 | STREET-SELLERS OF GREEN STUFF. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 |  |
WATERCRESS GIRL.
The little watercress girl who gave me the
following statement, although only eight years
of age, had entirely lost all childish ways, and
was, indeed, in thoughts and manner, a woman.
There was something cruelly pathetic in hearing
this infant, so young that her features had
scarcely formed themselves, talking of the bit-
terest struggles of life, with the calm earnest-
ness of one who had endured them all. I did
not know how to talk with her. At first I
treated her as a child, speaking on childish sub-
jects; so that I might, by being familiar with
her, remove all shyness, and get her to narrate
her life freely. I asked her about her toys and
her games with her companions; but the look
of amazement that answered me soon put an
end to any attempt at fun on my part. I then
talked to her about the parks, and whether she
ever went to them. "The parks!" she replied
in wonder, "where are they?" I explained
to her, telling her that they were large open
places with green grass and tall trees, where
beautiful carriages drove about, and people
walked for pleasure, and children played. Her
eyes brightened up a little as I spoke; and
she asked, half doubtingly, "Would they let
such as me go there — just to look?" All her
knowledge seemed to begin and end with water-
cresses, and what they fetched. She knew no
more of London than that part she had seen on
her rounds, and believed that no quarter of the
town was handsomer or pleasanter than it was at
Farringdon-market or at Clerkenwell, where she
lived. Her little face, pale and thin with priva-
tion, was wrinkled where the dimples ought to
have been, and she would sigh frequently. When
some hot dinner was offered to her, she would
not touch it, because, if she eat too much, "it
made her sick," she said; "and she wasn't
used to meat, only on a Sunday."
The poor child, although the weather was
severe, was dressed in a thin cotton gown, with
a threadbare shawl wrapped round her shoulders.
She wore no covering to her head, and the long
rusty hair stood out in all directions. When she
walked she shuffled along, for fear that the
large carpet slippers that served her for shoes
should slip off her feet.
"I go about the streets with water-creases,
crying, `Four bunches a penny, water-creases.'
I am just eight years old — that's all, and I've a
big sister, and a brother and a sister younger
than I am. On and off, I've been very near a
twelvemonth in the streets. Before that, I had
to take care of a baby for my aunt. No, it
wasn't heavy — it was only two months old; but
I minded it for ever such a time — till it could
walk. It was a very nice little baby, not a very
pretty one; but, if I touched it under the chin,
it would laugh. Before I had the baby, I used
to help mother, who was in the fur trade; and,
if there was any slits in the fur, I'd sew them
up. My mother learned me to needle-work and
to knit when I was about five. I used to go to
school, too; but I wasn't there long. I've forgot
all about it now, it's such a time ago; and mother
took me away because the master whacked me,
though the missus use'n't to never touch me. I
didn't like him at all. What do you think? he
hit me three times, ever so hard, across the face
with his cane, and made me go dancing down
stairs; and when mother saw the marks on my
cheek, she went to blow him up, but she couldn't
see him — he was afraid. That's why I left
school.
"The creases is so bad now, that I haven't
been out with 'em for three days. They're so
cold, people won't buy 'em; for when I goes up
to them, they say, `They'll freeze our bellies.'
Besides, in the market, they won't sell a ha'penny
handful now — they're ris to a penny and tup-
pence. In summer there's lots, and 'most as
cheap as dirt; but I have to be down at Far-
ringdon-market between four and five, or else I
can't get any creases, because everyone almost
— especially the Irish — is selling them, and
they're picked up so quick. Some of the sales-
women — we never calls 'em ladies — is very kind
to us children, and some of them altogether
spiteful. The good one will give you a bunch
for nothing, when they're cheap; but the others,
cruel ones, if you try to bate them a farden less
than they ask you, will say, `Go along with you,
you're no good.' I used to go down to market
along with another girl, as must be about four-
teen, 'cos she does her back hair up. When we've
bought a lot, we sits down on a door-step, and
ties up the bunches. We never goes home to
breakfast till we've sold out; but, if it's very
late, then I buys a penn'orth of pudden, which
is very nice with gravy. I don't know hardly
one of the people, as goes to Farringdon, to talk
to; they never speaks to me, so I don't speak to
them. We children never play down there, 'cos
we're thinking of our living. No; people never
pities me in the street — excepting one gentleman,
and he says, says he, `What do you do out so
soon in the morning?' but he gave me nothink
— he only walked away.
"It's very cold before winter comes on reg'-
lar — specially getting up of a morning. I gets
up in the dark by the light of the lamp in the
court. When the snow is on the ground, there's
no creases. I bears the cold — you must; so I
puts my hands under my shawl, though it hurts
'em to take hold of the creases, especially when
we takes 'em to the pump to wash 'em. No; I
never see any children crying — it's no use.
"Sometimes I make a great deal of money.
[Description: 915EAF. Page 152.]
oftener makes 3d. or 4d. than 1s.; and then I'm
at work, crying, `Creases, four bunches a penny,
creases!' from six in the morning to about ten.
What do you mean by mechanics? — I don't
know what they are. The shops buys most of
me. Some of 'em says, `Oh! I ain't a-goin' to
give a penny for these;' and they want 'em at
the same price as I buys 'em at.
"I always give mother my money, she's so
very good to me. She don't often beat me; but,
when she do, she don't play with me. She's
very poor, and goes out cleaning rooms some-
times, now she don't work at the fur. I ain't
got no father, he's a father-in-law. No; mother
ain't married again — he's a father-in-law. He
grinds scissors, and he's very good to me. No;
I dont mean by that that he says kind things to
me, for he never hardly speaks. When I gets
home, after selling creases, I stops at home. I
puts the room to rights: mother don't make me
do it, I does it myself. I cleans the chairs,
though there's only two to clean. I takes a tub
and scrubbing-brush and flannel, and scrubs the
floor — that's what I do three or four times a
week.
"I don't have no dinner. Mother gives me
two slices of bread-and-butter and a cup of tea
for breakfast, and then I go till tea, and has the
same. We has meat of a Sunday, and, of course,
I should like to have it every day. Mother has
just the same to eat as we has, but she takes
more tea — three cups, sometimes. No; I never
has no sweet-stuff; I never buy none — I don't
like it. Sometimes we has a game of `honey-
pots' with the girls in the court, but not often.
Me and Carry H — carries the little 'uns. We
plays, too, at `kiss-in-the-ring.' I knows a good
many games, but I don't play at 'em, 'cos going
out with creases tires me. On a Friday night,
too, I goes to a Jew's house till eleven o'clock
on Saturday night. All I has to do is to snuff
the candles and poke the fire. You see they
keep their Sabbath then, and they won't touch
anything; so they gives me my wittals and 1½d.,
and I does it for 'em. I have a reg'lar good lot
to eat. Supper of Friday night, and tea after
that, and fried fish of a Saturday morning, and
meat for dinner, and tea, and supper, and I like
it very well.
"Oh, yes; I've got some toys at home. I've
a fire-place, and a box of toys, and a knife and
fork, and two little chairs. The Jews gave 'em
to me where I go to on a Friday, and that's why
I said they was very kind to me. I never had
no doll; but I misses little sister — she's only
two years old. We don't sleep in the same room;
for father and mother sleeps with little sister in
the one pair, and me and brother and other sis-
ter sleeps in the top room. I always goes to
bed at seven, 'cos I has to be up so early.
"I am a capital hand at bargaining — but
only at buying watercreases. They can't take
me in. If the woman tries to give me a small
handful of creases, I says, `I ain't a goin' to
have that for a ha'porth,' and I go to the next
basket, and so on, all round. I know the
quantities very well. For a penny I ought to
have a full market hand, or as much as I could
carry in my arms at one time, without spilling.
For 3d. I has a lap full, enough to earn about
a shilling; and for 6d. I gets as many as crams
my basket. I can't read or write, but I knows
how many pennies goes to a shilling, why,
twelve, of course, but I don't know how many
ha'pence there is, though there's two to a penny.
When I've bought 3d. of creases, I ties 'em up
into as many little bundles as I can. They
must look biggish, or the people won't buy
them, some puffs them out as much as they'll
go. All my money I earns I puts in a club
and draws it out to buy clothes with. It's
better than spending it in sweet-stuff, for them
as has a living to earn. Besides it's like a child
to care for sugar-sticks, and not like one who's
got a living and vittals to earn. I aint a child,
and I shan't be a woman till I'm twenty, but
I'm past eight, I am. I don't know nothing
about what I earns during the year, I only
know how many pennies goes to a shilling, and
two ha'pence goes to a penny, and four fardens
goes to a penny. I knows, too, how many
fardens goes to tuppence — eight. That's as
much as I wants to know for the markets."
The market returns I have obtained show the
following result of the quantity vended in the
streets, and of the receipts by the cress-sellers: —
| Market | Quantity sold wholesale. |
Proportion retailed in the Streets. |
| Covent Garden | 1,578,000 bunches | one-eighth. |
| Farringdon | 12,960,000 " | one-half. |
| Borough | 180,000 " | one-half. |
| Spitalfields | 180,000 " | one-half. |
| Portman | 60,000 " | one-third. |
| Total | 14,958,000 " |
From this sale the street cress-sellers re-
ceive: —
| Bunches. | Receipts | |
| Farringdon | 6,480,000 ½d. per bunch | \cp\13,500 |
| Covent Garden | 16,450 " | 34 |
| Borough | 90,000 " | 187 |
| Spitalfields | 90,000 " | 187 |
| Portman | 20,000 " | 41 |
| \cp\13,949 |
The discrepancy in the quantity sold in the
respective markets is to be accounted for by the
fact, that Farringdon is the water-cress market
to which are conveyed the qualities, large-
[Description: 915EAF. Page 153.]
Of this description of cress they purchase one-
half of all that is sold in Farringdon; of the
finer, and smaller, and brown-leaved cress sold
there, they purchase hardly any. At Covent
Garden only the finer sorts of cress are in
demand, and, consequently, the itinerants buy
only an eighth in that market, and they are not
encouraged there. They purchase half the
quantity in the Borough, and the same in Spital-
fields, and a third at Portman. I have before
mentioned that 500 might be taken as the
number supported by the sale of "creases;"
that is, 500 families, or at least 1,000 indi-
viduals. The total amount received is nearly
14,000l., and this apportioned among 1,000
street-sellers, gives a weekly receipt of 5s. 5d., with a profit of 3s. 3d. per individual.
The discrepancy is further accounted for
because the other market salesmen buy cresses
at Farringdon; but I have given under the head
of Farringdon all that is sold to those other
markets to be disposed to the street-sellers, and
the returns from the other markets are of the
cresses carried direct there, apart from any
purchases at Farringdon.
| STREET-SELLERS OF GREEN STUFF. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 | |