A Real Casual on Casual Wards - East London (1866).

The next place on the road is East London Union Workhouse, which is situated in a narrow street leading out of Bishopsgate Street Without. The workhouse itself is not, however, in this street, but merely the casual ward, which is only a cottage. You are taken at six o'clock punctual by a paid porter, who was formerly a policeman — a very quiet man he is, too — get a bath with a "mutton broth," appearance, that does for all without changing the water. You have a shirt given you, canvas as usual, and got into a bedroom two storeys high, with bunks — Lambeth fashion — ranged round the room. The bed is good, and so is the rug; but instead of one rug I should prefer two. One is too little in winter-time, summer it might do very well. You get six ounces of bread at night, and the same allowance in the morning. This workhouse has not adopted the now dietary, and dispenses with gruel altogether. In the morning, in return for the "food" and lodging, you pick half a pound of oakum: a good hand will do this in an hour. During the night I slept at this workhouse, theiving was the conversation mostly. Three boys who were in, near me, were very sharp young thieves; one, evidently the ringleader of the lot, was amusing his companions with various tales, showing his aptitude for taking anything not his own. He said he had been in the "steel" (Coldbath Fields Prison) eight times; and he continued, "[blank] blind me, Jack, last time I went the screw says, says he: 'Now what are we to do with this boy; the young rascal has been here seven times already.'" Loud was the laughter at this and other remarks about nailing "stooks" (silk pocket handkerchiefs), "clouts" (cotton ditto), german sausages, &c. I questioned him as to how long he had been knocking about prisons and workhouses. "Oh, about five years," he replied. This boy was only seventeen years old, his companions somewhat younger; but they would speedily be as bad as he under such tuition. One man in the room told a tale which I remember very well. He said:

"Well, last night, you know, Harry and me went to Stratford Workhouse, and you know, Tom (addressing a friend), it's a good place to nick a rug. Well, this morning when we came out, Harry put two rugs under his clothes, around him, you know. We got out of the gate all right, and had got as far as Stratford old Church, when a bobby spied us out Harry looked rather bulky, you know, Tom, and the slop (policeman) says, 'Hallo, what you got here?' and by [blank] he took us both before the beak. After hearing the slop tell his tale, he says to me: What do you know of this man? Have you ever seed him before?' So I looks all around him, and I says, Your worship, I never seed the man afore last night in all my life.' So the beak discharged me, and gave Harry three months." The gentleman who told this tale was loudly applauded for the way in which he "did" the magistrate.