequences unthought-of will +follow, for the State will be able to close one-half of its prisons. + +It is the helplessness of weaklings that provides the State with more +than half its prisoners. Is it impossible, I would ask, for a Government +like ours, with all its resources of wealth, power and influence to +devise and carry out some large scheme of emigration? If colonial +governments wisely refuse our inferior youths, is it not unwise for our +own Government to neglect them? + +In the British Empire is there no idle land that calls for men and +culture? Here we in England have thousands of young fellows who, because +of their helplessness, are living lives of idleness and wrongdoing. + +Time after time these young men find their way into prison, and every +short sentence they undergo sends them back to liberty more hopeless +and helpless. Many of them are not bad fellows; they have some qualities +that are estimable, but they are undisciplined and helpless. Not all the +discharged prisoners' aid societies in the land, even with Government +assistance, can procure reasonable and progressive employment for them. + +The thought of thousands of young men, not criminals, spending their +lives in a senseless and purposeless round of short imprisonments, +simply because they are not quite as big and as strong as their +fellows, fills me with wonder and dismay, for I can estimate some of the +consequences that result. + +Is it impossible, I would ask, for our Government to take up this matter +in a really great way? Can no arrangement be made with our colonies for +the reception and training of these young fellows? Probably not so long +as the colonies can secure an abundance of better human material. But +has a bona-fide effort been made in this direction? I much doubt it +since the days of transportation. + +Is it not possible for our Government to obtain somewhere in the whole +of its empire a sufficiency of suitable land, to which the best of them +may be transplanted, and on which they may be trained for useful service +and continuous work? + +Is it not possible to develop the family system for them, and secure +a sufficient number of house fathers and mothers to care for them in a +domestic way, leaving their physical and industrial training to others? +Very few know these young fellows better than myself, and I am bold +enough to say that under such conditions the majority of them would +prove useful men. + +Surely a plan of this description would be infinitely better than +continued imprisonments for miserable offences, and much less expensive, +too! + +I am very anxious to emphasise this point. The extent of our prison +population depends upon the treatment these young men receive at the +hands of the State. + +So long as the present treatment prevails, so long will the State be +assured of a permanent prison population. + +But the evil does not end with the continuance and expense of prison. +The army of the unfit is perpetually increased by this procedure. +Very few of these young men--I think I may say with safety, none +of them--after three or four convictions become settled and decent +citizens; for they cannot if they would, there is no opportunity. They +would not if they could, for the desire is no longer existent. + +We have already preventive detention for older persons, who, having +been four times convicted of serious crime, are proved to be "habitual +criminals." But hopeless as the older criminals are, the country is +quite willing to adopt such measures and bear such expense as may be +thought requisite for the purpose of detaining, and perchance reforming +them. + +But the young men for whom I now plead are a hundred times more numerous +and a hundred times more hopeful than the old habitual criminals, whose +position excites so much attention. We must have an oversea colony for +these young men, and an Act of Parliament for the "preventive detention" +of young offenders who are repeatedly convicted. + +A third conviction should ensure every homeless offender the certainty +of committal to the colony. This would stop for ever the senseless short +imprisonment system, for we could keep them free of prison till their +third conviction, when they should only be detained pending arrangement +for their emigration. + +The more I think upon this matter the more firmly I am convinced that +nothing less will prevail. Though, of course, even with this plan, the +young men who are hopelessly afflicted with disease or deformity must +be excluded. For them the State must make provision at home, but not in +prison. + +A scheme of this character, if once put into active and thorough +operation, would naturally work itself out, for year by year the number +of young fellows to whom it would apply would grow less and less; but +while working itself out, it would also work out the salvation of many +young men, and bring lasting benefits upon our country. + +Vagrancy, with its attendant evils, would be greatly diminished, many +prisons would be closed, workhouses and casual wards would be less +necessary. The cost of the scheme would be more than repaid to the +community by the savings effected in other ways. The moral effect also +would be equally large, and the physical effects would be almost past +computing, for it would do much to arrest the decay of the race that +appears inseparable from our present conditions and procedure. + +But the State must do something more than this; for many young habitual +offenders are too young for emigration. For them the State reformatories +must be established, regardless of their physical condition. To these +reformatories magistrates must have the power of committal as certainly +as they have the power of committal to prison. There must be no "by your +leave," no calling in a doctor to examine the offender. But promptly +and certainly when circumstances justify the committal to a State +reformatory, the youthful offender should go. With the certainty that, +be his physique and intellect what they may, he would be detained, +corrected and trained for some useful life. Or, if found "quite unfit" +or feeble-minded, sent to an institution suitable to his condition. + +Older criminals, when proved to be mentally unsound, are detained in +places other than prisons till their health warrants discharge. But +the potential criminals among the young, no matter how often they are +brought before the courts, are either sent back to hopeless liberty or +thrust into prison for a brief period. + +I repeat that philanthropy cannot attempt to deal with the habitual +offenders, either in the days of their boyhood or in their early +manhood. For philanthropy can at the most deal with but a few, and those +few must be of the very best. + +I cannot believe that our colonies would refuse to ratify the +arrangement that I have outlined, if they were invited to do so by our +own Government, and given proper security. They owe us something; we +called them into existence, we guarantee their safety, they receive +our grit, blood and money; will they not receive, then, under proper +conditions and safeguards, some of our surplus youth, even if it be +weak? I believe they will! + +In the strictures that I have ventured to pass upon the methods of the +Salvation Army, I wish it to be distinctly understood that I make +no attack upon the character and intentions of the men and women who +compose it. I know that they are both earnest and sincere. For many of +them I have a great admiration. My strictures refer to the methods and +the methods only. + +For long years I have been watchful of results, and I have been so +placed in life that I have had plenty of opportunities for seeing and +learning. My disappointment has been great, for I expected great things. +Many other men and women whose judgment is entitled to respect believe +as I do. But they remain silent, hoping that after all great good may +come. But I must speak, for I believe the methods adopted are altogether +unsound, and in reality tend to aggravate the evils they set out to +cure. In 1900 I ventured to express the following opinion of shelters-- + +"EXTRACTS FROM 'PICTURES AND PROBLEMS' + +"I look with something approaching dismay at the multiplication of +these institutions throughout the length and breadth of our land. To +the loafing vagrant class, a very large class, I know, but a class not +worthy of much consideration, they are a boon. These men tramp from one +town to another, and a week or two in each suits them admirably, till +the warm weather and light nights arrive, and then they are off. + +"This portion of the 'submerged' will always be submerged till some +power takes hold of them and compels them to work out their own +salvation. + +"But there is such a procession of them that the labour homes, etc., get +continual recruits, and the managers are enabled to contract for a great +deal of unskilled work. + +"In all our large towns there are numbers of self-respecting men, men +who have committed no crime, save the unpardonable crime of growing +old. Time was when such men could get odd clerical work, envelope and +circular addressing, and a variety of light but irregular employment, +at which, by economy and the help of their wives, they made a sort of +living. But these men are now driven to the wall, for their poorly paid +and irregular work is taken from them." + +In 1911 A. M. Nicholl, in his not unfriendly book on GENERAL BOOTH +AND THE SALVATION ARMY, makes the following statement, which I make no +apology for reproducing. + +His judgment, considering the position he held with the Army for so many +years, is worthy of consideration. Here are some of his words-- + +"From an economic standpoint the social experiment of the Salvation +Army stands condemned almost root and branch. So much the worse for +economics, the average Salvation Army officer will reply. But at the +end of twenty years the Army cannot point to one single cause of social +distress that it has removed, or to one single act which it has promoted +that has dealt a death-blow at one social evil.... + +"A more serious question, one which lies at the root of all +indiscriminate charity, is the value to the community of these shelters. +So far as the men in the shelters are benefited by them, they do +not elevate them, either physically or morally. A proportion--what +proportion?--are weeded out, entirely by the voluntary action of the +men themselves, and given temporary work, carrying sandwich-boards, +addressing envelopes, sorting paper, etc.; but the cause of their +social dilapidation remains unaltered. They enter the shelter, pay their +twopence or fourpence as the case may be (and few are allowed to enter +unless they do), they listen to some moral advice once a week, with +which they are surfeited inside and outside the shelter, they go to bed, +and next morning leave the shelter to face the streets as they came in, +The shelter gets no nearer to the cause of their depravity than it does +to the economic cause of their failure, or to the economic remedy which +the State must eventually introduce.... + +"The nomads of our civilisation wander past us in their fringy, dirty +attire night by night. If a man stops us in the streets and tells us +that he is starving, and we offer him a ticket to a labour home or a +night shelter, he will tell you that the chances are one out of ten if +he will procure admission. The better class of the submerged, or those +who use the provision for the submerged in order to gratify their own +selfishness, have taken possession of the vacancies, and so they wander +on. If a man applies for temporary work, the choice of industry +is disappointingly limited. One is tempted to think that the +whole superstructure of cheap and free shelters has tended to the +standardisation of a low order of existence in this netherworld that +attracted the versatile philanthropist at the head of the Salvation Army +twenty years ago.... + +"The general idea about the Salvation Army is, that the nearer it gets +to the most abandoned classes, the more wonderful and the more numerous +are the converts. It is a sad admission to pass on to the world that the +opposite is really the case. The results are fewer. General Booth would +almost break his heart if he knew the proportion of men who have been +'saved,' in the sense that he most values, through his social scheme. +But he ought to know, and the Church and the world ought to know, and in +order that it may I will make bold to say that the officials cannot put +their hands on the names of a thousand men in all parts of the world who +are to-day members of the Army who were converted at the penitent form +of shelters and elevators, who are now earning a living outside the +control of the Army's social work." + +But the public appear to have infinite faith in the multiplication and +enlargement of these shelters, as the following extract from a daily +paper of December 1911 will show-- + +"'Since the days of Mahomet, not forgetting St. Francis and Martin +Luther, I doubt if there is any man who has started, without help from +the Government, such a world-wide movement as this.' + +"This was Sir George Askwith's tribute to General Booth and the +Salvation Army at the opening of the new wing of the men's Elevators +in Spa Road, Bermondsey, yesterday afternoon. The task of declaring the +wing open devolved upon the Duke of Argyll, who had beside him on the +platform the Duchess of Marlborough, Lady St. Davids, Lord Armstrong, +Sir Daniel and Lady Hamilton, Alderman Sir Charles C. Wakefield, Sir +Edward Clarke, K.C., Sir George Askwith, and the Mayor of Bermondsey and +General Booth. + +"The General, who is just back from Denmark, spoke for three-quarters +of an hour, notwithstanding his great age and his admission that he was +'far from well.' The Elevator, as its name implies, seeks to raise men +who are wholly destitute and give them a fresh start. The new wing has +been erected at a cost of L10,000, and the Elevator, which accommodates +590 men and covers two-and-a-half acres, represents an expenditure of +L30,000, and is the largest institution of its kind in the world. + +"'The men,' said the General, 'are admitted on two conditions only, that +they are willing to obey orders, and ready to work. Before he has his +breakfast a man must earn it, and the same with each meal, the ticket +given him entitling him to remuneration in proportion to the work he has +done. If the men's conduct is good, they are passed on to another of +the Army's institutions, and ultimately some post is secured for them +through the employers of labour with whom the Army is in touch.'" + +I believe General Booth to be sincere, and that he believes exactly what +he stated. But even sincerity must not be allowed to mislead a generous +public. Employers of labour do not, cannot, and will not keep positions +open for General Booth or any other man. Employers require strong, +healthy men who can give value for the wages paid. Thousands of men who +have never entered shelters or prison are not only available but eager +for positions that show any prospect of permanence, whether the work be +heavy or skilled. For work that requires neither brains, skill or much +physical strength, thousands of men whose characters are good are also +available. I venture to say that General Booth cannot supply the public +with a reasonable list of men who, having passed through the shelters, +have been put into permanent work. + +For every man and woman who is seeking to uplift their fellows I have +heartfelt sympathy. For every organisation that is earnestly seeking to +alleviate or remove social evils I wish abundant success. Against the +organisations named I have not the slightest feeling. If they were +successful in the work they undertake, no one in England would rejoice +more than myself. But they are not successful, and because I believe +that their claim to success blinds a well-intentioned and generous +public, and prevents real consideration of deep-seated evils, I make +these comments and give the above extracts. + +I question whether any one in London knows better than myself the +difficulty of finding employment for a man who is "down," for I have +written hundreds of letters, I have visited numerous employers for this +one purpose; I have begged and pleaded with employers, sometimes I have +offered "security" for the honesty of men for whom I was concerned. + +Occasionally, but only occasionally, was I successful. I have advertised +on men's behalf frequently, but nothing worthy of the name of "work" has +resulted. I know the mind of employers, and I know their difficulties; I +have been too often in touch with them not to know. I have also been in +touch with many men who have been in the shelters, elevators, bridges, +labour homes and tents; I know their experience has been one +of disappointment. I have written on behalf of such men to the +"head-quarters," but nothing has resulted but a few days' work at +wood-chopping, envelope addressing, or bill distributing, none of which +can be called employment. + +Day after day men who have been led to expect work wait, and wait in +vain, in or about the head-quarters for the promised work that so +rarely comes. For these men I am concerned, for them I am bold enough to +risk the censure of good people, for I hold that it is not only cruel, +but wicked to excite in homeless men hopes that cannot possibly be +realised. + +This point has been driven home to my very heart, for I have seen +what comes to pass when the spark of hope is extinguished. Better, far +better, that a man who is "down" should trust to his own exertions and +rely upon himself than entertain illusions and rely upon others. + +And now I close by presenting in catalogue form some of the steps that +I believe to be necessary for dealing with the terrible problems of our +great underworld. + +First: the permanent detention and segregation of all who are classified +as feeble-minded. Second: the permanent detention and segregation of all +professional tramps. Third: proper provision for men and women who +are hopelessly crippled or disabled. Fourth: establishment by the +educational authorities, or by the State of reformatory schools, +for youthful delinquents and juvenile adults regardless of physical +weakness, deprivations or disease. Fifth: compulsory education, +physical, mental and technical, up to sixteen years of age. Sixth: the +establishment of municipal play-grounds and organised play for youths +who have left school. Seventh: national and State-aided emigration +to include the best of the "unfit." Eighth: the abolition of common +lodging-houses, and the establishment of municipal lodging-houses for +men and also for women. Ninth: the establishment of trade boards for all +industries. Tenth: proper and systematic help for widows who have young +children. Eleventh: thorough inspection and certification by local +authorities of all houses and "dwellings" inhabited by the poor. +Twelfth: housing for the very poor by municipal authorities, with +abolition of fire-places, the heating to be provided from one central +source. The housing to include a restaurant where nourishing but +simple food may be obtained for payment that ensures a small profit. +Thirteenth: more abundant and reasonable provision of work by the State, +local authorities and for the unemployed. Fourteenth: a co-ordination +of all philanthropic and charity agencies to form one great society with +branches in every parish. + +Give us these things, and surely they are not impossible, and half +our present expensive difficulties would disappear. Fewer prisons, +workhouses and hospitals would be required. The need for shelters and +labour homes would not exist. The necessity for the activities of +many charitable agencies whose constant appeals are so disturbing and +puzzling, but whose work is now required, would pass away too. + +But with all these things given, there would be still great need for the +practice of kindness and the development of brotherly love. For without +brotherly love and kindly human interest, laws are but cast-iron rules, +and life but a living death. What is life worth? What can life be worth +if it be only self-centred? To love is to live! to feel and take an +interest in others is to be happy indeed, and to feel the pulses thrill. + +And I am sure that love is abundant in our old country, but it is +largely paralysed and mystified. For many objects that love would fain +accomplish appear stupendous and hopeless. What a different old +England we might have, if the various and hopeless classes that I have +enumerated were permanently detained. For then love would come to +its own, the real misfortunes of life would then form a passport to +practical help. Widows would no longer be unceremoniously kicked into +the underworld; accidents and disablements would no longer condemn men +and women to live lives of beggary. Best of all, charitable and +kindly deeds would no longer be done by proxy. It is because I see how +professional and contented beggary monopolises so much effort and costs +so much money; because I see how it deprives the really unfortunate and +the suffering poor of the practical help that would to them be such a +blessed boon, that I am anxious for its days to be ended. May that day +soon come, for when it comes, there will be some chance of love and +justice obtaining deliverance for the oppressed and deserving poor who +abound in London's dark underworld. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of London's Underworld, by Thomas Holmes + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONDON'S UNDERWORLD *** + +***** This file should be named 1420.txt or 1420.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/2/1420/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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