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

Poplar.—This workhouse I have been in many times as I rather liked it. The porter or attendant at the casual ward is a very nice man, and has formerly been in a prison as turnkey, or "screw," as it is called among the fraternity. He used to take twenty-four men, the first who were strangers, and put them in the ward set apart for casuals, all the others, after this number, he would put them in a range of stables across a yard. In these stables clean straw was the bed and covering an old rug. I have been in these stables and have seen as many as forty men and boys laid in all possible positions — some without clothes, and some not. The most disgusting language and the most obscene songs were heard. All was in darkness, and you was shoved in just like a dog, and had to grope your way over the legs of the occupants. If you unfortunately tread upon any toes or legs, a blow or a curse, delivered in no gentle way, would be your reward. I am glad to see all this altered now. I was there last about three weeks ago, and was told to go to the police station. I went about half past six o'clock, and waited on a most bitter cold night until eight, when the relieving officer (a sergeant) condescended to see us. I was nearly last and went up to a door, over which I could see the sergeant in another room. I took off my hat respectfully and leaned against the door looking at the sergeant and waiting. Presently the sergeant looking up, said, "Get off that door and stand up." I did as I was told. "Now what do you want?" I told him, and he took my name. "What's your calling?" "Draughtsman or land surveyor, sir." Another gentleman who was looking around the room suddenly turned around and faced me, and said, "What?" I repeated what I before said, and he said, "Well? here is a man who, by his profession ought to be an educated man, asking for a night's lodgings!" I told a short account of "how it came to this," &c., and the sergeant who had looked exceedingly fierce toned down wonderfully, and on my saying "thank you," when he gave me the ticket, he said, "You are very welcome."

I may mention here to you, sir, that the above calling was correct, and that if the system of police relieving officers was carried out a little more gently and humanely, it would act very well. The regular thieves and casuals hate the police as the devil is proverbially thought to hate holy water, and that is the consequence that so few go to Poplar Workhouse since the police supervision was instituted. The solitary instance of the police governing Poplar only makes the other workhouses have all the more, hence the great quantities at Lambeth, St. Georges (Mount Street), Marylebone, &c.

You get a bath at Poplar just the same as Lambeth, and are provided with a shirt also — a very rough one, made of canvas I should think. The bath is very clean, and I don't think they bathe above two or three in one water. You run up some stone steps as usual, and wait in bed until your supper is brought, which consists at this place of six ounces of bread only. You have two rugs, and in every respect it is similar to the regular ward of Lambeth Workhouse. In the morning you pick one pound of oakum and get for breakfast, six ounces of bread and one pint of good gruel. The gruel is much better than at Lambeth, but you will see it is not given at night also. In this respect Poplar has not complied with the dietary agreed to in St. Martin's Hall. If the oakum is not picked you are kept four hours after breakfast, which means until about twelve o'clock. Take it all in all, though Poplar Workhouse is very good, although from the police giving tickets, I know it is detested heartily among the casuals.