Workhouse Characters Part 7

"He guffawed again fit to split 'isself. 'It's a treat to come and see you,' 'e says, 'but you're really ill this time, you know, and you ought to go into the infirmary and get properly nursed up.' 'Never,' I says, 'never!' and 'e went away cowed like.

"No, la.s.s, I ain't a-going to no work'us with poor critturs a-gasping and a-groaning all round. I've kept myself to myself free and independent all my life, and free and independent I'll die. Little Walker catched it 'ot the other day sending a sort of visiting lady 'ere--the Organization lady she calls 'erself, so Mrs. Curtis said.

Well, she asked so many questions and wanted to know why I had not had thrift, as she called it, that I turned on 'er and I says: 'I think you've made a little mistake in the number. I ain't got no 'idden crime on my conscience, but I'm a lady of independent means, and must ask for the peace and quiet which is due to wealth.'

"I was that angry with the Reverend Walker!--did it for the best, he said, thought as I might have got a little 'elp from the Organization if I hadn't been so rude. The very idea! I 'ate help. I've hung by mine own 'ed like every proper herring and human ought to, and when I can't 'ang no longer I'll drop quiet and decent into my grave.

"No, I never got married--what I saw of men in service did not exactly set me coveting my neighbours' husbands, a set of big babies as must have the moon if they want it--to say nothing of the wine, and the women, and the trotting horses, and the betting on them silly cards.

Besides, to tell the truth, la.s.s, no man of decent stature ever asked me to wed; being a big woman, all the little scrubs came a-following me, but I would not go with any of them, always liking Grenadier Guards, six foot at least. Perhaps it was as well; I should never have had patience to put up with a man about the place, being so masterful myself; besides, ain't I been sort of father and 'usband to my sister Cordelia?

Mother died when Cordelia was born, and she says to me: 'Ruth, take care of this 'elpless babby,' and, G.o.d help me! I done my best, though the poor girl made a poor bargain with life, 'er husband getting queerer and more cantankerous, wandering the country up and down as fast as they brought 'im 'ome and having to be shut up in Colney Hatch at the end. I was not going to satisfy that Organization lady's curiosity and boast how I helped to bring up that family, and a deal of 'thrift' that lady would have managed on the two s.h.i.+llings a week I kept of my wages, the missus often pa.s.sing the remark that, considering the good money she paid, she liked her servants better dressed. Cordelia was left with three little ones, and I couldn't abide the thought of 'er coming to the parish and having them nice little kids took from 'er and brought up in them work'us schools, so I agreed to give 'er eight s.h.i.+llings week out of my wages, and that with the twelve s.h.i.+llings she got cooking at the 'Pig and Whistle' kept the 'ome together. Poor la.s.s! she's had no luck with her boys either, poor Tim going off weak in his head and having to be put away, and Jonathan killed straight off at Elandslaagter with a bullet through his brain. Yes, there's Ambrose--no, I don't ask Ambrose to help me; 'e's got his mother to 'elp and a heavy family besides. No, I don't take food out of the stomachs of little children, a-stunting of their growth, as nothing can be done for them later, and a-starving of their brains--I pulls my belt a bit tighter, thank you. Yes, I know what I am talking about--didn't I spend nearly every Sunday afternoon for nigh on twenty years at Colney Hatch? Well, the will of the Lord be done--but why if He be Almighty He lets folks be mad when He might strike 'em dead has always puzzled and tried my faith.

"Yes, I lives on my five-s.h.i.+lling pension and what my last master left me; half a crown rent doesn't leave me much for food. I allus had a good appet.i.te, I'm sorry to say, and I often dream of grilled steaks--not since the brownchitis, though; I'm all for lemons and fizzy drinks. The folks 'ere are very kind and often bring me some of their dinner, but Lord! they are poor cooks, and if their 'usbands drink I for one ain't surprised. I can grill a steak with any one, and I attribute my independent income to my steaks; at my last place the master thought the world of them, and when there was rumpuses in the kitchen I used to hear 'im say: 'Sack the whole blooming lot, but remember Brooks stays,' and stay I did till the old gentleman died and remembered his steaks in his will.

"Well, I was going to tell you how I caught this cold, only you will keep on interrupting of me. I saw as how there was going to be a funeral at St. Paul's, and I thought I'd go. I allus was one for looking at men, and having been kitchen-maid at York Palace, I took on a taste for cathedrals and stained windows and music and such-like, as a sort of respite from the troubles and trials of life.

"It was just beautiful to hear the organ play and to see the gold cross carried in front of the dear little chorister-boys, and I says to myself: 'Their mas are proud of them this day.' Then came the young chaps who sing tenor and ba.s.s--fine upstanding young men--and then the curates with their holy faces, but at the end were the bishops and deans and such-like, and they were that h'old and h'ugly I was quite ashamed.

"Well, I thought I'd treat myself to a motor-bus after my long walk. The young chap says: 'Don't go up top, mother, you'll catch cold.' 'Thank you kindly,' I says, 'but I ain't a 'ot-house plant, being born on the moors,' and up I went, but Lor'! I hadn't reckoned how the wind cut going the galloping pace we went; it petrified to the negrigi, as poor mother used to say--no, I don't know where the negrigi is--but take off your fur-coat top of a motor-bus in a vehement east wind and perhaps you'll feel.

"Yes, that's little Walker's bell a-going--it ain't a wedding and it ain't a funeral; it's a kind of prayers that he says, chiefly to 'isself, at five o'clock--'e's 'Igh Church.

"Must you be going? Well, come again soon; being country yourself, you understands fresh air as folk brought up among chimbleys can't be expected to--but don't worry me about no infirmaries, for I ain't a-going, so there!

"Mrs. Curtis has her orders, and when I'm took worse she's to put me in the long train that whistles and goes to York--yes, I've saved up the railway fare, and from there I can get 'ome and die comfortable on the moor with plenty of air and the peace of G.o.d all around."

The landlady came to open the door for me as I went down the well-scrubbed staircase. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Brooks is better, but she's very frail; the doctor thinks as she can't last much longer, but her conversation continues as good as ever. My old man or one of my sons goes up to sit with her every evening; she's such good company she saves them the money for the 'alls, and makes them laugh as much as Little Tich. We'll take care of her, ma'am; the Reverent Walker told me to get whatever she wanted, and 'e'd pay, and all the folks are real fond of her in the house, she's that quick with her tongue.

"No, ma'am, she'll never get to York, she's too weak, but the doctor told me to humour her."

MOTHERS

For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; ...

astonishment hath taken hold on me. Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?

Every first Monday of the month a trainload of shabby, half-starved women moves southwards from London to one of our great Poor Law schools; and perhaps in the whole world, spite of poverty, hunger, and rags, there is no more joyous band. For two blessed hours they meet their children again, and though later they return weary, hungry, and heart-sore, nothing is allowed to mar the joy of the present, for the poor are great philosophers, and hold in practice as well as in theory that "an ounce of pleasure is worth a peck of pain."

Humour exudes from every pore; triumphs are related on all sides--triumphs over civil authorities, triumphs over Boards of Guardians, triumphs over "Organization ladies" and "cruelty men"; and methods are discussed as to the best way of triumphing over the school authorities and conveying sweets and cakes to the children.

"Yes, 'e kept 'is word and had me up, but I said as I was a widder, and had to keep the girl at 'ome to mind the sick children, and the beak dismissed the summons, and I came out and danced a jig under 'is nose.

'Done you again, old chap,' I says, and 'e looked fit to eat me.

"'E's a good sort, our chairman, with a terrible soft spot in his heart for widows. We allus says you have only got to put on a widow's c.r.a.pe and you can get what you like out of him; so Mrs. James upstairs--she's been a milliner, you know--she rigged me out with a little bonnet, and a long c.r.a.pe fall, and a white muslin collar, and she pulled my 'air out loose round my ears, and gave me a 'andkerchief with an inch border of black, and she says, 'There, Mrs. Evans, there ain't a bloke on the Board as won't say you are a deserving case,' and sure enough they went and did just as I told them as good as gold. If I'd my time over again I'd come into the world a widder born."

"Just what I says. When Spriggs was alive we were half-clemmed, but nothing could we get from the parish, 'cos they said 'e was an able-bodied man. Spriggs wasn't a lazy man, and 'e did try for work, and he wasn't a drunkard though 'e did fall down under the motor-bus, one of his mates standing 'im a drink on a empty stomach, which we all knows flies quicker to the 'ead. It don't seem right as married ladies a-carrying the kiddies should always go 'ungry, but it's the fact. Since Spriggs was took and the inquest sat on 'im we've had enough, but it's too late to save the little 'un, who was born silly, and Ernest was put away in Darenth, and I always says it was being starved, and the teacher always a-caning of 'im because 'e couldn't learn on an empty stomach."

"Best not to marry, I says, and then if 'e falls out of work we can go to the parish and get took in on our own, and you don't 'ave to keep 'im later on. Did you 'ear about Mrs. Moore? Mrs. Moore was our landlady, and 'er 'usband went off about three year ago with the barmaid at 'The Bell'; the perlice tells 'er as she must come in the 'Ouse whilst they looked for 'im, but she said she wouldn't, not if it was ever so, and she was glad to be rid of bad rubbish. So she went to 'er old missis, who lent her money to set up a lodging-house, and, being a good cook, she soon had a 'ouseful, and brings up the three little ones clean and well-behaved like ladies' children. Then the Guardians sent the other day to say as Moore had been taken off to Colney Hatch, mad with drink and wickedness, and she'd got to pay for 'im in there. Well, Mrs. Moore went to appear afore the Board. Lord! we 'alf split ourselves with laughing when she was a-telling us about it; she's got a tongue in 'er head, as cooks have, I notice; the heat affects their tempers; and she went off in one of 'er tantrums and fair frighted them.

"'I'm sure you'd like to pay for your 'usband, Mrs. Moore,' says the little man wot sits in the big chair.

"'I'm quite sure I shouldn't,' says Mrs. Moore; ''e's never been a 'usband to me, p.a.w.ning the 'ome and drinking and carrying-on with other women shocking. 'E promised to support me, 'e did: "with all my worldly goods I thee endow," and lies of that sort, but I made no such promise, and I won't do it. Working 'ard as I can I just keep a roof and get food for the four of us, and if you takes a penny out of me I don't pay it, and I drops the job, and comes into the 'Ouse with Claude and Ruby and Esmeralda, and lives on the ratepayers, same as other women, which I 'as a right to, being a deserted woman for three years, while 'e kep 'is barmaids--or they kep 'im, which is probable if I knows Moore. And my young Claude being a cripple for life, 'is father kicking 'im when he was a crawler in one of 'is drunken fits. You may fine me and imprison me, and 'ang me by the neck till I am dead, but not a 'apenny shall you get out of me.'

"They told her to be quiet, but she wouldn't, and they pushed 'er out of the room and into the street, still talking, and quite a crowd came round and listened to 'er, and they all says, 'Quite right; don't you pay it, my gal,' and she didn't, and no one ain't asked 'er any more about it. She fair frighted that Board of Guardians, she says. She's a fine talker, is Mrs. Moore, and nothing stops 'er when she's once started."

"I'm another who's done better since mine died," said a frail little woman on crutches, with a red gash across her throat from ear to ear, "and 'e was a real good 'usband, as came 'ome regular and did 'is duty to us all till he lost his work through the firm bankrupting, and not a job could 'e get again. And somehow, walking about all day with nothing in 'is inside, and 'earing the kids always crying for bread, seemed to turn 'im savage and queer in 'is head. 'E took to sleeping with a carving-knife under the pillow, and hitting me about cruel. I knew it was only trouble, and didn't think wrong of the man, but I went to ask the magistrate for advice just what to do, as I thought 'is brain was queer, and yet didn't want 'im put away. And the beak said 'e didn't think much of a black eye, and I'd better go 'ome and make the best of 'im. Just what I did, but 'e got worse, and the Organization lady said as we must go to the 'Ouse, or she'd have the cruelty man on us. And Jack got wild and said 'e wasn't so cruel as to have bred paupers, and they should go with 'im to a better land, far, far away. That night 'e blazed out shocking, as you know, for it was all in _Lloyd's News_, and cut little Daisy's throat, and rushed at H'albert, killing them dead.

I'd an awful struggle with 'im, but I jumped out of the window just in time, though my throat was bleeding fearful, and I broke both legs with the fall. The perlice came then, but it was too late; 'e'd done for 'imself and the two children, though I always give thanks to Mrs. Dore, who came in whilst 'e was wrestling with me, and took off the little ones and locked them up in the top-floor back. I done better since then--the Board's took Amy and Leonard, and I manage nicely on my twelve s.h.i.+llings a week, with only Cholmondeley and the baby to look after. But it don't seem right somehow."

"No, it ain't right; married ladies ought not to go short, but we always do. Boards and Organization ladies think as men keeps us. Granny says they most always did in her day, and rich people does still, I suppose, but it ain't the fas.h.i.+on down our street, and it falls 'eavy on the woman what with earning short money and being most always confined. My son says as it's the laws as is old, and ought to be swept somewhere into limbo, not as I understands it, being no scholard."

"Here we are at last! Ain't it a joyful sight to see the 'eavens and the earth, and no 'ouses in between; it always feels like Sunday in the country."

"YOUR SON'S YOUR SON"

My little son is my true lover-- It seems no time ago since he was born.

I know he will be quick and happy to discover The world of other women and leave me forlorn!

Sometimes I think that I'll be scarcely human If I can brook his chosen woman!

_Anna Wickham._

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" wailed the old lady, burying her face in her pocket-handkerchief; "to think as I've lived to see the day! I've always lived with 'Orace, and I've always prayed that the Lord would take me unto Himself before I was left alone with my grey hairs. A poor, pretty thing she is, too, with a pair of blue eyes and frizzled yellow curls, dressed out beyond her station in cheap indecencies of lace showing her neck and arms, as no proper-minded girl should. And she won't have me to live with them--I who have never been parted from 'Orace not one day since he was born thirty year ago come Sunday. Yes, I've got Esther; she's away in service: she's Johnson's child; I've buried two husbands, both of them railway men and both of them dying violent deaths. Johnson was an engine-driver on the Great Northern, and he smashed 'isself to a jelly in that accident near York nigh on forty year ago now. I said I'd never marry on the line again, hating accidents and blood about the place; however, it's a bit lonesome being a widow when you're young, and Thompson courted me so faithful at last I gave in. He was 'Orace's father, a guard on the Midland, and he went to step on his van after the train was off, as is the habit of guards--none of them ever getting killed as I ever heard of except Thompson, who must needs miss his footing and fall on the line, a-smas.h.i.+ng of his skull fearful. Yes; I drew two prizes in the matrimonial market--good, steady men, as always came 'ome punctual and looked after the jennies in the window-boxes, and played with the children; but, as Mrs. Wells says, them is the sort as gets killed. If a woman gets 'old on a brute she may be quite sure he'll come safe through all perils both on land and water, and live to torture several unfortunate women into their graves. 'Orace was a toddling babe then, and Esther just ten years older. Fortunately, I was a good hand at the waistcoat-making, and so I managed to keep the 'ome going; 'Orace was always very clever, and he got a scholars.h.i.+p and worked 'isself up as an electrical engineer. One of the ladies got Esther a place at Copt Hall, Northamptons.h.i.+re, when she was only thirteen, and she's done well ever since, being cook now to Lady Mannering at thirty-six pounds a year. No, she's never got married, Esther--a chap she walked out with wasn't as faithful as he should have been, a-carrying on with another at the same time; and Esther took on awful, I believe, though she's one as holds her tongue, is Esther--at all events, she's never had naught to do with chaps since. She's a good girl, is Esther; but 'Orace and me were always together, and he always was such a one to sit at home with me working at his wires and currents and a-taking me to see all the exhibitions, and explaining to me about the positives and negatives and the volts and ampts; he never went after girls, and I always hoped as he would never fall in love with mortal woman, only with a current; so it knocked all the heart out of me when he took to staying out in the evenings, and then brought the girl in one night as his future wife.

'Orace was the prettiest baby you ever see'd, and when he used to sit on my knee, with his head all over golden curls, like a picture-book, I used to hate to think that somewhere a girl-child was growing up to take him from me--and to think it's come now, just when I thought I was safe and he no more likely to marry than the Pope of Rome, being close on thirty, and falling in love for the first time! And she won't have me to live with them!

"Mrs. Wells has been telling me I mustn't stand in the young people's way. Of course I don't want to stand in their way; but I'm wondering how I'll s.h.i.+ft without 'Orace; he always made the fire and brought me a cup of tea before he went to his work; and when the rheumatics took me bad he'd help me dress and be as handy as a woman. I can't get the work I used to; my eyesight isn't what it was, and my fingers are stiff. No, I ain't what I was, and I suppose I mustn't expect it, being turned sixty-seven, and I ain't old enough either for them pensions.

"Well, if it ain't Esther. You're early, la.s.s; and it's not your evening out, neither. I've just been telling this lady how Ruby won't have me to live with them; it's upset me shocking the thought of leaving 'Orace after all these years. I'm trying not to complain, and I know 'Orace has been a son in ten thousand; but I'm afeard of the lonesomeness, and I don't know how I'll live. Mrs. Wells says if the Guardians see my hands they won't give me no outdoor relief, but they'll force me into the House, and I'd sooner be in my bury-hole." And again the poor old lady sobbed into her pocket-handkerchief.

"Don't cry, mother; it's all right; you shan't go on the parish, never fear, neither for outdoor relief nor indoor relief. I've left my place, and I'm coming to live with you and take care of you to the end of your days. I'm not 'Orace, I know, but I'm your daughter, and after the courting's over 'Orace will be your son again."

"Left your place, Esther! What do you mean, la.s.s?"

"What I say, mother. 'Orace wrote and told me what Ruby said, and I was that sorry I went and gave notice. 'Orace is awful upset, too, but there, it is no good talking to a man in love, and perhaps Ruby will get nicer; she's a young thing yet. So when I told my lady all about it she let me come away at once. The family is going to the Riviera next week, and the housekeeper can manage quite well."

"You've left your good place, Esther, all for me?"

"Yes; all right, old dear. I've got a fourteen-year character from my lady, and I'll soon find something to do; I'm not the sort as starves."

And Esther rolled up her sleeves, made up the fire, and poured the contents of the indignant kettle into the little black teapot.

"Oh, dear!" wailed the old lady, "you must not do this for me, la.s.s; you're heaping coals of fire on my 'ead, for, as Mrs. Wells often said to me, 'Don't be so set on 'Orace; remember, you have a girl too.' I was always set on the boys, and not on the girls; women's life is a poor game, and when I heard of them 'eathen 'Indus who kill the girl babies, I thought it a very sensible thing too--better than letting them grow up to slave for a pittance. But it is you now who are the faithful one,"

and she drew Esther's face down to hers and kissed her fondly.