The Down and Out King - 17

EMILY

Alas! he may not claim a bone

Even in the workhouse, be it known,

Though Bethnal-Green might own his sire

That Bob was born in Monmouthsire.

The porridge having been made by cook, by my instructions, to the old recipe, I tasted it before it was sent down to the casuals last night. It was not inedible, but not very pleasant either - thin and
tasteless.

I asked John to peek into the rooms while the men casuals and I did the same with the women. I must admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the group that I visited - having not spent much time with that group of people before. I tried to be inconspicuous, and just observe, but sometimes I put direct questions to them. I tried to put myself in the shoes of one of the women I saw there.

The day was gloomy and damp, but not actually wet, except for a slight drizzle at intervals. The first one was lame in one leg with rheumatism, and walked slowly. She said she was walking from Pewsey to Tidworth to find her brother who'd been in a workhouse infirmary for manymonths. She said she had received a letter from her brother, offering her a home if she would come to him. She lost his address and could not write, so she had no resource but to walk from workhouse to workhouse till she reached her destination.

She had arrived, alone, a few minutes before six, at the workhouse lodge. This was occupied by the Porter, William Dennis, on his own, and I wondered if that had worried her. No one else was in sight. She entered his hut to answer questions, which he recorded in a book.

He took her bundle, (all her worldly goods) and asked if she had any money. She gave him her last penny (I presume) and received a wooden token for the bundle.

The woman plus two younger ones who had come in after her went into an oblong room containing six bedsteads with wire bedsteads with straw mattresses and pillows. I was deeply embarrassed at how pathetic they looked. A wooden table and bench and a copy of "Regulations for Tramps" were all the articles of furniture in the room. There are big, rather low, windows on three sides; the bottom panes are frosted, except one, which had been broken and mended with plain glass, and
overlooked the yard where the male tramps work.

It was some time before Fanny Gingell, the regular who manages this part of the house came. She asked them if they were clean. The old lady (whose garments were at any rate not clean) was let off, as she had spent the last night in a workhouse tramp ward. The younger women said they should like a bath, and were shown into a bath-room and were given blue nightgowns. They seemed to have
dirty marks round the neck. They should at least have been stoved to kill bugs, but it doesn't remove marks.

The old woman dressed in one without bathing. Then they were each given four blankets and told to make their beds and get into them. The art of bed-making is a difficult one, even with four blankets. I
thought the best plan would be to put one down doubled for padding, then, roll oneself round in one, and lie on the mattress. Even with one spread all over and another doubled under the body and two above they still would probably be cold.

At about half-past six, Fanny brought in their food. The women seemed rather more cheerful after their bath, with the large, airy room, They appeared very hungry and thirsty. They were given a small
lading-can three parts full of hot gruel and a thick crust of bread each. The latter they were quite hungry enough to eat, but when they tasted the gruel, their expressions said how unpleasant it was. They asked for salt and were shown a salt-box on the table, into which many fingers had been dipped. The old woman said they were "lucky to get that." But they had no spoons (why not? I must find out.) so it was hard for them to mix the salt in. One of the younger women said, “I am fond of gruel, and in my hunger and thirst could eat almost anything.” She cast in a few grains of salt into the gruel and used a little to moisten the dry bread; her companion could not stomach it at all, and the old woman, being accustomed to workhouse ways, had a little tea in her pocket, and got Fanny to pour her gruel down the bog and infuse her tea with hot water from the bath tap.

They were then left locked alone, and I went back to our bit of the house to write up my notes. What a lot of changes needed to come just as a result of this one viewing.

The next morning, I again wished to see how they reacted to the food. I decided to have a few words with them and asked how they slept. They had been wakened about seven and told to dress. “Not at all,” was the answer. “It was cold and noisy and there were bugs on the ceiling. The floor would have been preferable to the bed,” said one.

“The pillow was too dirty to put my face on, so I covered it with a blanket,” said another. I was again astounded and ashamed to find out what was happening in my workhouse.

I noticed that both blankets and nightgowns were folded up and put away on shelves, just where they had been the night before, apparently, and left for new corners. As soon as I could, I would have words with Fanny.

Then the breakfast arrived, which was exactly a repetition of supper - salt-less gruel and dry bread. They ate as much as they could and complained of being very thirsty. They put what bread they could not eat into their pockets as a supply for the day, and were told to empty the remains of their gruel (most of it) down the bog. One of the women told me, “A mug of coffee or tea would at least have washed down the dry bread; or a quarter of the quantity of gruel, properly made, would have been acceptable, with a mug of cold water for a proper drink.”

The women were told to clean the tramp ward and go. They swept the floor, cleaned the bath, and wash-basins, washed up the pots, dusted, and, having made all tidy and then sat and waited for
release. I felt despite their meager fare, they could not have done their jobs better.

I stood at the door and watched them receive their things from William Dennis and leave the gates. He hastened to give them without a word, and also restored their two pennies. They waited a bit, sheltering from the heavy rain. At last it moderated, and they set off again.

As soon as I saw them leave, I went to Fanny Gingell and told her that there must be several changes made immediately. The gowns and blankets must be stoved.

“We don’t do that every night,” she said sullenly.

“You will from now on,” I said, “starting with right now. And see if you can’t find some pillows that don’t look as if they are crawling with bugs.”

She went off to do as I requested, but I could tell that she was not happy about the extra work this would entail, and despite being one who had milk in her porridge this morning, she had not impressed me as being either happy or healthy.