Glimpses into the Abyss Part 16

Can we not do something to solve the problem by providing suitable and sufficient women's lodging-houses under good management, where freedom is not interfered with unduly, but influence for good is steady?

In Christian England a friendless girl should never want a friend and a home. And to guard our girls is to preserve our nation from the worst of evils--the corruption of a 'trade' based on greed and dishonour. Yet how else can a dest.i.tute girl get her living without a friend?

_When all else is sold she sells herself to live!_[122]

FOOTNOTES:

[111] See p. 193.

[112] See p. 190.

[113] See p. 194 for contrast.

[114] See p. 194.

[115] See Appendix VII.

[116] See p. 28.

[117] See Appendix VII.

[118] See p. 97.

[119] See p, 193.

[120] See Appendix VII.

[121] See p. 190, and as a contrast p. 200.

[122] See Appendices VII. and VIII.

CHAPTER VI.

COMMON LODGING-HOUSE LIFE.

I. IN A NORTHERN TOWN.

There are certain elementary considerations of decency with regard to accommodation for women that we might expect would receive attention in every town of considerable size, especially those along the main thoroughfares by which travel takes place. To leave provision for a certain need entirely in private hands is to ensure in the end great public expense. It is not to private advantage to provide maximum but minimum comfort. The margin of profit is small, and the cla.s.s provided for will put up with a great deal. Inspection may swoop down on flagrant neglect, but does not avail to prevent a state of things most undesirable from every point of view.[123]

Under the conviction that nothing but investigation into the actual state of things will shed light on the nature of the reforms needed, my friend and I set out once more on pilgrimage, our object being to investigate the state of things in a town not twenty miles from Manchester, on the line of constant travel, with regard to accommodation for women.

Thinking it desirable to make some preliminary inquiries, we first visited a friend who belonged to "the Army"; we could, however, get little information, so we visited the Captain, hoping to learn something useful. We found that "the Army" visited the men's lodging-houses, and that there were frequent inquiries for a Shelter, but they did not possess one in this town. Finally we learned that there was not in the whole town a lodging-house for women only! Possibly there may be some charitable inst.i.tutions. But for a woman coming to the town not absolutely dest.i.tute, able to beg or earn fourpence for a bed (which means, it must be remembered, two-and-fourpence a week, without food), there were only three places, and in each "married couples" were also taken.[124]

One was described to us as "full of gay girls," a second was small, and the single men had to pa.s.s through the sitting-room to bed; we were a.s.sured, however, that the proprietress did her best to prevent "carryings on." The third being described as "the best in the town," we decided to try it. But it is obvious that no town can be considered in a satisfactory condition that makes no provision for homeless women, apart from men. Widows and friendless girls are to be found everywhere, and it is most important that a safe place of refuge should exist to arrest, if possible, a downward career.[125]

We found a group of men outside the lodging-house, and one of them kindly showed us the way to the office, a lighted room up a sort of court. There was a movable square of gla.s.s in the window of this room, and through this we paid our money, sixpence for a double bed. We were told we should have to come through that room to bed and that we must go "up a stair to the right," and with this our communication with our host or hostess begun and ended, for there was no one in the room when we pa.s.sed through to bed, and when we came away there was only a child in possession, half-dressed.

The room up the short stair, in which we found ourselves, was lofty and airy and might have been pleasant,--if it had been clean. There was a large fireplace with a fine range.[126] On the mantelpiece some wag had drawn, upon a round piece of board, a clock face, with the hands pointing to five-to-twelve, and the legend written underneath,

"No tick hear (_sic_) all stopped to-day."

Also a large frying-pan hanging on the wall bore the humorous inscription, "Out of work."

The walls were painted light above and dark below, various shawls and hats were hanging up, shelves by the side of the fire contained a non-descript collection of food and other possessions, and there was the usual stock-in-trade of frying-pans and saucepans, but no kettle. Hot water for any purpose (and cold also) had to be fetched from the "single men's" side of the building.

There was a small sink in one corner, but the water was cut off. There was absolutely no convenience for was.h.i.+ng of all kinds--personal, family, or for culinary purposes--save this sink.[127] Men and women alike must fetch water from the other room, even to wash the "pots." A card on the wall informed the lodgers that they were expected to wash their own. The "pots" were a few enamelled basins, soup-plates, and tea-pots, some very much worse for wear. The sanitary conveniences were out in the yard, and apparently common to both men and women.

We took our seat at one of the tables, which, with wooden forms, were the only furniture, except what has been already alluded to. We then began to take stock of our fellow-lodgers.

On the other side of our table, a man with dark hair (and plenty of it) was employed in "cobbling" his wife's boots. It took him most of the evening to fasten on pieces of leather with nails, and to knock the nails down. His job was then p.r.o.nounced "first-rate" by the men, but the wife reserved her opinion till they had been tested by the next day's march! He confided to us that she was "no walker" and "took an hour to walk a mile" (this is the gist of his speech, which was much garnished).

She claimed to have walked five miles. I should not have liked to walk in her shoes.

Meanwhile at another table several men and women were sitting, some eating, some smoking (women as well as men). Also on the short forms by the fire were several people and children, and there were two perambulators, each with a sleeping child, against the wall in the background.

In a little while we were better able to disentangle the relations.h.i.+ps of the various groups. A young and rather good-looking woman was the mother of three small children, one a babe at the breast, the next hardly more than a baby, and the third about four, apparently quite able to take care of herself and go to shop for the family! They were all very healthy, and the baby was much admired; the father seemed kind, and helped his wife to nurse. They did not seem dest.i.tute, but one wondered how they lived, whether they were "on the road," or crowded out of a home; the perambulator and the healthiness of the children favoured the former hypothesis. Another pretty little child seemed almost "unattached," but next day we identified her father; she was fair, and had long golden curls and a black velvet dress, and thus dirt did not show. It was most amusing to see this child, not more than six, take possession of the only was.h.i.+ng bowl, get water, and proceed in the most business-like fas.h.i.+on to wash out three pocket handkerchiefs (one of which had lace round the edge), they were then placed on the rack over the fire to dry.

A man and woman were very busy making paper mats in a very quiet and steady fas.h.i.+on; they also began again next morning, and had a small tin box in which they kept their stock in trade. It was really curious to see such fancy articles made in such a place, and kept clean. For the dirt must not be left out of my description. The boarded floor was sanded over, the walls were clean, as far as could be seen, but under the tables and forms, and in every corner, there was a miscellaneous collection of sweepings of all sorts. Remains of food, dirty papers, filthy sand, dust and dirt, remained there unswept, and was still there when we came away. No attempt had been made to clear them, and what cleaning of pots and pans was done was expected of the lodgers, probably the room received a clearing up once a week, possibly a sweeping later in the day.

It is impossible for human beings to be or keep clean under such circ.u.mstances, and clean they were not. Yet I think most of them were as clean as they could be under these conditions, and, as will be seen later, there were degrees of uncleanliness to which they were very sensitive.

There were several working men who got into conversation about the doings of the Manchester corporation:

"Taking on two or three hundred at stone-breaking out of thousands!"

"Breaking granite! It's not much as them as aren't accustomed to it will make of that!"

"A man can't claim the Union unless he's resided two years."

"But I will say this, there's nowhere worse than Manchester for men knocking about as doesn't belong to it."

Two of the men settled down into earnest conversation about the state of employment, but, owing to the incessant knocking of the cobbler, I could not catch what they said, even when I moved nearer. A pleasing interlude from serious talk was afforded by the following humorous conversation (I omit the various unsavory adjectives with which it was interlarded, as I cannot do justice to them, and they were probably meaningless):

Enter the mother and baby.

"What's his name?"

"Oh! don't you know? he's Billy Bailey!"

"Bill Bailey? eh! There was a man as had a bicycle accident, fell off and lay in the road. A chap came along. 'What's the matter?' 'Broken a rib,' says he; 'can't move.' 'What's your name?' says the man. 'Bill Bailey,' says he. 'Bill Bailey!' says the man, and goes off and leaves him. He lies there half an hour, then another chap comes along. 'What's up?' says he. 'Run and get me a doctor, for G.o.d's sake,' says the man.

'My name is Bill Bailey,' says he. So the chap runs off and tells the nearest doctor that there's a man down the road wants him. 'What's his name?' says the doctor. 'He says he's called Bill Bailey.' 'Bill Bailey!' says the doctor. 'Get along with you!' says he. So he wouldn't go. At last the man got a doctor to go who didn't ask the chap's name; but the poor fellow lay there two hours with a broken rib, all because his name was Bill Bailey."

"There were a chap that went into a beer-house," struck in another man; "there was some gla.s.ses of beer called for, and a chap ordered one and went in the yard; when he came back his gla.s.s were drunk. 'Who's done this?' he says. 'Bill Bailey,' says someone. 'Where is he?' says he.

'Just gone out,' says the man. 'I'll be even with him,' says he; with that he goes back in the yard, and, as luck would have it, there were a chap there called Bill Bailey. 'Where's Bill Bailey?' he sings out, ''cause he's wanted.' 'What for?' says Bill Bailey. 'I'll give you what for,' says the man; and with that he pitches into him, and gives him a right-down good thras.h.i.+ng. And all the while the chap doesn't know what it's all about!"