I saw a labourer near Dumfries, who, on his wages of twelve shillings a week, was bringing up a family of eight children, all of them robust and radiant with health, thanks to porridge. The eldest, a fine fellow of eighteen, had carried off a scholarship at Aberdeen University. In England, no professional career would have been open to him.
Few of the lower class English people will condescend to eat porridge; they will have animal food twice a day, if they can get it, and beer or other stimulants. Twenty years of prosperity and high wages have spoiled, ruined the working class in England. Now wages have fallen, or rather work has become scarce, and these people, who never thought of saving anything in the days of their splendour, are plenty of them lacking bread. They are not cured for all that. If you offered them porridge, they would feel insulted. "It is workhouse food," they will tell you.
When the Scotch maidservant receives her wages, she goes and puts part in the Savings Bank, like the French bonne of the provinces. When the English servant takes up hers, she straightway goes and buys a new hat to get photographed in it. Money burns her pockets.
Money is round, say the English, it was meant to roll; money is flat, say the Scotch and the Normans, it was meant to be piled up.
When he is in work, the workman of London, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, will spend three or four shillings a day on his keep; when he is out of work, he stands about the tavern-door and whines for help.
I visited one day, in Aberdeen, a restaurant where a copious repast was being served for the modest sum of two pence a head. The room was full of healthy-looking workmen, tidily dressed and busily doing honour to the porridge and other items on the menu.
The bill of fare for the week was posted up at the door. Here is a copy of it:
"Monday—Porridge, sausage and potato.
"Tuesday—Scotch broth, beef pie.
"Wednesday—Peasoup and ham.
"Thursday—Porridge, sausage and potato.
"Friday—Fish and potato.
"Saturday—Porridge, sausage and potato."
A trifle monotonous, perhaps, this bill of fare, I own; but, at all events, you will admit that for twopence the Aberdeen workman can have a good square meal.
What would the Parisians have given for this fare during the siege!