London Labour and the London Poor: Selection (Classics)

by Henry Mayhew

  As to mundane matters, the boy told me that Victoria was Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. She was born May 24, 1819, and succeeded his late Majesty, King William IV., July 20, 1837. She was married to his Royal Highness Prince Albert, &c., &c. France was a different country to this: he had heard there was no king or queen there, but didn’t understand about it. You couldn’t go to France by land, no more than you could to Ireland. Didn’t know anything of the old times in history; hadn’t been told. Had heard of the battle of Waterloo; the English licked. Had heard of the battle of Trafalgar, and of Lord Nelson; didn’t know much about him; but there was his pillar at Charing-cross, just by the candlesticks (fountains). When I spoke of astronomy, the boy at once told me he knew nothing about it. He had heard that the earth went round the sun, but from what he’d noticed, shouldn’t have thought it. He didn’t think that the sun went round the earth, it seemed to go more sideways. Would like to read more, if he had time, but he had a few books, and there was hundreds not so well off as he was.

  I am far from undervaluing, indeed I would not indulge in an approach to a scoff, at the extent of this boy’s knowledge. Many a man who piques himself on the plenitude of his breeches’ pocket, and who attributes his success in life to the fulness of his knowledge, knows no more of Nature, Man, and God, than this poor street child.

  Another boy, perhaps a few months older, gave me his notions of men and things. He was a thick-limbed, red-cheeked fellow; answered very freely, and sometimes, when I could not help laughing at his replies, laughed loudly himself, as if he entered into the joke.

  Yes, he had heer’d of God who made the world. Couldn’t exactly recollec’ when he’d heer’d on him, but he had, most sarten-ly. Didn’t know when the world was made, or how anybody could do it. It must have taken a long time. It was afore his time, ‘or yourn either, sir’. Knew there was a book called the Bible; didn’t know what it was about; didn’t mind to know; knew of such a book to a sartinty, because a young ‘oman took one to pop (pawn) for an old ‘oman what was on the spree – a bran new ’un – but the cove wouldn’t have it, and the old ‘oman said he might be d—d. Never heer’d tell on the deluge; of the world having been drownded; it couldn’t, for there wasn’t water enough to do it. He weren’t a going to fret hisself for such things as that. Didn’t know what happened to people after death, only that they was buried. Had seen a dead body laid out; was a little afeared at first; poor Dick looked so different, and when you touched his face, he was so cold! oh, so cold! Had heer’d on another world; wouldn’t mind if he was there hisself, if he could do better, for things was often queer here. Had heered on it from a tailor – such a clever cove, a stunner – as went to ‘Straliar (Australia), and heer’d him say he was going into another world. Had never heer’d of France, but had heer’d of Frenchmen; there wasn’t half a quarter so many on ’em as of Italians, with their earrings like flash gals. Didn’t dislike foreigners, for he never saw none. What was they? Had heer’d of Ireland. Didn’t know where it was, but it couldn’t be very far, or such lots wouldn’t come from there to London. Should say they walked it, aye, every bit of the way, for he’d seen them come in, all covered with dust. Had heer’d of people going to sea, and had seen the ships in the river, but didn’t know nothing about it, for he was very seldom that way. The sun was made of fire, or it wouldn’t make you feel so warm. The stars was fire, too, or they wouldn’t shine. They didn’t make it warm, they was too small. Didn’t know any use they was of. Didn’t know how far they was off; a jolly lot higher than the gas lights some on ’em was. Was never in a church; had heer’d they worshipped God there; didn’t know how it was done; had heer’d singing and playing inside when he’d passed; never was there, for he hadn’t no togs to go in, and wouldn’t be let in among such swells as he had seen coming out. Was a ignorant chap, for he’d never been to school, but was up to many a move, and didn’t do bad. Mother said he would make his fortin yet.

  Had heer’d of the Duke of Wellington; he was Old Nosey; didn’t think he ever seed him, but had seed his statty. Hadn’t heer’d of the battle of Waterloo, nor who it was atween; once lived in Webber-row, Waterloo-road. Thought he had heer’d speak of Buonaparte; didn’t know what he was; thought he had heer’d of Shakespeare, but didn’t know whether he was alive or dead, and didn’t care. A man with something like that name kept a dolly and did stunning; but he was sich a hard cove that if he was dead it wouldn’t matter. Had seen the Queen, but didn’t recollec’ her name just at the minute; oh! yes, Wictoria and Albert. Had no notion what the Queen had to do. Should think she hadn’t such power [he had first to ask me what ‘power’ was] as the Lord Mayor, or as Mr Norton as was the Lambeth beak, and perhaps is still. Was never once before a beak and didn’t want to. Hated the crushers; what business had they to interfere with him if he was only resting his basket in a street? Had been once to the Wick, and once to the Bower: liked tumbling better; he meant to have a little pleasure when the peas came in.

  The knowledge and the ignorance of these two striplings represent that of street children generally. Those who may have run away from a good school, or a better sort of home as far as means constitute such betterness, of course form exceptions. So do the utterly stupid.

  The morals, religion, and opinions of the street-trading children are the next topic. Their business morals have been indicated in the course of my former statements, and in the general tone of the remarks and conversation of street-sellers.

  As traders their morals may be lax enough. They give short weight, and they give short measure; they prick the juice out of oranges; and brush up old figs to declare they’re new. Their silk braces are cotton, their buck-leather braces are wash-leather, their sponge is often rotten, and their salves and cures quackeries.

  Speak to any one of the quicker-witted street-sellers on the subject, and though he may be unable to deny that his brother traders are guilty of these short-comings, he will justify them all by the example of shopkeepers. One man, especially, with whom I have more than once conversed on the subject, broadly asserts that as a whole the streets are in all matters of business honester than the shops. ‘It ain’t we,’ runs the purport of his remarks, ‘as makes coffee out of sham chickory; it ain’t we as makes cigars out of rhubarb leaves; we don’t make duffers handkerchiefs, nor weave cotton things and call them silk. If we quacks a bit, does we make fortins by it as shopkeepers does with their ointments and pills! If we give slang weights, how many rich shopkeepers is fined for that there? And how many’s never found out? And when one on ’em’s fined, why he calculates how much he’s into pocket, between what he’s made by slanging, and what he’s been fined, and on he goes again. He didn’t know that there ever was short weight given in his shop: not he! No more do we at our stalls or barrows! Who ‘dulterates the beer? Who makes old tea-leaves into new? Who grinds rice among pepper? And as for smuggling – but nobody thinks there’s any harm in buying smuggled things. What we does is like that pencil you’re writing with to a great tree, compared to what the rich people does. O, don’t tell me, sir, a gentleman like you that sees so much of what’s going on, must know we’re better than the shopkeepers are.’

  To remarks such as these I have nothing to answer. It would be idle to point out to such casuists, that the commission of one wrong can never justify another. The ignorant reverse the doctrine of right, and live, not by rule, but by example. I have unsparingly exposed the rogueries and trickeries of the street-people, and it is but fair that one of them should be heard in explanation, if not in justification. The trade ethics of the adult street-folk are also those of the juveniles, so on this subject I need dwell no longer.

  What I have said of the religion of the women street-sellers applies with equal truth to the children. Their religious feelings are generally formed for them by their parents, especially their mothers. If the children have no such direction, then they have no religion. I did not question the street-seller before quoted on this subject of the want of the C
hristian spirit among his fraternity, old or young, or he would at once have asked me, in substance, to tell him in what class of society the real Christian spirit was to be found?

  As to the opinions of the street-children I can say little. For the most part they have formed no opinions of anything beyond what affects their daily struggles for bread. Of politics such children can know nothing. If they are anything, they are Chartists in feeling, and are in general honest haters of the police and of most constituted authorities, whom they often confound with the police officer. As to their opinions of the claims of friendship, and of the duty of assisting one another, I believe these children feel and understand nothing about such matters. The hard struggles of their lives, and the little sympathy they meet with, make them selfish. There may be companionship among them, but no friendship, and this applies, I think, alike to boys and girls. The boy’s opinion of the girl seems to be that she is made to help him, or to supply gratification to his passions.

  There is yet a difficult inquiry, – as to the opinions which are formed by the young females reared to a street-life. I fear that those opinions are not, and cannot be powerfully swayed in favour of chastity, especially if the street-girl have the quickness to perceive that marriage is not much honoured among the most numerous body of street-folk. If she have not the quickness to understand this, then her ignorance is in itself most dangerous to her virtue. She may hear, too, expressions of an opinion that ‘going to church to be wed’ is only to put money into the clergyman’s, or as these people say the ‘parson’s’, pocket. Without the watchful care of the mother, the poor girl may form an illicit connection, with little or no knowledge that she is doing wrong; and perhaps a kind and indulgent mother may be herself but a concubine, feeling little respect for a ceremony she did not scruple to dispense with. To such opinions, however, the Irish furnish the exception.

  The dwelling-places of the street-children are in the same localities as I specified regarding the women. Those who reside with their parents or employers sleep usually in the same room with them, and sometimes in the same bed. Nearly the whole of those, however, who support themselves by street-trade live, or rather sleep, in the lodging-houses. It is the same with those who live by street-vagrancy or begging, or by street-theft; and for this lazy or dishonest class of children the worst description of lodging-houses have the strongest attractions, as they meet continually with ‘tramps’ from the country, and keep up a constant current of scheming and excitement.

  It seems somewhat curious that, considering the filth and noisomeness of some of these lodging-houses, the children who are inmates suffer only the average extent of sickness and mortality common to the districts crammed with the poor. Perhaps it may be accounted for by the circumstance of their being early risers, and their being in the open air all day, so that they are fatigued at the close of the day, and their sleep is deep and unbroken. I was assured by a well-educated man, who was compelled to resort to such places, that he has seen children sleep most profoundly in a lodging-house throughout a loud and long-continued disturbance. Many street-children who are either ‘alone in the world’, or afraid to return home after a bad day’s sale, sleep in the markets or under the dry arches.

  There are many other lads who, being unable to pay the 1d., 2d., or 3d. demanded, in pre-payment, by the lodging-house keepers, pass the night in the streets, wherever shelter may be attainable. The number of outcast boys and girls who sleep in and about the purlieus of Covent Garden-market each night, especially during the summer months, has been computed variously, and no doubt differs according to circumstances; but those with whom I have spoken upon the subject, and who of all others are most likely to know, consider the average to be upwards of 200.

  The diet of the street-children is in some cases an alternation of surfeit and inanition, more especially that of the stripling who is ‘on his own hook’. If money be unexpectedly attained, a boy will gorge himself with such dainties as he loves; if he earn no money, he will fast all day patiently enough, perhaps drinking profusely of water. A cake-seller told me that a little while before I saw him a lad of twelve or so had consumed a shilling’s worth of cakes and pastry, as he had got a shilling by ‘fiddling’; not, be it understood, by the exercise of any musical skill, for ‘fiddling’, among the initiated, means the holding of horses, or the performing of any odd jobs.

  Of these cakes and pastry – the cakes being from two to twelve a penny, and the pastry, tarts, and ‘Coventrys’ (three-cornered tarts) two a penny – the street-urchins are very fond. To me they seemed to possess no recommendation either to the nose or the palate. The ‘strong’ flavour of these preparations is in all probability as grateful to the palate of an itinerant youth, as is the high gout of the grouse or the woodcock to the fashionable epicure. In this respect, as in others which I have pointed out, the ‘extremes’ of society ‘meet’.

  These remarks apply far more to the male than to the female children. Some of the street-boys will walk a considerable distance, when they are in funds, to buy pastry of the Jew-boys in the Minories, Houndsditch, and Whitechapel; those keen traders being reputed, and no doubt with truth, to supply the best cakes and pastry of any.

  A more staple article of diet, which yet partakes of the character of a dainty, is in great demand by the class I treat of – pudding. A halfpenny or a penny-worth of baked plum, boiled plum (or plum dough), currant or plum batter (batter-pudding studded with raisins), is often a dinner. This pudding is almost always bought in the shops; indeed, in a street apparatus there could hardly be the necessary heat diffused over the surface required; and as I have told of a distance being travelled to buy pastry of the Jew-boys, so is it traversed to buy pudding at the best shops. The proprietor of one of those shops, upon whom I called to make inquiries, told me that he sold about 300 pennyworths of pudding in a day. Two-thirds of this quantity he sold to juveniles under fifteen years of age; but he hadn’t noticed particularly, and so could only guess. This man, when he understood the object of my inquiry, insisted upon my tasting his ‘batter’, which really was very good, and tasted – I do not know how otherwise to describe it – honest. His profits were not large, he said, and judging from the size and quality of his oblong halfpenny and pennyworth’s of batter pudding, I have no doubt he stated the fact. ‘There’s many a poor man and woman,’ he said, ‘aye, sir, and some that you would think from their appearance might go to an eating-house to dine, make a meal off my pudding, as well as the street little ones. The boys are often tiresome: “Master,” they’ll say, “can’t you give us a plummier bit than this?” or, “Is it just up? I likes it ‘ot, all ‘ot.”’

  The ‘baked tatur’, from the street-dealer’s can more frequently than from the shops, is another enjoyable portion of the street child’s diet. Of the sale to the juvenile population of pickled whelks, stewed eels, oysters, boiled meat puddings, and other articles of street traffic, I have spoken under their respective heads.

  The Irish children who live with their parents fare as the parents fare. If very poor, or if bent upon saving for some purpose, their diet is tea and bread and butter, or bread without butter. If not so very poor, still tea, &c., but sometimes with a little fish, and sometimes with a piece of meat on Sundays; but the Sunday’s meat is more common among the poor English than the poor Irish street-traders; indeed the English street-sellers generally ‘live better’ than the Irish. The coster-boys often fare well and abundantly.

  The children living in the lodging-houses, I am informed, generally, partake only of such meals as they can procure abroad. Sometimes of a night they may partake of the cheap beef or mutton, purveyed by some inmate who has been ‘lifting flesh’ (stealing meat) or ‘sawney’ (bacon). Vegetables, excepting the baked potato, they rarely taste. Of animal food, perhaps, they partake more of bacon, and relish it the most.

  Drinking is not, from what I can learn, common among the street boys. The thieves are generally sober fellows, and of the others, when they are ‘in
luck’, a half-pint of beer, to relish the bread and saveloy of the dinner, and a pennyworth of gin ‘to keep the cold out’, are often the extent of the potations. The exceptions are among the ignorant coster-lads, who when they have been prosperous in their ‘bunse’, drink, and ape the vices of men. The girls, I am told, are generally fonder of gin than the boys. Elderwine and gingerbeer are less popular among children than they used to be. Many of the lads smoke.

  The amusements of the street-children are such as I have described in my account of the costermongers, but in a moderate degree, as those who partake with the greatest zest of such amusements as the Penny Gaff (penny theatre) and the Twopenny Hop (dance) are more advanced in years. Many of the Penny Gaffs, however, since I last wrote on the subject, have been suppressed, and the Twopenny Hops are not half so frequent as they were five or six years back. The Jew-boys of the streets play at draughts or dominoes in coffee-shops which they frequent; in one in the London-road at which I had occasion to call were eight of these urchins thus occupied; and they play for money or its equivalent, but these sedentary games obtain little among the other and more restless street-lads. I believe that not one-half of them ‘know the cards’, but they are fond of gambling at pitch and toss, for halfpennies or farthings.