Henry Stuart Baker at the Bridgend Union Workhouse, Glamorgan, 1910.

TRAMPS IN BRIDGEND.
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HOW THEY ARE TREATED IN THE CASUAL WARD.———

By The Explorer.

Seeing the number of tramps who came into Bridgend from Swansea, the Rhondda, and Cardiff the other evening, makes me believe that the tramp pest is on the increase in South Wales. Whether this is due to the "free and easy" regime adopted in the casual wards they visit I will leave to my readers to judge for themselves, but in my opinion this has a lot to do with the tramp invasion of the principality.

Householders in Bridgend are well acquainted with the tramp or "the roadster." Generally four classes of these nomads visit the towns: the "griddler," that obnoxious individual who sings, "Where is my wandering boy tonight?" in a terribly raucous voice; the "gagger," the gentleman with the plausible tales of a sick wife, starving children, loss of business by fire, and broken-down health; the "door thumper," who visits the back doors of the houses, asking for food; and the "navvy tramp," the stoutly built, rough, uncouth personage who often gets a job on the public works and as often "chuck's" it after a few days toil.

Specimens of all these individuals will be found every evening about 6 o'clock lined up in front of the Police Station waiting to receive the necessary ticket for admission to the casual ward. But these tramps do not speak of it as a casual ward. They call it a "Spike," a "Grubber," or a "Derrick"; the food they receive there is "Scran," "Tommy," or "Rooty," and the bed a "Lay down."

However, in my endeavours to see something of the Poor Law System in South Wales, I visited Bridgend the other day, and in the evening just after six o'clock attended at the Police Station with about a score of the tramping fraternity. They were a motley crew in all stages of "tire" and attire, but I noticed that the majority had the appearance of navvies.

Townsfolk passing by at the time cast curious glances at this mob; perchance they were wondering whether the poor rate would go up.

"What are they staring at?" growled a stalwart navvy next me; "ain't they seen anyone on the road before?" and he shot a savage glance across at a little group watching us. I won't add his expletives.

I myself was rather glad when the office window was opened, and the booking commenced. Below is a facsimile of the ticket furnished to each vagrant:—

I noticed that, with the exception of two, the applicants gave their occupations as "labourers." A tramp the other week, asked by a magistrate what he laboured at, replied "Walking," and certainly this is often his one and only trade.

It was nearly seven o'clock when I reached the Workhouse and handed in my ticket. "Make all your property into a bundle," commanded the porter; and forthwith I packed up pipe, tobacco, matches, knife, etc., and handed them to the Tramp Major, receiving in exchange a numbered ticket. The Tramp Major, I might here explain, is an inmate of the Workhouse whose duties are to assist the porter in dealing with visitors to the casual ward. In many Workhouses the Tramp Major is a much-hated and reviled personage; the one at Bridgend, however, was a decent fellow, and, strange to say, I heard his praises sung by several of the tramps.

In company with the Tramp Major I was taken to that part of the Workhouse buildings used for the accommodation of casuals. Here I received my supper, and was shown into a good-sized room, where I found my other tramp friends assembled busily engaged on their meal. So I set to also. and honestly enjoyed my supper, which consisted of a pint of really good soup with about 6oz. of bread. This consumed, came the bath ordeal! I write "ordeal," for the reg'lar tramp shuns bathing. "Let's the cowd run right enter my bones." he says. To me the bath was enjoyable, and here Bridgend may pride itself on the way this most necessary cleaning operation is done in the vagrant ward. Many "Spikes" dispense altogether with ablutions. Some day when an epidemic breaks out in the locality through uncleanliness, they will realise their fault, "Fresh water for each person" is the rule at Bridgend — a rule which might well he copied by other unions in the district, where it is generally "Fresh water for eight persons."

After drying and tying all my clothes in a bundle, I attired myself in a Workhouse night shirt, and was shown my bedchamber. The tramps' bedrooms at the Union are mode up of about a dozen roomy cells each capable of holding two people. In most of these are small bedsteads with spring mattresses, the bed clothing consisting of two thick rugs.

Unfortunately, I and my navvy friend who occupied the same cell found no bedsteads, and were constrained to make our beds on the floor. After carefully selecting the softest boards, I arranged my rugs end settled myself for slumber. Reader, have you ever endeavoured to sleep on the floor? It is not pleasant, even for the most "fleshy" person: whilst I, being one of the lean kind, felt hardness acutely. I dozed. woke, stretched and turned, and was glad when morning came and the door was opened.

To dress was not a long business, and after a wash we received breakfast, consisting of 1 pint of very thin gruel and 6oz. of bread. After this meal the tramp is expected to do some task of work in return for the accommodation. According to the Poor Law Regulations he may be compelled to break not more than 5 cwt. and not less than 1½cwt. of stones to a size required by the Guardians, or do three hours' work wood sawing. gardening, corn grinding, pumping, or cleaning. At Bridgend casual ward the task is very light, being an hour's work at wood sawing or chopping.

This in itself is an incentive for tramps to come to Bridgend. The only remedy to deal with the "regulars' more stringently.

In concluding this short article. I may say that in my opinion. Bridgend casual ward is a well regulated and well ordered branch of the Union work. Everything in it is kept spotlessly clean, and there is little of the bullying and hectoring so often to be found in these places.