Glimpses into the Abyss

by Mary Higgs

Returning at 10 o'clock, we purchased, at the little shop which caters for this lodging-house, a loaf of bread for 2¼d., two ounces of boiled ham, a penny tin of condensed milk, and a pennyworth of sugar; tea and butter we had with us. Armed with these, in the kitchen we speedily obtained hot water and made our tea-supper. We took it into the dining-room for coolness' sake, and established ourselves at a table. This room had three long wooden tables and forms. It was an oblong room with one fireplace, and out of it was another kitchen with fireplace and gas stove.

There were hardly any girls in when we entered, and, to our great disappointment, our acquaintance of the day before was out. She had gone out at nine o'clock. She was not out long, but returned drunk; she had been "in luck." She had had "two small whiskies and a soda," and they had bowled her over. She had plenty of money now, and was talkative, and staggering. We felt we could not do anything with her that night. She came and talked to us a little, asking us our "luck," to which we replied "that we had done very well," and were going on to another town next day. I had improved my appearance, wearing hat, tie, and belt, so this bore out my story.

The proprietress as we entered had told us not to mind a woman who was "gone dotty" with drink. She also was in this room, properly maudlin. She had a chemise, which she kept tucking into her breast, pulling up her under-garments, and examining her stockings. She was taking more drink still, brought in in a bottle, and though warned, I believe she insisted presently on sallying forth, and would probably fall into the hands of the police. The other women present humoured her to avoid a quarrel.

By this time we felt quite "at home," knowing the faces of a good many of the inmates. Most were out, but one and another we recollected came dropping in, in some cases to go out again. Our dark friend came and questioned us as to how we had got on. We told her we had done very well. She said, "I suppose you have been round the town?" Evidently she was fishing for our occupation, and I fear she would gather the wrong impression from our affirmative reply; but we really had been about and could not "give ourselves away." This little person seemed to keep from drink, though she told us she had lost her last place through buying, with her own money, bottles of stout, and so horrifying her mistress, who, she said, was "a religious woman, but a regular pig." This mistress took drink herself, but "would not own it," and "suffered from indigestion." She had the doctor, and he recommended change, society, etc., but she lazed about most of the day and drank. Little Dark Hair said she could have stood it if the woman had been straight, if she had told her she took drink and it wasn't good for her; but to call it "indigestion," and dismiss her servant for buying in a few bottles of stout out of her own money, it was too disgusting! She left, and didn't feel like asking for a character, as what she said was regarded as cheek! She was evidently very low-spirited, for she said she wished she was "in a bandbox," and then explained she meant her coffin. She said she would get out of this if she had a home; but she had no home, no friends. She was soon to become a mother—she would soon have to go to the workhouse. We gave her the address of a friend who would help her, but could not ourselves do so because of our incognito.

There was a great difference in the characters and appearance of the various women. One old woman apparently got her living by running errands and doing odd jobs for the girls. I think one woman was a pedlar. The former woman showed by her conversation that she had lived an immoral life. There were several women about thirty or forty, who behaved quietly and were dressed comparatively modestly and cleanly. Some looked quite superior to their position, but I believe they had only acquired the wisdom of reticence, as they dressed themselves up and went out like the others, and one I thought particularly quiet, who seemed to watch us a good deal, smoked like the others, after she had been out. Some explanation of the probable life of these elder women was afforded next morning by a woman, rather stout, and more talkative. She had gone out overnight, setting off for her regular place, which was apparently some way off in a suburb. A "toff" took her to have a drink, and promised her money to go with him to an hotel. He afterwards gave her the slip, leaving her penniless. Another girl, young and pretty, said she was given in the dark two pennies silvered over! A dark girl told her she "wasn't so soft; she always felt the edges of her money in the dark and knew by that."

There were no old women, except the one or two who seemed to live on the others, by cleaning or by sewing or running errands. One girl was said to get her living by doing this, and "drank all she got." Most of the younger ones seemed to get more or less drunk every day. They had to drown thought, but drink and dissipation were fast playing havoc with their good looks, and several had very severe coughs, due to exposure to night air. A girl who did not gather lodging money might be out all night, as our friend the runaway had been, and none were very warmly clad. They had to take off underclothing and replace it after it was washed, apparently being almost all improvident. One or two, notably "Dot," a small dark girl, who kept herself clean, and was pretty, with a kind of perky prettiness that hid vulgarity, seemed to be better fitted up. She had a basket of clothes, and seemed to be going somewhere by appointment. We heard it several times mentioned that Mr. S—— wanted one and another, and that they must have "a note" from him, or "a paper." He was "the landlord."

But I am anticipating the morning. We sat watching until we were weary, between eleven and twelve, and then went to our bedroom. The same beds were reserved, and one woman who was said to work for her living, and had a very bad cough, was already in bed. We were speedily in bed also, and for a while were quiet. The room was very stuffy, in spite of two ventilators; the sheets not very clean, but still fairly so. The beds were filled by degrees, all but one, that previously occupied by the Scotch woman. One girl who came in late said she was not on the streets; that she had begged money for her lodging, as she was out too late to return to her place. It was holiday time, being Whit week.[113] One girl who came in late, and had had drink, which made her talkative, said she was a servant, and had just left a place where she had been ten months. She said she had been to a pleasure resort all the night before with her young man; that her mistress begged her not to come to this lodging-house; she was very good to her, but she said she had had some drink, and it got late, and she couldn't go anywhere else. She had no money to buy breakfast, and had an appointment with her young man at eight o'clock next morning. He promised to give her some money. She meant to "enjoy herself" over the holiday and then go to service again.[114] She did get up early, complaining she felt poorly, and she went to her appointment, but I think he did not meet her. We offered her some breakfast before she went, and she joyfully recognised us when she returned without it, and we gave her the rest of our provisions.

One girl who had been in before grumbled that her bed had been slept in, and was dirty; but her own underlinen was far from clean. No one seemed to possess a nightgown; all slept in their underlinen.

We had the door a little ajar, and far into the night the door bell kept ringing, and girls were admitted and laughter and conversation drifted up the stairs. Our room settled down some time past midnight, but the girl who was drunk several times tried to begin a conversation. At last we all slept; two, however, had bad coughs. I woke at intervals through the night, and finally, at 6.30, I woke longing for fresh air. I put on a skirt and went down to enquire the time, and decided to get up and go out for a quiet stroll. The bath-room was empty. The bath had old papers in it, and did not look as if it was often used. There was a table with looking-glass, and a good deal of rouge about. The w.c. had a good flush of water. The washing basin was very small, and no soap was provided. There was a roller towel for everybody. We had learned by experience to take our own soap and towel, and we lent the soap several times. Articles of clothing seemed to be frequently lent. We saw girls trying on each other's hats, and there were complaints that they were also stolen. Several locked boxes were in the bath-room, and some empty ones. No convenience existed for keeping things privately except this. Some women had a few things in drawers in the kitchen, but they were not locked. The woman in charge had a sitting-room and a piano, and she kept knives in her room. You paid a penny to have one, and it was returned to you when you gave back the knife. Knives also were lent from one to another. A girl whose head was questionably clean wanted to borrow my friend's shawl to go an errand, but we made an excuse and did not lend it.

My friend got up more slowly, so I slipped out to the bright freshness of a May morning, and walked in the direction of a park. There were plenty astir, trams running, and people going holiday-making. The park was not open, as it was not yet seven, but just outside I found a resting-place. What a contrast the fresh budding life of the trees was to that perversion and decay of budding womanhood I had left behind me! A tree cut down in its prime to make way for building furnished me with a parallel. What artificial conditions of man's making are pressing on those young lives, snapping them off from true use to rottenness and decay? Why do they not grow healthily? A crowded bedroom, an uneasy couch, a bare dining-room, wooden slats and tables, a precarious livelihood—these are not things to draw a girl, and the excitement of "the life" has to be covered by drink and degradation. Is it true, that once in it, it is too difficult to get out, and that a girl may be trapped unawares and wound round and round as in a spider's web by a multitude of threads of circumstance which prevent her escape? Is there even at the back an organised system, seeking victims and preying on them? This much is certain, that there is room for an alliance of greed and wickedness against defenceless and destitute womanhood. For if a woman "cannot get work," where is she to go? What is she to do? Can all our Homes and Shelters together prevent many from drifting "on the streets"? Do we not need a national provision for migration and temporary destitution among women?[115]