CHAPTER V.

THREE NIGHTS IN WOMEN'S LODGING-HOUSES.

I. THE FIRST NIGHT.

On a bright evening in May, when the trees were fresh with Nature's tracery, and the sky glowed with colour, my friend and I found our way by train and tram to a house, which was professedly a lodging-house for all sorts and conditions of women. The building, a large, tall, better-class dwelling-house, set back in a front garden, looked almost too respectable for us, as we had donned our tramp's attire. Some children were playing in the passage, and called "the missus," who made no objection to our engaging two beds at sixpence each, warning us we should have to share a room with strangers. She then showed us into a small kitchen, clean and comfortable, but with little accommodation--two short forms and a dresser were the furniture, with shelves in the wall and a sink. A door gave access to a yard with sanitary convenience, and there was a good fire and plenty of boiling water. We sat a little while to rest, and to listen to one or two inmates--a woman who smelt of liquor, an elderly woman who appeared to help the person in charge, and a rather handsome dark girl, nicely dressed and clean, who told us she had been married a few months, and was deserted by her husband. We learnt afterwards that she had been in hotel and restaurant service. We soon decided to go out and buy some provisions, and to have a walk round. We had only expected the beds to be fourpence a night, so were rather short of money. We laid out our scanty resources as follows: Tea 1_d_., sugar 1_d_., bread 3_d_., butter 2_d_. (and 1_d_. we paid for the loan of a knife to be afterwards returned). With these we went back, but not being hungry yet we decided to go to the common sitting-room. This we found in possession of several women, mostly young. It was now nearing 10 P.M., and they were all busy tidying themselves, rouging their faces, blacking their eyelids, and preparing to go on the streets. All this was done perfectly openly, and their hair was curled by the fireside. It was wonderful how speedily they emerged from slatterns into good-looking young women. Each then sallied forth, and, being left alone, we returned to the kitchen and prepared to make tea and cut ourselves some bread and butter. Meanwhile various women passed and re-passed. Three cats were on the hearth--one, a tabby, was called "Spot." A Scotch woman was rather genteel in appearance, about forty, but who openly boasted she had been drunk every day for more than a week; she came in and went out more than once. She sat on the form and related _apropos_ of "Spot," that she got a situation as housekeeper, "though she could not say she had not a spot on her character." A widower with several grown-up sons wished to engage her as housekeeper. He asked about her character, she said: "Without thinking, I replied, 'I am afraid it will not bear too strict an investigation,' and, by Jove! if he didn't engage me at once!" She said it was a good place, and she might have been in it all the time but for "a bit of temper." "Yes, and married the master!" added another. A considerable flurry was caused by the advent in the corner of two or three huge black beetles, or "blackjacks" as they were called, which made everybody draw up their skirts. The form was removed to the middle of the room. The dark young lady told us a good deal about her past; how she had an old mistress who died in her chair and "looked heavenly," and how her daughter wished to take her to London, and even sent her fare, but she would not go. She sighed over it, and said, when we asked her if she was not sorry, that she had wished many times she had gone; "but," she added, "I was young and foolish, and had no one to advise me." A nice, bright-looking young girl, who had come in looking very weary, and who had a bad cough, interested us much. She had been out since eight, but obtained no money. She said she had been out all one night, and so got her cough. Later we learned her story. She had been out late one night when in service on a gala day, and, having a strict mistress, she was afraid of returning to her place. A companion persuaded her to take train to N----. The girls had just enough money, and were landed as strangers in a strange town. They walked about and found this lodging-house. They entered, and, being destitute, fell at once into prostitution.[111]

By this time we thoroughly understood the character of the house. It may be there were exceptions, but they would be but few. The inmates, probably about sixty, young and old, were living a life of sin, and we were told that the proprietor of this lodging-house owned fifteen others. We learnt that a house could be taken for £2 11_s_. a week, and 8_s_. for a servant. We learnt that most of the girls came home very late--many as late as two o'clock--and in such a state that they kept the others awake, singing and talking, drunk or maudlin. The house was open till two at any rate every night.

We stayed up till twelve o'clock to learn as much as we could; then, as the proprietress seemed rather anxious for us to go to bed, we went upstairs and were shown into a fair-sized room with seven beds, low iron bedsteads with wire mattresses, and fairly clean mattress, sheets, and pillows. A woman who had a terrible cold and cough and our Scotch friend came to bed, the latter being comparatively sober, though she had had many drinks that day. Later on the other beds were filled. One had had over eleven shillings in the morning, but seemed to have "got without it." The woman with a cold insisted on having the window closed, and the room was very stifling, otherwise clean and comfortable (compared with some of our experiences); but our companions, some of them, had on filthy underclothing when seen by daylight.

The woman of the house called us about nine o'clock,[112] and we had to get up "willy-nilly." There was a bath-room, with wash-basins and hot and cold water, and we learnt there were some 1_s_. beds with separate washing accommodation.

A woman whose hair was going grey ascribed it to constant dyeing. A young girl had to go to see the doctor.

We found our way to the kitchen and prepared breakfast, securing our knife once more which we had returned. We took our breakfast to the dining-room, where a number of dissolute girls--some handsome, almost all slatternly--were already collected. We saw our young acquaintance of the night before, apparently breakfastless, and invited her to join us, which she gladly did. We learnt that she had had no food the day before, except a drink of tea and a little bread and butter, having had "no luck." Evidently she was starved into prostitution, about which she was still very shamefaced. She had been in several lodging-houses. The town ones were "ten times worse." A private one she had been in one night had had no lavatory accommodation; she had to go and wash at the station, paying twopence. She was afraid to solicit in town; the "bobbies" kept a sharp look-out, and sometimes were in plain clothes. One had stopped her when she was only walking, told her she was on the streets, asked her where she came from, and advised her to go home to her mother. He asked why she was "on the town," and when she told him she had got no work, he said, "You all say that." As she was afraid in the town, she was in the habit of going out to the suburbs. Her friend had quarrelled with her, and even struck her in the street. She was in another lodging-house, and "doing well" on the town.

This forlorn girl had tried in vain to find a true friend among the others. One had borrowed and not repaid, one had been friendly and cast her off. We promised to try and help her.

Breakfast over, we sat and watched the scene, being three times moved to make room at the tables. Round the fire was a group of girls far gone in dissipation; good-looking girls most of them, but shameless; smoking cigarettes, boasting of drinks, or drinking, using foul language, singing music-hall songs, or talking vileness. The room grew full, and breakfasts were about, onions, bacon, beefsteak, tea, etc., filling the air with mingled odours. A girl called "Dot" and another danced "the cake-walk" in the middle of the floor.

On this scene entered the girl who had to go to the doctor. She was condemned to the Lock Hospital, and cried bitterly. An animated conversation took place about the whereabouts and merits of various lock wards or hospitals, and everyone tried to cheer her up. "Never mind, Ivy, you'll soon be through with it!"

Later entered a distressed mother. Her girl was wrongly accused of stealing. She had traced her to another lodging-house, but it was closed. She spoke to say that "she was her child whatever she had done, and she would see her through and take her home if she could find her, as she was her best friend." "Tell her if you come across her that the back door is always open, and she will be welcome." Several girls cried, thinking of their mothers, and a woman offered to take her and search for her daughter later on. This scene brought tears to the eyes of our young friend, and I said, "That's what your mother will say." We had now to leave her, under promise not to go out until we returned. We left our tea and bread and solitary penny, and gladly escaped to the fresh air.

During the time these scenes had gone on several girls received notes. One was packing up to go somewhere; one was told "the landlord wanted her." A further visit gave further light.

II. THE SECOND NIGHT.

Returning at 10 o'clock, we purchased, at the little shop which caters for this lodging-house, a loaf of bread for 2-1/4_d_., two ounces of boiled ham, a penny tin of condensed milk, and a pennyworth of sugar; tea and butter we had with us. Armed with these, in the kitchen we speedily obtained hot water and made our tea-supper. We took it into the dining-room for coolness' sake, and established ourselves at a table. This room had three long wooden tables and forms. It was an oblong room with one fireplace, and out of it was another kitchen with fireplace and gas stove.

There were hardly any girls in when we entered, and, to our great disappointment, our acquaintance of the day before was out. She had gone out at nine o'clock. She was not out long, but returned drunk; she had been "in luck." She had had "two small whiskies and a soda," and they had bowled her over. She had plenty of money now, and was talkative, and staggering. We felt we could not do anything with her that night. She came and talked to us a little, asking us our "luck," to which we replied "that we had done very well," and were going on to another town next day. I had improved my appearance, wearing hat, tie, and belt, so this bore out my story.

The proprietress as we entered had told us not to mind a woman who was "gone dotty" with drink. She also was in this room, properly maudlin. She had a chemise, which she kept tucking into her breast, pulling up her under-garments, and examining her stockings. She was taking more drink still, brought in in a bottle, and though warned, I believe she insisted presently on sallying forth, and would probably fall into the hands of the police. The other women present humoured her to avoid a quarrel.

By this time we felt quite "at home," knowing the faces of a good many of the inmates. Most were out, but one and another we recollected came dropping in, in some cases to go out again. Our dark friend came and questioned us as to how we had got on. We told her we had done very well. She said, "I suppose you have been round the town?" Evidently she was fishing for our occupation, and I fear she would gather the wrong impression from our affirmative reply; but we really had been about and could not "give ourselves away." This little person seemed to keep from drink, though she told us she had lost her last place through buying, with her own money, bottles of stout, and so horrifying her mistress, who, she said, was "a religious woman, but a regular pig." This mistress took drink herself, but "would not own it," and "suffered from indigestion." She had the doctor, and he recommended change, society, etc., but she lazed about most of the day and drank. Little Dark Hair said she could have stood it if the woman had been straight, if she had told her she took drink and it wasn't good for her; but to call it "indigestion," and dismiss her servant for buying in a few bottles of stout out of her own money, it was too disgusting! She left, and didn't feel like asking for a character, as what she said was regarded as cheek! She was evidently very low-spirited, for she said she wished she was "in a bandbox," and then explained she meant her coffin. She said she would get out of this if she had a home; but she had no home, no friends. She was soon to become a mother--she would soon have to go to the workhouse. We gave her the address of a friend who would help her, but could not ourselves do so because of our _incognito_.

There was a great difference in the characters and appearance of the various women. One old woman apparently got her living by running errands and doing odd jobs for the girls. I think one woman was a pedlar. The former woman showed by her conversation that she had lived an immoral life. There were several women about thirty or forty, who behaved quietly and were dressed comparatively modestly and cleanly. Some looked quite superior to their position, but I believe they had only acquired the wisdom of reticence, as they dressed themselves up and went out like the others, and one I thought particularly quiet, who seemed to watch us a good deal, smoked like the others, after she had been out. Some explanation of the probable life of these elder women was afforded next morning by a woman, rather stout, and more talkative. She had gone out overnight, setting off for her regular place, which was apparently some way off in a suburb. A "toff" took her to have a drink, and promised her money to go with him to an hotel. He afterwards gave her the slip, leaving her penniless. Another girl, young and pretty, said she was given in the dark two pennies silvered over! A dark girl told her she "wasn't so soft; she always felt the edges of her money in the dark and knew by that."

There were no old women, except the one or two who seemed to live on the others, by cleaning or by sewing or running errands. One girl was said to get her living by doing this, and "drank all she got." Most of the younger ones seemed to get more or less drunk every day. They had to drown thought, but drink and dissipation were fast playing havoc with their good looks, and several had very severe coughs, due to exposure to night air. A girl who did not gather lodging money might be out all night, as our friend the runaway had been, and none were very warmly clad. They had to take off underclothing and replace it after it was washed, apparently being almost all improvident. One or two, notably "Dot," a small dark girl, who kept herself clean, and was pretty, with a kind of perky prettiness that hid vulgarity, seemed to be better fitted up. She had a basket of clothes, and seemed to be going somewhere by appointment. We heard it several times mentioned that Mr. S---- wanted one and another, and that they must have "a note" from him, or "a paper." He was "the landlord."

But I am anticipating the morning. We sat watching until we were weary, between eleven and twelve, and then went to our bedroom. The same beds were reserved, and one woman who was said to work for her living, and had a very bad cough, was already in bed. We were speedily in bed also, and for a while were quiet. The room was very stuffy, in spite of two ventilators; the sheets not very clean, but still fairly so. The beds were filled by degrees, all but one, that previously occupied by the Scotch woman. One girl who came in late said she was not on the streets; that she had begged money for her lodging, as she was out too late to return to her place. It was holiday time, being Whit week.[113] One girl who came in late, and had had drink, which made her talkative, said she was a servant, and had just left a place where she had been ten months. She said she had been to a pleasure resort all the night before with her young man; that her mistress begged her not to come to this lodging-house; she was very good to her, but she said she had had some drink, and it got late, and she couldn't go anywhere else. She had no money to buy breakfast, and had an appointment with her young man at eight o'clock next morning. He promised to give her some money. She meant to "enjoy herself" over the holiday and then go to service again.[114] She did get up early, complaining she felt poorly, and she went to her appointment, but I think he did not meet her. We offered her some breakfast before she went, and she joyfully recognised us when she returned without it, and we gave her the rest of our provisions.

One girl who had been in before grumbled that her bed had been slept in, and was dirty; but her own underlinen was far from clean. No one seemed to possess a nightgown; all slept in their underlinen.

We had the door a little ajar, and far into the night the door bell kept ringing, and girls were admitted and laughter and conversation drifted up the stairs. Our room settled down some time past midnight, but the girl who was drunk several times tried to begin a conversation. At last we all slept; two, however, had bad coughs. I woke at intervals through the night, and finally, at 6.30, I woke longing for fresh air. I put on a skirt and went down to enquire the time, and decided to get up and go out for a quiet stroll. The bath-room was empty. The bath had old papers in it, and did not look as if it was often used. There was a table with looking-glass, and a good deal of rouge about. The w.c. had a good flush of water. The washing basin was very small, and no soap was provided. There was a roller towel for everybody. We had learned by experience to take our own soap and towel, and we lent the soap several times. Articles of clothing seemed to be frequently lent. We saw girls trying on each other's hats, and there were complaints that they were also stolen. Several locked boxes were in the bath-room, and some empty ones. No convenience existed for keeping things privately except this. Some women had a few things in drawers in the kitchen, but they were not locked. The woman in charge had a sitting-room and a piano, and she kept knives in her room. You paid a penny to have one, and it was returned to you when you gave back the knife. Knives also were lent from one to another. A girl whose head was questionably clean wanted to borrow my friend's shawl to go an errand, but we made an excuse and did not lend it.

My friend got up more slowly, so I slipped out to the bright freshness of a May morning, and walked in the direction of a park. There were plenty astir, trams running, and people going holiday-making. The park was not open, as it was not yet seven, but just outside I found a resting-place. What a contrast the fresh budding life of the trees was to that perversion and decay of budding womanhood I had left behind me! A tree cut down in its prime to make way for building furnished me with a parallel. What _artificial_ conditions of man's making are pressing on those young lives, snapping them off from true use to rottenness and decay? Why do they not grow healthily? A crowded bedroom, an uneasy couch, a bare dining-room, wooden slats and tables, a precarious livelihood--these are not things to draw a girl, and the excitement of "the life" has to be covered by drink and degradation. Is it true, that once _in_ it, it is too difficult to get out, and that a girl may be trapped unawares and wound round and round as in a spider's web by a multitude of threads of circumstance which prevent her escape? Is there even at the back an _organised_ system, seeking victims and preying on them? This much is certain, that there is room for an alliance of greed and wickedness against defenceless and destitute womanhood. For if a woman "cannot get work," where is she to go? What is she to do? Can all our Homes and Shelters together prevent many from drifting "on the streets"? Do we not need a national provision for migration and temporary destitution among women?[115]

Musing thus, I returned to my friend, and we went out together and sat about half an hour on some public seats. The open air refreshed us, and once more we returned to get our breakfast. I found a cup and saucer with difficulty, for by this time most were in requisition. Every one had her own provisions, but they all seemed to live from hand to mouth; there was nowhere to keep them, and there were complaints that they were stolen. Bread and butter, tea, bacon, or ham, or an egg, were the staple diet. There were no forks, only a very common blunt knife to be had for the penny, and tin spoons rusty with use. The walls were bare, except for a print of the infant Christ bearing a cross, over the kitchen mantelpiece. "Oh, Christ!" was a favourite exclamation. The language was often foul. The girls chatted together also about their previous night's experiences, but mostly in groups of two or three exchanging confidences. We asked A---- to join us, and she offered me an egg, and went out and fetched herself some tea, butter, and crumpets. We were now going to make a struggle for this girl's salvation, but it was very difficult to do so without exciting suspicion. We tried to persuade her to go to B----. I had written overnight to secure a place for her; but she would not do this, or go home, fearing her father's wrath. She was also wretched after her previous night's indulgence, and ashamed of herself, and in a difficult irresolute state. Reference to her mother made her weep, and this attracted attention. The woman of the house came, without any apparent reason, and borrowed her shawl. We asked her to go out with us, and her shawl was not returned, but a small grey one was _lent_ her.

I spoke to the little dark young woman, and she gratefully received an address to which she might apply for help after her confinement.

We succeeded in getting A---- to give us her mother's address, and promised to write for her. With this, I think, we should have been content, but she offered to go out with us after all a little way, and we hoped to persuade her. We knew of a Shelter near by, and we actually succeeded in getting her there; but she would not remain, and we had to let her return, fearing that she would probably drink again to drown recollection. We spent altogether nearly two hours in trying to get her to some satisfactory resolution. Meanwhile the girls were talking, laughing, singing, or dancing about the room. Two were particularly playful; both handsome girls, but already dissipated in looks. Both had an abundance of fair hair, apparently "all their own." One girl sportively asked one of them to "lend her her hair." I thought she was joking, but presently she crossed the room, and untwisted a lock of hair from the head of one of them and twisted it up and fixed it on her own! It was many shades fairer, and was speedily returned to its owner. These two girls were constantly striking up bits of comic songs, or larking with one another or dancing "the cake walk."

I fear in our endeavour to secure our young friend we lost other opportunities. But it was a continually-changing scene. Most sat round comparatively quiet; some, very weary, lay on the forms or lolled on one another; some smoked cigarettes, some talked, and one or two were washing their clothes in another room. One girl took off her stockings to wash them. There were one or two strikingly handsome girls--one had a face that reminded me of some painting I had seen--but the majority were only good-looking when rouge and powder had effaced dissipation or accentuated their good points; by morning light they looked flabby, coarse, and unhealthy. One girl, Joy, with a pink-and-white complexion that bore the light, had to go to the Lock Hospital. Apparently most of these girls had outgrown the fear of this or of prison. "Bless you! they don't mind being 'pinched,'" said one woman; "it gives them a rest." Here, then, was womanhood devoid of fear! Social restraints had vanished--as with the tramp, so with the harlot![116]

The only fear left was that of each other's opinion, and this had sufficient force to draw back to "the life" the one we wished to rescue. On her soul lay the knowledge of the _horror_ of respectable society towards what she had become, and the _attraction_ of the fellowship of those who would receive her freely. We succeeded in getting her to go out with us in a small borrowed shawl, and we coaxed her to a place where she would have received shelter till her friends were communicated with. But it was no use--she must go to her _friends_. Persuasion was useless. We would have taken her with us, but she would go back. All we could do was to give her the address of a friend and take that of her parents, in the _hope_ of a chance to save her.

It is, I believe, hardly possible to rescue a girl deep in harlotry, though it might be possible to steer poor souls who have passed disillusionment to some harbour of refuge where moral purity was to be recovered. They must "get their living." Who would knowingly employ them? The national recognition of the right of the individual to employment and subsistence seems to me to be the remedy for the harlot as for the tramp. The harlot is the _female tramp_, driven by hard social conditions to primitive freedom of sex relationship.[117]

III. THE THIRD NIGHT.

During the week that intervened before we could again visit, we succeeded in finding out that there was a "welcome home" for the wanderer. Armed with a letter from her mother, but with some misgivings as to success, we went to the lodging-house, intending to see her quietly; but when we reached the door the woman in charge stood there. We asked for the girl by name. She said she was not there; that a letter had come for her, but they had not been able to give it to her, as she had left. We asked where she had gone. She did not know. Baffled, but uncertain as to whether she was telling the truth, we stood hesitating, when who should come to the door but the girl herself! The woman was so nonplussed that she gave way and invited us in! We gave the girl her mother's letter, and watched her read it. The girl's face changed, softened. She cried, but she only said, "My sister has written it," when an elderly woman came and began talking to us. As the girl was opposite us we could no longer speak privately. After a while, however, she changed her place so as to get near me, and we began talking, but a young woman also came and asked if she were going out with her. We did not wish to attract too much attention, so it was only by degrees we could tell her we were ready to send her away next morning, having had the money to do so given us.

She made difficulties about being ashamed to go home in dirty clothes. We asked her to wash them. She said if she left them to dry overnight they would be stolen. We told her to exchange them for others. She wanted to go out and get money for some things, and go home well dressed. We were not sure as to what might happen if she did this, and urged her to give up "the life" for her mother's sake and meet us in the morning. Fearing too much pressure would act in the wrong direction, we decided to leave her, trusting to God to bring her to the right decision. This He did, for she went out and had "bad luck," and received only two halfpennies!

We set out once more to search for lodgings, intending to make straight for a street we had heard of by name. We took a penny tram-ride to the heart of the town, and asking directions of a woman, got a very bad impression from her of the street whither we were bound, a mild recommendation to one lodging-house, and a warm one, coupled with an invitation, to the one whither she was going. However, we "preferred the worst," and so with thanks we left her. When, however, after a long walk we found the street, it was narrow and unsavoury, and the lodging-houses were all small cottages. We looked through open doors at a few interiors--and flinched! We knew what they would be like only too well![118] Besides, as we wanted to see as much "life" as possible, we preferred a larger one. We could be _sure_ of what these low-class ones were, if a slightly better one was unsatisfactory. So we sought a street near by, which we had also heard mentioned, and which, being a principal thoroughfare, was flanked by houses of a larger type, once inhabited by the well-to-do, but which now had descended to be lodging-houses.

A female lodging-house (next door to a men's lodging-house) looked clean and respectable, although through the open door we caught a glimpse of a girl who was dressing, and who attracted some attention from passers-by by her condition of half-undress. We paid sixpence each, and secured two beds in the same room. We then were "free of the house," which consisted of a long passage leading to a small kitchen. Leading from the passage was a front parlour occupied by the "deputy" and her husband, a larger dining-room furnished as usual with tables and forms, and a door leading to a yard with sanitary conveniences. A stairway with oak balustrading led above; a door which could be locked had been placed at the bottom, and no one was allowed upstairs till they went to bed--a good precaution for cleanliness and decency.

In the kitchen there was a fire, and hot water in a boiler by the side. A couple of tables and two forms, accommodating each about four people, were the only furniture besides a rack in the wall and some shelves filled with hats and other clothes. There was no room for more, as a small sink with hot and cold water occupied the corner by the fire. There were a few pots in much request, and two large tins. These formed the only apparatus for washing of all kinds. We saw them used overnight for bathing the feet, etc., one girl washing her feet in them; we knew they were used for washing clothes, and we saw them full of dirty pots in the morning. As we heard the state of one girl alluded to as contagious, "but she won't go to hospital," it is easy to be imagined that we could not bring ourselves to eat and drink there. Nor did we consider it safe to use any sanitary convenience except upstairs, for it was easy to see the character of the house. We sat on the form in the kitchen for nearly an hour, while the girl we had seen made her elaborate toilet. She had a most severe cough, and could hardly speak, yet she sat, often in full view of the front door, in a low chemise and skirt, both of good quality if they had only been _clean_, which they were not. She had finished her washing process, but there were many others. She powdered her face and breast, she rouged herself with great care (being chaffed meanwhile by some of her companions), she burnt a match and blackened her eyebrows, and then by slow degrees she did her hair in numerous rolls, finishing up by curling the little ends and putting a net over all. Then, after some discussion as to which hat suited her (apparently hats, though they had owners, were common property), she put on first a very thin muslin blouse with a hole at the shoulder, then a clean skirt and a costume skirt and jacket (the latter very open at the neck), and finally the selected hat. She looked, when thus disguised, a handsome young woman, but her face was really thin and wan, and it was almost death to her to go out, as she did, into the cold night air with only a thin tie to protect her chest. She returned in the morning, saying she had been at the C---- Hotel all night, and had been drinking all the time, and had not slept at all. She looked very weary, and rolled up some clothes and lay full length on a form to attempt to sleep. She could not long survive such a life. One girl had died the previous week there.

While her long toilet was taking place, a succession of girls entered, most of them going out again after a brief rest. The first, who sat by me and told her story, was not, as yet, on the streets.[119] She had been sent when five years old to an orphanage, and from that to a laundry home, where she had received a good education, and from which she got a good situation. She was not strong, however, and, becoming anæmic, was sent to hospital. There she was questioned as to her parents, whom she had not seen for years, and sent, when discharged, to the town where they lived to seek for them. She found her mother living in sin with another man, by whom she had children. Her father was a drunkard, who had been many times convicted; he lived with her sister in lodgings. She clung to him as her own, and all the right feelings cultured in her gave intensity to her affection for her long-lost father. He kicked and ill-used her, but promised amendment. He broke out again, and had that morning been sent down for a month. She had nowhere to go. Her sister was cold to her and to her father; probably she took after her mother, and had reason enough not to love her father, who had, however, in his way looked after her. She was working and could support herself, but this poor girl was stranded. Her one cry was that she _must_ meet her father when he came from prison; she was sure he would do better. She had no money, and feared she should have to walk the streets. I paid her lodging, and one or two of the girls gave her a little food. She said she intended next morning to seek work in a laundry. We urged her, if she did not obtain it, to go to a relief agency we knew, and she seemed quite willing to do so, and a woman present also recommended it. She was in the same mind the next morning, so I hoped she would do so, as she did not seem to wish to drift to evil. Her father, bad as he was through drink, was not bad in that way. Her mother was a thoroughly immoral woman. This girl, well intentioned and well brought up, but feeble in health, ought never to have drifted to such a place.

I have before had occasion to notice the harm done by hospital authorities in sending friendless girls, without sufficient enquiry (or even though knowing they are quite friendless), back to their native town. Girls such as this should be passed on to some agency that would "mother" them. It is easy to see how a little indecision, and the pressure of hunger, might anchor a girl to sin.[120] For most of those who entered were openly leading a life of shame. Girl after girl came in, rested, and went out. We learnt their "by-names," and those of others. "Red Jinny," distinguished from "Scotch Jinny" and other Jinnies, was living with a companion in prostitution.

The pathetic history of a young woman who began her toilet by having a foot-bath (in one of the tins), her legs being swollen with varicose veins, will illustrate this life. She had a good home, a kind and strict father. The way home was always open to her, for her parents had not the slightest idea she was living in sin. They thought she was in service. She had actually been home over the week-end, and thoroughly enjoyed herself, going on Sunday to church and Sunday school. ("I wish I was as good!" sighed one when she heard it.) Yet for two or three years she had really led the life of a prostitute. Her history was a sad one. She kept company five years, and then her young man betrayed her. She managed to conceal this from her parents, and in order to maintain her baby she went on the streets. For two and a half years she lived with a prostitute friend, and worked and struggled for her little one, coming home one day to find her scalded and her companion "blind drunk." However, the child survived, only to perish of bronchitis and pneumonia. Her mother had worked for her and clothed her with her own fingers, making all her clothes herself. She was clever, for as she talked she unpicked a hat and twisted and turned it to new account. After her child died she left her companion--or was deserted by her--and now for some months she had been living here, except for home visits. She found it hard to get out of "the life," because she had kept up the deception that she was entangled in. "Her father would die" if he knew she was in such a place! But he must get to know in the long run unless she got out of "the life." Already she had been twice in the hands of the police--once for drink, and once for accosting. The second time she got off for "first offence." She gave an assumed name and paid the fine, but next time she would have to "go down." We got a good opportunity to press her to go where we knew she would find friends, as she was the only one in bed in our room by twelve o'clock. She did not go out because of a superstitious feeling that "something was going to happen," which, she said, had also preceded her being taken up. She said she wished she was at home in her own good bed, which was always kept for her; that she was getting to drink and swear, and this life would soon kill her. We placed before her as strongly as we could the path to safety, and urged her to struggle free for the sake of father and child. It made one long to go and _live_ continuously with these girls, gradually acquiring influence, and being able to speak to them as a Christian woman, and save them from the web in which they were entangled. Such work would be difficult and delicate, for it would be necessary to live quietly, maintaining oneself among them and acting by character, not by profession.

But surely something more is possible. There should be large, well-ventilated, well-provided women's lodging houses, open even to the prostitute, but under the care of wise, motherly women. Here it was impossible for a girl even to keep her own property; there was not a locker or any place to put anything away. Girls slept with their hats on their beds for security. Everything was "borrowed" or "made off with." A little care would keep a decent girl steady and safe, and bring many a wanderer back to goodness. Here everything tended to demoralisation. The sanitary arrangements were deficient. I cannot defend the shameless toilet in full view of an open door to the street, which we saw repeated, even to half-nudity, several times over. But this kitchen was the only place in which to wash and dress, and the door must needs be open. The constant talk was filthy--not on the part of all, but on that of many--and the life most were leading not in the least disguised. The more successful girls were sometimes out all night. Two or three came in very drunk and were piloted to bed by friends. Shameless expressions which cannot be repeated were used with regard to actions which decency conceals. Yet listening were other girls not so far gone in sin.

A young girl in a shawl, hardly more than a child, came in apparently on an errand, and stayed some time. She was asked if she was going to "mash for a quid." An old woman called "Old Mackintosh," from her wearing a long mackintosh cloak, and also affectionately called "Ma," was apparently the sport of the girls, and yet regarded with a sort of affection. They teased her and stole her things, and even hit her. She had a bad temper, and scolded, which afforded them amusement; but if they went too far they made it up by embracing her. Poor woman! I fear drink was her trouble. They said she had hardly anything under her cloak. She seemed ravenously hungry, and how she got her living I don't know. One or two elderly women were apparently not prostitutes, but earned money by cleaning. It was, however, rather difficult to settle how they lived. One woman was very coarse and fat, with an ugly scar on her shoulder, which she exhibited in the morning when she indulged in the luxury of "a good wash," but was not clean. She put on a ragged bodice, the silk of which was hanging in shreds, and which had a big hole under the arm showing a great patch of bare flesh; yet over all she put a most respectable cloak, and a bonnet that would have done credit to a Quaker. I was astonished to see her emerge as almost a lady! Evidently the "clothes philosophy" is well understood in Slumdom, for whatever purposes it is used. Indeed, it has given me somewhat of a shock to realise that many of these, even if dwellers in actual filth and disease, would not be distinguishable in any way from ordinary individuals.

Nothing was more noticeable in both lodging-houses than the existence of at least three descriptions of prostitutes. There was the apparently quiet, modest one, whom you would take to be a respectable girl. One of these gave an account of how "her boy" had met her and spent an hour or two trying to persuade her to go away and get work. He even cried! But apparently he did not move her. She promised him as a put-off. This quiet sort of girl is most to be dreaded; she may act as a tempter.

There was, in the second place, the good-natured girl, naturally affectionate. "Everyone likes me wherever I go," said the girl who had a home. This girl should have been a happy wife and mother. Her fate lies at the door of him who wronged her. Once in "the life," the ties of friendship and a vivacious, sociable disposition would draw her to it again and again.

The third kind may be the second gone to ruin, or those who, having had a worse bringing up, are naturally more shamelessly immoral. Drink has fascinations for them. They go "on the town" to get drink. One such, who was drunk over night, gave a long and involved history of her doings in the morning. She had received money and drink from three soldiers, but she declined to descend to the level of "Soldiers' Jinny," whose unmentionable doings were related at length. She left them and got more drink, piloted a couple to a "safe house" and was tipped for it, was treated to "bottled stout"--much to her disgust, as she preferred other drink--came along certain streets gloriously drunk, daring policemen, and arrived home happy, just sufficiently quarrelsome to get a free berth from everyone. She was a handsome dark girl of a low class. Her language was unspeakably foul, every sentence being interspersed with gory adjectives. She evidently expected admiration from her hearers for a sort of dare-devilry.

It was pitiable, as the evening went on, to see the state of many. Two elderly women in the other room carried on a maudlin conversation, just on the edge of a quarrel, the substance of which was that they "understood one another," and would not blab each other's secrets!

All the time this was going on a man, and sometimes other men, were in the passage frequently. There was in this passage a locked door, constantly unlocked, leading to the next door men's lodging-house. Apparently the husband caretaker in our house was also caretaker in this, hence comings and goings. I have no reason to suppose there was any illicit communication as regards the house itself; but girls were frequently asked for by name, and the presence of a man or men was not desirable. The caretaker himself was familiarly addressed as "Pa."

The hours slowly wore away. One girl sat patiently for eleven o'clock to strike. She "never went out till eleven," she said. She was a quiet girl, not very good looking. About half-past eleven two girls in shawls came in and had something to eat. From conversation between them (they slept in our room), they seemed to be working girls who had been turned out of home. One worked at a mackintosh warehouse, the other, I think, at tin-plate. One at least intended to go to work in the morning, but was not up when I came away.[121] And this was not wonderful, for with the best intentions youth and sleepiness would make them lie long in the morning; for at twelve, when I went to bed, only a few had gone upstairs, and right on till two o'clock at least the interruptions were far too numerous for rest.

Besides the usual comings and goings, locking and unlocking of doors, drunken stumbling upstairs, and loud good-nights exchanged, a tragedy that turned to a comedy was being enacted. A woman known as the "Mussel Woman," who carried an empty basket on her arm--which those who knew her called a "blind," as she hardly ever had anything to sell--came and claimed a lodging, having nothing to pay. After a good deal of "language," she was made to understand that she could not have it, whereupon she said she should "keep shouting all night" if they did not let her in. She was as good as her word for half an hour at least, shouting at the top of her voice the most abusive personal language, and banging the door at intervals. I do not know whether seasons of quiet were due to police rounds, but she shouted and banged, and then desisted at intervals, for quite two hours. No sooner was everything quiet than she again appeared. Several angry colloquies took place with the deputy. Once she was let in, saying "Jinny" would pay for her, and came all round the beds looking for "Jinny" with the deputy. "Jinny" was not found, and she was again ejected, I believe; but finally a policeman intervened, said he could not have her in the street, and forced the lodging-house keeper to accept her, money or no money. I should not like the berth of a "deputy"; she could have had no rest till two at the earliest, yet was up cleaning and sweeping before seven.

Our beds and bedroom could not be called _clean_, yet were not dirty; at any rate in this respect, that we did not see any insects. That is a great deal to be thankful for. I woke after a brief and broken slumber at 6.30. All were young in my room save my companion and myself, and all slept soundly. There was nothing to tell the time, so I dressed without disturbing them, and on arriving downstairs found it was ten minutes past seven. I washed my face at the sink with my own soap and flannel, and sallied out in search of a clean and cheap breakfast. I succeeded beyond my expectation, finding on enquiry a small shop where I got a cup of coffee for 1/2_d_. and a good substantial 1/2_d_. bun. Thus fortified I spent a pleasant hour looking at pictures in shop windows and observing passers by, and returned about 8 o'clock to wake my friend. She had gone to bed at 9.30 the previous night with a bad headache, which was no better for a disturbed night, so we escaped as quickly as possible to fresh air and a cup of coffee, and then by tram to keep our appointment with the girl we wished to save.

We entered the house by the open door and sought the dining-room to look for her, but were met by reproof on the part of the deputy. She said we had no right in when we hadn't slept there. She had allowed it as a favour the day before, but could not again permit it. To solve this difficulty my friend paid for her bed for the night, and was then of course free of the house. I had to leave her to wait to see the girl, and if possible to send her to her mother; and I am glad to say that she succeed in dispatching her safely to the far-distant home, where I trust loving hearts may hold her too closely for return.

I have tried to tell a plain, unvarnished tale--in which nevertheless much is left out that would not bear printing--of the way in which these our young sisters live. The pity of it is that though some may from sheer wickedness seek it, more--perhaps most--are drawn in by frivolity and misfortune. It may be exceedingly difficult to rescue them when contaminated, surrounded as they are by all those invisible ties of friendship which chain a woman's heart. We make elaborate institutions to _rescue_ them, which are often surrounded by such restrictions that they defeat their own end.

Can we not do something to solve the problem by providing suitable and sufficient women's lodging-houses under good management, where freedom is not interfered with unduly, but influence for good is steady?

In Christian England a friendless girl should never want a friend and a home. And to guard our girls is to preserve our nation from the worst of evils--the corruption of a 'trade' based on greed and dishonour. Yet how else can a destitute girl get her living without a friend?

_When all else is sold she sells herself to live!_[122]

FOOTNOTES:

[111] See p. 193.

[112] See p. 190.

[113] See p. 194 for contrast.

[114] See p. 194.

[115] See Appendix VII.

[116] See p. 28.

[117] See Appendix VII.

[118] See p. 97.

[119] See p, 193.

[120] See Appendix VII.

[121] See p. 190, and as a contrast p. 200.

[122] See Appendices VII. and VIII.