Julia Varley — Life in the Casual Ward
This is Part 6 of Life in the Casual Ward, an account of undercover visits to workhouse casual wards between Leeds and Liverpool by former Poor Law Guardian Julia Varley.
Now, after a three weeks' tramp and occupation of casual wards, my self-allotted task is finished, and it remains for me to sum up she whole and give my ideas on the proper treatment of vagrants. Before my "tour" I was just as ready as most people at suggesting remedies, and my favourite remedy was "work." But now I am wiser, and the problem is harder; to solve than I thought it was. I know these people from their standpoint; I have found out; by actual contact with them that they were not even tramps, as we know the specimen. The inmates of the casual wards are divided into three distinct classes — the first, loafers from the city slums pure and simple; second, hawkers-cum-tramps; and the third, "down at heels," who are stranded for the time being. The first constitute at least eighty per cent of the frequenters of the ward. They drift from workhouse to workhouse when they are not in prison: sometimes when they want a rest they go into the "house"; at other times they are just casual visitors. In summer they are not so particular, as they can sleep in the fields, under hedges or haystacks, if they can't "mouch" (their own term) their night's, lodging. The second-class are the tramp-hawkers, whose "baskets" have not yielded the necessary profit for both food and lodgings, or whose throats have been too wide, or they, have been "put out" at something and flown to drink to forget their sorrow, and in doing so have forgotten to save fourpence for lodgings. The third-class are those who ought to be pitied, the read "down at heels," who seem to be pursued by a fate that's more than unkind. Everybody's hand seems to be against them, and they seem to be too cowed to complain. Out of sixty-five women only three could be classed under the heading. These were the only ones that I would have helped, if it had been possible to do so. One of them had her first experience the night I saw her, and I shall never forget the look in her eyes as she said it would be her last.
SHE WAS THE VICTIM OF A NUMBER OF EVILS
— low wage, ill-health, high rent, and not least, a thoughtless employer. She was a charwoman, clean and respectable, who had been disappointed of a couple of days' cleaning, and could. not get any work in its place. Her husband had been ill with pneumonia, and after his admission to a hospital she had to sell up her home to pay her way, and at last was homeless. She had two or three charing places, but one lady who employed her two days had gone away for a week, and the house was deserted when she went, and so her shelter was the casual ward. She had friends in fair positions, but she married a little beneath her, and she did not care to risk, "I told you so," and the drawn agonised look on her face was pitiful as she sat and looked at the women's faces the first morning. I was the only one she spoke to; she thought I was "a respectable woman, different to the others."
The next was a sad case also. Her husband, a gardener, had been in the employ of a Yorkshire gentleman for a, few years, but at Christmas he had retired from business and gone down south. The man, who was just turned fifty. but looked ten years older, was not able to get a job in the town, so when their little savings were done, they stored their bits of furniture and went on tramp. It being haymaking season, they were hoping to get something in that line to do. Both being country-bred, they were very hopeful. Poor souls, I fancy they will finish their days in the workhouse. The third case was the saddest of all, because she had only herself to blame for her condition she was in, and she had sufficient conscience left to feel it. Her remorse was terrible. Drink was the cause. This woman had been
SUPERINTENDENT LAUNDRESS
in an institution for several years, but had taken to drink. After a time she lost her post, and had drifted lower and lower; now. she was altogether undone. She was going to try for the last time to recover !herself, and intended to get into a home until she lost her awful craving. If she does not succeed I fancy the river will be her refuge.
This is a true account of the people I met, and I am compelled to say that the majority of them were "wrong ones." This statement may be used by those who would leave unaltered the present system of dealing with the tramps, but I want to be perfectly honest, and give the public the case as it stands.
The purpose at present is to make the tramp ward as distasteful as possible, and thus make vagrancy as unpleasant as possible. This system, I am convinced, will not cure or even lessen vagrancy. If these tramps do not come into the care of the Guardians they are preying on their fellows somewhere else, or helping to swell the evil, dirty and filthy-speaking crowd in the lodging-houses. In summer they don't mind sleeping out; hedges and haystacks can be utilized at a pinch; the farmers can tell you, not where they are, but where they have been pilfering. I heard one woman boasting about her prowess in that direction, and to avoid going into the "hard tramp-ward" it is considered perfectly legitimate to "cadge" lodging money by accosting men on the road.
The most stringent regulations don't affect the old hands much, for they go on the "ca, canny" principle. They don't work outside, nor do very much in; they are adepts at slipping the tasks. At one place I was shown an easy way of doing the work, which made it possible to get through in an hour what would in the ordinary way take three. The reason was that it was useless work—washing clean floors. As an experiment I left one portion undone, and after the whole was dry I found it impossible to tell which had been missed.
THE PAUPER ATTENDANT,
too, does a little to make the lot of her old "pals" easier. In every case I came across, she knew the old hands, and had herself been on the road. It was like a band of free masons; many a can of tea, two or three matches (all these women smoke), or bits of meat have fallen to their lot. The strangers are treated with dignified contempt and kept in their place." It was pathetic to see how the "witty," sarcastic remarks were smiled at to secure favour. It was told at one place by the pauper "officer" not to laugh at my betters." I was so startled that I nearly betrayed myself. I found out afterwards that "she will do anything for you for a copper or two," and she gets many tips, incredible though it may seem.
The remedy for this in my opinion is hard useful work, apportioned out by the accredited official, without favour, and a little more palatable food. Who can blame the women for skulking the work on a diet of gruel, thick and unpalatable, and dry bread, for supper and breakfast, while dinner consists of dry bread and l½oz. of cheese, washed down with cold water? The alteration I would suggest is the substitution of tea or coffee for the gruel and water and a bit of dripping with the bread.
Wise officials, too, are absolutely necessary for the proper administration of the regulations — good judges of human nature, firm, yet kind, with discretionary powers. With this reform would vanish much of the unnecessary suffering; the treatment could be made harder for the "habituals," and better for the poor creatures who are really down on their luck. One thing that needs immediate attention is the question of
STOVING OR DISINFECTING THE CLOTHING.
Many times I received complaints whilst I was a Guardian about damage done to the garments, and I found out as a tramp the truth of the statements. I was wearing a stout cloth skirt, which would have been wearable many months in a mill, but after a fortnight's service on the road, it was in a most picturesque condition — a fair-sized piece hung flapping in the breeze, while parts were as rotten as burnt paper. If that dress had been my entire wardrobe I should have been unable to get work, and sunk lower and lower until I should have been like the rest. I wonder how many loafers are so made? I came across one woman who was in that position, and site said the only thing was for her to go back into the "house." This is the ultimate destination of most of them. A considerate officer would take care that the stoving was not done carelessly, although the garments treated are only the property of tramps.
LAMENTING OVER STOVED CLOTHING.
The point that I would lay the most stress upon, and about which I felt very strongly, relates to the bathing or the paupers, both permanent and casual. Poor-law officials have told me that the people
OBJECT TO THE BATH.
I have found out by actual experience that the majority of them don't object to the water, but to the presence in the room of other people. The officer or the pauper attendant, and sometimes both, are in the room, besides the other casuals often, while the process of pinning up the bundles that I have mentioned previously, is degrading. The sense of shame at first is awful, but after a time it loses its edge, and one gets used to it. It is a disgraceful system. It is a disgrace to England.
Although so strict about personal cleanliness there is no opportunity given for garments to be washed, and it seems ridiculous to have to don the filthily dirty clothes the morning after a bath. Most of the women "slopwash" things if they have half an opportunity, and this seems to point to the conclusion that they would be cleaner it they had the chance. Why not give them permission to wash their bits of rags in an evening when they have finished their work? Give them an hour that is now spent in bed. It is too early, and out of all reason to be packed off before six o'clock, as is done at some places. Teach them to be clean, and give them scope to learn.
The most important question of all I touch upon last; it relates to the children. In some of the big cities they seem to be taught that it is a sanctuary, where they can escape the attentions of a drunken father. I saw eleven children in one ward, nine of whom were with two mothers, whose faces bore signs of brutal treatment, and the next night there were two others. The fearful sights I saw were seen by those children, who did not seem as overwhelmed as I was, evidently having seen them before. The time has come when drastic measures should be taken to saving children. The majority of the adults are beyond hope, the disease incurable. Shall we let the children be infected, and let them go on also until their faces are marred and brutalised? Is there escape? The children are the "wealth of the the nation" — is it to be "filthy lucre" on purest gold? Can we afford to lose these little lives, and in the highest? There is much talk about labour colonies, and other far-away reforms, but while we are waiting for the red tape to be loosened, these children are growing up, and soon will he beyond our reach. Year by year the leak in the dyke grows bigger, and if we do not make haste the flood will be upon us. The task seems hard, and the more one studies it the more difficult does it seem, and an almost hopeless one, but let us take up the thing that is nearest to our hand, as each little done make the other lighter.
The mighty spell
Which binds with iron bands the earth
On which we dwell.
Oh, dreamer, wake, your brother man
Is yet a slave,
And thousands go heart crushed this morn
Unto the grave.
From out time's morn your golden hours
Flow fast away;
Then, dreamer, up! and do life's work
While yet 'tis day.
JULIA VARLEY.
For US readers 
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