Glimpses into the Abyss Part 17

After these humorous incidents had raised a good laugh, the conversation became general and hard to follow.

A woman, who was afterwards one of my room-mates, seemed to consider it her duty to supply liquor to the company; she apparently had money given her by the men, and went and fetched beer in a quart bottle. I counted at least six times. But the liquor did not appear to take effect on such "old stagers," except, perhaps, to loosen the tongues still more.

One man, who sent most frequently, had a nose that betrayed his proclivities, and to him this woman paid considerable attention. By this time the evening was growing late. Already there had been two loud thumps at the door, accompanied by the shout, "Bed!"

Apparently this summons came at the hours, and then those who wished to go cleared off. One or two went as early as eight o'clock, a few more at nine--mostly, as it seemed, working men with their wives--politely wis.h.i.+ng us all "good night."

We went out to a little corner shop and got something to eat and a pennyworth of tea and sugar, and made some tea.

None of the children had as yet gone to bed, but towards ten the mothers undressed them, of course in public. One child had its face washed in the soapy water that had been used for the handkerchiefs; this was all the toilet we saw.

When we came away about nine in the morning, three of them were still running about, unwashed and undressed, in the scanty garb of one garment, s.h.i.+ft or skirt. These little things, each pretty if only clean, tried each in their own way to find amus.e.m.e.nt. One got three sticks and tried to hammer them together as the cobbler was doing to the shoe! One in the morning tied himself to a post with an old scarf, and went round and round. It was almost pathetic to see the childish love of play developing amidst such untoward surroundings. The baby was fed and became sleepy. At last ten o'clock came and another summons. As only about six were staying up, we decided to go ourselves.

We went through the sitting-room of the landlord, which was empty, and stumbling up a narrow stair, found a young woman who was arranging the lodgers and allotting beds.

We were shown into a small room, which we afterwards heard was the only one for single women. It had two large double beds and a single bed. We were given a very small candle-end, which was put to flare down on the mantelpiece.

By the dim light the sheets looked fairly clean. Two women came to bed at the same time, and one of them, a single woman apparently, explained that she did not know who would be her bed-fellow; she hoped it would be some one decent and clean; she had "a terror of a woman" the night before--so bad, in fact, that "Jim" (who apparently was the lodging-house keeper) had to turn her out; she didn't mind if it was a decent body. Fortunately for our night's repose, she did not till morning make to us any revelations concerning our bed. She said she had been there six weeks.

She was not very communicative about herself. "Times were bad; she had never seen them worse, but there were some good folks in the town." We gathered that her "trade" was begging.

The candle-end went out before we were fairly in bed. It was not possible to investigate, but we soon knew that the bed was not untenanted! It is long drawn-out torment to lie in the dark and know that you are being investigated by an uncertain number of "insect pests"! The only comfort was that daylight would come some time, and that the worse it proved to be, the more such a state of things needed to be exposed. Is it not a shame that with all our boasted "civilisation," a poor respectable woman cannot be sure of getting a clean bed though she pays at the rate of two-and-fourpence a week?

We got what sleep we could. At eleven another woman came to bed: she said she had been sitting downstairs, but would have come to bed if she had known there was anyone in her room to talk to! We did not particularly welcome her conversation at that hour. Next day I heard two of the other women call her a "cheeky thing," who wanted to know "every one's business," and then went and told the "missus." Various sounds of "revelry by night" came up the stair, and "Move off" from a policeman outside.

At last, towards half-past eleven or twelve, silence reigned. The long night pa.s.sed slowly. Both of us were "plagued" and restless. We feared the worst, but hoped the best.

Morning dawned, and welcome daylight. No one called us, and we found our room door was locked outside. It seems, however, that you might be called "by request." At eight no one had stirred. One of our fellow-lodgers said it was "all right if you were down by nine, and on Sunday you could lie till further orders."[128]

This did not seem to us much of a boon, as we longed to escape from torture, so about eight we began to dress, or rather to "slaughter"! I am not enough of an entomologist to be able to name the animals we found, as I had never before made the acquaintance of their species. Big and little, all sorts and sizes! It took us fully half-an-hour to get moderately free. While on this unpleasant subject, I must state deliberately that I do not believe that a woman who slept in that bed could possibly get free again under lodging-house conditions. Her cleanliness would be effectually destroyed by that one night.

Without the advantages of a bath, carbolic soap, and privacy, such as is un.o.btainable in a lodging-house, she _could not get free_.[129]

The woman in the next bed said it was a shame, she remarked to another woman on what we had suffered. Evidently she appreciated cleanliness of that sort. She told us that a very dirty woman with a bad leg had slept for six weeks in our bed.

"Lizzie was not a bad sort," she said, "but she wouldn't keep herself clean." She gave her a garment out of pity, as she had "nothing to change into." She got her living by begging, and got lots of things given her, but p.a.w.ned them for drink. At last the lodging-house keeper sent her away, for "she was not fit to stop."

Nevertheless, knowing the state this woman was in, the lodging-house keeper put us into the bed, perfunctorily changing the sheets. The woman said she was "terrified" to put her things on the bed, or to step on the floor, and as "Lizzie" would sit on her bed, she "found things." She was not very clean, but evidently her standard was miles above "Lizzie's."

But surely in view of the possibility, nay, the probability, of this kind of lodger, there ought to be care exercised. The commonest precautions were not in evidence. The floor was bare board, very dirty, and under the beds was dirty oilcloth very dirty and frayed at the edge, itself sufficient to harbour any amount of vermin. The bed was flock, without a removable cover, and not clean. Surely, if the house was managed in the interests of the lodgers and not solely in the interest of the proprietor, it would seem right to do something to prevent such a state of things. It is the folly of "laisser faire" that has allowed the supply of a public need to be so entirely in private hands, that, even in apparently well-managed lodging-houses, private profit over-rides public convenience.[130] We "pay the piper" in small-pox hospitals, workhouses and hospitals, for where the commonest matters of cleanliness are neglected how can infection be avoided?

It seems the height of folly on the one hand to erect costly sanitary apparatus,[131] and on the other by insufficient inspection, and by want of enforcement of right conditions (even in "certified" houses) to actually connive at sanitary conditions below that of the cla.s.s which most needs raising higher.

When one first enters a common lodging-house, one charitably hopes, in the uncertain light, that it may be a particularly good specimen of its cla.s.s. Evening covers defects, but an experience of such a night reveals, as nothing else can, the essentially uncleanly nature of the arrangements. If men and women herd together in small s.p.a.ce, with no opportunity for proper ablution, with no privacy, with all the culinary operations done in the one living room, and if, as a guarantee for care you have only the selfish interest of a proprietor who stands in small fear of the infrequent "inspection," how can things requisite for public welfare be attended to. Practically the house is no cleaner than the dirtiest person in it, and is a most ingeniously contrived hot-bed of infection.[132]

After such a night, to descend to the unswept "living-room," to see the debris of yesterday, possibly of days, lying in unsavoury dusty heaps under the tables, to watch your fellow-lodgers proceed, without was.h.i.+ng, to cook bacon in greasy pans, half washed at the only sink, to see the clothes, worn perhaps day and night, in various stages of uncleanliness, and above all to see little children growing up untutored, save in the reverse of what we recognise as right, is to feel heart-broken for the "evils to come" that must spring from such neglect of the "stranger within our gates."

Hospitality, which has perished as a personal virtue to a large degree, must now devolve on the community. It is not to its interest that it should be neglected. Especially would I point out with all the strength I possess, the folly of indiscriminate herding together of the s.e.xes, without the commonest precautions for decency and sanitation. If it does not pay to have in every town a lodging-house for single women, under sufficient control to secure decency, such a lodging-house should be provided. To this the married women with children might with advantage be admitted, for if a father cannot provide a decent home for his wife and children, he ought not to drag them down with him, but to be glad if they are a little better provided for. If women were accommodated apart from men, proper sanitary provision for each s.e.x would be easier to arrange. It would be no hards.h.i.+p to insist on separating the s.e.xes, for a man can always, with a little extra exertion, obtain a furnished apartment for himself and family, and though these also need careful sanitary inspection and are open to many evils, they do, at any rate, preserve a vestige of family life, and there is not that indiscriminate herding together of the s.e.xes, which is a cover for all sorts of immorality, as well as a danger to sanitation.[133] I believe, from personal investigation, extended to towns in different parts of England, that it is exceptional to find a town that has any adequate provision for lodging single women apart from men--except as a matter of charity in more or less restricting inst.i.tutions. Yet the preponderance of single women, necessitated by the excess of one s.e.x over the other, implies, without widowhood and desertion, a floating population of women who fall an easy prey to wrong conditions. If a woman is not the carefully-guarded inmate of a sheltering home, on whom devolves the duty of caring for her? Surely on the manhood of the nation. The community that fails to s.h.i.+eld its women to the utmost of its power will either be roused to its duty by the trumpet call of flagrant wrong, or will perish by decay of manhood and of the family.

There are not wanting signs that such decay is upon us. If side by side with large aggregations of men, living under insanitary and unnatural conditions, we allow the mixed common lodging-house--unclean in every sense of the word, what can we expect?

I do not mean to imply that it is impossible to live, even as a single woman, a moral life in a common lodging-house, or that many of the proprietors do not do their best to secure morality. But if, in any stratum of society, men and women herded together under such conditions, it would be only exceptional characters that could stand the strain.

Young men and women can, and do, go and live together in common lodging-houses. You may go in on Sunday afternoons and find crowds of young people, not all inmates, but all imbibing the fatal atmosphere of unrestrained vile talk. In some of these lodging-houses older women live who make a practice of tempting in younger girls, who thus are lost. It would be much more easy to control many public evils if lodging-houses were provided, decent and sanitary, and the s.e.xes kept distinct.[134] We exercise control over the inn, but the lodging-house, which is the hostel of the travelling working-man, is not even sanitary in many cases.

We did not feel able to eat breakfast under such conditions. I waited for my friend in the living-room, and an amusing incident occurred. One of my room-mates came down in a skirt--forgetting her top skirt. But she had not forgotten another adornment, namely, a huge pocket suspended round her waist behind, which proclaimed her as a "moucher"! She exclaimed:--

"Look what I've been and done! I've been over to the shop like this!

Good job a 'bobby' didn't see me!"

There was room enough in this capacious pocket to "pinch" any number of articles, but we will write her down "beggar" not "thief"!

We left the children, undressed and unwashed, but some of them breakfasting, at nine o'clock, and found our way to a cheap restaurant where we got a good plain breakfast for fourpence each.

Then we returned home to sundry necessary ablutions, as prelude to a civilised existence. Alas! for those who cannot escape, but must needs drift. Whither?

It must be remembered that to a woman, for respectable existence, cleanliness is an absolute necessity. An unemployed man may obtain work at various occupations to which dirt is no hindrance. In fact, to some occupations, respectability would be a bar. But a woman must "look tidy," or no one will employ her. Therefore conditions destructive to cleanliness are for her equivalent to forcing her down lower and lower into beggary and vice. Once at a certain stage she cannot rise, "no one would have me in their house," say, rightly enough, poor miserable creatures "with scarcely a rag to their back." Those in this lodging-house were not so badly off, but why? Because they had learned to prey on society that rejected them. Each single woman was probably supported by that foolish "charity" that acts as a salve to the conscience of those who pity but do not bless the poor.

II. IN A NORTHERN CITY.

When shall we apply common sense to the daily matters of town life? Not till we recognise that a community is a unit, composed of many parts, but when one suffers, all suffer.

Having occasion to visit a northern city to address important gatherings on social questions, I determined to devote one evening, previous to speaking, to social investigation. I desired to find a woman, if possible a lady, living in the district, willing to dress up and go with me. As, however, my friends failed to find me one, I had to be content to go alone, shadowed by a policeman in plain clothes. My object was to find out where I should have to sleep if I arrived at night as a stranger able to pay 6_d_. for my bed. The city is a very old one, and, as usual, in the ancient parts houses are huddled together. I visited some of the worst streets, and have never anywhere before seen such closely packed humanity. Streets of houses back to back were huddled under the shelter of a large flour mill working day and night, and filling the air with dust. Some houses could never have daylight. Most of the workers in the mills and factories came, I was told, from these narrow streets, and some of the firms were very rich. It seemed to me likely to be a hot-bed of consumption, to say nothing of vice and crime.

At the hour at which I went, between nine and ten, most of the houses were closely shuttered, and few people were in the streets, except a few lads and la.s.ses who were courting at street corners. The friendly "bobby" told me, however, of turbulent times and sudden brawls, making this the worst quarter of the city. After public-house closing was probably a lively time. He informed me that there were in the city but two lodging-houses where women were taken at all. Both were common lodging-houses, and very low places. It required a guide to find them.

One was in a court up an entry out of a narrow main street. I had to go alone, for it would have roused suspicion had my guide accompanied me.

After knocking at one or two wrong doors I found it at last. The door opened into a large kitchen packed full of men and women. I enquired timidly if a bed was to be had. "No, we are quite full," shouted some one. "Come in, you can have half my bed," shouted a man. This raised a laugh. The company gazed curiously at me. I asked if there was anywhere else where a woman could get a lodging, declining the proffered honour.

I was told a name previously heard from the policeman, and thanking the informant turned away gladly. "You'd better share along of me," sang out the man, and rather hurriedly I beat a retreat to my friendly "shadow."

The other house was still harder to find. I could not have retraced my way through the maze of lanes and entries. My companion said he would walk down the street in front of me to indicate the door, and then would return and wait. A narrow dirty lane with houses on one side only, had in it some of the smallest cottages I have ever seen. One of these had a few sweets and eatables in the window, and was indicated as the place where "the landlady" lived. Knocking, I was told to come in, and in the minute room, shop and living room, lying on a wooden couch was a very dirty woman with a still dirtier child. She was "the landlady"! She looked at me and said she would take me in. I was to go two doors lower down the street. I found I had to pay her 6_d_. for a bed. There was only accommodation for five single women.

Going down the street to the house indicated, I found myself in a moderate-sized kitchen such as you find in a house of the olden times, low but fairly large. A sink was part.i.tioned off in the corner. A man was cutting up wood, and one or two women and children were there. They were talking about a man who had gone away deserting his wife and children. One asked if I had not my man with me. I said "No." They had seen my "bobby" friend pa.s.s. They said a man had pa.s.sed. I said "I thought he was a bobby." They said, "Right you are," and appeared to accept me. I got a tea-pot and made myself some tea, and cut (with a borrowed knife) some bread and b.u.t.ter. Thus making myself at home I could observe the place and company. It was fairly clean for such places; the company, both in appearance and language was low, and I was glad I was not going to stay the night. It would probably have proved much the same as the lodging-house in which I spent the second night when on five days' tramp.[135] Having used my eyes well, after about half an hour, I said I was going out, and left not to return, joining my policeman friend. He told me this was the only other accommodation in all that large city for women. He added that there was, however, a charitable home or shelter, and if they found friendless women on the streets at night they usually sent them there.

It was the same old story, absence of decent sanitary self-respecting accommodation for women. No "charity" can replace this. Rescue homes pick up those who _have fallen_.

The policeman told me much about the general condition of the city. He said a munic.i.p.al lodging-house was much wanted; that there was no accommodation for travellers save common lodgings, often dreadfully crowded and unsanitary. "I will let you have a look round one," he said.

"I will introduce you, and you must have a good look to see if your 'man' is there!"

Accordingly he took me into an ordinary dwelling house at the corner of a street. A boarded-off sanded pa.s.sage led to a small room hardly as large as in an ordinary dwelling house. The wooden seating round the walls was filled with men, most smoking. They stood up and stared at me and I at them. "You can't see your man," said the bobby. "No, he isn't here," I replied. So I followed him elsewhere. He told me all the lodging-houses were of this character, and insufficient in number. A good lodging-house would be a boon, for in the holes and corners and narrow lanes where those common lodging-houses are found, police discipline is very difficult. By this time it was about 9.30 P.M., and I returned to my friends for ablution and a change of raiment, able to give point from personal experience to my remarks on the following day.

FOOTNOTES:

[123] See p. 49; also Appendix VIII.

[124] See p. 195.

[125] It is not sufficient to provide a refuge, there should be accommodation not charitable, not for _rescue_ but for _prevention_, as working women require to be free to come and go.

[126] Contrast, p. 257.

[127] See pp. 92, 104.