 | OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE,
AND THE FINE ARTS. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 |  |
OF THE LOW LODGING-HOUSES THROUGH-
OUT THE COUNTRY.
Further to elucidate this subject, full of im-
portance, as I have shown, I give an account of
low lodging-houses (or "padding-kens") at
the "stages" (so to speak) observed by a pat-
terer "travelling" from London to Birming-
ham.
I give the several towns which are the usual
sleeping places of the travellers, with the charac-
ter and extent of the accommodation provided for
[Description: 915EAF. Page 259.]
matters as seemed to me, in the account I re-
ceived, to be curious or characteristic. Circuitous
as is the route, it is the one generally followed.
Time is not an object with a travelling patterer.
"If I could do better in the way of tin," said
one of the fraternity to me, "in a country village
than in London, why I'd stick to the village —
if the better tin lasted — for six months; aye,
sir, for six years. What's places to a man like
me, between grub and no grub?" It is pro-
bable that on a trial, such a man would soon be
weary of the monotony of a village life; but into
that question I need not now enter.
I give each stage without the repetition of
stating that from "here to there" is so many
miles; and the charge for a lodging is at such
and such a rate. The distance most frequently
"travelled" in a day varies from ten to twenty
miles, according to the proximity of the towns,
and the character and capabilities (for the pat-
terer's purposes) of the locality. The average
charge for a lodging, in the better sort of coun-
try lodging-houses, is 4d. a night, — at others, 3d.
In a slack time, a traveller, for 4d., has a bed to
himself. In a busy time — as at fairs or races —
he will account himself fortunate if he obtain
any share of a bed for 4d. At some of the places
characterised by my informant as "rackety,"
"queer," or "Life in London," the charge is as
often 3d. as 4d.
The first stage, then, most commonly attained
on tramp, is —
Romford. — "It's a good circuit, sir," said my
principal informant, "and if you want to see life
between from London to Birmingham, why you
can stretch it and see it for 200 miles." The
Romford "house of call" most frequented by
the class of whom I treat, is the King's Arms
(a public-house.) There is a back-kitchen for
the use of travellers, who pay something extra
if they choose to resort, and are decent enough
to be admitted, into the tap-room. "Very re-
spectable, sir," said an informant, "and a pro-
per division of married and single, of men and
women. Of course they don't ask any couple
to show their marriage lines; no more than they
do any lord and lady, or one that ain't a lady,
if she's with a lord, at any fash'nable hotel at
Brighton. I've done tidy well on slums about
`ladies in a Brighton hotel,' just by the Steyne;
werry tidy." In this house they make up forty
beds; some of them with curtains.
Chelmsford. — The Three Queens (a beer-shop.)
"A rackety place, sir," said the man, "one of
the showfuls; a dicky one; a free-and-easy.
You can get a pint of beer and a punch of the
head, all for 2d. As for sleeping on a Saturday
night there, `O, no, we never mention it.' It
mayn't be so bad, indeed it ain't, as some Lon-
don lodging-houses, because there ain't the
chance, and there's more known about it."
Fourteen beds.
Braintree. — The Castle (a beer-shop.) "Takes
in all sorts and all sizes; all colours and all
nations; similar to what's expected of the Crys-
tal Palace. I was a muck-snipe when I was
there — why, a muck-snipe, sir, is a man regu-
larly done up, coopered, and humped altogether
— and it was a busyish time, and when the
deputy paired off the single men, I didn't much
like my bed-mate. He was a shabby-genteel,
buttoned up to the chin, and in the tract line.
I thought of Old Seratch when I looked at him,
though he weren't a Scotchman, I think. I tip-
ped the wink to an acquaintance there, and told
him I thought my old complaint was coming on.
That was, to kick and bite like a horse, in my
sleep, a'cause my mother was terrified by a
wicious horse not werry long afore I was born.
So I dozed on the bed-side, and began to whinny;
and my bed-mate jumped up frightened, and
slept on the floor." Twenty-two beds.
Thaxton. — "A poor place, but I stay two
days, it's so comfortable and so country, at the
Rose and Crown. It's a sort of rest. It's
decent and comfortable too, and it's about 6d. a
night to me for singing and patter in the tap-
room. That's my cokum (advantage)." Ten
beds.
Saffron Walden. — The Castle. "Better now
— was very queer. Slovenly as could be, and
you had to pay for fire, though it was a house of
call for curriers and other tradesmen, but they
never mix with us. The landlord don't care
much whose admitted, or how they go on."
Twenty-four beds.
Cambridge. — "The grand town of all. Lon-
don in miniature. It would be better but for
the police. I don't mean the college bull-dogs.
They don't interfere with us, only with women.
The last time I was at Cambridge, sir, I hung
the Mannings. It was the day, or two days,
I'm not sure which, after their trial. We
pattered at night, too late for the collegians to
come out. We `worked' about where we knew
they lodged — I had a mate with me — and some
of the windows of their rooms, in the colleges
themselves, looks into the street. We pattered
about later news of Mr. and Mrs. Manning.
Up went the windows, and cords was let down
to tie the papers to. But we always had the
money first. We weren't a-going to trust such
out-and-out going young coves as them. One
young gent. said: `I'm a sucking parson;
won't you trust me?' `No,' says I, `we'll not
trust Father Peter.' So he threw down 6d. and
let down his cord, and he says, `Send six up.'
We saw it was Victoria's head all right, so we
sends up three. `Where's the others?' says he.
`O,' says I, `they're 1d. a piece, and 1d. a piece
extra for hanging Mr. and Mrs. Manning, as
we have, to a cord; so it's all right.' Some
laughed, and some said, `D — n you, wait till I
see you in the town.' But they hadn't that
pleasure. Yorkshire Betty's is the head quar-
ters at Cambridge, — or in Barnwell, of course,
there's no such places in Cambridge. It's
known as `W — nd Muck Fort.' It's the
real college touch — the seat of learning, if you're
seeing life. The college lads used to look in
there oftener than they do now. They're get-
[Description: 915EAF. Page 260.]
for nothing. Old Yorkshire Betty's a motherly
body, but she's no ways particular in her
management. Higgledy-piggledy; men and
women; altogether." Thirty beds.
Newmarket. — "The Woolpack. A lively
place; middling other ways. There's gene-
rally money to be had at Newmarket. I don't
stay there so long as some, for I don't care
about racing; and the poorest snob there's a
sporting character." Six beds.
Bury St. Edmund's. — "Old Jack Something's
He was a publican for forty years. But he
broke, and I've heard him say that if he hadn't
been a player on the fiddle, he should have
destroyed his-self. But his fiddle diverted him
in his troubles. He has a real Cremona, and
can't he play it? He's played at dances at the
Duke of Norfolk's. I've heard him give the
tune he played on his wedding night, years and
years back, before I was born. He's a noble-
looking fellow; the fac-simile of Louis Philippe.
It's a clean and comfortable, hard and honest
place." Twelve beds.
Mildenhall. — "A private house; I forget the
landlord's name. The magistrates is queer
there, and so very little work can be done in
my way. I've been there when I was the only
lodger." Seven beds.
Ely. — "The Tom and Jerry. Very queer
No back kitchen or convenience. A regular
rough place. Often quarrelling there all night
long. Any caper allowed among men and
women. The landlord's easy frightened."
Five beds.
St. Ives. — "Plume of Feathers. Passable."
Eleven beds.
St. Neot's. — "Bell and Dicky, and very dicky
too. Queer doings in the dos (sleeping) and
everything. It's an out-of-the-way place, or the
town's people might see to it, but they won't
take any notice unless some traveller complains,
and they won't complain. They're a body of
men, sir, that don't like to run gaping to a
beak. The landlord seems to care for nothing
but money. He takes in all that offer. Three
in a bed often; men, women, and children
mixed together. It's anything but a tidy
place." Thirteen beds.
Bedford. — The Cock. "Life in London, sir;
I can't describe it better. Life in Keate-street,
Whitechapel." Fifteen beds.
Irchester. — "I don't mind the name. A most
particular place. You must go to bed by nine
or be locked out. It's hard and honest; clean
and rough." Six beds.
Wellingborough. — "A private house. Smith or
Jones, I know, or some common name. Ducker,
the soldier that was shot in the Park by Annette
Meyers, lived there. I worked him there my-
self, and everybody bought. I did the gun-
trick, sir, (had great success.) It's an inferior
lodging place. They're in no ways particular,
not they, who they admit or how they dos. At
a fair-time, the goings on is anything but fair."
Ten beds.
Northampton. — "Mrs. Bull's. Comfortable and
decent. She takes in the Dispatch, to oblige
her travellers. It's a nice, quiet, Sunday house."
Twelve beds.
Market Harborough. — "There's a good lady
there gives away tracts and half-a-crown. A
private house is the traveller's house, and some
new name. Middling accommodation." Nine
beds.
Lutterworth. — "A private house, and I'll go
there no more. Very queer. Not the least com-
fort or decency. They're above their business,
I think, and take in too many, and care nothing
what the travellers do. Higgledy-piggledy toge-
gether." Ten beds.
Leicester. — "The Rookery. Rosemary-lane
over again, sir, especially at Black Jack's. He
shakes up the beds with a pitchfork, and brings
in straw if there's more than can possibly be
crammed into the beds. He's a fighting man,
and if you say a word, he wants to fight you."
Twelve beds.
Hinckley. — "The Tea-board. Comfortable."
Eight beds.
Nuneaton. — "The same style as Hinckley. A
private house." Eight beds.
Coventry. — "Deserves to be sent further. Bill
Cooper's. A dilapidated place, and no sleep,
for there's armies of bugs, — great black fellows.
I call it the Sikh was there, and they're called
Sikhs there, or Sicks there, is the vermin; but
I'm sick of all such places. They're not parti-
cular there, — certainly not." Twenty beds.
Birmingham. — "Mrs. Leach's. Comfortable
and decent, and a good creature. I know there's
plenty of houses in Birmingham bad enough, —
London reduced, sir; but I can't tell you about
them from my own observation, 'cause I always
go to Mrs. Leach's." Thirty beds.
Here, then, in the route most frequented by
the pedestrian "travellers," we find, taking
merely the accommodation of one house in
each place (and in some of the smaller towns
there is but one), a supply of beds which may
nightly accommodate, on an average, 489 in-
mates, reckoning at the rate of 12 sleepers to
every 8 beds. At busy times, double the
number will be admitted. And to these places
resort the beggar, the robber, and the pick-
pocket; the street-patterer and the street-
trader; the musician, the ballad-singer, and
the street-performer; the diseased, the blind,
the lame, and the half-idiot; the outcast girl
and the hardened prostitute; young and old,
and of all complexions and all countries.
Nor does the enumeration end here. To these
places must often resort the wearied mechanic,
travelling in search of employment, and even
the broken-down gentleman, or scholar, whose
means do not exceed 4d.
A curious history might be written of the fre-
quenters of low lodging-houses. Dr. Johnson
relates, that when Dean Swift was a young man,
he paid a yearly visit from Sir William Temple's
seat, Moor Park, to his mother at Leicester.
[Description: 915EAF. Page 261.]
weather drove him into a waggon; and at night
he would go to a penny lodging, where he pur-
chased clean sheets for sixpence. This practice
Lord Orrery imputes to his (Swift's) innate love
of grossness and vulgarity; some may ascribe it
to his desire of surveying human life through
all its varieties." Perhaps it might not be very
difficult to trace, in Swift's works, the influence
upon his mind of his lodging-house experience.
The same author shows that his friend,
Richard Savage, in the bitterness of his poverty,
was also a lodger in these squalid dens: "He
passed the night sometimes in mean houses,
which are set open at night to any casual wan-
derer; sometimes in cellars, among the riot and
filth of the meanest and most profligate of the
rabble." A Richard Savage of to-day might,
under similar circumstances, have the same
thing said of him, except that "cellars" might
now be described as "ground-floors."
The great, and sometimes the only, luxury of
the frequenters of these country lodging-houses
is tobacco. A man or women who cannot
smoke, I was told, or was not "hardened" to
tobacco smoke, in a low lodging-house was half-
killed with coughing. Sometimes a couple of
men, may be seen through the thick vapour of
the tobacco-smoke, peering eagerly over soiled
cards, as they play at all-fours. Sometimes there
is an utter dulness and drowsiness in the common
sitting-room, and hardly a word exchanged for
many minutes. I was told by one man of ex-
perience in these domiciles, that he had not very
unfrequently heard two men who were convers-
ing together in a low tone, and probably agree-
ing upon some nefarious course, stop suddenly,
when there was a pause in the general conver-
sation, and look uneasily about them, as if
apprehensive and jealous that they had been
listened to. A "stranger" in the lodging-house
is regarded with a minute and often a rude
scrutiny, and often enough would not be ad-
mitted, were not the lodging-house keeper the
party concerned, and he of course admits "all
what pays."
One patterer told me of two "inscriptions,"
as he called them, which he had noticed in
country lodgings he had lately visited; the
first was: —
"He who smokes, thinks like a philosopher,
and feels like a philanthropist." — Bulwer's Night
and Morning.
The second was an intimation from the pro-
prietor of the house, which, in spite of its halting
explanation, is easily understood: —
"No sickness allowed, unles by order of the
Mare."
| OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE,
AND THE FINE ARTS. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 | |