 | OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 |  |
OF THE LIFE OF A TIN-WARE SELLER.
The following street-biography was communicated
to me in writing. It is, I believe, a striking in-
stance of the vicissitudes and privations to which a
street-life is subject. It forms, moreover, a curious
example of those moral contradictions which make
the same individual at one time give way hope-
lessly to the force of circumstances, and at another
resolutely control them.
"My object," says my correspondent, "for
writing this, what some folks no doubt will call
a nonsensical epistle, is merely to show how much
human nature is capable of enduring in the shape
of privations. People in easy circumstances will
[Description: 915EAF. Page 356.]
many of the poor will smile at what I have termed
hardships, and at my folly in endeavouring to
paint the misery I have endured, which will ap-
pear slight when compared to what they them-
selves have suffered.
"I am the son of a mechanic who was acci-
dentally drowned some weeks previous to my
birth. My mother, through industry and perse-
verance, endeavoured to support me and my sister
till we arrived at the ages of 15 and 18,
I being the younger. I entered a gentleman's
service as pantry-boy, where I continued until I
considered myself competent to take a higher
situation. Still a servant's life was not the bent
of my inclinations; martial music and viewing
soldiers on parade made me think that a rifle was
a more graceful tool than a toasting-fork. I re-
solved to serve his Majesty, and for that purpose
enlisted in the 60th Rifles on the route for India,
but Providence ordained it otherwise. On the
afternoon on which I 'listed I fell by accident and
broke my leg, and as I was not sworn in I was
entitled to no pension. I was six months confined
to my bed, and it was three years befor I could
go without my crutch. Grief for my misfortunes
had borne my mother to an early grave, and I was
left a cripple and destitute. Whether by design
or accident I do not recollect, but I met with
the lady (Lady M — — ) in whose service I
first entered as pantry-boy; she took pity on
my forlorn condition, and kindly invited me
to her Mansion, where I remained until com-
pletely restored to health, but still crippled.
After this I was employed painting and glaz-
ing, &c., and, considering myself competent to
get my living in that line, I resolved to go to
London — the theatre of all my misery to come,
for I was disappointed. On reaching the metro-
polis my paint-brush was turned into a shovel, my
paint-pot into a dust sieve, for I could only get
employed by a man to work in a dust-yard at 10s.
a week. From thence I went to a firm belonging
to a friend at Beckenham, near Croydon, as work-
ing time-keeper, or foreman; but during a fair in
that village I neglected to back the time, and being
discharged was cast upon the world again with
only 3s. in my pocket, which I eat and drank up,
having no idea of street trading. Then came my
trials; but having had sufficient food during the
day, I did not feel much the effects of my first
night in the streets. The next day I had no food,
and towards dusk began bitterly to feel my situa-
tion; that night I slept, or rather lay, in an empty
house. Towards noon of the next day I felt weak,
and drank large quantities of water, for I had no
particular desire for food. Passing by a shop
where old clothes were offered for sale, I saw a
man wretched in appearance disposing of an old
vest for a few pence. I caught the malady and
was instantly spoiled of my coat, having received
in exchange for it 2s. and an old frock — such as
are generally worn by waggoners or countrymen.
I more than once smiled at my novel appear-
ance. A penny loaf, a drink of water, and a
threepenny lodging was the first assault upon my
2s. I regretted, however, the 3d. paid for my
lodging, and determined not to risk another, for
my bedfellows were so numerous, and of such
teazing propensities, that they would not allow me
to sleep; truly indeed is it said that `poverty
makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows.' At
this time I formed an acquaintance with a man
whose condition was similar to my own; he en-
gaged to put me `fly to a dodge' or two; an
explanation from him was necessary to make me
acquainted with the sense of his words, which I
soon found simply meant artful manœuvres. One
of these dodges was to snooze (a term for sleeping)
in the Adelphi arches; I felt grateful for such a
mark of disinterested friendship, and next day my
friend and me fared sumptuously on the produce
of my coat, and at night we repaired to the Arches
in question, and there found a comfortable lodging
in a hay-loft. I lay for some time, but did
not sleep. I was several times addressed by my
companion in an under tone, `Are you asleep,'
he whispered, `ain't it a stunning dos?' (which
means a good bed). I was not in a mood for
conversation, and made no reply; to silence him
completely I affected to snore, and this had the
desired effect. For a few minutes he was quite
quiet, and then he commenced with great caution
to unlace my boots, with a view to stealing them.
I perceived his object, and immediately left my
lodging and companion. I felt grieved and dis-
appointed at the loss of one in whom I placed all
confidence; but this time wisdom was purchased
cheaply, inasmuch as I suffered no loss except that
my money might have lasted me a little longer.
The remainder of that night I strayed about the
Strand and Charing cross, after a drink of water;
I took a seat on a curb surrounding the pump;
many wretched beings came and seated themselves
beside me, and a conversation ensued respecting
their several destinations during the day. One
proposed going to Hungerford-market to do a
feed on decayed shrimps or other offal laying
about the market; another proposed going to
Covent-garden to do a `tightener' of rotten
oranges, to which I was humorously invited; I
accepted the invitation, and proceeded with my
new companion. I fared well; I filled my hat,
took a seat, and made a most delicious breakfast.
I remained strolling about the Garden all day, and
towards evening was invited by my companions to
a `dos' in an open shed in Islington; this I
declined, alleging that I had a lodging, but that
night I slept amongst a heap of stones near the
pillar at Charing-cross. I continued to attend
the Garden for several weeks, subsisting entirely
on the offal of that market. One day I took
notice of a man there selling chestnut leaves; I
enquired how he obtained them: he told me he
plucked them from the trees without hindrance,
and directed me to where I could obtain some. I
went to a grove in the vicinity of Kilburn, and lay
there all night. Next morning I found no leaves,
so I returned disappointed to town, and on going
through the market a woman employed me to
carry a bushel of pears some little distance for her
for a penny. I felt quite elevated in anticipation of
[Description: 915EAF. Page 357.]
under the weight of the fruit and poverty; my
employer, however, kindly gave me the penny,
though some of her pears were injured, and I had
not taken them half the required distance. With
the money I purchased a loaf, and sat on a stone
near the pump in Covent Garden and began my
meal. Here I soon had a companion, who after
rincing a lettuce at the pump, began to devour it.
I shared my loaf with him. `O God!' said he,
`what are we destined to suffer. I have escaped
the bullets of the Carlists in Spain to die in the
streets of London with hunger.' I felt an interest
in the poor fellow, who I discovered in the course
of conversation had been a gentleman's servant in
his time; he assured me he had been living in the
same way for several weeks as I myself had been.
Towards night my companion asked me where I
slept. I told him my different haunts, he told me
I'd better go to the straw-yard with him, this was
a place I had not yet heard of; it was the nightly
refuge for the houseless poor. I accompanied him
without hesitation; my confidence was not mis-
placed; I slept there several nights. Bread was
distributed to us night and morning, and this was
fortunate, for the Garden began to fail. In the
course of conversation with some of the inmates of
the Refuge, we found that we could obtain employ-
ment at stone-breaking; this we tried the next
morning, and succeeded. We worked all day, and
received 6d. each on leaving work. We then
made up our minds to go to lodgings that we might
have an opportunity of washing what were once
shirts.
"Misery had not had that wasting influence on
my companion as it had on me. I was at this
time a complete skeleton; a puff of wind would
cause me to stagger. I continued stone-breaking,
but about noon of the third day I sunk exhausted
on the heap of stones before me. Poverty had done
its work, and I anticipated with pleasure approach-
ing dissolution. I was assisted to my lodging by my
companion, and went to bed. When the woman at
the lodging-house discovered that I was ill, she or-
dered some of her domestics to dress me and put
me in the street, alleging that she was under a
penalty of 20l. were it discovered that she lodged
a sick stranger. I was, therefore, cast into the
street at 12 o'clock at night. My companion then
gave me the 3d. he had earned that day to pro-
cure me a lodging if possible, and he slept in the
streets the remainder of the night. I went to
another lodging, concealing as much as possible
my illness; my money was taken, and I was con-
ducted to bed. I spent a wretched night, and
next morning I was very bad. The landlady
led me to the workhouse; I was admitted
directly; had they detained me asking questions
I should have sunk on the floor. My disorder
was pronounced English cholera. I lay three
weeks in a precarious state, but at the end of
seven weeks was recovered sufficiently to walk
about. I was then discharged; but on going
towards the Abbey in Westminster I fainted, and
on recovery found myself surrounded by a num-
ber of persons. I was advised to return to the
house; I did so, and was admitted for a short time,
after which I was again discharged, but I received
out-door relief twice a week; and for some time a
small portion of bread and cheese as well. I had
now lost not only all hope, but even desire of
bettering my condition; during these trials I
made none acquainted with my privations, save
those situated as I was. I now altered my con-
dition as regards sleeping; I walked about during
the night, and slept a portion of the day on a heap
of sand near Westminster-bridge. I then remem-
bered to have a poor relative in Kensington; I did
not plead distress, but merely asked whether she
knew where I might procure employment. I had
a cup of tea, the first I had tasted since I was in
the workhouse, a period of five weeks. Being
asked some question by my relative, I could not
help making reference to some of my sufferings.
At this place I found a young man of whom I
had had a previous acquaintance; I told him of my
inability to procure a lodging, and he allowed
me without the knowledge of his parents to sleep
in the stable-loft; the bed was hard, but the coal
sacks kept me warm. Here I had many opportu-
nities of earning a few pence, and I began to
regain my spirits. On one occasion, seeing a lad
illtreated by a young man who was much his
superior in size and strength, I interposed, and it
may be conjectured in what manner. This cir-
cumstance procured me a friend, for, with the assist-
ance of the lad I had protected, I was enabled to
live tolerably well, and after a short while I got a
situation at a coal-shed at 10s. a week. I con-
tinued in this place eighteen months, but, my
master giving up the business, I was again cast
on the world. I then began to think seriously of
some way of living, and for the first time asked
for the loan of 15s. With this I purchased a
few articles of furniture, laid out 7s. 6d. for two
hundred of oranges, with which I walked and
hawked about two days, taking but 4d. during the
time. I disposed of the remainder of my stock,
wholesale, for 6s.; with this I purchased a small
tin saucepan, a piece of marble slab, and com-
menced sugar-boiling. I retailed my manufacture
in the streets. By dint of perseverance and
economy I managed to live this way through the
winter and a portion of the spring; but summer
being now come, people needed none of my com-
pounds to warm their mouths, so it was necessary
for me to change my hand. What should I do?
Thoughts came and vanished at their births. I
recollected having seen a person selling rings at
a penny each; I made up my mind to try the
same. I laid out 5s. in a tray and stock; after
arranging the goods to the best advantage I sal-
lied into the streets. The glittering baubles took
for a while, but when discoloured were useless.
Having once a considerable stock of these soiled
rings, I was prompted to begin "lot selling."
After calculating the profits, I commenced selling
in that line. As this continued for seven weeks
I managed to get a living. The system then
became general; every street in the metropolis
contained a lot seller, so I was determined to
change my hand. One day in the street I saw a
[Description: 915EAF. Page 358.]
a marine store shop; I asked if the umbrellas
were for sale; she replied in the affirmative; the
price she asked was 4d.; I became a purchaser.
With these old umbrellas I commenced a new life.
I bought some trifling tools necessary for repairing
umbrellas, and, after viewing well the construction
of the articles, I commenced operations. I succeeded,
and in a little time could not only mend an old
umbrella, but make a new one. This way of living
I followed three years. In one of my walks
through the streets crying old umbrellas to sell,
I saw a street tinker repairing a saucepan; he
seemed so very comfortable with his fire-pan before
him, that I resolved from that moment to become
a tinker, and for that purpose I bought a few
tools, prepared a budget, and sallied into the
streets with as much indifference as if I had been
at the business since my birth. After a little
practice I fancied I was fit for better things than
mending old saucepans, and flattered myself that I
was able to make a new one. This I resolved to
attempt, and succeeded so well, that I at once
abandoned the rainy-day system, and commenced
manufacturing articles in tin-ware, such as are now
sold in the streets, namely funnels, nutmeg-graters,
penny mugs, extinguishers, slices, savealls, &c. I
soon became known to the street-sellers and swag-
shop proprietors. The prices I get are low, and
I am deficient in some of the tools necessary to
forward the work, with the required speed to
procure returns adequate to my expenses; but
thanks to the Lord I am better off than ever I
expected to be, with the difference only of a
somewhat shattered constitution. There are many
at the present day suffering as I have done, and
they may be found in and about the different
markets of the metropolis."
| OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 | |