Glimpses into the Abyss Part 13

I was glad to consent, for though I should have liked for some reasons to "try the bunks," I had already seen them in London, and I wished to ascertain what the Army was able to offer at the current price of fourpence, and also whether the beds would bear inspection. But what a contrast such a reception was to the workhouse! Nothing but my name was asked, not even as in the Bradford Shelter, my destination, and where I came from. There was no "heckling," no inquisition, nothing but kindness. G.o.d bless the officer who said, "My dear" to a poor stranger in Christ's name.

I was asked if I would like to go to bed, as it was already late. I wanted, however, to see something of other inmates, so said, "No." The officer took me into the fourpenny sitting room, which was pleasant and beautifully clean, but had no fire lit. As it was lonely, the officer asked me if I would like to sit with the "twopenny women" for company. I gladly a.s.sented, and was shewn into another day-room in which was a cheerful fire, by the side of which were shelves for pots and pans. It was furnished with wooden tables and benches, and all was clean, except for recent use. Two or three women were in possession. I asked them if I could get anything on the premises to eat. They said I could get coffee and bread and b.u.t.ter for a penny! It was the cheapest meal I ever had. I asked the officer for them, and she fetched them herself--a good mug full of thick brown coffee, with rather a peculiar taste, but similar to some I got in Manchester at a cheap breakfast shop, only about half as much again in quant.i.ty. It had sugar and milk in it, and was palatable.

With it were two thick slices of bread and b.u.t.ter, quite sufficient for a meal, the b.u.t.ter tasted good.[102]

I sat and ate my supper and watched the other women. They had lived there some time, and were evidently accustomed to "the ways of the place." They said they were very comfortable, and that the beds were good. One of them explained the scarcity of utensils. (So far as I could see, one kettle, one saucepan, and one frying-pan seemed to be the stock-in-trade.) She said people stole so, even taking cups and saucers, and the sheets off the beds. The officers in consequence had to reduce the supply and to keep a sharp look-out!

I sat and listened. A woman came in with a baby; the same woman I had seen in the street. She exclaimed about the difficulty she had had in getting money for the night. Apparently she had been begging, going round to one and another whom she knew, and getting a penny or halfpenny from each. She said the man who accosted me had given her a penny. Her boy was a fine little fellow, very well nourished and contented. She was very proud of his little fat legs! She undressed him to his s.h.i.+rt. One bit of pride remained even in poverty. She said she "wouldn't let her child sleep in a bunk!" She seemed to prefer being out all night, which had, I believe, been her case recently, when she could not make her bed-money.[103] She was a widow.

One of the other women had had a day's charing, and was congratulating herself that she was "set up for a bit." It had been hard work, but well paid. She was generous to those worse off.

An unsolicited testimonial to one of the officers was given. "Captain is back to-day." "Is she, bless her; I do love that woman, _though she never gave me anything_!"

It is much to the credit of the Army, and of the individual officers, that in the free conversation I heard no real complaint. One of the officers was alluded to as "a sharp 'un." No doubt a necessary quality in dealing with some cases. One woman grumbled at the coffee, and another "carried on" because she was stopped from talking in the bedroom, where she was disturbing others, but the general feeling seemed to be one of thankfulness. "Thank G.o.d I have got in to-night," came involuntarily from several lips.

I resolved to go to bed, as it was ten o'clock. The officer who had admitted me, when I went to her to ask, showed me upstairs into a large light room. Apparently the building had once been a mill or warehouse.

The floor was beautifully clean, the beds not inconveniently crowded, and the promise of "good, clean beds" was amply redeemed.[104] I can hardly understand how they could be so clean, for when the women were undressed (and, of course, like all their cla.s.s they slept in their day-garments, partially undressing), their under-garments were dirty and ragged in almost all cases, even when their outside appearance was respectable. Hardly one had a whole or clean garment, and among this cla.s.s a nightgown is unknown, or unused. One woman kept on a black knitted jersey, though it was summer-time!

My bed was beautifully clean, and the others looked so. The most careful arrangements were made to insure cleanliness. The wire mattress had a piece of clean brown wrappering tied over it, which could be removed and washed. The mattress, which was very comfortable, was covered, and under the covering was a mackintosh. There were two thick dark blankets, not divided. I suppose this would make it difficult to steal them. The sheets were white, and so was the pillowslip. There was a good soft flock pillow.

I noticed several wise precautions. The gases were too high to be reached, and no taps were visible. The gas was turned on or off outside the room. No one could light a pipe.

The crevices close to the wall were filled in with wood, so that insects could not harbour. Each person had a well-scrubbed wooden box by the bedside, on or in which to place their clothes. There was, in a lavatory adjoining, a s.p.a.cious sink, to which hot and cold water was laid on.

There was one roller-towel, but no soap. It is usual in lodging-houses to find your own. There was a well-flushed w.c. Beyond were some cubicles at sixpence a night.

Several women were in bed. One had had some drink, and was disturbing others by talking. It was found out afterwards that she was in the wrong room, having only paid twopence. She was a married woman, and her husband had apparently deposited her in safety, but only paid twopence!

She was, or pretended to be, very wroth, and she was also foul-mouthed.

When it was discovered, the little Lieutenant really could not eject her, and had to be satisfied with telling her she must pay the other twopence next day!

It was a very interesting occupation to try for about an hour and a half to gather from conversation some hints as to the character of the "waifs and strays" who were temporarily my room-mates.

A young woman next me was a servant temporarily out of place. An amusing scene took place. Another young woman came in and spoke to her before going to her cubicle. Evidently there was some animosity between them, for the only greeting she got was, "Shut up." Finding she could make no impression, the newcomer began to insinuate.

"I wouldn't stand with the Army and then go into public-houses!"

The other girl at first made no reply, except, "Get out with you!"

But as the insinuation was repeated, she began to get wroth.

"Why don't you speak to me, Mary?"

She half sat up in bed.

"Get out with you, you----"

Then they began to slang one another in earnest:--

"It's all very well to go to an Army meeting and then take two men into a pub!"

"Well, I never! What will she say next, I wonder!"

And so the conversation waxed louder and louder. At length the girl in bed half sprang out.

"I shall go and tell the Lieutenant how you're talking. She'll put you out!"

With that the offender moved off to her cubicle.

The other girl kept muttering, "Well, I never! Did ever you hear! Me that has never been inside a pub! I'll tell the Lieutenant in the morning."

It was fortunate that the offender had paid for a sixpenny bed, as at one time they seemed almost coming to blows.

The noisy woman in a bed on the opposite side kept up a conversation with herself, or with anyone who would speak to her. Finally, the Lieutenant, who seemed to keep a sort of patrol, but was not round frequently enough to preserve peace, caught her talking, though not at her loudest. She was engaged in relating portions of her past life to a woman who said it was the anniversary of her wedding-day. The story of the courts.h.i.+p and marriage took some time to tell, but the crowning incident was that, having been ill for some days, her friends encouraged her to take "a small whisky," which apparently led to more, and she became so "blind drunk" that she remembered nothing further.

Several women with children came in. Some on meeting congratulated each other on having money enough to get in.

"Thank G.o.d I'm in to-night," said one.

It made me realise how many are living on the very edge of starvation, for several had only lodging-money, not a halfpenny for food.[105]

The interruptions were a bar to sleep. I think the Bradford plan of letting the women go up to the dormitory at the hour, and not between, was a good one, and would make superintendence easier.

At length, past eleven, all grew sleepy, the little Lieutenant had, I think, given place to a night watcher, who stole quietly in to turn the gas down, and again to admit a late girl to the cubicles, and once or twice during the night, when all were sleeping, to look at her safely-folded sheep, going lovingly round the beds, apparently to notice who was safe "under her wing."

I did not stir, or show I was awake, but I said mentally, "G.o.d bless you, sister, and G.o.d bless the Army!"

For here, safely folded in peace and comfort were just those whose presence on our streets is a disgrace to our civilisation, and a social danger. It was abundantly evident that they were those who needed a helping hand. Few realise how terribly hard the present conditions of our social system press upon women. If a girl, a woman, or worse--a mother and child--are forced to remain out all night, G.o.d pity them.[106] Yet it is terribly hard for a woman, once down in the friendless state, with no one to speak for her, with clothing getting daily more dirty and ragged, to obtain any employment. What can the widow do? What about the deserted wife? The cry of the widow and orphan, the suffering of the friendless is daily before the eyes of the G.o.d England professes to serve.

Only one who is daily receiving the stories of the manifold ways in which women drop out or are forced out of homes, can understand the silent disintegration of womanhood that is forced upon many. Sometimes they are carefully reared, with a parent's love as protection, s.h.i.+elded from any real knowledge of life's hards.h.i.+ps. But the protector dies and the struggle begins, a hard struggle for daily bread. No one is forced to keep them, save the workhouse. This they shun, or in some cases have extreme difficulty in gaining admission, the relieving officers having to be "begged and prayed," sometimes unsuccessfully, to admit even a starving woman, putting them off on one excuse or another.

Meanwhile, by degrees everything that can be turned into money goes for food. What wonder that the poor soul, desperate at losing all that makes life worth having, easily yields to the man ever ready to "treat" her?

Such men are everywhere.

"Come and get a drink," is the usual way of accosting a woman. Yet if a solitary woman once acquires the drink habit, it is nearly impossible to lift her up, the craving is too strong. In the temporary "elevation" of drink she regains her past, forgets the poor bedraggled "low woman" she has become, and dreams of "better days." Suppose she resists drink, at any rate keeping apparently steady, and lives as a "charwoman," it is a most precarious existence, varying with the "times." Such women are taken "on" and sent "off" without compunction. It needs a "good connection" to make a livelihood, at any rate it requires a capacity for continuous hard work, which all do not possess. There are some few trades for dest.i.tute women hardly worth calling "trades," yet in some hand-to-mouth fas.h.i.+on thousands of solitary women exist, who are not idle, but try hard to "keep out of the house," so retaining their last possession--liberty! Is it not desirable that these our struggling sisters should live under the conditions that will preserve for them some sort of a "home" feeling?

The "pit" lies just beneath them, that terrible pit, where honour, love, and womanhood are swallowed up. They cling to those who love them, and many of them struggle, oh, so hard! just to keep afloat. G.o.d pity them!

Every night in this England of ours our sisters are driven by poverty to sin.

"I _must_ get my lodging money and a bit of food," they say. Money, even twopence, is not within the reach of every widow and orphan, and our poor-law conditions are almost prohibitive. Save as a temporary expedient, the casual ward, with its continual "move on," is no refuge.

To descend to the common lodging-house is the last stage, just above utter homelessness. There the drink temptations are such that few women can withstand them. In many towns there do not exist lodging-houses for women only.

Yet above all, these women need to be protected, to live under good sanitary conditions, if in poverty. Such a shelter, therefore, as I was sleeping in, is a real social need. It would prevent countless women from drifting into vice if there was somewhere for them to live out of temptation during the night hours. As they grow old especially, their state grows more and more pitiable. They end their days in the workhouse usually, but stave off the evil day as long as they can. I do not believe that even women from the higher ranks can well help drifting to dest.i.tution if from any cause friends and foothold are lost. Most people distrust a friendless woman. Yet in many cases it is a matter of clothes!

There is a theory that "a good worker is always worth her salt!" So she may be, but if she looks down-trodden no one will give her the chance to earn it! In spite of the constant dearth of servants it is not likely that a woman will get employment unless she has character and clothes.

There are, besides, quant.i.ties of semi-"unemployable" women, women who would--after a fas.h.i.+on--succeed in looking after their own home and rearing children; but who, divorced from home, are not "worth their salt." Besides these, preyed upon, alas! by human sharks, are the defenceless "feeble-minded," and half-imbecile.

Meditating on the woes of womanhood I fell asleep. All my sisters apparently slept soundly and well. Very early the officer in charge stole in to call a sleeper. Every now and then someone, self-roused, got up for toil. It was a contrast to the heavy sleep and utter absence of any provision for going forth to toil which I had seen in a _private_ women's lodging-house, inhabited by girls and women evidently living by sin.[107] There they were called at 9.30!

By 6.30 a considerable number had got up, and promptly the lieutenant appeared with a whistle, which she playfully blew, not only for the room, but also near each sleeper, calling them by name. "Now, Mary, get up!" "Now, Jane, don't go to sleep again!"