A Real Casual on Casual Wards - Lambeth (1866).

As Lambeth Workhouse has occupied such a prominent place in the public mind, I think it will be best of that first. As all that the 'Pall Mall Gazette' says, about the crank-shed sleeping is correct, I will not touch upon that, but what it would have been had he slept in the regular tramp ward.

At Lambeth, the casuals are taken in at 8 o'clock in summer, and about half -past six in winter. The man who takes them in (the sharp-eyed Scotsman), however is not particular and occasionally he allows you to stand in the wind and cold, half-an-hour after this time. By so doing, you have the advantage of hearing your companions' curses on the "long-legged [blank] " dilatoriness, and then making enquiries of each other as to where they slept last night, and what they have been doing during the day. At last the gate opens and out peers the head of the Scotsman. A policeman standing near (he is always there) makes a great bustle, under pretence of putting them in order, preparatory to their being taken in, and the Scotsman then points to such individuals as he wants in the casual wards. I forget whether it is twenty-eight or thirty that can be accommodated in the casual ward. But very frequently the number of casuals exceeds fifty, and then they had to go elsewhere before Mr. Parnell took them to task, but now they go around to another door and are taken in to get a ticket for a lodging-house; but more of this anon. Soon as taken in, all tramp or run up to a little box on the left-hand side of the passage and near to the crank-shed where filing off one by one, each gives his name to a clerk, (not the Scotsman) age, occupation, and where come from, and where going to. I can nearly affirm that not one out of the thirty casuals, gives these particulars correct. I have often heard them debating one to another something this way:—" I say stick-in-the mud fot name are ye going to give?" "Oh! anything, Brown if ye like." Then the other speaker after dancing acquiescence in this, probably without boots, would suggest that he "came from Croydon," and was "going to Watford" when I knew these men had been knocking about London, the last three Months, and had never been half-a-dozen miles out. This shows the absurdity of asking these questions — form that. As soon as the name is given, he goes further on under the open shed, and sits on the form, until it becomes his turn to got into the bath. Presently "Daddy" who is a nice kindly fellow shouts out, "Two more," and in go the requisite two; probably they are well-known to him, and he salutes them. "Hallo, here again! Like Lambeth I see! Come to tear up I suppose, eh?" with a very knowing wink. The man interrogated will probably tell him, that as he "tore up" at the Mile-End Workhouse last night or the night before, he would let it alone a few days, and then indulge in giving vent to his feelings with soundly rating the niggardliness of the said workhouse, in only giving him a pair of canvas trousers and no boots. There are three baths in Lambeth and these are filled at the beginning, and the water supplies the whole with a bath. Thus on the average ten men each are bathed in the same water. I don't grumble so much about this, as the casuals from their frequency in being bathed are very clean, as that many men have sores or some disease about them. The water is just like mutton broth, and all the times I have been there, I have never saw it changed. After been in about three minutes Daddy tells you to "look sharp." You don't want telling twice and out you jump on to a raised board, Daddy gives you a towel, that probably has done service before a dozen times, and consequently partakes of a dish-cloth appearance. You find it impossible to wipe yourself dry, and after rubbing in vain for a few minutes, Daddy gives you a number, (24), and tells you take that bed that is numbered 24. You run up the stone stairs, which are very cold, not having even a piece of matting, shivering, and run to the bed hastily, pull the rugs over you and wait until the bread and gruel comes up at eight o'clock. The rector of Lambeth said four rugs were given to the casuals — it so happens that only two are given; and that a fire was kept burning all night. The fire goes out about eleven o'clock, and if the reverend gentleman was there, instead of being hot, he would be shivering. I can quite understand the rector been "gulled" however, by the master of the workhouse, just the same as any other person who goes as a visitor, and lets the officials know of his coming. You have an opportunity, while in bed to study the place. It is a lofty room, with beams running across it lengthwise. The bunks, or beds, are placed as in the ground plan annexed, a piece of board about an inch thick and eighteen inches high parting you from the next occupant. A fire-place at one end of the room is covered up six feet high with a kind of cage, to keep the men from the fire, and probably two old men who sleep in beds at each side of the fire-place will be standing back to it, smoking an old black pipe. They will diligently enquire of any old "chum," if he has got any "hard-up" to sell, this "hard-up" is ends of cigars, picked up in the streets, and when dry smokes very well, and is a good substitute for tobacco, which, by-the-by is termed "soft-down." "Hard-up," is also known, as "Regent Street twist." Some man perhaps has got a large bundle of hard-up, and gives part to the old man, who in return gives him some bread, or bread and cheese, or bread and meat, just as he may have it at hand. All regular casuals have got more or less of this "hard-up," and therefore are never without a draw. I have heard them say (contrary to what I should have thought), that the most is to be picked up in the east of London, Ratcliffe Highway, and those parts where a good deal of sailors are generally promenading, and that the West-end is not near so good. You have a good chance of hearing now what good "cants" there are in London. "Cant" means a place where anybody who likes to beg can get something. Then the conversation runs:— "I say Tom, did you ever go to that baker's shop in the Strand?—First rate cant, strike me up a [blank] plum-tree, if it isn't!" or ain't. "Everybody who goes gets a piece of bread." This is perfectly true, as I have "mumped" (begged) it myself. The shop is Mr. Harwoodson's [Adamson's?] the north side of the Strand near the Temple Bar. It is a noted place and most casuals know it. The baker is a good-natured kind of man who gives a piece of bread to every one who likes to go. There are a great many such like in London, and these particular "cants" form a great part of the conversation. They are canvassed as to their respective merits, and some impudent scoundrel will laughingly tell how he told so-and-so how he had three children starving at home, and how he was out of work, &c., &c., and then the "old devil" forked out a "tanner" and some "grub." Those having the care of the ward, take no notice of these things, and smoke on complacently, telling tales themselves "as how the master" had "said says he" to so-and-so. At last up comes the "skilly" and bread and all jump up to receive their allowance. After all has been served, some may be left in the pail and that is doled out in quantities around again, amid much chaff. "Was you short of flour, Daddy?" "By [blank] Tom, I can see the bottom of the basin through the skilly." At last all the basins collected and the bread eaten, which is a capital allowance, at Lambeth the gruel is very indifferent, thin as water. Some prepare themselves for sleep by enveloping themselves in their rugs. I had forgotten to tell you, that, when the casual comes up from the bath, he finds a shirt laid on the bed, this shirt is striped blue, and goes by the name of "Lambeth silk." A man, without he is very much used to workhouses, finds it a difficult matter to get to sleep. The roughness of the rugs tickles his body, the talking of his companions annoys him, for some men evidently come for anything but sleep, the snoring, the beastly habits, the coughing, the swearing, the scratching, the rolling about, and Daddy telling them to "shut up," makes a menagerie sort of chorus. He probably gets to sleep about two o'clock. At half-past six, at the cry of "now lads" he jumps out of bed and slipping on his clothes, in the presence of Daddy in the bath-room, he finds himself in the crank-shed there to await breakfast, and liberty after hearing the four bolls strike at work. This part of the morning's performance has been so well described by the 'Pall Mall Gazette' that I need add nothing to it. As some difference in the mode of taking casuals in at Lambeth Workhouse has been practised at Lambeth since the P. M. G. was there, I think I had better give you it.

It was a few days after the sleeping in the crank shed had been abolished, that I presented myself at Lambeth Workhouse about eight o'clock in want of a night's lodging. The casual ward had been full for some time, and about thirty was standing at the front door. I understood that a good many had already been supplied with tickets for the lodging-house. We waited there until about nine o'clock when eight of us was taken in by the clerk, who told us to stand on the opposite side and give our names. The usual questions and the usual answers were asked and answered together with the question, "How many times have you been here before." "Once, sir." I had been about half-a-dozen times, but as it is scarcely likely he would recognize one among the many he takes in every night, this was very easily done. The whole of the eight were satisfactorily booked, and then he proceeded to make out the several tickets for lodgings. We during this time were commended to the care of a pauper servant who went down-stairs to tell the cook to bring up skilly for eight. The lady came up in a few minutes, and stared as if we were complete strangers, and then said, "Well if this is to be the way I am to be worked, they'll have to get somebody else to do it." Just at this moment a pauper at the door had admitted three women; one of whom I recognized as being drunk outside smoking, occasionally enlivening the dullness by giving us a specimen of her vocalism. These three women stood up before the clerk, and he took a glance at them. One of them, a most impudent young woman, probably a prostitute, put out her tongue at him. He said, "Oh! you've been here before the last two nights." With the greatest impudence she replied, "It's a [blank] lie," at the same time jumping down the steps right against the door-keeper, and so bounced out. The clerk who had said nothing up to this, said now, with a most dejected air, "Ah!, I wish those who are so interested with the poor would come here and see them." A man who, apparently, had the charge of the women came to ask the remaining two the questions — which are the same as those asked the men. The drunken woman answered them civilly enough, but the other woman showed a little of the impudence I have always seen among her class in London. She was decently dressed, and might be thirty years old. The first question asked her was answered all right. The next, "What is your age?" wouldn't "do." She demanded to know by what right he presumed to ask this question. Called him an idiot, and told him he was a "[blank] pauper" kept by the parish, although he had a book in his hand. The cook who was standing by received the same sort of language for interfering, and it was only by a threat of being turned out that she complied with the necessary rules. I have often noticed that the women are worse than the men. More difficult to manage in every way, and certainly I must say that the officials at Lambeth Workhouse are about the most civil of any in London, but the assurance of some of these women is disgraceful. We got our tickets right enough, and were told to go into Princess Street, No. 4, (I believe), and present it, all of which we did. The man at the lodging-house shoved us down a cellar and then we waited, filling up the time with a smoke, until nearly twelve o'clock, after which we were put into a small room about nine feet square, laid on hay mattresses with one rug each. There were eight of us altogether in this room, and I think it was very much worse than the regular casual ward. The overseer of the parish came to see us soon after we had got laid down, and checked our names to see all was right, at the same time he asked us very gruffly why we did not get some work to do, at which one of us replied that "did he think we came there for pleasure!" and that we should be most happy to work if he would be so obliging as to tell us where we could get it. Not been able to do this, I doubt not, the man went away very unhappy in consequence. Very little sleep, the lodging-house keeper, who looking like a ghost, or would have done, only he was so very dirty, roused up at six o'clock with the intimation that if we liked to go to the workhouse and do some work we could there get breakfast. As we had no particular employment, and moreover, breakfast, even if it was skilly, was a consideration to us poor devils, so work and discharge about eleven in the forenoon.

A good deal of the circumstances here related occur in every workhouse, as the company there is mostly always of one stamp. I will note anything, though, that is new, and will first begin at the east of London and run westwards. I shall only speak of those places that I have been in.