Ragged homes and how to mend them

by Mrs. Bayly

The cottage of the communicative little old woman, to whom I am indebted for so much of my information, was amongst the earliest erected in the Potteries. It must have been a picturesque object when the smoke first curled from the low chimney across the verdant plain, where neither villa, terrace, nor steeple were to be seen. The Hippodrome was then on the spot where the graceful church of Saint John’s now stands. Travellers, who were in the habit of coming this way, tell us that was then the waymark, just as the church now seems to be the town-mark.

Not far from the Hippodrome stood “Tucker’s Cottage,” which an artist thought sufficiently picturesque to transfer to his sketch-book. The reader may confirm this opinion on reference to my frontispiece. This interesting dwelling consisted of one floor, divided into two apartments, one for the family, the other for domestic purposes and such animals as were thought indispensable to the general welfare. Before and behind was an ample plot of ground, enclosed by a thick mound of earth that resembled the outworks of a fortification. The ground front was the domain of poultry, pigs, and the donkey; in the rear stagnated a lake, into which flowed the foul streams of the province. The pond was overhung with willow stumps, that assumed the title of trees. Like a sea far more famous, it had “no outlet but the ambient air.” As years passed, and the events previously described took place, this primeval cottage was fast advancing to decay. The roof and walls had been often repaired with old pieces of board, condemned teatrays, plaster, and similar rubbish; the windows had become opaque, and the chimney transparent. Various means had been adopted to prevent the downfall of the whole house. After a “stiffer breeze” than common, the little old man might have been seen doctoring Jenny’s (the donkey’s) apartment, and his own also. But all his trouble and pains were unavailing. The little dwelling, which he and his “guidwife” had helped to rear with their own hands, laughed at by the world, but endeared to them by the associations of a lifetime, was sentenced by the Commissioners to be taken down; and thus, just five years before the expiration of their lease, the venerable pair were compelled, at a cost to themselves of thirty shillings (which they could very ill afford), to pull down what remained of the old fabric. “Some natural tears they shed, but wiped them soon.” Yes, literally, they “wiped them soon;” for the poor old couple belonged to the company of the faithful, who believe that “here they have no continuing city, but seek one to come.” It was “the Lord’s will,” they said. “He ordered all for the best.” “The Master would soon call them to a house not made with hands;” and so, without repining, they rented an adjoining cottage. Here the principal inconvenience was, that “grannie,” in her old age, had scarcely room to stretch her weary limbs: so narrow was the new domicile, that the chain of the faithful dog had to be shortened, against his wishes; and the poor ducks and hens, accustomed to a more ample domain, could scarcely find a roosting-place.

There is yet another member of this little family who must not be forgotten. A deaf and blind sister has long received shelter in this humble home, where no charitable aid has entered, or parochial relief intrudes. Though feeling is the only avenue of access to this afflicted one, she shares their family devotions. The Bible is brought to her, and she passes her hands over it, and then places them in the attitude of prayer, in which she always keeps them a certain time. After they removed to their present habitation, this poor creature was much perplexed at the loss of the old familiar turns and corners by which she had been accustomed to feel her way about. The only way in which they could comfort her, was to bring to her the Word that “endureth for ever,” pass her hands over it, and lift them up to heaven.

It is not unusual to find persons of determined character holding peculiar sentiments, and very dogmatical in the expression of them. With significant nods and wise shakes of the head, you may frequently hear this worthy couple saying, that “man can do nothing towards converting himself—no, nothing. You may as well tell me to mount up to the sky, as that man can think one good thought of himself, or do one right action.”

The old woman entertains a very high respect for the excellent curate we have before mentioned. Once, on detecting herself speaking more highly of him and his work than was consistent with her principles of the “creature being nothing,” she qualified her praise by saying, “He was able to do all this, because the Lord’s time was come; he wouldn’t have done nothing without that, d’ye see, ma’am.”

I spoke to her once about some plans of my own, by which I hoped to effect some improvement. “Well, ma’am,” she said, “if the Lord’s time is come for it, you’ll do it; and if it isn’t, you won’t. He’ll stop you up, or let you go on, just as He sees fit. I don’t trouble so much as some people do about trying to alter things, and make ’em better; for I know the Lord have planned it all out, and He’ll do it just as He likes.”

Although they have the greatest respect for the whole of God’s Word, yet some portions of it are much more frequently quoted and dwelt upon than others. “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him,” seems to have made a greater impression than, “Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.”

Divine grace sanctifies the natural disposition, but it does not entirely alter it; and we can often trace an intimate connexion between character and creed. The opposition which these good people had experienced had tended to strengthen a severity natural to them. How different were these impressions of truth from those of the kind-hearted man previously described, who “would have all men to be saved,” and could scarcely bring his mind to acquiesce in any wish short of that. There are few Christians to be met with who are not more deeply impressed with one form or phase of truth than another. Nor is this to be regretted, if we can only meet on the common ground of “love to Him who has died for us.” In the words of one of the most popular preachers of the present day, “Supposing the Spirit of truth to descend upon the earth, would He anywhere find a temple erected to Himself, of which He could take possession and say, ‘This is mine?’ No; but He would go from one building to another, and see here a stone that He could claim as His own, and there another, and we should hear Him saying, ‘The materials for my temple are now scattered, though most of them are to be found even here; but the day is coming when I will collect them together, and My temple shall stand upon the earth.’”

In the sketches of character thus presented, there is no intention of conveying the idea that the inhabitants of the Potteries generally answer to this description. The object has been to shew that, in the midst of every disadvantage, and surrounded by all incentives to evil, God has had His own people, and has given them grace to persevere to the end.

To such as have accustomed themselves to look down upon this place as a plague-spot—a pest that we should be well rid of, this narrative will shew that there is good material to be picked out of the rubbish, and that even the rubbish itself may be capable of conversion into good material. In talking to policemen, I have more than once heard them say, “We hardly ever take up any of the Pottery people for theft; they are known amongst us to be honest and industrious. Our work lies among the Irish. We have very little to do with the Pottery people; and if it were not for the DRINK, we should have nothing to do with them.”