Life and Work: Poverty, Wealth and History in the East End of London
Part Three: Labour and Toil
Trading Resource
Whitechapel Road on a Saturday Night
From: Newspaper article ( source unidentified)
1862
Retreived from the Tower Hamlets Local History Library and Archives
But few of the well-to-do who live in London know how the poorest section of the
poorer classes travel through life - that enormous number of unskilled labourers who
were left out of Mr. Scott Russell's scheme for the social redemption of the working
classes. This multitude of individuals, whose whole lives are struggles against
extreme poverty, is considered unworthy the attention of our social reformers. And
yet the condition of these unskilled labourers - which is hardly better than that of the
recipients of parish bread - requires immediate attention.
Unfortunately for them, they cannot afford to devote sixpence each week out of their
scanty earnings towards the support of a organisation to protect their interests. The
great struggle is to make one Saturday's pay carry them to the next without getting
into debt; and but few succeed in the feat. The Saturday night, although the pay-night,
brings with it greater hardship and pain than any in the week. Then the accounts with
the baker and the grocer have to be squared, and meat bought for the family for
Sunday's dinner - the only meat day in the week. When this is done, so little remains
in the purse that it is doubtful whether the other items of family use can be provided
for the beginning of the week, certainly not for the end. Before the week is out the old
system of credit must be recurred to.
But fortunately, there are markets in different parts of the metropolis where this class
of poor can obtain their goods on Saturday night a shade cheaper than they can at the
shop.
In Whitechapel Road, between the church and Mile End Gate on this night everything
is to be bought from the stalls which line the roadway, especially on the left-hand side
going towards the Gate from the City. Amidst the flaming naphtha lights can be
discerned toys, hatchets, crockery, carpets, oil-cloth, meat, fish, greens, second-hand
boots, furniture, artificial flowers, etc. Round every stall are eager women, bartering
with the salesmen. It is evident that the poor mother must husband her farthings. The
meat must be bought, and so must those boots for her young son; his old ones are so
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worn that they cannot keep out the wet any longer. Here are women chaffering in
good-humoured content because their husbands have been able to give them a shilling
or two extra this week; others with difficulty restraining the tears which are welling to
their eyes because the price of meat at the stalls is so high that the dear little ones at
home will no be able to taste any again this week. But farther on is one worse off than
even these. Groping in the slushy mud, surrounded by a crowd, is a neat little woman
with unmistakeable tears running down her cheeks. She has lost half a sovereign - all
her husband has earned this week; and she has bought nothing for to-morrow's dinner.
But there are sympathising hearts close by. A gentleman stoops down, as if he, too,
were looking in the mud, and slips something into her hand - an example that is
instantly followed by two decently-dressed working men. There is no doubt of her
gratitude, although protestations of it are absent.
Whitechapel Road is well furnished with a variety of entertainments, of a cheap
description, and not of a refined class. "The Pavilion" theatre is the most pretentious
in its bill of fare. It is the home of the melodrama, where any number of mortal
combats take place in one night. Music-halls are plentiful, and almost all the publichouses have harmonic meetings on Wednesdays and Saturdays. But why is the man in
that doorway jumping up and down, backwards and forwards, shifting on to one leg
and then on to the other, bawling himself hoarse, while another man a few yards
behind him in the passage is turning a tune out of a barrel-organ? The man who is
skipping about as if he were on hot bricks is dressed like a coachman, but the breast of
his coat is faced with crimson satin, trimmed with silver lace. His friend at the organ
is a greater man - perhaps Lord Chesterfield himself resuscitated; although one can
scarcely imagine that nobleman playing "Hop light, Loo," on such an instrument, in
powdered wig, with his rapier at his side. "Hi, hi! only one penny! The Gallery of
Varieties!" "Walk in! Walk in! Now exhibiting! Only one penny! The best wax works
in London !" bawls the lively man in the doorway. Inside, ranged round the three
sides of an oblong room are a number of figures, which the showman assures his
audience are all wax, and not, as stated, made of wood. "This finger is broken off to
prove it. And you will observe, on removing General Garibaldi's cap, that he is bald,
on purpose to show that there is no deception; here it is, all wax," feeling his head.
Notwithstanding the opinion of the Press (to which there was no name attached)
ostentatiously displayed outside, we could not recognise the likeness of some of the
figures. Indeed, we had reason to believe by a second visit that some of them did duty
for different notorious personages, according to the exigencies of the hour. The lady
who fell down dead in Whitechapel Road, from the effects of tight lacing, on the first
occasion, afterwards went through the same performance at the Prince of Wales's ball.
"This is Benjamin West's celebrated picture of 'Christ healing the Sick' in the Temple.
Originally cost 3,000l." There must be a mistake somewhere. "This is a portrait of
Benjamin Lincoln, the President of the United States, painted by Benjamin West, a
celebrated American artist. This is another painting by the same man. It was sold for
10,000 guineas, and exhibited in America at half-a-crown a head. It is very valuable,
although it is so old that it looks like a piece of rotten canvas varnished." After having
Jane Shore, Lady Jane Grey, Count Cavour, and Old Daddy, of the Lambeth Casual
Ward, and many others pointed out to us, we were invited to step up stairs to the
Chamber of Horrors, where, for one penny, we should see "all the celebrated
murderers of many bygone years, including that beautiful piece of machinery of a
Poverty, Wealth and History in the East End of London:
Family and Community
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man in the agonies of death." This was rather too bad; besides, as the invitation to go
upstairs was given, the organ encouraged us with "Down among the dead men."
The farther the hours got into the night the busier the stalls and shops became. The
Cheap Jacks and quack doctors put forth all their powers of cajolery. Certain cures for
every disease flesh is heir to, were to be bought remarkably cheap. The functions of
the different parts of the human body were explained minutely with Latin words of
"thundering sound." Youngsters were shooting away their halfpence at double-quick
time for Barcelona nuts. Men and women are thronging the public houses, talking in
loud keys over their beer and gin, as if to drown their boon companions' voices at the
same time they drown their own sorrows. But these persons that crowd and elbow one
another to get to the bar are either of the spendthrift class or those without
encumbrances. Some, no doubt, are drinking away the money which would be better
spent in providing food and clothing for those at home, or for themselves. The women
especially are poorly clad; their quantity and quality of clothing evidently being at the
minimum.
"Clear out of the way! Hi, hi!" shouted some voices as we were absorbed in the
contemplation of a quack doctor's list of medicaments, and phrenological and
physiological diagrams. "Clear out of the way!" Turning round, we discovered a
costermonger's barrow issuing from Green Dragon Place, towards which we had
previously had our backs. Saturday night is not a favourable one for moving from one
habitation to another, especially at half-past ten o'clock at night, if any idea of comfort
on Sunday is entertained, but it is certain that this family will not be troubled much in
arranging their furniture. Half-an-hour or so will put their things to rights. The barrow
drawn by the man contains what chairs and tables there are, while the wife walks at
the side with a dilapidated small doubled up mattress under one arm, swinging a
bundle of things, which are wrapped up in a bird's-eye handkerchief, from her hand,
and carrying a very small washstand innocent of paint by the other.
Every Saturday night there are many shows. Mysterious creatures exhibiting in
enclosed square spaces about six feet each way. Hairy men, hairless dogs, gorillas,
Aztecs, and giants. Beyond the Mile End Gate the young English giant is located. By
his own account he is 7 ft. 4 in. high, and has been presented to Queen Victoria and
the Royal Family. He also asserts that "the trimming which you here see all round the
wainscoting of this room was round the audience chamber of Maximilian of Mexico
before he was shot - a fact which will brand the name of Mexican for ever. Wishing
you are all satisfied and will recommend me to your friends, I bid you good night."
But it was evident all were not satisfied, for one individual had ventured to kick the
giant's legs, having doubts of their genuineness. Unfortunately, he touched the wrong
part, and brought down an invitation on himself to "feel that there was no deception."
This tall individual was certainly very narrow, particularly about the waist, and
scarcely knew how to fill his clothes out.
Poverty, Wealth and History in the East End of London:
Family and Community