THE VICTORIAN WORKHOUSE: THE LAST RESORT

I've been interested in workhouses since my university days so if I could take a trip to Victorian England, a workhouse would be on my list of places to visit. The visitors' books of these institutions show that they were regularly visited by people like journalists, local worthies, guardians from the Board and ladies connected with charities, as well as official inspectors.  

There's a common misconception that all Victorian workhouses were dark, depressing places in which the poor were badly treated. That is, of course, a sweeping generalisation, especially as Queen Victoria's reign spanned sixty-three and a half years of change. By the end of the nineteenth century, workhouses had altered dramatically and there had been a considerable improvement in conditions, particularly in the larger ones.

They remained the last resort for a large proportion of the poor, although there were still regular 'ins and outs' who used the workhouse according to their needs. Right at the end of the Victorian period, a reporter for Living London (1901) visited St Marylebone Workhouse. His article, particularly its accompanying photographs, clearly illustrate the differences between a late Victorian and a mid- Victorian workhouse.

In the women's ward, gone are the drab, bare walls and the uncomfortable, backless benches. There are now pictures on the walls and vases of flowers on the tables. The old ladies sit on Windsor chairs at long tables, around which they congregate and chat. There's even a rug in front of the stove.

'In a Women's Ward' from Living London (1901)

In most cases, elderly couples were separated on entering the workhouse. This was despite a ruling by the Poor Law Board in 1847 which required unions to provide separate bedrooms for couples over sixty, if requested. Many unions, especially smaller ones, were slow to provide accommodation for married elderly couples because of the additional burden this placed on the rates. 

By 1900, this accommodation was more common in city workhouses. The aged married couples' quarters at St Marylebone consisted of "ten little tenements for as many Darbies and Joans - one room, one couple - and a general room at the end for meals, the 'private apartments' form a sort of miniature model dwelling that overlooks the Paddington Street Recreation Ground. Admirable is the only word for this division. The brightly, painted walls, the pictures, the official furniture including a chest of drawers and a table, the photographs and knick-knacks belonging to the inmates, who are allowed to bring in such property and arrange it as they choose - all this makes a 'private apartment' home-like and a delight to the eye. If an old couple must spend their last days in the workhouse, one could wish them no brighter or more healthy quarters."

'An Old Couple's Quarters' from Living London (1901)

Another improvement made from the 1880s onwards (and even earlier in London) was to house the children away from the workhouse. The workhouse unions moved towards boarding out their pauper children within the parish as a better, more humane alternative to keeping them in the workhouse.  Children were boarded out with ‘foster parents’ who were vetted by the union and paid to look after them. Other workhouse unions chose to set up 'scattered' or cottage homes, or district schools instead. 


The lack of children in the workhouse, unless they were casual admissions, meant that the inmates were mostly old and infirm. Many of the old men and women were ex-servants who had never had homes of their own. The journalist for Living London commented that in the kitchen  there was "a mincing machine, one of the uses of which  is artificially masticating the meat supplied to old and toothless paupers". 

In 1900, the Local Government Board ruled that outdoor relief be given to the ‘aged deserving poor.’  If indoor relief was necessary, it was recommended that the elderly be "granted certain privileges which could not be accorded to every inmate of the workhouse". These privileges were to include "flexible eating and sleeping times, greater visiting rights, and the compulsory provision of tobacco, dry tea (so that they could make a cup whenever they wanted) and sugar".

'In the Airing Yard' from Living London (1901)

More concessions were granted to elderly inmates including the recommendation by the Local Government Board that separate day-rooms should be provided for those who had "previously led moral and respectable lives". By the end of the nineteenth century, the majority of unions were implementing some kind of segregation on moral grounds, particularly for elderly inmates.  

For many elderly inmates, the workhouse really was a godsend, especially if they were seriously ill and needed hospital treatment. However, in spite of the increased comforts offered, becoming an inmate was a bitter pill to swallow for those who had been fiercely independent and had always been able to get by and look after themselves. The fact remained that they were likely to end their days in the workhouse and suffer that most shameful fate - a pauper burial.

A VISITOR'S GUIDE TO VICTORIAN MANCHESTER

Today, I'm delighted to be hosting a guest post from Angela Buckley as part of her blog tour to promote her wonderful new book, The Real Sherlock Holmes: The Hidden Story of Jerome Caminada. It's selling like hot-cakes! 

Caminada's groundbreaking detective work led to the unravelling of classic crime cases such as the Hackney Carriage Murder in 1889, secret government missions and a deadly confrontation with his arch-rival, a ruthless and violent thief. Angela has very kindly written a post about Victorian Manchester, which was Caminada's home beat as a policeman and detective:

If you’re interested in visiting nineteenth century Manchester, then my advice would be: DON’T GO! It is one of the most dangerous places in Victorian England and you’ll be lucky if you only lose your money and valuables. Worst-case scenario is that you won’t make it out alive. However, if you really have to go, it’s important to have your wits about you and to be aware of what you might face when you get there.

Deansgate, Manchester

 Official police returns in 1866 reported that there were some 13,000 arrests in Manchester, with theft and pickpocketing being the most common crimes. Other offences included assault, breach of the peace, drunkenness, robbery and prostitution. By 1870 the number of arrests had doubled and the city’s crime rate was almost two crimes per capita - four times higher than in London during the same period. Only five per cent of those crimes resulted in conviction. 

In 1843, Thomas Carlyle described Manchester as ‘wonderful, fearful and unimaginable’. The Industrial Revolution and the construction of the world’s first railway line were swiftly followed by prolific construction: magnificent hotels, luxurious shops and imposing offices but beware, for behind those dazzling façades lie some of the worst rookeries in the country. It is likely that you will be tempted to start your tour in the main thoroughfare of Deansgate, near the fashionable boutiques of St Ann’s Square and King Street. Do not stray from the central area, as lurking behind ‘Devil’s Gate’ is a dark labyrinth of impenetrable alleyways and closed courts, teeming with shady characters and ruthless criminals. 

A street criminal

Even during the daytime you will encounter gangs of thieves, convincing con artists and nimble pickpockets. ‘Sharps’ and ‘magsmen’ are waiting on every corner to swindle innocent passersby, especially those who are well heeled. Fake sailors, out-of-work colliers and crippled ex-soldiers will call out to you for a few pennies to ease their distress. Do not engage with them - walk straight on - for they will empty your pockets in a flash. If you are a woman, try to turn a blind eye to the pathetic bundles of rags who will whimper for money to feed their pitiful children. Know that they ‘hire’ these infants for the purpose and they are often drugged. If you are a man, be particularly wary of the young woman who shouts for your help. In great distress and with tears in her eyes, she will beckon you into a dark alleyway. If you follow her, you will likely be robbed and beaten, possibly even garrotted by her violent companions.

A female criminal

These words of warning are not intended to deter you from your journey. Manchester in the nineteenth century is an exciting place, with cutting-edge technology, thriving businesses and impressive buildings. There is much to see - visit the newly built Town Hall in all its splendour, sample the street food in the Italian district or take in a show at one of the renowned theatres of the city. But if you go, heed this advice:

1. Always take a walking stick or an umbrella to defend yourself, in the case of unwanted attention.
2. Do not carry valuables or large amounts of money anywhere on your person. Do not leave them in your hotel either – they are safest in the bank.
3. Hop on a passing omnibus or hail a hansom cab, if you need to get yourself out of a sticky situation.
4. Try to pick up some of the street language - Mancunians are very friendly and love to chat - just be very careful whom you engage in conversation.
5. Turn to the police for help and if you are there during the last three decades of the century, ask for Detective Caminada - he will know what to do.

  
A big thank you to Angela for writing such a fascinating post. Victorian cities like Manchester were definitely not for the fainthearted!

Angela's book The Real Sherlock Holmes: The Hidden Story of Jerome Caminada is published by Pen and Sword Books and is available now. To find out more, see her blog: http://victoriansupersleuth.com

VICTORIAN PUBLIC TRANSPORT - THE OMNIBUS

Typical photographs of Victorian street scenes feature a multitude of horse-drawn vehicles all mixed in together, but the preferred public transport of the middle classes to commute to work or to go shopping was the omnibus (or 'bus for short). This was cheaper than travelling by cab. In Saunterings In and About London (1853), Max Schlesinger observed that "among the middle classes of London, the omnibus stands immediately after air, tea and flannel in the list of necessaries of life".

'An Omnibus Driver' from Living London (1901)

So what were these omnibuses like? Inside, there was straw on the floor to keep the passengers' feet warm and dry. By the end of the day, this was both wet and dirty; this straw also harboured fleas when it was dry, and the ague when it was wet. The seats were covered in blue velvet; this might sound luxurious but it was definitely not. The omnibuses were notoriously stuffy and poorly ventilated inside, with no air except when the door was opened. 

'Any Gentleman Oblige a Lady?' from Cassell's Household Guide (1885)

If you were to take a journey on a Victorian omnibus, you would quickly find yourself tightly wedged in beside the other passengers and there would be a painful jolt every time it stopped. When people got on or off, you would run the risk of your toes being crushed or having sticks or parasols poked into your chest or neck. The proximity of other passengers made omnibuses a magnet for pickpockets and there was also the serious hazard of catching a deadly infectious disease.  

'An Omnibus Conductor' from Living London (1901)

For these reasons, men preferred to sit on the knifeboard of the omnibus, located on the roof. There were tiny ledges on which to step to reach the ‘knifeboard’, a raised partition along the middle with seats on each side. It was rare for women to venture up there as it was so difficult to get on and off wearing a cumbersome skirt or crinoline.

'London Bridge Station Yard' from Living London (1901)

The knifeboard design was replaced by the ‘garden seat’ omnibus in the 1880s, which had a curved staircase at the rear leading to the top deck. This was more practical for both sexes as it had a central gangway, benches facing the way the passengers were going, and ‘decency’ or ‘modesty’ boards on the top deck. These gave some protection to the passengers, and prevented people passing from seeing the ladies’ ankles! 




 

VICTORIAN PUBLIC TRANSPORT - THE HANSOM CAB

If I was able to visit Victorian England, I know that one of the aspects which would fascinate me the most is the public transport. Aside from steam trains and the later electric trams, it was all horse-drawn which, of course, is so different from today's motor-driven vehicles. Horses pulled the omnibuses, carts, and brewers' drays through to the broughams, clarences and Hansom cabs. The sounds of hooves clattering on cobbles was everywhere, as was the smell of steaming horse manure...

To get about town quickly, catching a cabriolet (or cab for short) was the best bet. Cabbies plied their trade from cab-stands, not while moving. The fare was based on the distance, so it was important to know how far away the destination was to avoid being overcharged. The driver sat on a raised seat behind and above the passengers' compartment with the horse's reins going over the top of it. Passengers communicated with the driver and paid him through a trap-door in the roof. The cab-man controlled the door by means of a lever, which made it difficult to dodge paying the fare.

'A Hansom Cab' from Living London (1901)

 Ladies often found that the overhanging reins could knock off their hats, and dresses could easily be soiled on the rim of the wheel. It was also extremely difficult to get in and out of a Hansom with any dignity while wearing a crinoline.

A journalist from Living London visited a cab yard and observed cab-drivers at work in 1901:

"The day cab-men, their hansoms and four-wheelers clean and bright from the washers' hands, begin to appear in numbers about nine a.m., some hurrying Citywards with fares, and others proceeding slowly to various stands, where they find a few unfortunate and somewhat despondent night cab-men waiting in the hope of obtaining at least one good job before taking their cabs back to the yard."

The best cab-stands for the drivers were outside the railway stations and the West End theatres, but life was tough for them.  They worked twelve hour shifts and had to pay for the hire of their vehicles and horses out of the fares they earned. 

'In a Cab Yard' from Living London (1901)

 When John Hollingshead interviewed a cabman for Odd Journeys in and Out of London (1859), he was told that a Hansom cab driver had to earn fourteen or sixteen shillings a day in summer for his owner, in addition to ‘yard money’ which was the charges for the stables. This was before earning any money for himself. A four-wheeler could be let for slightly less at twelve shillings a day but the driver had to pay all expenses. At the time, cabmen driving licensed carriages had to pay five pound for the license plate and a shilling a day extra for the duty. 

Beatrix Potter commented in her journal in 1885, that if "cabmen were really paid at the rate of sixpence a mile, they must go forty-two miles before they begin to make any profit. They pay sixteen shillings per day to a cab-owner for a cab and two horses, and have incidental expenses as well."

'In a Cabmen's Shelter' from Living London (1901)

Cab-men could enjoy a cheap midday meal at one of the cab-men's shelters. Between two and five in the afternoon, hundreds of cabbies drove to the big yards where they changed horses and had their cabs 'spotted' to remove splashes of mud. It was usually around 9.30pm before the first hansom to finish its twelve hour day arrived back at the yard.

Although they were speedy, London cabs were rather uncomfortable. In Saunterings In and About London (1853), Max Schlesinger wrote that the "many crevices…let in wind and dust; the seats feel as if they were stuffed with broken stones; the check-string is always broken; the door won’t shut; or if shut, it won’t open; …to discover the faults of a London cab is easy."

It sounds as though a ride in a Hansom cab was bearable for a tourist, but not necessarily for everyday use!

VICTORIAN HOSPITALS: THE OUT-PATIENTS' DEPARTMENT

In the UK, we often take the NHS for granted. Everyone, regardless of background or income, can receive medical or surgical treatment if they need it without having to worry about whether they can afford it.

Imagine, then, how different it was if you lived in Victorian England. Back then, it was your social class which determined the type of healthcare you could get. The wealthy upper classes paid for private medical treatment at home or, later in the nineteenth century, in a practitioner’s consulting room. The middle classes might also pay for their treatment, perhaps at one of the increasing number of specialist hospitals, or through a general practitioner or dispensing chemist.  

'Awaiting Their Turn: In the Out-Patients' Department at St Bartholomew's Hospital drawn by Frank Craig (The Graphic, 3 August 1907)

Workers earning a regular and sufficient income could make weekly contributions to a ‘sick club’ or other providential scheme, but the benefits rarely extended to their wives or families. The working classes who were just above the poverty line were eligible for free treatment from charitable general hospitals or dispensaries.  The abject poor who were receiving poor relief were refused admission to these hospitals and their only option was to seek treatment at the workhouse infirmary.

The out-patients' department of a Victorian general hospital was very like today's accident and emergency departments where most cases could be treated and sent home. More serious cases were admitted as in-patients. 

'Notes at a London Hospital: Saturday Night’ (The Graphic, 27 December 1879)

When a reporter for Living London (1900) visited one of these out-patients' departments, he described the waiting room: "The pale consumptive jostles a sturdy labourer whose bandaged head furnishes an illustration of the momentum of falling bodies; patients with rasping coughs and panting breath; patients on crutches; patients in splints, with limbs swathed in bandages; men and women, old and young, strong and feeble, are here mingled into an indiscriminate assembly." 

Inside one of the consulting rooms, round the sides were "a number of electric lamps fitted with bull's-eyes. At one of these a clinical assistant is examining, with the aid of a reflector fastened to his forehead, a patient's throat, while at another a student is exploring an obstructed ear." In the medical department "stethoscopes abound and coughs prevail; in the surgical, bandages, dressings and antiseptics are in evidence". In the eye department, the air was "filled with a droning sound of "E, T, B, D, L, N" as the patients read aloud the letters of the test types through the trial glasses, and students, working out 'refractions', are seen in dark closets, throwing from their ophthalmoscopes bright, dancing spots of light on to the eyes of their patients." 

'Extracting a Metal Fragment at the Ophthalmic Hospital’ (Supplement to The Sphere, 16 November 1901)

Those who had been seen by a doctor emerged from the consulting room with a prescription card which they took to the dispensary. Unlike today, bottles were not supplied free of charge so patients brought their own jars as receptacles for their medicine, or bought one from an itinerant bottle-seller outside the hospital. As well as medicines, out-patients could be prescribed surgical appliances such as crutches, artificial eyes or limbs, spectacles or a truss for supporting a hernia (a common complaint amongst labourers).  

'Notes at a London Hospital: La Queue at the Dispensary' (The Graphic, 27 December 1879)

Victorian general hospitals were staffed with highly dedicated and skilled doctors, surgeons and nurses, but they were overstretched and had to work within the constraints of a limited budget. While there is a clear parallel with today's hospitals, large numbers of the Victorian population, particularly women and children, frequently went without medical treatment simply because they weren't entitled to it and couldn't afford it. Thankfully, those days are long gone and today's NHS is a more fair and just system of healthcare.