Henry Stuart Baker at the Brecon Union Workhouse, Breconshire, 1911.

AN AMATEUR TRAMP'S EXPERIENCE.

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A Night In Brecon Casual Ward.

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(By an Amateur Casual.)

Whether all tramps appreciate the beauty of the countryside as they make their way from place to place so far I have not been able to discover. True, there are few who will tell you of some magnificent scenery they as come across in their travels, but as yet none of them have mentioned Brecon.

But as an Amateur Casual with a keen sense of the beautiful, the picture of Brecon town, glittering white in the sunshine of a September afternoon, struck me, as I viewed it about a mile from the town, as being indeed most picturesque.

My resting place, however, was not to be under the roof of one of those scenic dwelling places, but in Brecon "spike."

"Spike," I may inform my readers, is the tramp term for vagrant or casual ward. Occasionally I have beard him refer to similar places as "Grubbers" or "Derricks."

Tramp slang is unique in its way. Brecon householders are well acquainted with the ragged nomads appearing at their doors carrying a tin can and requesting "hot water." He terms this receptacle for the water "a drum," and in it he brews his tea. He does not beg, he "mooches," and his occupation (sic) may be either as a "griddler" (a street singer), a "gagger" (a teller of plausible tales), or a "back. door thumper" (pure and simply a beggar.)

But it is rather to let my readers know of how the tramp is treated in Brecon Casual Ward that I am writing this short article after paying a visit to that institution.

In North Wales the casual wards are on the "free and easy" system; in fact, the tramp seems to do pretty much as be likes, but in South Wales a stricter regime is apparent.

Brecon Casual Ward, however, I am pleased to say, strikes a happy medium, and thereby amply fulfils the object of its institution. Not that there might not he reforms, but seeing that the Poor Law Commissioners are so slow in setting forth their projected reforms, it is doubtless wise of the guardians to refrain from any action in this matter until the decision of these high officials is made known.

It was six o'clock on Sunday evening when I reached the steep entrance to Brecon Workhouse, and the bells were ringing for evening service. The workhouse struck me as being most picturesquely placed, with well-kept grounds and a sense of neatness all around. Two typical specimens of tramps approached me as I was looking up at my destined lodging place,

"Goin' in, mate?" asked one, a short, dirty bronzed man; "it's not a bad spike, but yer can't get out afore eleven o'clock." "It's a bloomin' bread and water one," growled his companion, "but I've 'mooched' plenty of 'tommy' from the town," and be tapped his well filled pockets.

I assured them that I was going into the spike, so the three of us wended our way up the steep walk to the door of the office.

Here our names, ages, occupations, and destinations were registered; then marshalled by a very obliging "tramp major" (workhouse attendant) we were taken round to that part of the buildings used as the resting place for vagrants. Entering a small doorway we passed down a short passage to the bathroom, where we were invited to have a bath. My companions, after doffin their clothes and tying them in a bundle, got into the bath and immediately got out again, proceeding to make a great show with the towel as if having made a perfect ablution. Tramps don't like water. "Let's the odwd in," they say. To me, however, the bath was very welcome, and after drying and receiving a workhouse nightshirt I took up my bundle of clothes and my supper and was shown to my bedroom. This consisted of a small white-washed cell, with wooden floor scrupulously clean. The floor was my bed, my pillow a small block of wood, and my bedclothes two brown rugs. My supper consisted of 8oz. of bread, and I was also allowed a generous supply of hot water.

Not a munificent diet and not a soft "lay down." However, I arranged my rugs so that they removed a little of the hardness of the floor, but I can assure my readers that sleeping on a wooden floor, even if you pick out the softest plank, is a painful ordeal. Throughout the night I dozed occasionally, then awoke cramped and sore to seek anew a softer spot.

It was a welcome call to one when the cell door was opened about seven o'clock the next morning and I was told to rise and dress. Breakfast, 8oz. of bread and again the hot water, was handed in; then, this consumed, came that dread ordeal of the tramp work!

To each vagrant was handed 1lb. of oakum to pick. Oakum is thick, well-tarred rope, which has to be finely shredded by picking apart with the fingers. It is not a pleasant task and much hated by the tramp. Several of those, however, in Brecon Casual Ward managed to complete the task in two hours; for myself, unexperienced, I managed got through ½lb. in three hours.

All of us, however, were released at 11 o'clock and received our possessions which we had given up the night before, then once more took to the weary "drag" of the road. What struck me most about Brecon Casual Ward was its cleanliness. Many "spikes" in Wales seem to be devoid of the understanding that it is most necessary not only for the frequenters of casual words, but also for the good of the towns they visit that the tramp should be required to bath. Some casual wards I have visited are hot-beds of all that is loathsome. Brecon Casual Ward remains clean and healthy. Then, again, in Brecon the officials seem to get the tramp to perform his work without the bullying and lecturing found in so many of these institutions. Bully a tramp and you turn him into a sulky, insolent individual; use tact and he will respond readily to the call to any employment he may be required to perform temporarily, for alas! the nomad of our roads cannot stick work for more than a few hours.