H.J. Tennant in the Eastbourne Workhouse Casual Ward - Part IV

THE EASTBOURNE CASUAL WARD.

A NIGHT AND DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE.

[By an Amateur Casual.]

Part IV.

Oakum is nothing more or less than a coil of old rope. In this instance it was a lump of three or four coils twisted tightly together, each coil being about 3/8 of an inch in diameter. This has to be picked to pieces with the fingers, into shreds as fine, almost, as human hair, and when thus worked, is largely used for calking the seams of ships. It must be very tedious work picking it, and one would judge that the men's time could be much moreprofitably employed for the State than in such a wearisome task.

A friend of mine is a very strong advocate for making each man, casual, or prisoner, work at his own trade, thus a tailor should make clothes, a shoemaker boots, &c., and so force the men in some measure to pay the cost of their maintenance.

The opponents of this system say that it would interfere with the outside trade, but this I fail to see, inasmuch as each man must have been employed outside at one time, and no one then could contend that his competition was injurious; how, then, should a stone wall make all the difference? Besides, prisons and workhouses would then pay and not lose as they do now, on the laborious and unprofitable employment of the treadmill, stone-breaking, or oakum picking.

But this is a digression. To return to

STONE BREAKING.

There were the stones, flinty enough in all conscience, and if I failed to break the required quantity, I should have to stay in all day on Sunday, and then finish breaking them on Monday morning, and break another similar quantity on the same day, for my Sunday's keep and be liberated on Tuesday morning.

I set to work willingly enough. It gave me something to do, and the place was becoming irksome. After half-an-hour's breaking I tried them through the sieve, but, alas! very few would pass through. It was evident that I was making very slow progress, and my arms were already beginning to tire with lifting the heavy bar up and down.

One of the casuals here explained to me that I had too many stones in the pit at once, and that if I only did one at a time I should get on better. I adopted the suggestion, and found that I succeeded very well, but it was dreadfully slow work. Sometimes a pebble would resist all my efforts for upwards of half-a-dozen strokes, and even then would only be chipped. However, I kept on most assiduously until about 11.30 — as near as I could tell — when the curate of St. Mary's, Old Town, was announced, and the Master permitted all the who wished to do so, to attend to what he had to say.

THE EFFECTS OF STONE-BREAKING.

Need I say how delighted I was at the Chaplain's visit? Never had a minister seemed so welcome. My hands were blistered badly in no less than ten different places, with the blood oozing through some of them. They were caused — so a casual informed me — by holding the bar too tightly. I was aching in every limb — my arms with lifting and striking, my legs with standing, and my back with stooping; not having eaten anything scarcely since the previous day, I was faint and exhausted, and this interval was warmly welcomed.

UNASSUMING CHRISTIANITY.

We were admitted through a ward, on the left hand bide of the yard, at the end nearest the road, into a long and narrow room which seemed to run the whole length of the breadth of nine cells. The whitewashed walls were hung with scripture texts, and there was a plain wood table, on which were a bible, and. I believe, a hymn book. Forms were placed around as seats for the men.

On entering we were greeted very cordially by the chaplain, a man seemingly about forty years of age, who wore a serious yet kindly look. Asking us to be seated, he questioned each one as to his past career, and gave a few well chosen words of advice and sympathy.

"I always carry my testament," said the shoemaker, in what, I thought, a hypocritical whine, producing a much thumbed volume.

"You can't have a better companion," was the chaplain's, kindly reply, "Whatever our station in life the Gospel of Christ is the best consolation we can have. There are times in the lives of everyone of us, when the promises of Jesus bring more comfort, more true joy, than can be experienced from any other source."

THE ADDRESS IN THE CASUAL CELL.

After reading a few verses from the testament, the chaplain gave us a very earnest and sincere address. Christ had said I am the way, the truth, and the life." Whoever wanted that peace and happiness which a trust in Christ could bring — it didn't matter if they were in a casual ward, or in a drawing room, — could have it by coining to Christ. Christ drew no distinctions; to Him all souls were equally valuable. Had He not said that not even a sparrow could fall to the ground without the will of our heavenly father? The Chaplain went on to say, Christ added and he was not addressing rich people only, but the poor fisherman of the lake, that they were of more value than many sparrows, and that even the hairs of their head were all numbered. He takes the same care of us to-day. My friends, do not let us think that because we are in the Casual Ward, or wandering the country in search of work, that God does not care for us, that we cannot serve Him. I know that the temptations and the companions with whom you are surrounded, make it very hard for you to serve Christ. But it is by no means an impossibility for men in casual wards to be true Christians. Many of you, perhaps, are unfortunate, and compelled to take to the roads in search of work, but God does not look on the outward garb: He reads the heart. Let me ask each one of you to try and get a few minutes for prayer night and morning. Never mind if it is very simple, very unlearned. Christ tells us it was the simple prayer of the publican that was heard, and not the long prayer of the Pharisee. Try this; make a short prayer each morning and evening, for strength to guide yon throughout the day, and you will not ask in vain. Above all, let me ask yon to avoid drink. I do not say that you do drink, or that any of you hare ever given way to drink. I have no right to assume such a thing. But I was in service in the Navy, and I know how terrible is the temptation to poor people without friends, or homes, or hope in the world, to give way to the great sin of drunkenness. I know that your pleasures are few, that for a moment drink seems to drown all your misery, but its effects often lead to the worst of misery and crime. My friends, I have known cases where drink has broken up happy homes and brought ruin and despair, and you yourselves must have seen the evil consequences it brings. I cannot impress on you too earnestly to avoid drink. And now, my friends, I must not detain you any longer. Your tasks, I know, are hard enough to take up all your time. I'm glad to have had this little talk with you. Not glad to meet here under these conditions, but glad of the opportunity of saying a few words for the Master. Will you all try to have a short time each day for prayer?"

The chaplain and casuals than all knelt, while the former offered an extempore prayer, praying earnestly that we might all be shielded from the temptations which so thickly surrounded us. He then wished us very kindly good day, and we again returned to the stone-breaking.