George Orwell - Down and Out in Paris and London

it from the road, it looked much like a prison. Already a

long queue of ragged men had

formed up, waiting for the gates to open. They were of

all kinds and ages, the youngest a fresh-faced boy of

sixteen, the oldest a doubled-up, toothless mummy of

seventy-five. Some were hardened tramps, recognisable

by their sticks and billies and dust-darkened faces; some

were factory hands out of work, some agricultural

labourers, one a clerk in collar and tie, two certainly

imbeciles. Seen in the mass, lounging there, they were a

disgusting sight; nothing villainous or dangerous, but a

graceless, mangy crew, nearly all ragged and palpably

underfed. They were friendly, however, and asked no

questions. Many offered me tobacco-cigarette ends,

that is.

We leaned against the wall, smoking, and the tramps

began to talk about the spikes they had been in recently.

It appeared from what they said that all spikes are

different, each with its peculiar merits and demerits, and

it is important to know these when you are on the road.

An old hand will tell you the peculiarities of every spike

in England, as: at A you are allowed to smoke but there

are bugs in the cells; at B the beds are comfortable but

the porter is a bully; at C they let you out early in the

morning but the tea is undrinkable; at D the officials

steal your money if you have any-and so on

interminably. There are regular beaten tracks where the

spikes are within a day's march of one another. I was

told that the Barnet-St. Albans route is the best, and they

warned me to steer clear of Billericay and Chelmsford,

also Ide Hill in Kent. Chelsea was said to be the most

luxurious spike in England; someone, praising it, said

that the blankets there were more like prison than the

spike. Tramps go far afield in summer, and in winter,

they circle as much as possible round the large towns,

where it is warmer and there is more charity. But they

have to keep moving, for you may not enter any one spike,

or any two London spikes, more than once in a month, on pain

of being confined for a week.

Some time after six the gates opened and we began to

file in one at a time. In the yard was an office where an

official entered in a ledger our names and trades and ages,

also the places we were coming from and going to-this last

is intended to keep a check on the movements of tramps. I

gave my trade as "painter"; I had painted water-colours-

who has not? The official also asked us whether we had

any money, and every man said no. It is against the law to

enter the spike with more than eightpence, and any sum

less than this one is supposed to hand over at the gate. But

as a rule the tramps prefer to smuggle their money in,

tying it tight in a piece of cloth so that it will not chink.

Generally they put it in the bag of tea and sugar that every

tramp carries, or among their "papers." The "papers" are

considered sacred and are never searched.

After registering at the office we were led into the

spike by an official known as the Tramp Major (his job is

to supervise casuals, and he is generally a workhouse

pauper) and a great bawling ruffian of a porter in a blue

uniform, who treated us like cattle. The spike consisted

simply of a bathroom and lavatory, and, for the rest, long

double rows of stone cells, perhaps a hundred cells in all.

It was a bare, gloomy place of stone and whitewash,

unwillingly clean, with a smell which, somehow, I had

foreseen from its appearance; a smell of soft soap, Jeyes'

fluid and latrines-a cold, discouraging, prisonish smell.

The porter herded us all into the passage, and then told

us to come into the bathroom six at a time, to be searched

before bathing. The search was for money and tobacco,

Romton being one of those spikes where you

can smoke once you have smuggled your tobacco in, but it

will be confiscated if it is found on you. The old hands

had told us that the porter never searched below the knee,

so before going in we had all hidden our tobacco in the

ankles of our boots. Afterwards, while undressing, we

slipped it into our coats, which we were allowed to keep,

to serve as pillows.

The scene in the bathroom was extraordinarily re-

pulsive. Fifty dirty, stark-naked men elbowing each other

in a room twenty feet square, with only two bathtubs and

two slimy roller towels between them all. I shall never

forget the reek of dirty feet. Less than half the tramps

actually bathed (I heard them saying that hot water is

"weakening" to the system), but they all washed their

faces and feet, and the horrid greasy little clouts known as

toe-rags which they bind round their toes. Fresh water was

only allowed for men who were having a complete bath,

so many men had to bathe in water where others had

washed their feet. The porter shoved us to and fro, giving

the rough side of his tongue when anyone wasted time.

When my turn came for the bath, I asked if I might swill

out the tub, which was streaked with dirt, before using it.

He answered simply, "Shut yer mouth and get on with yer

bath!" That set the social tone of the place, and I did not

speak again.

When we had finished bathing, the porter tied our

clothes in bundles and gave us workhouse shirts-grey

cotton things of doubtful cleanliness, like abbreviated

nightgowns. We were sent along to the cells at once, and

presently the porter and the Tramp Major brought our

supper across from the workhouse. Each man's ration was

a half-pound wedge of bread smeared with margarine, and

a pint of bitter sugarless cocoa in a tin billy. Sitting on the

floor we wolfed this in five

minutes, and at about seven o'clock the cell doors were

locked on the outside, to remain locked till eight in the

morning.

Each man was allowed to sleep with his mate, the cells

being intended to hold two men apiece. I had no mate, and

was put in with another solitary man, a thin scrubby-faced

fellow with a slight squint. The cell measured eight feet by

five by eight high, was made of stone, and had a tiny

barred window high up in the wall and a spyhole in the

door, just like a cell in a prison. In it were six blankets, a

chamber-pot, a hot water pipe, and nothing else whatever.

I looked round the cell with a vague feeling that there was

something missing. Then, with a shock of surprise, I

realised what it was, and exclaimed:

"But I say, damn it, where are the beds?"

"

Beds ?" said the other man, surprised. "There aren't no

beds! What yer expect? This is one of them spikes where

you sleeps on the floor. Christ! Ain't you got used to that

yet?"

It appeared that no beds was quite a normal condition

in the spike. We rolled up our coats and put them against

the hot-water pipe, and made ourselves as comfortable as

we could. It grew foully stuffy, but it was not warm

enough to allow of our putting all the blankets underneath,

so that we could only use one to soften the floor. We lay a

foot apart, breathing into one another's face, with our

naked limbs constantly touching, and rolling against one

another whenever we fell asleep. One fidgeted from side

to side, but it did not do much good; whichever way one

turned there would be first a dull numb feeling, than a

sharp ache as the hardness of the floor wore through the