Charity organization; Housing -- England -- London; Poor -- England -- London; Working class -- Dwellings
At one room we had to call again and again, always finding the door
locked. At last, after weeks of vain effort, I found the woman who
owned the room at home. She was sitting on the floor at tea with
another woman, the tea being served on an inverted hamper. I sat down
on an opposite hamper, which was the only other piece of furniture in
the room, and told her I was sorry that I had never been able to make
her acquaintance before. To which she replied, with rather a grand air
and a merry twinkle in her eye, that she had been "unavoidably absent:"
in other words, some weeks in prison,--not a rare occurrence for her.
When we set about our repairs and alterations, there was much that
was discouraging. The better class of people in the court were
hopeless of any permanent improvement. When one of the tenants of the
shops saw that we were sending workmen into the empty rooms, he said
considerately, "I'll tell you what it is, Miss, it'll cost you a lot o'
money to repair them places, and it's no good. The women's 'eads 'll be
druv through the door panels again in no time, and the place is good
enough for such cattle as them there." But we were not to be deterred.
On the other hand, we were not to be hurried in our action by threats.
These were not wanting. For no sooner did the tenants see the workmen
about than they seemed to think that if they only clamored enough they
would get their own rooms put to rights. Nothing had been done for
years. Now, they thought, was their opportunity. More than one woman
locked me in her room with her, the better to rave and storm. She
would shake the rent in her pocket to tempt me with the sound of the
money, and roar out "that never a farthing of it would she pay till her
grate was set," or her floor was mended, as the case might be. Perfect
silence would make her voice drop lower and lower, until at last she
would stop, wondering that no violent answers were hurled back at her,
and a pause would ensue. I felt that promises would be little believed
in, and, besides, I wished to feel free to do as much, and only as
much, as seemed best to me; so that my plan was to trust to my deeds to
speak for themselves, and inspire confidence as time went on. In such
a pause, therefore, I once said to a handsome, gypsy-like Irishwoman,
"How long have you lived here?" "More than four years," she replied,
her voice swelling again at the remembrance of her wrongs; "and always
was a good tenant, and paid my way, and never a thing done! And my
grate, etc., etc., etc." "And how long have I had the houses?" "Well,
I suppose since Monday week," in a gruff but somewhat mollified tone.
"Very well, Mrs. L----, just think over quietly what has been done
in the houses since then; and if you like to leave and think you can
suit yourself better, I am glad you should make yourself comfortable.
Meantime, of course, while you stay, you pay rent. I will call for it
this evening if it doesn't suit you to pay now. Good morning."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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