James Greenwood: A night in the workhouse

By such ditties the ruffians enlivened their short spell of work. Short indeed! The miller departed, and within a minute afterwards beds were reoccupied, pipes lit, and tailoring resumed. So the game continued—the honest fellows sweating at the cranks, and anxious to get the work done and go out to look for more profitable labour, and the paupers by profession taking matters quite easy. I am convinced that had the work been properly superintended the four measures of corn might have been ground in the space of an hour and a half. As it was, when the little bell tinkled for the fourth time, and the yard gate was opened and we were free to depart, the clock had struck eleven.

I had seen the show—gladly I escaped into the open streets. The sun shone brightly on my ragged, disreputable figure, and shewed its squalor with startling distinctness, but within all was rejoicing. A few yards, and then I was blessed with the sight of that same vehicle—waiting for me in the spot where I had parted from it 14 weary hours before. Did you observe, Mr Editor, with what alacrity I jumped in? I have a vivid recollection of you, Sir, sitting there with an easy patience, lounging through your Times , and oh! so detestably clean to look at! But, though I resented your collar, I was grateful for the sight of a familiar face, and for that draught of sherry which you considerately brought for me, a welcome refreshment after so many weary hours of fasting.

And now I have come to the end, I remember many little incidents which escaped me in writing the previous articles. I ought to have told you of two quiet elderly gentlemen who, amidst all the blackguardism that went on around, held a discussion upon the merits of the English language, one of the disputants showing an especial admiration for the word 'kindle', 'fine old Saxon word as ever was coined'. Then there were some childish games of 'first and last letters', to vary such entertainments as that of the Swearing Club.

The moral of all this I leave to the world. An irregularity which consigned some forty men to such a den on the night when somebody happened to be there to see, is probably a frequent one; and it certainty is infamous. And then as to the other workhouses? The Poor Law Board was in ignorance of what was done at Lambeth in this way, and I selected it for a visit quite at random. Do they know what goes on in other workhouses? If they are inclined to inquire, I may, perhaps, be able to assist the investigation by this hint: my companions had a discussion during the night as to the respective merits of the various workhouses; and the general verdict was that those of Tottenham and Poplar were the worst in London. Is it true, as I heard it stated, that at one of these workhouses the casual sleeps on bare boards, without a bed of any sort?

One word in conclusion. I have avoided the detail of horrors infinitely more revolting than anything that appears in this pamphlet.