Henry Stuart Baker at the Ashbourne Union Workhouse, Derbyshire, 1911.

AMONG THE VAGRANTS IN ASHBOURNE.

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A NIGHT IN ASHBOURNE WORKHOUSE TRAMP WARD.

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(By Amateur Casual.)

To the average individual the "Tramp Question" may not appeal very strongly, but to those who desire a diminution of pauperism, an absence of unemployment, and greater Social Reform, the fact that there are at the present day, thousands of able-bodied men, ay! and women also roaming the country, without any fixed purpose and without any wish for honest toil, preying upon the sympathy of the benevolent, and existing on Charity, indiscriminate and otherwise, to these thinkers, this state of affairs is indeed painful and unnecessary. Vagabondage has existed for some hundreds of years, and in the olden days, the stocks, the whipping post and the pillory formed their reward. To-day, the vagabond can nightly claim the shelter of some Casual Ward, and in return for a few hours of not strenuous labour, obtain food and accommodction for the time being. In the course of an investigation into the Nomadic life led by the vagabond or tramp, as he is termed to-day — an investigation extending over a period of nearly nine months, I have not found the subject uninteresting. I have spent nights and days among tramps of all classes in scores of workhouse casual wards, got to know their wily ways, the depth of their cunning, and shared in their petty joys and sorrows.

It may therefore interest Derbyshire readers if I relate my experiences of a night spent among the tramps who visit Ashbourne and its tramp ward. All tramps are not of the same category. They can be classified according to their craftiness, ability or degradation. Take for instance, the "Gagger," the Nomad who wears a rather soiled linen collar, and who attempts at a polish of his well worn boots. He can generally be discovered in one or other of the Ashbourne common lodging houses, for by "gagging," that is telling pitiful tales to sympathetic listeners whom he stops in the street or on the highway, he obtains sufficient money to pay for a night's lodgings. The "Griddler" has a certain amount of ability. He can either play on some musical instrument, such as a tin whistle, or can inflict torture to the musical ear by his rendering of pathetic ballads or familiar hymns in a pitiful voice. I met one of this class as I was tramping to Ashbourne the other day, and "Roadster-like" we "swapped" notes.

"I ain't stayin' in Ashbern no more," he said, "it's too hot a town fer sich as me, an' the 'coppers' (policemen) don't like 'griddling' (singing in the street).

"Is there a 'copper' in the next village?" he went on, "cos if there ain't I'm a-goin' ter try there."

I sorrowfully informed him that I had just passed the Brailsford constable, so we parted.

Then to Ashbourne Casual Ward comes the navvy, burly and anogant. A hard worker at times, but a roamer at heart, so that he finds it difficult to stick to a "job" for any length of time. One I met in the tramp ward told me that a week previous he had drawn 27s. 6d. Two days afterwards he had not a penny left, and was "so bad with the beer" (these are his own words) that he could not face the work again, and so went on the "road."

But a more frequent claimant to shelter of Ashbourne Tramp Ward, and somewhat a burden on the ratepayers' pockets is the "Moucher." He is the "Reg'lar" of the Nomadic fraternity, the "Born Tired" variety, content to wonder in easy stages of from 12 to 16 miles from one workhouse to another, begging his bread as he goes. In tattered clothing, unkempt, often unclean. This species is not only a nuisance to Ashbourne householders, but often a nuisance to the Order and Health of the Town. He usually carries with him a tramp's outfit, consisting of a "drum" (a small tin can in which to beg hot water or tea), a comb, an old knife, a "scran" (food) bag, pieces of string, "toe rags" (strips of cloth to wind round the feet in lieu of stockings), etc. However to describe my experiences as an Amateur Casual visiting Ashbourne Tramp Ward. I had been told by tramps at Belper that Ashbourne "Spike" was a "cowd on" and "a 'ard on." "Spike," "Derrick,' and "Grubber," I may here explain are the terms applied by the Wastrels at Casual Wards. This information was not very comforting, but knowing the "Reg'lar" tramp's "growl, I took no heed and determined to visit it. Descending the hill leading from the Derby-road into the town, I came up with a vagrant hobbling painfully along.

"Goin' inter the Spike, matey?" he asked me as I reached him. I assured him that was my purpose. "Well I was, but I ain't now. They tell'd me in Derby in wer a terr'ble 'ole, so I shall get on to Leek."

This poor fellow, for I couldn't help but feel pity for him, had only come out of Nottingham Workhouse Infirmary, where he had been treated for rheumatism, two days before, and now he proposed at half-past four in the afternoon, after "padding the 'oof' (tramping) from Derby to go on to Leek, another 15 miles. He was cold, hungry, and miserable, but as he said, "I'm afeard to 'mouch' (beg) Ashbourne Town, for the perlice are so 'ot. They tells me they 'ad five up fer beggin' this morning."

Certainly the Ashbourne police, or if they will forgive me informing them, the "Ashbourne Johnny Gallaghers" show no favour to vagrants who endeavour to plague the inhabitants.

However, it was five o'clock when I ascended the path that led up to the workhouse, and made my way round to the building assigned to casual visitors and known as the tramp or vagrant ward. A noticeboard informed me that no vagrants were admitted after 8 p.m., so I was full early.

Knocking at the door, a rough voice invited me to "Come In," and I found myself in a small ill-lighted room. Down one side ran a platform divided by wood partitions into about a dozen divisions. Seated on this platform were several tramps, earlier visitors than myself. Despite the hot water pipes that ran round the room, it was cold — very cold. Two of the tramps near me were engaged on a meal of "begged" food, and one of them informed we that we should have to stay in this place until seven o'clock, when the porter usually arrived and "booked us."

I got in conversation with these two wastrels after they had "fed." They were indeed "Reg'lar'," and knew the "runs" of Ashbourne. As they talked, they exchanged confidences. They told how a certain Ashbourne shoe-maker was always "good" for a penny, how two confectioners' shops never refused a beggar, and that by taking a half-penny, and "pitching a fork" (telling a pitiful tale) a certain Ashbourne pork butcher, would give an ample supply of eatables and return the half-penny. My interest was also aroused when one spoke of "Bread and Jam House," a house on the Derby-road, where this dainty is handed out to tramps who call, and of a mansion near Kedleston Park where bread and cheese and sometimes sixpence is the reward of the mendicant who dares to try his luck there. They also told of a priest residing near Ashbourne, who, if seen away from his residence, was always good for threepence if carefully approached on the subject of alms. No, the reg'lar tramp seldom goes hungry. In fact neither of these two vagabonds ate the bread given them in the casual ward, but stored it away for future use in their rapacious pockets.

Punctually at 7 o'clock the porter arrived, and took down our names. The entries in the Ashbourne Workhouse Casual Register are similar to the one given below:—
NAME. AGE. OCCUPATION. WHERE FROM. TO
Smith, J. 32, labourer, Derby, Leek.

After "booking in" came the order of the bath. "Yer get a good bath in Asbourne. They nearly drowns yer," I had been told, and I found the former part of this statement true.

Tramps are not particularly fond of this kind of ablution. Many of them are apt to get one every night, but it was welcome indeed to me to bath at Ashbourne with a plentiful supply of hot water. Our clothes — after we had been carefully searched for contraband articles, such as pipes, tobacco, money, all of which had to be given up — we tied up in a bundle, then donning a workhouse night shirt, were shown to our bedrooms.

My sleeping apartment consisted of a small cell, warmed by hot, water pipes. My bed was a narrow wooden board on trestles, and my covering, three rugs. Supper, 8oz. of bread, was handed in, I obtained a drink of hot water, the cell door was closed and locked, and I was left alone. I sought out the softest planks of my wooden bed, arranged my rugs, and lay down, my head reposing on a block of wood resembling a good sized brick.

But not, to sleep. Sleeping on boards even to the most "fleshy" person is not pleasant, and I being of the "lean kind," felt the hardness of the wood acutely. However, I was warm and under cover, which on the cold night as it was counted for something.

Morning arrived at last, and by 6.30 I was with the other casuals, were aroused and told to dress. This was accomplished in the bath-room, and here we received our breakfast, which consisted of 6oz. of bread, and one pint, of "skilly" or gruel. When this was consumed, we sought warmth from the stove and conjectured what our work would be, and what time we should be released.

At 8 o'clock, however, the porter came and set us to work. To one was allotted the cleaning of the tramp ward, whilst I and the others proceeded to the woodshed, where we sawed logs of wood, with a cross-cut saw for three hours. It was a cold morning, and we worked hard to keep ourselves warm. A jug of hot water was brought for our refreshment at nine-thirty, but just before eleven o'clock we were allowed to "knock off" and a few minutes afterwards I was making my way into Ashbourne town.

Now, in concluding this article on Ashbourne Casual Ward, I may say that in my opinion to the genuine casual seeking a night's shelter the treatment and accomodation given there is sufficient. He is treated with humanity and his work is neither arduous nor excessive. To the Reg'ler Tramp, however, who is always on the look-out for "luxuries," Ashbourne does not appeal. His appearance there is not welcome. The porter is no friend to the "Reg'lar" and as one vagrant told me "can spot 'em in a minute and then he growls."

So far as my experience of this one night's visit to the tramp ward of the Ashbourne Workhouse is neither a "cowd spike" nor a "bad 'un." The rooms are kept very clean, and the institution fulfils all the requirements for which it was established.