A Workhouse Matron at Work

A WORKHOUSE MATRON AT WORK.

If we come to think of it, a large proportion of those in authority have to work under circumstances almost as irksome as the restraints which they have to see enforced on their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

We are accustomed to shudder with pity when we think of prisoners condemned to lifelong servitude; but we seldom pause to compassionate the gaoler, whose life is passed in upholding the stern mandates of justice. We cast sorrowful glances at the pauper woman toddling out in her uniform to see her friends; but we scarce waste a thought on the long monotony which clouds the career of the matron who has devoted all her talents to the welfare of the poorest of her kind. And when we pass a lunatic asylum, our heart goes out in mute grief to those stricken ones, surely the most afflicted on this earth; but we forget to commiserate the lunatic attendants in the depressing atmosphere in which they pass their days.

They are paid for their services, and so we think they are repaid for the mental worry and unceasing anxiety which a conscientious person must suffer, if he or she gives the thorough attention expected by Government when it appointed them to the post. It will do us all good to understand a few of the duties of people placed in such a position; and we shall learn to appreciate their mental calibre when we realize the wear and tear on their system. For instance, the matron of a workhouse for females is carefully chosen from a select class, for her power of organization, her well-balanced brain, her keen head, her kind heart and an even healthy temperament. Her work is no sinecure, believe me. She probably has under her control some three hundred old women over sixty years of age, who have different rules to the two hundred who are under sixty, and are called "young women" by contrast. There are the sick wards, the maternity wards, the children's department, the room set apart for those who are suffering from senile decay, another which contains younger patients mentally afflicted for a time, and who are under separate supervision till there is a vacancy in the nearest asylum.

There are the kitchens to be superintended, all the laundry work regulated, and the knitting and sewing arranged. To aid her in accomplishing her huge task, she has generally an assistant matron, a labour mistress, the laundry superintendent, nurses, attendants, the kitchen staff, and a portress. Nor have I yet mentioned her desk work, which of necessity is heavy, as each separate case has to be inquired into, and much correspondence is required to place those that are fit to work in suitable situations.

Details of management, of course, vary slightly under different regimes, but the following outline of the daily work superintended by a matron of one of the London unions will give some idea of the powers demanded of her:— At a quarter to six the first bell clangs, and this is a signal for the "young women" to rise. Those above sixty have a quarter of an hour's grace, and are also allowed tea every morning for breakfast. Many of the inmates are so infirm that dressing is a long process, and cannot be done without help. After prayers and breakfast, those that can work go to the laundry, the kitchen, or the sewing room. Those that cannot, doze over their knitting, chat round the fire, or make themselves busy over an old newspaper. The matron meanwhile is occupied with her correspondence, and with signing permits for those who want to go out. From nine a.m. to six p.m. is a day's leave; and those who have deserved it, through good conduct, are not obliged to wear the uniform outside. This concession is so much appreciated, that the mere threat of a forfeiture of the privilege generally suffices to restore cheerful obedience. But the rule stands that if she returns late, or the worse for liquor, or is caught in smuggling in contraband goods, for the first time of offending her holiday garb is taken away from her for three months, for the second time six months, third time — for ever. And to their honour be it told that the third time has never come in the history of this establishment. When we learn that this regulation is a stronger deterrent than a diet of bread and water, or a night in the "lock-ups," and that some of those who are under the ban for one of the periods absolutely refuse to go out at all, rather than be seen in the hated uniform, we begin to realize what untold suffering those who have gone before must have endured. Pride dies hard even in a workhouse.

The inmates are searched before they go out and when they return; but this soon becomes a mere nominal necessity, as the authorities quickly learn who to trust, and the paupers find that deception is not a paying game. Any tea, or food — if wholesome — they have been given outside they are allowed to retain for their private use, and they may eat or drink it at their own pleasure; hence little impromptu feasts in the early afternoon, which pleasantly diversify the monotony of workhouse life.

To return to our matron. Morning is the time when she investigates all applications, for although you may not know it, it is by no means easy to gain admittance even to a union. The relieving officer can smooth the way, but he cannot make room if there is none; and if you have no claim to the charity of that particular district your chances are small indeed. An urgent case during the night, a girl about to become a mother, will be taken any time without questions, but the ordinary routine is only put aside for such as these. The "house" is no more anxious to have you than you are to share its hospitality, and a short interview with an intelligent matron may help to a solution pleasing to both sides.

"Well, Grannie," said a matron once to a dame of some seventy summers, "I suppose you think you are too old to work?"

"You are just wrong there," was the indignant reply; "I can work fast enough, but it is my dish-abille."

And she proceeded to explain that she earned sufficient for food and shelter, but not enough for clothes. Thereupon she was made happy with a new outfit, and true enough she valiantly went back to work, and maintained her independence for a few more years, with a little similar help from the kind matron, till a sudden death put an end to her brave struggles.

Once a day, at an hour never divulged, the matron, with a huge bunch of keys, goes through every room, unlocks the cupboards, inspects the stores, and sees to all sanitary arrangements.

"The staff require as much looking after as the inmates," she said to me, as we walked through the cheery wards. "A little carelessness, and the whole routine may be upset.

Young servants have to be trained and the old ones humoured, if you want things to go smoothly. A dust pan left on the stairs, and an inmate tumbles over it and breaks her leg; a tap left running, an overflow of water, and plumbers hanging about for a week; or the windows left open when it rains, and everybody is down with influenza. One has to be always on the watch. Then, if we can afford them, we like to have all modern improvements. Ward by ward I am getting spring chain bedsteads instead of the old sort. As this house is not one of the new fashioned barracks, I can do more in the way of classification than some. We have many rooms, and I can thus separate the better classes from the lower, and practically isolate those who have come down to this through no fault of their own."

"What, do you consider is the chief cause of the downfall of the greater number?" I asked.

"Drink," she said decidedly; "but mark, it is often because those who were bound to keep them have indulged in the fatal habit, and left their nearest and dearest totally unfit to grapple with life. Wrecks of all kinds float in here."

It is in her daily peregrinations as she visits the wards, that the inmates have the chance of making any complaints; and this same lady told me that on one occasion she entered the refectory when they were all at dinner. She noticed directly an old woman sitting back in her arm-chair with a look of disgust on her face.

"What is it, Nurse?" she said to the attendant.

"I can't get her to eat, ma'am; she says it is not good enough."

"How's that, Grannie?" she asked; "it is good enough for everybody else."

The old woman stood up, and said in a shrill scream,—

"Good enough for the likes of them, but do you forget, ma'am, the doctor says I have dysperia."

And, so educated are we nowadays, that nine-tenths of those at table joined the matron in her hearty laugh at the patient's heroic attempt at the word dyspepsia.

"Do you have much grumbling?"

"Off and on, principally about the diet. You see, there is not much variety, and the charm of eating goes when you know by heart what you are going to have every day of the year. But we do our best. I think some people have an idea that a person in my position takes a positive pleasure in grinding down the inmates. They do not understand that, barring our duty to our employers, for very peace's sake, we do all we can to please them. If the spirit of nagging gets abroad there is happiness for no one. Except when there is soup, we give every day at dinner tea, coffee, or warm milk. We find it is sustaining for those who work, and keeps the others in good humour for the rest of the day."

Another matron in the environs of London remarked to me, that, regarding the younger women whom adversity drove to the workhouse, it was a great pity that a prejudice existed against employing them as domestic servants.

"They come in, " she said, "feckless, dispirited, and out of joint all round, but after a time they change greatly. They become expert in the laundry, or the house, or the kitchen; they are well drilled in obedience and regular hours. They would make capital servants, and when ladies are crying out in vain for capable domestics, it seems a pity that the void should not thus be filled. As a rule, if they leave us it is for charring or rough work. I have striven hard to this end, but not to much purpose so far. The difficulty does not lie with mistress so much as with their fellow servants. But better things may come.”

She also informed me, much to my amusement, that it was found expedient as much as possible; to separate those of different religions.

"What politics are to men," she said, "religion Is to women;.and those who in the world would be too much absorbed in daily cares to take notice, here, in this narrower atmosphere, set to work to watch and make disagreeable remarks on each other's respective creeds. I have known party spirit run so high that mob caps and knitting needles have been used as weapons offensive and defensive; and there was a time when silence had to be enforced at Sunday meals because a dispute always arose as to the merits of the different sermons."

"Another fact may surprise you," she continued. "We have a special ward for married couples over sixty. It is seldom occupied. Nearly all prefer a divided existence, and think it a hardship, when we are pushed for room, if for a time they are placed together.

"’We have had nothing but rows outside, I want a little peace in,’ said one old Joan about her Darby; and that really is the prevalent feeling; yet it seems but a little while ago that universal indignation was expressed at their enforced separation."

I had meant to describe the matron's extra work at Christmas, her connection with the Visiting Committee, her holidays, and her self-appointed tasks, but I must close with a last incident that impressed itself on my memory. I was being shown through the ward reserved for those of weak intellect, and a poor old woman was pointed out to me reading her Bible. She hobbled up eagerly as we approached.

"I must have another pair of specs, ma'am," she said; "I can't see to read without."

"That's the third pair you have had this week, Nancy," observed the matron. She shook her head vacantly, and sat down again.

"Kleptomania," said my companion when we had left; "they call it the disease of the rich, but we know better. She steals her own coals, and puts them between her sheets, and when she can get nothing else, she steals her spectacles, and forgets where she puts them. In Dickens' days she would have been beaten and locked up. Now, we just accept her idiosyncrasy, and have her watched. She is eighty-four, and in very good health."

Do we all know how much we have to be thankful for?