Shadows Of The Workhouse: The Drama Of Life In Postwar London

by Jennifer Worth

  The lunch bell sounded. Miss Sutton roused her.

  “Come on, Jane, time for lunch.”

  “What is Parliament?” demanded the child.

  “The Houses of Parliament are where His Majesty’s Government sits. Now come along to lunch.”

  “Where are these Houses? Can I go? Will you take me?”

  Miss Sutton laughed. An eager pupil is the breath of life to a dedicated teacher.

  “I will tell you as much as I know about Parliament. But you must have your lunch first. You want to grow to be a big strong girl, don’t you? Come back to the classroom after lunch.”

  After lunch Miss Sutton did her best to explain to the understanding of a seven-year-old that the Members of Parliament made the rules that govern the country.

  “Are they very important people, and very important rules?” the child enquired.

  “Very; there are none higher in the land.”

  “More important than the workhouse Master?”

  “Oh, much. Members of Parliament are the most important people in the land, after the King.”

  Jane’s breath was coming fast. She seemed unable to contain her excitement. Miss Sutton was watching her closely with astonishment. Jane looked up at her teacher, her blue eyes flashing through dark lashes (extraordinary, the vivid combination of blue eyes and dark hair, thought Miss Sutton). Jane’s white teeth showed as she bit her lower lip. One of her milk teeth had come out and she drew air in through the gap with a sucking sound, then poked her tongue through it and wiggled it around. A smile spread across her face, as she whispered, confidentially: “My daddy is in Parliament.”

  Miss Sutton was, to say the least, taken aback. She was too fond of the child to reply, “Don’t be silly,” but she felt it necessary to say something to dispel this illusion.

  “Oh, come now, Jane, that cannot possibly be.”

  “But he is, he is, he’s here in the book. I’ve seen him.”

  She turned a few pages on and pointed the artist’s impression of a Member of Parliament.

  “That’s my daddy. I know it is. I’ve seen him lots and lots of times.”

  “But Jane, that is not a real man. That’s just a drawing to show the clothes that a Member of Parliament might wear. That’s not your daddy, dear.”

  “It is, it is, I know it is!” Jane began to cry, and jumped up. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know my daddy. I do, and I know it’s him.” Jane ran from the classroom in tears.

  Poor Miss Sutton was troubled by this scene, and discussed it with the Headmistress. They agreed that Jane’s reaction was just the longing of a highly imaginative child for a father she had never known. The Headmistress advised channelling Jane’s thoughts in other directions and said it would be best not to mention Parliament again. That way Jane would forget about it.

  Alone, Jane had also decided upon a similar course. She would never again mention her father to anyone, except Peggy. No one, not even Miss Sutton, was worthy of being let into her secret. She pretended she had forgotten all about the lunch-time conversation and carried on as though it had never occurred. But now she knew the book and the page where her daddy was to be found, and whenever she could, she went to the cupboard and opened the page, to gaze upon him with rapture in her heart. If anyone came near, she turned the page quickly, pretending she was looking at something else.

  SIR IAN ASTOR-SMALEIGH

  Sir Ian Astor-Smaleigh was a true philanthropist. He was an Oxford man who had devoted most of his life, and a considerable part of his fortune, to improvement of living conditions and life expectancy among children in the poorest areas of London. He was a founder member of the Oxford Philanthropic Society for the Improvement of Poor Children, having formed a charity dedicated to the provision of holidays for workhouse children. This work was also close to the heart of his wife, Lady Lavinia. They had made a systematic study of the workhouse system, and though they acknowledged that conditions had improved a great deal since the 1850s, they had seen with their own eyes hundreds of grey, unsmiling children crowded into workhouses and orphanages and were determined to do something about it. The idea of an annual holiday was Lady Lavinia’s. Surely, she argued, two weeks by the sea for unwanted children, with healthy air and sunshine, was not too much to ask of society?

  The opposition was loud in its scorn. “Holidays! For pauper children! What next? Let them learn to be grateful that they are given food and shelter.”

  Sir Ian and his lady battled on. When it was proved that one of the causes of rickets was lack of sunlight, they knew that this information could be used to further their cause. Were not many workhouse children afflicted with rickets? And were they not advocating a holiday in the sunshine?

  Eventually they won the debate and, to their overwhelming relief, the committee passed, by a narrow majority, the resolution that money should be set aside for holidays for the children of one London workhouse. Additional funds were approved for a further five, if the experiment proved successful.

  Suitable premises were found in Kent. These consisted of a series of large barns and sheds that could be adapted as dormitories for the children, who would sleep on straw mattresses on the floor. One of the sheds could be converted into a kitchen. The sheds were situated in fields that ran down to the sea. Sir Ian and members of the committee travelled to Kent to inspect the site and the accommodation. It all seemed perfect.

  Sir Ian’s next visit was to the workhouse selected for the experiment, in order to address the children himself and tell them of their good fortune. He wasn’t going to hand over that pleasant task to anyone else, he told his wife. Was it not he who had haggled with the committee, hour after hour? Now he was going to have the reward of seeing the children’s faces when they were told.

  Accordingly Sir Ian had taken the train from Oxford, and was in a cab bound for his destination in the East End. He told the cabman to halt about a mile from the workhouse, because he wanted to walk the rest of the way in order to absorb the atmosphere. He attracted much attention in the London streets. He was tall and slim and well dressed. He was also clean. “Vere’s a toff, nah, do-goodin’,” was one of many whispers as he passed. Sir Ian was unaware of the sideways glances. His mind was fixed on his mission and he was determined that, in years ahead, the holiday project would be expanded to all workhouse children, nationwide.

  The crocodile of little girls was returning from school. Jane was about halfway along the line, humming to herself as she marched along. She was looking at the pigtails of the little girl in front of her, watching them bounce up and down and wondering why they bounced more times than each step. “There must be some reason,” she was thinking. She looked up, and her heart stopped beating. Pigtails, marching, the street, the buildings, the very sky itself vanished from her universe. Her daddy was on the other side of the street, walking straight towards the workhouse. She stood stock-still. The girls behind piled into her, causing commotion in the line.

  “Get along there,” shouted Officer Hawkins and hit her on the head. She neither heard nor felt a thing. Her daddy had turned into the workhouse gate and was walking straight towards the main door. She knew that it was him. Not a shadow of doubt. He was exactly as she had always known he would look, and exactly like the picture in the book – tall, slim, grey trousers, a frock coat, a top hat and a walking-cane. He had come to take her away, as he had always said he would.

  Joy, unspeakable joy, flooded through Jane, with a rush of love impossible for a mere adult to describe. The intensity of a child’s feelings is quite beyond our understanding, though we have all been children. Jane was almost suffocating with the power of her emotions. She felt that something huge and unknown was inside her and she was going to burst wide open.

  “Get on there, I told you.”

  Another clout round the head, and Jane ran a few steps to catch up with the others. The door had closed behind her daddy, and the girls marched round the back to their usual entrance and stood in line f
or inspection before being told that they were to go to the hall.

  Jane didn’t stand in line with the others. She rushed straight upstairs to the dormitory, colliding with an officer on the stairway. She was flushed and breathless, but she grabbed the officer’s hand, almost shouting.

  “Quick, quick! I must have a clean dress and a clean apron!”

  The officer was not used to being spoken to by a child in that manner. She shook Jane off.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’ll have a clean dress on Sunday. Not before.”

  The child stamped. “But I must, I must! My daddy’s downstairs, and I want a clean dress and apron before I see him.”

  “Your what?”

  “My daddy. He’s downstairs. He’s in the Master’s office. I saw him go in.”

  There was something so intense, so urgent and compelling about the child, that the officer gave in, and Jane was supplied with a clean dress and apron, against all the rules. She rushed to the washroom and washed her face and hands, brushed her hair until her curls shone, then flew downstairs to join the other children.

  The officer plodded downstairs and told her colleagues of the extraordinary scene. They agreed that the child was mad, but one, with a snigger, said, “She may be right. Everyone says Jane’s father was a high-born gentleman. Well, there’s a fancy-lookin’ gent gone in Master’s office. We don’t know what for.” And she rubbed the side of her nose suggestively.

  The girls filed into the hall and sat in rows, the youngest at the front, and the oldest at the back. Jane sat in the fifth row, her eyes fixed on the door where she knew her daddy would enter. She was burning with expectation.

  The door opened and Sir Ian walked in, followed by the Master. Her heart stopped beating again. Yes, it was him, the same grave yet kindly face, the same smooth grey hair, and the same deep-set eyes with a smile at the corners. She sat up straight and tall. She was taller than the other girls anyway, but she increased her height by her posture. Her eyes were aflame with love, her mouth was slightly open, her teeth gleamed white as she smiled.

  Sir Ian spoke to the children from the pulpit. He could see right down the long hall, with the massed young faces staring up at him. Most of the faces looked glum and unresponsive, and it is always difficult to address an audience from whom the speaker feels no wave of sympathy. He had a joyful message to impart; he had hoped for a joyful response. But most of the girls looked straight ahead, no emotion registering on their features. However, there was one little girl, sitting in the middle near the front, who looked really animated. Sir Ian therefore did what many public speakers do; he fixed his attention on one face in the audience and spoke to that person alone. He spoke of the coming summer and how hot London became at that time of year. He said: “I am going to take you away in the summer.”

  The little girl stifled a gasp, her eyes alight.

  He spoke of the countryside and the seaside, and said: “I am going to take you to a beautiful place by the sea.” The little girl could scarcely contain her emotion as he continued: “You will be able to paddle and swim, and build sandcastles and collect shells.”

  The little girl in the fifth row was now breathing fast, alternately clenching and stretching her fingers.

  Sir Ian said, “We will do all this when the summer comes.”

  The little girl gave a sigh of delight as he stepped down from the pulpit. He felt pleased with himself. Overall, it had been a good address, and a good response.

  The Master had also seen Jane’s reaction and made a silent note to reprimand her about exhibitionism. He had not yet heard from his subordinate officers about the clean dress and apron.

  The girls stood up to leave the hall. One by one they filed past the Master and Sir Ian. It was at this point that Jane lost all control of herself. As she passed, she rushed out of line and flung her arms around Sir Ian’s waist, crying, “Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you,” then she burst into tears, sobbing into his waistcoat.

  He was surprised by this, and not a little touched. He ruffled her pretty hair and murmured, “There, there, my child. Don’t take on so. You’ll go to the seaside, and have a lovely time.”

  The Master tried to apologise and pull Jane away, but Sir Ian restrained him, saying that it was to the child’s credit that she showed so much gratitude. He patted her hair and shoulders and took out a fine lawn handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

  “There, now, dry your eyes. You can’t go spoiling your pretty little face with tears. Let’s see you smile. That’s better.”

  The girls continued to file past, but Jane still clung to him. The Master was standing beside them, seething with fury. After all the girls had left the hall, Sir Ian finally disentangled Jane’s arms from around him. “There now, little one,” he said, “off you run. Join your playmates. And I promise you will go to the seaside in the summer time.”

  Jane reached up and touched his face, and breathed the words: “Oh Daddy, I love you, Daddy, I love you so much.”

  She whispered it very softly, for him alone, but the Master heard every word. He said, out of the side of his mouth, to an officer: “Take her to the punishment room.” He then escorted his guest to the boys’ section, where Sir Ian gave his second address.

  Jane ran to join the rest of the girls. They were agog with excitement and she was the centre of attention. She entered, proud and confident, her eyes dancing.

  “That’s my daddy. He’s going to take me away.”

  They crowded around, chattering. Most of the girls believed her, although some of the older ones didn’t. “Don’t be silly. We’re all going on holiday, not just you.”

  Jane replied haughtily. “Oh well, perhaps he will take some of you as well. He’s very rich. But he’s my daddy and he’s taking me specially. After that we will live together in his big house.”

  An officer was standing right behind her. Jane was not aware of it while she spoke, but when she saw the girls looking over her shoulder, she turned round. The officer grabbed her.

  “You come along with me, my girl. The Master wants to see you.”

  Jane’s heart leaped. Her bright eyes looked over to the other girls. “There, you see! My daddy’s going to take me away now. That’s why the Master wants to see me.”

  The officer looked grim and most of the girls looked nervous. Only Jane was happy as she walked confidently away with the officer.

  She was taken to the punishment room. The door was opened, she was pushed in, then the door was locked from the outside.

  Jane was surprised, even startled, to find herself in a small room, about eight feet square, with no windows except the slit of a fanlight high up on one wall. There was no furniture, except for a three-legged stool sitting alone on the stone floor. Around the wall hung several canes of different lengths and a leather-thonged whip which had three tails, with a small lead pellet attached to the end of each tail.

  She couldn’t understand it. Why should they want her to wait here? Still, what did it matter, she thought to herself. She could still feel her daddy’s kind, warm hands as he caressed her hair, and the sound of his voice as he called her “my child”. What did it matter? What did anything in the world matter but that she had told him she loved him and he had called her his child and promised to take her away?

  Jane sat down on the stool to wait.

  Sir Ian Astor-Smaleigh returned to Oxford that evening full of philanthropic satisfaction. It had been a wonderful day. All the arrangements had been agreed with the workhouse master, the dates settled, the travelling arranged, catering organised, even the clothing supplier had been contracted. No wonder he was pleased. Over three hundred desperately poor children would benefit. He would be able to give a full and satisfactory report to his committee.

  Lady Lavinia read his face as he entered the house. She shared her husband’s happiness. The maid brought in a late meal and they sat down to discuss the day’s work. He told her how he had addressed the children twice, first the girls and then the
boys. They were poor, grey little things, he said, with very little life or vitality about them, not like their own children, who tumbled all over the place, and couldn’t be contained. She protested that their children were not all that bad – “but do go on, dear.”

  “However,” he said, “there was one little girl who seemed different. She was full of life. She was hanging on to every word as I spoke. She didn’t take her eyes off me and she was obviously overcome with joy at the news. In fact she ran up to me afterwards to thank me.”

  Sir Ian had been on the point of saying that the little girl had called him ‘Daddy’, but then he thought better of it. After all, women were funny creatures and you never knew what they might think once they got an idea into their heads.

  Lady Lavinia asked what the child was like.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Those damnation workhouse uniforms make all children look alike. I know she had dark hair. That’s all I can say. But one thing I do know for certain: she was the only one to come up and say ‘thank you’ personally.”

  Lady Lavinia smiled fondly at her husband. “It does her much credit,” she said, “and you can be sure of another thing: there is one little girl for whom this will be a day to remember.”

  A DAY TO REMEMBER

  Jane waited for nearly two hours in the punishment room. This was because the Master had to accompany Sir Ian to the boys’ section, after which many practical arrangements had to be sorted out. Then the Master wanted his supper, and a chance to discuss Jane’s wickedness with his wife.

  Two hours is a long time for a small child to wait alone in a closed room (Jane was eight years old). She grew hungry and fidgety. She was not particularly worried or frightened, in fact her mind was still buoyant. Her daddy had cuddled her and called her “my child”.