In the morning we were roused about seven o'clock and told to dress. Our clothes were in the bath-room. We had the luxury of a morning wash. Our garments had been left on the floor just as we took them off, and so were our companion's, which looked decidedly unclean by daylight. The kind attendant said she had to go, but waited till I had told the portress (who arrived to set us our task) the conduct of the man at the gate, and I claimed her protection, as I should have to pass him when going out. Both exclaimed when I told his words, and one said, "Plenty of cups of tea I expect he's given, the villain!" The portress assured me she would watch me out, and that I need not fear him, as he daren't touch me when she was there, and she said that after I had gone she should report him.

Before this happened, however, we had our breakfast given us, which was exactly a repetition of supper—saltless gruel and dry bread. We ate as much as we could and were very thirsty. I had drunk some water with my hand from the bath-room tap as soon as I got up. We put what bread we could not eat into our pocket as a supply for the day, and were told to empty the rest of our gruel down the w.c. It thus disappeared; but what waste! A mug of coffee or tea would at least have washed down the dry bread; or a quarter of the quantity of gruel, properly made, would have been acceptable, with a mug of cold water for a proper drink.

The following list shows how we had spent our money:—

Lodging, first night6d.
Lodging, second night8d.
Loaf2½d.
Two cobs3d.
1 brown cob1½d.
1 tea-cake1d.
¼-lb. butter4d.
¼-lb. cheese2d.
In hand2d.

We ate the cheese for dinner for two days. I do not think we could have kept our strength up for five days' tramping if it had not been for the plasmon mixed with our sugar, which we ate on our bread and butter or drank in our tea. My companion was very exhausted before evening this day, and her cough troubled her a great deal. Another week of this life would have made us both thoroughly ill. It is not only exposure and poor food, but anxiety as to the next night's experience, that tells on the mind. Yet we knew that in two nights we should be no longer friendless. Pity the poor woman who has no home. Is it not almost inevitable that she should sink?

As we had now no food, we were glad to appropriate the remainder of our workhouse bread, putting it in our pocket. We should have nothing else that day, for the portress told us when we had done our work we might go out at eleven o'clock. We thanked her—we had expected to stay another night, and perhaps pick oakum, but we should have almost starved on the food, as our sugar was in our bundle, so we were relieved to find we had only to clean the tramp ward and go. We were told to "sweep the ward and make all clean." We did not think of scrubbing the room, which, as it was large, would have been a big task, but the portress afterwards scolded us for not doing so. It was not dirty, so we swept it, cleaned the taps, bath, and wash-basins, washed up the pots, dusted, and, having made all tidy (except that we could find nowhere to empty our dust-pan, unless it was the w.c.), we waited for release. We sat on the form, and when the portress came in and saw us sitting down she spoke to us very sharply. I suppose she did not like to see us idle. We told her we would have scrubbed the floor if we had known we ought; but we did not know, as we had never been in a workhouse before. She was somewhat mollified, and let us off with a mild scolding some time before eleven o'clock. She stood at the door and watched us receive our things from the male pauper and leave the gates. He hastened to give us them without a word, and also restored our two pennies. We said farewell at the end of the lane to our companion, who was going the opposite way, and commenced our tramp. We expected the next workhouse to be about four miles away, in a town which we knew lay between us and our final destination. But it turned out that the Union we were leaving and the Union on the outskirts of the town to which we were ultimately bound absorbed all the paupers from the intervening places, though of considerable size. So we had really a very long walk before us; but, not knowing this, as it was very gloomy and inclined to rain heavily, we thought we had better seek shelter. We bought some butter with a penny, and walked on to find a quiet place to eat something, as it was some hours since we had had breakfast. We could not find anywhere but a damp stone wall in some fields. There we feasted on bread and butter and plasmon sugar; but we were very thirsty, so we took courage to beg, as we had a screw of tea left. I went to a cottage and asked for a drink. There was a boiling kettle on the fire, so I said we had a little tea of our own, and the kind young woman, who had a blind old father, made us tea and sweetened and milked it for us. I knew the town to which we were going well, so we talked about the changes in it of recent years, as I was "returning to friends there." She did not know the distance of the next workhouse, but told us about the intervening towns. We left refreshed, but it was beginning to rain, so we walked on, looking for shelter. We saw a church surrounded by trees standing all by itself, with a large graveyard. This looked a hopeful spot, so we made for it, though it was rather out of our route. There we stayed an hour or two, sheltering under trees or in the porch, and eating the last of our workhouse bread about one o'clock. Part of the time it rained very heavily, and though it was summer time we felt cold. At last the rain moderated, and we set off for a steady tramp.

IV. A Second Night in the Workhouse Tramp Ward.

The miles between us and our destination seemed to grow as walked. The replies we got varied from four miles to eight; we discovered that some were directing us back to the union we had come from. I do not know what the distance really was, but if we added up the distances we were told it must have been nearly eleven miles. I believe we went considerably out of our direct route. We had come about two miles, and after we began to tramp in earnest we only rested a short time once or twice to dodge heavy showers. We were walking from about two o'clock till nearly eight before we reached the workhouse, but my companion grew so weary she could only crawl, and I pushed her up the long, long hills. We seemed to go up and up, and always a long hill in front. We had to give up trying to dodge the rain, and walk steadily on through the wet, which grew worse and worse. We were very wet indeed before we reached the shelter of the Union, and only just in time to be admitted. I feared we should have been left shelterless. The workhouse was in such an out-of-the-way place that it was hard to find; we thought we should never find it, and grew very discouraged, but could not walk faster. To ease our minds we told each other the story of our lives from childhood, taking turns as we got tired and out of breath. We had now had no food for nearly seven hours. At last we came to a dirty lane, by the side of a high stone embankment, leading to big gates. We plunged down it; our feet by this time were soaked and our shawls nearly wet through. With some difficulty we found the lodge, a large, substantial stone building, with an office occupied by a single man. He looked more respectable than the other one, and asked us the questions in a straightforward matter-of-fact way that was a pleasant contrast. He told us to sit on a seat and wait for the portress. We sat for quite a quarter of an hour in our wet things. Two young men, who seemed to be related to officials and familiar with the place, passed through; otherwise we were quite alone with this man, and he began to talk in a familiar and most disagreeable manner. He asked me where my husband was, and insinuated that I had been leading an immoral life. He said a married woman needed to "sleep warm." He told us he was a pauper and lived there, asked how we liked his house, said if there was one woman "he often shared his breakfast with her." He produced a screw of salt and gave it us as a favour. Being two we were protection to each other, and passed off the conversation as well as we could, telling him that we were not of that sort, that we had only taken shelter, and were going to friends. He said he hoped he should see us in the morning. We hoped not. He told us the portress often kept a single woman more than two days to do her cleaning, giving her rather better food. We dared not offend him. What might happen to a single woman alone with such men?

At last, to our great relief, the portress came. She was comparatively young, dressed somewhat like a nurse, very quick and sharp, and evidently she had many other duties, and this part of her work was distasteful to her. She was very cross at being summoned so late, and said at first we ought not to have been admitted, as it was past eight; but the man told her we had been waiting. We should have been glad of a little of "the milk of human kindness" in our wet, weary condition, but we were "only tramps," and were ordered about sharply. She told us to follow her to the bath-room. It was a stone-floored room at the end of a stone passage, from which led out four stone cells. Each contained a bed, and was imperfectly lighted by a square aperture, high up, leading into the passage. The walls were stone, spotlessly whitewashed. She asked what we had got in our pockets, but did not search us. She took our bundles and asked how much money we had, but did not take our solitary penny. She insisted on a bath, and watched us undress, telling us to leave our clothes, and giving us nightdresses doubtfully clean. (The necks were dirty.) We hurried for fear of offending her. She asked if we would sleep together or alone, as the beds were double. We were glad to be together. My friend said she should have cried all night if shut up alone in one of these prison-like cells. I was ready first, and was given four blankets. To walk on a stone floor straight from a warm bath in a thin cotton night-dress and make your bed is not very nice. But I have since seen nightdresses made of rough bathing flannel, and as broad as they are short! I suppose "anything is good enough for tramps." It is hardly realised that respectable destitute women might have no other shelter. The conditions are such that probably few do apply. The accommodation at this workhouse, which appeared to be a large one—four cells, with beds for a possible eight—showed that few probably applied at that Union, while the porter said that often there was only one. Yet there are many destitute women, as Homes and Shelters show. Are they forced into the common lodging-houses—or worse? The bed was a most peculiar affair. In addition to the wire mattress it had a wire pillow, and no other. This was a flat, woven wire shelf raised a few inches above the mattress. Its discomforts were still to be experienced.

I made this curious bed as well as I could, spreading one blanket over it and the pillow, doubling another for our backs, and reserving two to cover us. We got into bed and were given the regulation mugs of porridge and thick slices of dry bread. We were then locked in and left. We had one spoon between us. There was no light except from the aperture, but it was not yet dark. We were prisoners indeed, and a plank bed would have been more comfortable. The pillow was a cruel invention—it was impossible to place one's head upon it; the edge cut the back of your neck, even through a blanket, and the rough meshes hurt your face. We could not spare a blanket to double up for a pillow, we were cold as it was; the blankets underneath barely kept off the rough wires, and two were little enough to cover in a cold stone cell. The pillow was a torture; we finally put our heads under it and lay flat, screwed up into any position that gave ease. Over our heads was a framed motto and verses about "Jesus only." I wondered whether He would think this the proper lodging for a "stranger!" We were thirsty and hungry—but alas! when we tasted our gruel, our only drink, it was sweetened to nauseousness with treacle! It was, indeed, to all intents and purposes "treacle posset." Anyone with a grain of common sense can realise the effect on the system of taking this sort of stuff immediately after a warm bath, following a wetting. In fact, the diet produced a peculiarly loosened feeling in the skin, as if all the pores were open, which made it very hard to work. I usually perspire little, but next morning, while working, I was again and again in a profuse perspiration, and this produced a feeling of weakness, and culminated in a sharp attack of diarrhœa—fortunately after I had reached my friends. Anyone who thinks will see that this would only be a natural result of the diet with many people. We were terribly hungry, and ate our bread; this made us still more thirsty, but there was nothing to quench our thirst but the thick, sweet gruel—very good in quality, but most nauseous. The thirst we suffered from that night can be imagined better than described. "I was thirsty and ye gave me no drink," kept running through my mind whenever I turned my eyes up to spell out the words of "Jesus only." This was our worst night; we were very weary, but could get no ease; we fell into restless slumber, to wake again and again from thirst or cold or some pain caused by our uneasy couch. Long before we were called we were wide awake, longing to get up. About six o'clock, probably, our cell door was unlocked, and we were told to dress. We hastened to the bath-room and drank eagerly at the tap. Our wet clothes were lying just where we left them. They were still quite damp and our boots wet through. Had we known, we might have left them in a rather different position, on some hot pipes; but we thought they were sure to be stoved, as the portress knew we had taken shelter from pouring rain. We had told her we could not reach our friends in the neighbouring town because of it. There was nothing to do but to put our wet things on and set to work. A woman brought us a pair of men's boots, very damp, with blacking and brushes, and told us to polish them for her before we had our breakfast. We did this, which doubtless was extra, and were rewarded with a mug of her coffee, with one mug of the same sort of gruel, and two thick slices of bread. The coffee was such a treat. I have made some enquiries since, and have found at least one workhouse where the gruel is replaced by coffee, though this is contrary to regulations. The reason given is that the tramps never eat the gruel, and frequently throw it about, and even at one another, making a great mess! Also, being made in summer overnight, it turns sour, and "is not fit for pigs!" Is any comment needed? How many tons of good oatmeal must be wasted every year! It is absolute waste, as we were again told to empty our mugs of the night before down the w.c., and put them away clean. So not even the pigs have the benefit of it!