London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 1

by Henry Mayhew

The cases are not a few where ruin has followed a connection with the tallymen. I will particularize one instance related to me on good authority. A lawyer’s clerk married, when young, a milliner; his salary was a guinea per week, and he and his wife had agreed to “get on in the world.” They occupied furnished lodgings at first, but soon accumulated furniture of their own, and every week added some little useful article towards their household stock. “At the end of a year,” said the individual in question, “I had as comfortable a little home as any man would wish to possess; I was fond of it too, and would rather have been there than anywhere else. My wife frequently wished to obtain credit; ‘it would be so easy,’ said she, ‘to pay a trifling instalment, and then we could obtain immediately whatever we might want.’ I objected, and preferred supplying our wants gradually, knowing that for ready money I could purchase to much better advantage. Consequently we still kept progressing, and I was really happy. Judge my astonishment one day, when I came home, and found an execution was in the house. My wife had run in debt with the tallyman unknown to me. Summonses had been served, which by some means she had concealed from me. The goods which I had taken so much pains to procure were seized and sold. But this was not all. My wife grew so much alarmed at the misery she had caused that she fled from me, and I have never seen her but once since. This occurred seven years ago, and she has been for some time the companion of those who hold their virtue of little worth. For some time after this I cared not what became of me; I lost my situation, and sunk to be a supernumerary for 1s. a night at one of the theatres. Here, after being entrusted with a line to speak, I eventually rose to a ‘general utility man,’ at 12s. per week. With this and some copying, that I occasionally obtain from the law-stationers, I manage to live, but far from comfortably, for I never think of saving now, and only look out for copying when I stand in need of more money. I am always poor, and scarcely ever have a shilling to call my own.”

Some of the principal establishments, “doing largely” in the tally-trade, are in or about Red Lion-square and street, the higher part of High Holborn, the vicinity of Tottenham-court-road, the Blackfriars, Waterloo, Westminster, St. George’s, Walworth, New Kent, and Dover roads.

At some of these tally-shops horses and carts are kept to carry out the goods ordered of the “travellers,” especially when furniture is supplied as well as drapery; while in others the “travellers” are resident on the premises, and are occasionally shopmen, for a “large” tally-master not unfrequently carries on a retail trade in addition to his tally-business.

The tallymen not concerned with these large establishments, but carrying on trade on their own account, reside generally in the quieter streets in the neighbourhood of the thoroughfares I have mentioned, and occupy perhaps the ground-floor, letting (for the house is generally their own) the other apartments. Sometimes a piece of cotton-print is placed in their parlour-window, and sometimes there is no indication whatever of any business being carried on within, for the hawking tallymen do not depend in any measure upon situation or display, but solely on travelling and personal solicitations at people’s own residences.

Of the “Duffers” or Hawkers of Pretended Smuggled Goods.

Of “duffers” and “lumpers,” as regards the sale of textile fabrics, there are generally, I am informed, about twenty in London. At such times as Epsom, Ascot-heath, or Goodwood races, however, there is, perhaps, not one. All have departed to prey, if possible, upon the countrymen. Eight of them are Jews, and the majority of the others are Irishmen. They are generally dressed as sailors, and some wear either fur caps, or cloth ones, with gilt bands round them, as if they were the mates or stewards of ships. They look out for any likely victim at public-houses, and sometimes accost persons in the streets—first looking carefully about them, and hint that they are smugglers, and have the finest and cheapest “Injy” handkerchiefs ever seen. These goods are now sold in “pieces” of three handkerchiefs. When times were better, I was told, they were in pieces of four, five, and six. One street-seller said to me, “Yes, I know the ‘duffers;’ all of them. They do more business than you might think. Everybody likes a smuggled thing; and I should say these men, each of the ‘duffers,’ tops his 1l. a week, clear profit.” I am assured that one of the classes most numerously victimised is a body who generally account themselves pretty sharp, viz. gentlemen’s grooms, and coachmen at the several mews. Sailors are the best customers, and the vicinity of the docks the best locality for this trade; for the hawker of pretended smuggled goods always does most business among the “tars.” The mock handkerchiefs are damped carefully with a fine sponge, before they are offered for sale; and they are often strongly perfumed, some of the Jews supplying cheap perfumes, or common “scents.” When the “duffer” thinks he may venture upon the assertion, he assures a customer that this is “the smell the handkerchiefs brought with ’em from foreign parts, as they was smuggled in a bale of spices!” The trade however is not without its hazards; for I am informed that the “duffers” sometimes, on attempting their impositions imprudently, and sometimes on being discovered before they can leave the house, get soundly thrashed. They have, of course, no remedy.

The “pieces” of three handkerchiefs sold by the “duffers” are purchased by them in Houndsditch, at from 3s. to 7s.; but 7s. is only given when there is a design to palm off the 3s. goods along with them. Cent. per cent. is a low profit in this trade.

One intelligent street-trader, to whom I am indebted for carefully-considered information, said to me very quietly: “I’ve read your work, sir, at a coffee-shop; for I can’t afford to take it in. I know you’re going to open the eyes of the public as to the ‘duffer’s’ tricks, now. All right, sir, they’re in honest men’s ways. But, sir, when are you going to say something about the rich shopkeepers as sells, and the rich manufacturers as makes, the ‘duffer’s’ things? Every man of them knows it’s for roguery.”

There is a peculiar style among the “duffers;” they never fold their goods neatly—the same as drapers do, but thrust them into the pack, in a confused heap, as if they did not understand their value—or their business. There are other classes of “duffers” whose calling is rather more hazardous than the licensed-hawker “duffer.” “I have often thought it strange,” says a correspondent, “that these men could induce any one to credit the fact of their being sailors, for, notwithstanding the showy manner in which they chew their quid, and the jack-tar like fashion in which they suffer their whiskers to grow, there is such a fresh-waterfied appearance about them, that they look no more like a regular mariner than the supernumerary seamen in a nautical drama, at the Victoria Theatre. Yet they obtain victims readily. Their mode of proceeding in the streets is to accost their intended dupes, while walking by their side; they usually speak in a half whisper, as they keep pace with them, and look mysteriously around to see if there be any of ‘them ere Custom-house sharks afloat.’ They address the simple-looking passers by thus: ‘Shipmate’ (here they take off their fur-cap and spit their quid into it)—‘shipmate, I’ve just come ashore arter a long voyage—and splice me but I’ve something in the locker that’ll be of service to you; and, shiver my timbers’ (they are very profuse in nautical terms), ‘you shall have it at your own price, for I’m determined to have a spree, and I haven’t a shot in the locker; helm’s a-lee; just let’s turn into this creek, and I’ll show you what it is’ (perhaps he persuades his dupe down a court, or to a neighbouring public-house). ‘Now here is a beautiful piece of Ingy handkerchiefs.’ (They are the coarsest description of spun not thrown silk, well stiffened into stoutness, and cost the “duffer” perhaps 15d. each; but as business is always done on the sly, in a hurry, and to escape observation, an examination seldom or never takes place). ‘I got ’em on shore in spite of those pirates, the Custom-house officers. You shall have ’em cheap, there’s half a dozen on ’em, they cost me 30s. at Madras, you shall have ’em for the same money.’ (The victim, may be, is not inclined to purchase. The pretended tar, however, must have money.) ‘Will you give me 25s. for them?’ he says; ‘d—n it, a pound? Shiver my topsails, you don’t want them any cheaper than that, do you!’ The ‘duffer’ says this to make his dupe believe that he really does want the goods, or has offered a price for them. Perhaps if the ‘duffer’ cannot extort more he takes 10s. for the half dozen ‘Ingy’ handkerchiefs, the profit being thus about 2s. 6d.; but more frequently he gets 100 and even 200 per cent. on his transactions according to the gullibility of his customers. The ‘duffer’ deals also in cigars; he accosts his victim in the same style as when selling handkerchiefs, and gives himself the same sailor-like airs.

“Sometimes the ‘duffers’ visit the obscure streets in London, where there are small chandlers’ shops; one of them enters, leaving his mate outside to give him the signal in case the enemy heaves in sight. He requests to be served with some trifling article—when if he approve of the physiognomy of the shopkeeper, and consider him or her likely to be victimised—he ventures an observation as to how enormously everything is taxed (though to one less innocent it might appear unusual for a sailor to talk politics); ‘even this ’ere baccy’ he says, taking out his quid, ‘I can’t chew, without paying a tax; but,’ he adds, chuckling—‘us sailor chaps sometimes shirks the Custom-house lubbers, sharp as they are.’ (Here his companion outside puts his head in at the door, and, to make the scene as natural as possible, says, ‘Come, Jack, don’t stop there all night spinning your yarns; come, bear a hand, or I shall part convoy.’) ‘Oh, heave to a bit longer, my hearty,’ replies the ‘duffer,’ ‘I will be with you in the twinkling of a marling spike. I’ll tell you what we’ve got, marm, and if you likes to buy it you shall have it cheap, for me and my mate are both short of rhino. We’ve half-a-dozen pounds of tea—you can weigh it if you like—and you shall have the lot for 12s.’ Perhaps there is an immediate purchase, but if 12s. is refused, then 10s. 8s. or 6s. is asked, until a sale be effected, after which the sailors make their exit as quickly as possible. Then the chandler’s-shop keeper begins to exult over the bargain he or she has made, and to examine more minutely the contents of the neatly packed, and tea-like looking packet thus bought. It proves to be lined with a profuse quantity of tea lead, and though some Chinese characters are marked on the outside, it is discovered on opening to contain only half-a-pound of tea, the remainder consisting principally of chopped hay. The ‘duffers’ enact the same part, and if a purchaser buy 10 lbs. of the smuggled article, then 9 lbs. at least consist of the same chopped hay.