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 gallery was a sight which, once seen, could never be forgotten.
It was one dense mass of little faces and white bare arms twined and
intertwined like snakes round a tree--tier above tier of boys rising
right away from the front rows until the heads of the last row touched
the ceiling. It was a jam--not a crowd--when one boy coughed it shook
the thousands wedged in and round about; and when one boy got up to go
out he had to crawl and walk over the heads of the others; space below
for a human foot to rest there was absolutely none.
All this vast audience was purely local. Our advent, though our attire
was a special get-up for the occasion, attracted instant attention, and
the cry of 'Hottentots' went round. 'Hottentots' is the playful way in
this district of designating a stranger, that is to say, a stranger come
from the West.
The entertainment was admirable; the artistes were clever, and in only
one case absolutely vulgar; and the choruses were joined in by the
entire assembled multitude.
When it was time for the chorus to leave off and the singer to go on
again, an official in uniform, standing by the orchestra, and commanding
the entire house, raised his hand, and instantly, as if by magic, the
chorus ceased.
Of course there are disturbances, but the remedy is short and effective.
Two young gentlemen in the dress circle fought and used bad language to
each other. Quick as lightning the official was upstairs with a solitary
policeman, the delinquents were seized by the collar, and, before they
could expostulate, flung down a flight of steps and hustled out into the
street with a celerity which could only come of constant practice.
It is fair to say that the youths seemed quite ready for the emergency,
and took their 'chucking out' most skilfully. I should have fallen and
broken my nose had I been flung down a flight of steps like that;
these youths were evidently prepared, and took a flying jump on to
the landing. What they did outside I can't say, but after a chorus of
hooting at the helmeted intruder, the audience resumed their seats, and
the performance went on without any further interruption.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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