How the Poor Live; and, Horrible London: 1889 — John Shaqi
How the Poor Live; and, Horrible London: 1889Sims, George R. (George Robert)
History
How the Poor Live; and, Horrible London: 1889
Sims, George R. (George Robert)
Poor -- England -- London -- History -- 19th century; Public housing -- England -- London
The room is about eight feet square. Seated on the floor is a white
fairy--a dark-eyed girl who looks as though she had stepped straight off
a twelfth cake. Her hair is powdered all over _a la Pompadour_, and the
effect is _bizarre_. Seated beside her is an older woman, and she is
white and twelfth-cakey too. Alas! their occupation is prosaic to a
degree. They are simply pulling rabbit-skins--that is to say, they are
pulling away all the loose fluff and down and preparing the skins
for the furriers, who will use them for cheap goods, dye them into
imitations of rarer skins, and practise upon them the various tricks of
the trade.
Floor, walls, ceiling, every inch of the one room these people live and
sleep in, is covered with fluff and hair. How they breathe in it is a
mystery to me. I tried and failed, and sought refuge on the doorstep.
The pair, working night and day at their trade, make, when business is
good, about twelve shillings a week. Their rent is four. This leaves
them four shillings a week each to live upon, and as there is no one
else to share it with them, I suppose they are well-to-do folk.
The younger woman's appearance was striking. Seated on the floor in an
Eastern attitude, and white from top to toe--the effect of her dark
eyes heightened by the contrast--she was a picture for an artist, and my
fellow-worker made excellent use of his pencil, while I engaged her and
her mother in conversation.
These people complained bitterly of their surroundings, of the character
of the people they had to live among, and of the summary proceedings of
their landlord, who absolutely refused to repair their room or give them
the slightest convenience.
'Then why not move?' I ventured to suggest. 'Four shillings a week--ten
guineas a year for this pigsty--is an exorbitant rent: you might do
better.'
The woman shook her head. 'There's lots o' better places we'd like to
go to, but they won't have us. They object to our business. We must go
where they'll take us.'
'But there are plenty of places a little way out where you can have two
rooms for what you pay for this.'
'A little way out, yes; but how are we to get to and fro with the work
when it's done? We must be near our work. We can't afford to ride.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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