London Labour and the London Poor
A Cyclopædia of the Condition and Earnings of Those That Will Work, Those That Cannot Work, and Those That Will Not Work.
By Henry Mayhew.
London: Griffin, Bohn, and Company, Stationers' Hall Court. 1862.
[digitised copy kindly provided by Les Butler, ed.]
[... back to index]
Board lodgers are those who give a
portion of what they receive to the mistress of the brothel in return for
their board and lodging. As we have had occasion to observe before, it is
impossible to estimate the number of brothels in London, or even in particular
parishes, not only because they are frequently moving from one district to
another, but because our system so hates anything approaching to espionage,
that the authorities do not think it worth their while to enter into any such
computation. From this it may readily be understood how difficult the task of
the statistician is. Perhaps it will be sufficient to say that these women are
much more numerous than may at first be imagined; although those who give the
whole of what they get in return for their board, lodging, and clothes are
still more so. In Lambeth there are great numbers of the lowest of these
houses, and only very recently the proprietors of some eight or ten of the
worst were summoned before a police magistrate, and the parish officers who
made the complaint bound over to prosecute at the sessions. It is much to be
regretted that in dealing with such cases the method of procedure is not more
expeditious and less expensive. Let us take for example one of the cases we
have been quoting. A man is openly accused of keeping a ruffianly den filled
with female wretches, destitute of every particle of modesty and bereft of
every atom of shame, whose actual occupation is to rob, maltreat, and plunder
the unfortunate individuals who so far stultify themselves as to allow the
decoys to entrap them into their snares, let us hope, for the sake of
humanity, while in a state of intoxication or a condition of imbecility. Very
well; instead of an easy inexpensive process, the patriotic persons who have
devoted themselves to the exposure of such infamous rascality, find themselves
involved in a tedious criminal prosecution, and in the event of failure lay
themselves open to an action. Mysterious disappearances, Waterloo Bridge
tragedies, and verdicts of found drowned, are common enough in this great
city. Who knows how many of these unfathomable affairs may have been
originated, worked out, and consummated in some disgusting rookery in the
worst parts of our most demoralized metropolitan parishes; but it is with the
better class of these houses we are more particularly engaged at present.
During the progress of these researches, we met a girl residing at a house in
a street running out of Langham Place. Externally the house looked respectable
enough; there was no indication of the profession or mode of life of the
inmates, except that, from the fact of some of the blinds being down in the
bed rooms, you might have thought the house contained an invalid. The rooms,
when you were ushered in, were well, though cheaply furnished; there were
coburg chairs and sofas, glass chandeliers, and handsome green curtains. The
girl with whom we were brought into conversation was not more than
twenty-three; she told us her age was twenty, but statements of a similar
nature, when made by this class, are never to be relied on. At first she
treated our inquiries with some levity, and jocularly inquired what we were
inclined to stand, which we justly interpreted into a desire for something to
drink; we accordingly "stood" a bottle of wine, which had the effect
of making our informant more communicative. What she told us was briefly this.
Her life was a life of perfect slavery, she was seldom if ever allowed to go
out, and then not without being watched. Why was this? Because she would
"cut it" if she got a chance, they knew that very well, and took
very good care she shouldn't have much opportunity. Their house was rather
popular, and they had lots of visitors; she had some particular friends who
always came to see her. They paid her well, but she hardly ever got any of the
money. Where was the odds, she couldn't go out to spend it? What did she want
with money, except now and then for a drain of white satin. What was white
satin? Where had I been all my life to ask such a question? Was I a dodger?
She meant a parson. No; she was glad of that, for she hadn't much idea of
them, they were a canting lot. Well, white satin, if I must know, was gin, and
I couldn't say she never taught me anything. Where was she born? Somewhere in
Stepney. What did it matter where; she could tell me all about it if she
liked, but she didn't care. It touched her on the raw - made her feel too
much. She was 'ticed’ when she was young, that is, she was decoyed by the
mistress of the house some years ago. She met Mrs. ---- in the street, and the
woman began talking to her in a friendly way. Asked her who her father was (he
was a journeyman carpenter), where he lived, extracted all about her family,
and finally asked her to come home to tea with her. The child, delighted at
the making the acquaintance of so kind and so well-dressed a lady, willingly
acquiesced, without making any demur, as she never dreamt of anything wrong,
and had not been cautioned by her father. She had lost her mother some years
ago. She was not brought direct to the house where I found her? Oh! no. There
was a branch establishment over the water, where they were broken in as it
were. How long did she remain there? Oh! perhaps two months, maybe three; she
didn't keep much account how time went. When she was conquered and her spirit
broken, she was transported from the first house to a more aristocratic
neighbourhood. How did they tame her? Oh! they made her drunk and sign some
papers, which she knew gave them great power over her, although she didn't
exactly know in what the said power consisted, or how it might be exercised.
Then they clothed her and fed her well, and gradually inured her to that sort
of life. And now, was there anything else I'd like to know particularly,
because if there was, I'd better look sharp about asking it, as she was
getting tired of talking, she could tell me. Did she expect to lead this life
till she died? Well she never did, if I wasn't going to preachify. She
couldn't stand that - anything but that.
I really begged to apologize if I had wounded her sensibility; I wasn't inquiring from a religious point of view, or with any particular motive. I merely wished to know, to satisfy my own curiosity. Well, she thought me a very inquisitive old party, anyhow. At any rate, as I was so polite she did not mind answering my questions. Would she stick to it till she was a stiff 'un? She supposed she would; what else was there for her? Perhaps something might turn up; how was she to know? She never thought she would go mad; if she did, she lived in the present, and never went blubbering about as some did. She tried to be as jolly as she could; where was the fun of being miserable?
This is the philosophy of most of her sisterhood. This girl possessed a talent for repartee, which accomplishment she endeavoured to exercise at my expense, as will be perceived by the foregoing, though for many reasons I have adhered to her own vernacular. That her answers were true, I have no reason to question, and that this is the fate of very many young girls in London, there is little doubt; indeed, the reports of the Society for the Protection of Young Females sufficiently prove it. Female virtue in great cities has innumerable assailants, and the moralist should pity rather than condemn. We are by no means certain that meretricious women who have been in the habit of working before losing their virtue, at some trade or other, and are able to unite the two together, are conscious of any annoyance or a want of self-respect at being what they are. This class have been called the "amateurs," to contradistinguish them from the professionals, who devote themselves to it entirely as a profession. To be unchaste amongst the lower classes is not always a subject of reproach. The commerce of the sexes is so general that to have been immodest is very seldom a bar to marriage. The depravity of manners amongst boys and girls begins so very early, that they think it rather a distinction than otherwise to be unprincipled. Many a shoeblack, in his uniform and leathern apron, who cleans your boots for a penny at the corners of the streets, has his sweetheart. Their connection begins probably at the low lodging-houses they are in the habit of frequenting, or, if they have a home, at the penny gaffs and low cheap places of amusement, where the seed of so much evil is sown. The precocity of the youth of both sexes in London is perfectly astounding. The drinking, the smoking, the blasphemy, indecency, and immorality that does not even call up a blush is incredible, and charity schools and the spread of education do not seem to have done much to abate this scourge. Another very fruitful source of early demoralization is to be looked for in the quantities of penny and halfpenny romances that are sold in town and country. One of the worst of the most recent ones is denominated, "Charley Wag, or the New Jack Shepherd, a history of the most successful thief in London." To say that these are not incentives to lust, theft, and crime of every description is to cherish a fallacy. Why should not the police, by act of Parliament, be empowered to take cognizance of this shameful misuse of the art of printing? Surely some clauses could be added to Lord Campbell's Act, or a new bill might be introduced that would meet the exigencies of the case, without much difficulty.
Men frequent the houses in which women board and lodge for many reasons, the chief of which is secrecy; they also feel sure that the women are free from disease, if they know the house, and it bears an average reputation for being well conducted. Men in a certain position avoid publicity in their amours beyond all things, and dread being seen in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket or the Burlington Arcade at certain hours, as their professional reputation might be compromised. Many serious, demure people conceal the iniquities of their private lives in this way.
If Asmodeus were loquacious, how interesting and anecdotical a scandal-monger he might become!
Another woman told me a story, varying somewhat from that of the first I examined, which subsequent experience has shown me is slightly stereotyped. She was the victim of deliberate cold-blooded seduction; in course of time a child was born; up to this time her seducer had treated her with affection and kindness, but he now, after presenting her with fifty pounds, deserted her. Thrown on her own resources, as it were, she did not know what to do; she could not return to her friends, so she went into lodgings at a very small rental, and there lived until her money was expended. She then supported herself and her child by doing machine-work for a manufacturer, but at last bad times came, and she was thrown out of work; of course the usual amount of misery consequent on such a catastrophe ensued. She saw her child dying by inches before her face, and this girl, with tears in her eyes, assured me she thanked God for it. "I swear," she added, "I starved myself to nourish it, until I was nothing but skin and bone, and little enough of that; I knew from the first, the child must die, if things didn't improve, and I felt they wouldn't. When I looked at my little darling I knew well enough he was doomed, but he was not destined to drag on a weary existence as I was, and I was glad of it. It may seem strange to you, but while my boy lived, I couldn't go into the streets to save his life or my own - I couldn't do it. If there had been a foundling hospital, I mean as I hear there is in foreign parts, I would have placed him there, and worked somehow, but there wasn't, and a crying shame it is too. Well, he died at last, and it was all over. I was half mad and three parts drunk after the parish burying, and I went into the streets at last; I rose in the world - (here she smiled sarcastically) - and I've lived in this house for years, but I swear to God I haven't had a moment's happiness since the child died, except when I've been dead drunk or maudlin.
Although this woman did not look upon the death of her child as a crime committed by herself, it was in reality none the less her doing; she shunned the workhouse, which might have done something for her, and saved the life, at all events, of her child; but the repugnance evinced by every woman who has any proper feeling for a life in a workhouse or a hospital, can hardly be imagined by those who think that, because people are poor, they must lose all feeling, all delicacy, all prejudice, and all shame.
Her remarks about a foundling-hospital are sensible; in the opinion of many it is a want that ought to be supplied. Infanticide is a crime much on the increase, and what mother would kill her offspring if she could provide for it in any way?
The analysis of the return of the coroners' inquests held in London, for the five years ending in 1860, shows a total of 1130 inquisitions on the bodies of children under two years of age, all of whom had been murdered. The average is 226 yearly.
Here we have 226 children killed yearly by their parents: this either shows that our institutions are defective, or that great depravity is inherent amongst Englishwomen. The former hypothesis is much more likely than the latter, which we are by no means prepared to indorse. This return, let it be understood, does not, indeed cannot, include the immense number of embryo children who are made away with by drugs and other devices, all of whom we have a right to suppose would have seen the light if adequate provision could have been found for them at their birth.
A return has also been presented to Parliament, at the instance of Mr. Kendal, M.P., from which we find that 157,485 summonses in bastardy cases were issued between the years 1845 and 1859 inclusive, but that only 124,218 applications against the putative fathers came on for hearing, while of this number orders for maintenance were only made in 107,776 cases, the remaining summonses, amounting to 15,981, being dismissed. This latter fact gives a yearly average of 1,141 illegitimate children thrown back on their wretched mothers. These statistics are sufficiently appalling, but there is reason to fear that they only give an approximate idea of the illegitimate infantile population, and more especially of the extent to which infanticide prevails. Those who live in Low Lodging Houses.
In order to find these houses it is
necessary to journey eastwards, and leave the artificial glitter of the
West-end, where vice is pampered and caressed. Whitechapel, Wapping, Ratcliff
Highway, and analogous districts, are prolific in the production of these
infamies. St. George's-in-the-East abounds with them, kept, for the most part,
by disreputable Jews, and if a man is unfortunate enough to fall into their
clutches he is sure to become the spoil of Israel. We may, however, find many
low lodging houses without penetrating so far into the labyrinth of east
London. There are numbers in Lambeth; in the Waterloo Road and contiguous
streets; in small streets between Covent Garden and the Strand, some in one or
two streets running out of Oxford Street. There is a class of women
technically known as "bunters," who take lodgings, and after staying
some time run away without paying their rent. These victimise the keepers of
low lodging-houses successfully for years. A "bunter," whose
favourite promenade, especially on Sundays, was the New Cut, Lambeth, said
"she never paid any rent, hadn't done it for years, and never meant to.
They was mostly Christ-killers, and chousing a Jew was no sin; leastways, none
as she cared about committing. She boasted of it: had been known about town
this ever so long as Swindling Sal. And there was another, a great pal of
her'n, as went by the name of Chousing Bett. Didn't they know her in time?
Lord bless me, she was up to as many dodges as there was men in the moon. She
changed places, she never stuck to one long; she never had no things for to be
sold up, and, as she was handy with her mauleys, she got on pretty well. It
took a considerable big man, she could tell me, to kick her out of a house,
and then when he done it she always give him something for himself, by way of
remembering her. Oh! they had a sweet recollection of her, some on 'em. She'd
crippled lots of the ---- crucifiers." "Did she never get into a
row?" "Lots on 'em, she believed me. Been quodded no end of times.
She knew every beak as sot on the cheer as well as she knew Joe the magsman,
who, she might say, wor a very perticaler friend of her'n." "Did he
pay her well?"
The New Cut - Evening