Crime -- England -- London; Police -- England -- London; Poor -- England -- London
the past; when criminals will not be made into public heroes, because of
the speculative and perhaps equal chances of life or death; when morbid
and widespread sentiment will not be created by public appeals to the
Home Secretary; and, perhaps best of all, when diseased minds will be no
longer influenced by the unhealthy publicity of the details pertaining
to a death sentence to commit the other crimes for which no motives have
been apparent.
Since writing the above chapter, the following appeared in the daily
papers of August 5, 1908:
"Thomas Siddle, a bricklayer, was yesterday executed at Hull for
the murder of his wife in June last. The crime was a particularly
callous one. Siddle was to have gone to prison for not paying his
wife's maintenance under a separation order. On the day, however,
he visited her, and after some conversation savagely attacked her
with a razor. _Before his execution_ the prisoner _ate a hearty
breakfast, and smiled at the warders as he walked firmly to the
scaffold._"
CHAPTER VIII
HOUSING THE POOR
And now, so far as this book is concerned, I have done with prisoners
and criminals, so I turn right gladly to the other side of my life. For
my life is dual, one half being given to sinners and the other to
saints. I have spoken freely about the difficulties of prisoners and
with prisoners; let me now tell of the struggles, difficulties, and
virtues of the industrious poor. I will draw a veil over the ignorance,
the drunkenness, the wastefulness, and the cupidity of the very poor.
Other people may find these matters congenial, and may dilate upon them,
but such a task is not for me. I know these things exist--I do not
wonder at their existence--but other things exist also--things that warm
my heart and stir my blood--and of them I want to tell. And I have some
right to speak, for I know the very poor as few can know them. From
personal touch and friendly communion my experience has been acquired,
and I am proud to think that at least twelve hundred of London's poorest
but most industrious women look upon me as their friend and adviser.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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