 | OF THE WOMEN STREET-SELLERS. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 |  |
OF A SINGLE WOMAN, AS A STREET-SELLER.
I had some difficulty, for the reasons I have
stated, in finding a single woman who, by her
unaided industry, supported herself on the sale
of street merchandise. There were plenty of
single young women so engaged, but they lived,
or lodged, with their parents or with one parent,
or they had some support, however trifling, from
some quarter or other. Among the street Irish
I could have obtained statements from many
single women who depended on their daily sale
for their daily bread, but I have already given
instances of their street life. One Irishwoman,
a spinster of about 50, for I had some con-
versation with her in the course of a former
inquiry, had supported herself alone, by street
sale, for many years. She sat, literally packed in
a sort of hamper-basket, at the corner of Charles-
street, Leather-lane. She seemed to fit herself
cross-legged, like a Turk, or a tailor on his shop-
board, into her hamper; her fruit stall was close
by her, and there she seemed to doze away life
day by day — for she usually appeared to be wrapped
in slumber. If any one approached her stall, how-
ever, she seemed to awake, as it were, mechanically.
I have missed this poor woman of late, and I
believe she only packed herself up in the way
described when the weather was cold.
A woman of about 26 or 27 — I may again
remark that the regular street-sellers rarely know
their age — made the following statement. She was
spare and sickly looking, but said that her health
was tolerably good.
"I used to mind my mother's stall," she stated,
"when I was a girl, when mother wasn't well or
had a little work at pea-shelling or such like. She
sold sweet-stuff. No, she didn't make it, but
bought it. I never cared for it, and when I was
quite young I've sold sweet-stuffs as I never tasted.
I never had a father. I can't read or write, but
I like to hear people read. I go to Zion Chapel
sometimes of a Sunday night, the singing's so nice.
I don't know what religion you may call it of, but
it's a Zion Chapel. Mother's been dead these —
well I don't know how long, but it's a long time.
I've lived by myself ever since, and kept myself,
and I have half a room with another young woman
who lives by making little boxes. I don't know
what sort of boxes. Pill-boxes? Very likely, sir,
but I can't say I ever saw any. She goes out to
work on another box-maker's premises. She's no
better off nor me. We pays 1s. 6d. a-week
between us; it's my bed, and the other sticks is
her'n. We 'gree well enough. I haven't sold
sweet stuff for a great bit. I've sold small
wares in the streets, and artificials (artificial
flowers), and lace, and penny dolls, and penny
boxes (of toys). No, I never hear anything
improper from young men. Boys has sometimes
said, when I've been selling sweets, `Don't look
so hard at 'em, or they'll turn sour.' I never
ninded such nonsense. I has very few amuse-
ments. I goes once or twice a month, or so, to
the gallery at the Wick (Victoria Theatre), for I
live near. It's beautiful there. O, it's really
grand. I don't know what they call what's played,
because I can't read the bills.
"I hear what they're called, but I forgets. I
knows Miss Vincent and John Herbert when they
come on. I likes them the best. I'm a going
to leave the streets. I have an aunt a laundress,
because she was mother's sister, and I always
helped her, and she taught me laundressing. I
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now, because she's lost her daughter Ann, and
I'm known as a good ironer. Another laundress
will employ me next week, so I'm dropping the
streets, as I can do far better. I'm not likely to
be married and I don't want to."
| OF THE WOMEN STREET-SELLERS. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 | |