Ancestry UK

A Visit to Liverpool Workhouse

The text below is a slightly abridged version of an article by Mrs Emma Brewer, published as part of the series 'Workhouse Life in Town and Country', in the magazine Sunday at Home in 1890.

A Visit to Liverpool Workhouse

This is another huge barrack-like collection of buildings, a city within a city, and a very depressing one indeed, though managed as well as it is possible, considering the numbers within its walls, and the peculiar class of its inmates.

It was the most bewildering place I had ever been through, and I did not keep the same opinion of it ten minutes together. At one time I thought the inmates the roughest and coarsest I had ever seen, and then bending my steps to the old people's portion of the building, I thought them superior to others that had come under my notice. Again, the maternity ward filled one with intense sadness that the women and girls resting there should feel no shame at the thought of the inheritance with which they had endowed their little ones. Then the walk through the nursery, which contained the babies brought back by these mothers after having had them a few weeks in their degraded homes, was a sight never to be forgotten; and lastly the cells containing young girls with delirium tremens made one for a moment despair before the appalling evils that have to be overcome in attempting to improve the condition of the poor.

It was a relief to find no children over the baby age here, they are kept at the schools two or three miles distant, and when we were there the number was 794.

The able-bodied class of pauper is gradually disappearing, while, on the other hand, the infirm and sick are rapidly increasing, as may be seen by the numbers. In 1869 the out-relief amounted to 39,6731. In 1888, 11,6781. The number of recipients in 1868, was 11,986. In 1888, 2272.

Pauper labour is used throughout for scrubbing and cleaning, and a rougher class of women I never saw.

It was strange to us to be called sharply to account two or three times on our way from the gate to the master's office, and our name and business at each point demanded. Indeed, the scrutiny was as strict as though we had been trying stealthily to creep into a haven of rest unawares. At length we gained the large entrance hall, round which were the enquiry office, the master's room, the receiving wards and the dispensary.

The master set out with us on our tour through this pauper town, and as it was the dinner hour he took us first to the dining hall, where such as were able to move about had their meals, the men in one block, the women in another. It is a large room with a pulpit in it, which opens out into an ornate altar for the use of the Roman Catholics. From here we went into the kitchen, manned by a small army of cooks, and with a huge cooking range fixed against the wall, but which would be more convenient if situated so as to allow the cooks to get round it. Only boiling can be done here; the day's dinner was pea-soup, seasoned with mint as a sort of relish.

From this to the general stores was but a step. It is an immense place, under the superintendence of a store-keeper, whose notice nothing escapes. On the table lay a tabulated paper containing the amounts and quality of the ordinary and extra diets and their various ingredients. The food throughout the building is both good and abundant.

At the time of our visit they were using weekly a hundred dozen of mineral waters, a hundred and twelve chickens, four thousand five hundred eggs, and one thousand six hundred and forty-five gallons of milk. This will give a little idea of the requirements of this place.

From the store-room down a flight of stops we came to the bakery, a very large place with huge ovens. All the bread for the house, infirmary, and outside poor is made here, and mostly by paid labour.

On asking what became of the refuse of the whole establishment, we learned that it was sold and tenders invited for it.

We next came to the dairies, dark and cool. In the one used for sweet milk is a cupboard provided with shelves on which rest test glasses. The exact quantity of cream agreed upon is rigorously exacted, and when deficient a penny a gallon is deducted.

We were now made over to the care of the assistant matron, whom the master begged to be our guide through the infirmary, in the absence of the matron, who was taking a much-needed holiday. This sister had been trained in the Marylebone Infirmary, and in every particular showed how good and thorough her training had been.

The infirmary is one of the largest in England, and interesting as being the first to adopt trained, in the place of pauper, nurses. This it did in 1865, and at once raised the salaries and rations from 15,482l. to 19,550l.

There are altogether a hundred wards in this infirmary, each of which belongs to a certain district or division. For example, each division has its two landings, consisting of four or five large wards and some smaller ones, a medicine store, a small kitchen, and a large bath-room.

The allowance of attendance to each landing is one nurse, one probationer, and on the men's side, one wardsman or wardswoman in addition. A nightwoman is appointed to every two wards during the night, but she has nothing whatever to do but watch, her orders being to call the nurse if she find it needful, or if the patients require anything. It struck me that this service was insufficient.

The medicine is under the care of a special nurse, and is kept supplied by the dispensary. Every medicine required is noted in a book by the store sister, and this is sent daily to the dispensers. It is to these landing stores that the nurses come to fill the bottles for their patients, the medicines being all mixed and ready for use. The poison-cupboard is kept locked, so is the store of spirits, every ounce of which must be accounted for by the sister in charge.

The small landing-kitchen is for the preparation of special dinners, of which, on an average, there are sixteen daily for each landing. From the large kitchen, which supplies all the ordinary dinners, there is a lift — a great advantage where so many patients are to be served with hot food.

The wards are immense, but they are made pleasant by ornaments, pictures, and flowers; touches of brightness are imparted to those on the men's side by the red jackets they wear, and by the blue quilts on the beds.

The men's wards would look, and be more comfortable, if blinds to the windows wore supplied; they have them on the women's side, and it seems odd. that they should have been omitted for the men.

The men's surgical wards are made as pretty as possible, but we thought them rather crowded.

A low-ceilinged room is set apart for the helpless sick, and called the Crib, as the beds are provided with side-pieces to prevent the patients from falling out. Tho male operating-room is light, airy, and large.

The women's part of the infirmary is some distance from the men's, for this building is neither on the pavilion nor on the corridor system, the wards running out of each other in an irregular sort of way.

The women's medical and surgical wards are exactly like those on the men's side, with like kitchens, medicine-stores, and bath-rooms.

The inmates of the maternity wards have already been alluded to.

The babies' ward, with fire, bright pictures, and gay red quilts, looked pretty, but the sights there were heart-rending. The head-nurse, tender and gentle (as a mother I was going to say), was holding in her arms a wee mite of a baby, literally a living skeleton; it wailed piteously and unceasingly, as did many others. Nurse said the babe might probably live for a week in that condition. The sight of that suffering little creature will never pass from my memory, and yet that was one of many in that room.

Nurse said that the babies, when born, are plump healthy little things, but the mothers take them out, and, in the course of a few weeks, bring them back in the condition we saw.

A little apart from the infirmary stands the nurses' perfectly-appointed home. It was built ten years ago, and contains, at the present time, eighty-five nurses — three for fever, twelve for night-work, and the remainder for ordinary nursing.

The probationers wear pink cotton dresses, and the nurses blue. Each nurse has a separate bedroom, furnished simply, but made pretty by her own possessions. Lectures are given every week by the doctors, of whom there are three resident and three consulting. Classes also are held in the large class-room by the assistant matron, with the help of skeletons, and other appliances.

From the home and infirmary, in which last there were nine hundred and thirty-three patients the day we were there, we went to the church — a large, handsome building, containing a marble monument of great interest to the memory of Agnes Elizabeth Jones, who first introduced trained nursing here. On one side of the pedestal, which supports the angel-figure, is an inscription by Miss Nightingale, and on the other side a poem, two lines of which run—

Death came to thee
Not in the cool breath of the silver sea,
But in the city hospital's hot ward.

There are two Roman Catholics to every Protestant in this workhouse and infirmary, so that comparatively only a small number worship here, the majority having their service in the large dining-hall.

Coming out we passed through a yard crowded with helpless and infirm old women, sitting and sunning themselves. Their day-room was large and airy, and the old folk seemed content and cheerful. Visitors come twice a week to real and talk with them. Several were occupied in reading books and newspapers to themselves. One nice-looking old grannie appeared very comfortable, seated in an easy chair, and holding in her hands a book in which she seemed completely absorbed. She attracted and interested me, and, going up to her, I said—

"Have you a very interesting book?"

"Oh, very, ma'am!"

"May I see it?" I asked.

"Oh, yes! Isn't it beautiful?" and she added proudly, "I'm nearly through it."

Perhaps a story-book, some one suggests. Not at all, it was a dry, difficult geography.

"How old are you?"

"Eighty-six, ma'am, and I'm nearly through it." Evidently proud of getting through the book.

Others were knitting a little, or darning, and were very pleased when we took it, and after examining it, gave a word of praise.

They are extremely well-cared for — a certain number being placed under a superintendent, who is at once kind, gentle, and vigorous — and the old people evidently like these superintendents. Large lavatories, bath-rooms and plenty of towels are provided, and their cleanliness and comfort well looked after.

The bedrooms lead out of each other, and are brightened by pictures and bits of colour. The beds are of straw; but sheets and blankets were all clean.

One old woman, whose mind was very weak, began to cry piteously as we were about to leave, begging to be allowed to see her mother, who, of course, had been dead many years, for this old woman was over eighty — but the master neither laughed nor showed impatience or hurry — he listened gravely and comforted her, by saying he would see about it.

The sewing-room which we passed through was a large cheerful chamber, busy with the hum of sewing machines, and the sound of many voices. A staircase leads up out of it, at the top of which the sewing mistress sits, cuts out and superintends. She has to account for every yard of stuff given out to her.

We next descended to the basement, where small cells and a neat kitchen are provided for the inebriates. The cells lock up, and have a small window in the door through which the woman in charge can survey her patient without opening the door. One of these poor creatures was quite a girl. I spoke to an older woman who lay there — she seemed sorry and ashamed, I thought.

There are no applications here for married couples' quarters, for by the time they reach this place, one or other of the old people is ill, and the man or woman is usually glad to be relieved of the burden and anxiety of nursing. The struggle for existence seems to have crushed the love out of their hearts if it had ever shelter there.

When we came to what would be the married couples' quarters, we found that since there was no application for them, they had been used to put decent respectable old women in, who have come to the workhouse through no wrong-doing, but from life being, as they say, dead against them. These quarters form the bright side of the workhouse, and gave us a pleasant surprise. There are seventy-one nice old women here, three having a room together, except in two cases — the messenger who runs errands for them all has only one old woman in her room; and another room, being very large, holds four.

They themselves keep the rooms tidy and dusted, but an able-bodied woman does the rough work — and very bright and clean they are. Although August, there was a little fire in each of the rooms, and on the walls hung portraits of the occupiers' favourite statesmen, and pictures from the illustrated papers. I think Lord Salisbury and Gladstone alike would have felt a choking sensation at the pathetic sight, and a little amusement, too, that both one and other were adding brightness to the rooms of workhouse women.

Almost every old woman was working at something — either knitting or sewing. Each room had its shelf of books, and those who were not at the moment working were reading the daily papers.

To this portion of the workhouse there is a paved yard with seats, where on warm days they can sit and sun themselves. There was an air of content and happiness about these old people which showed that they valued the privilege of ending their days in peace and without want. They are all on a special diet, which includes tea, sugar, and butter. I noticed that the master while in this part of the building lost his look of care. I should like every one interested in workhouses to see these old people's quarters.

From here we went to the insane wards for men, which are under the charge of a young man who thoroughly understands his work. Here were sailors of all nationalities — Negroes, Spaniards, German, and French. One handsome young sailor was suffering from melancholia, brought on by having been ill when his own ship had left on its return journey and his inability to get into another after his recovery. One in this ward was amusing himself by copying and colouring popular advertisements. There were several padded rooms, and a large airy dormitory provided with low beds for those subject to fits.

We now passed on to where the old men were picking hair, which, as the master said, was untidier and more disagreeable than oakum picking, but easier and softer for the fingers.

We next made our way through a long array of so-called able-bodied men's dormitories, all painfully alike, and noticeable only for their extreme neatness and cleanliness. There are two officers on each landing, and one sleeps at each end.

We looked through the little kitchens and carpenters', cobblers', and tailors' shops, and then found ourselves in the dispensary where the same method and order reigned as in other parts of this great building. Three dispensers are fully engaged up to twelve o'clock, and two after that hour. Certain stock medicines are always ready, and the drugs are contracted for in Liverpool. The cost of the medicine last year was 3,373l., and for the first half of this year, 1,810l. was spent for drugs alone. Men appointed carry baskets all day long between the infirmary and the dispensary. The requirements of the nurses are sent down clearly written on sheets of paper, on which are inscribed also the name, diet, disease, and time of arrival of every patient. These papers are collected by one of the nurses, and sent to the dispensary in tin boxes. The books here are splendidly kept, and at a glance one can follow out the amount and cost of a drug and the treatment of a patient. This dispensary supplies not only the workhouse and infirmary but the parish as well, consequently the whole of the indoor and outdoor poor.

In going over such a place as this it is possible only to give the merest outline. We went there without giving notice, and saw the usual daily routine which we have tried to put on paper.

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