Women Workers in Seven Professions / A Survey of Their Economic Conditions and Prospects

by Unknown

Recently, in the correspondence of a leading "Daily," I read a letter in which a man wrote that actresses on tour were able to perfect themselves as wives and housekeepers. This throws a curious side-light on the ignorance of people in general with regard to the theatre. Actresses may, and do, become admirable workers, wives, and housekeepers; but this is rather from the hardships of their lives than from any possibility of developing a natural aptitude for housekeeping whilst travelling week after week from town to town, and living in rooms where the cleaning and cooking are done by the landlady. As all domestic work is undertaken by the people who let the rooms, the days go slowly, and there is absolutely nothing of interest to do. If our average actress is with a successful play, her engagement may be a long one; and she lives through the discomforts, buoyed up by the hope of further opportunities, and a swelling account at the Post Office.

The happiest of all existences, for an actress, despite hard work and much study, is in a repertory theatre. The opportunities are great; ambition is not thwarted at every step; the day is filled with hard study, but the nights result in greater or smaller achievement. Everybody with whom she comes in contact is working as hard and earnestly as she is. Life invigorating, progressive, uplifting, is hers. To-night she is conscious she was not quite her best, but next week, when the play is done again, she will work to make that point real, she will laugh more naturally, cry more movingly, progress a little further on the way to realise her dream of perfect expression, free from worry and anxiety, free to work.

Having achieved a certain amount of experience on tour and in London, and being more or less proficient in her profession, does not, however, ensure an increase in the actor's value. A domestic servant receives a character, which is, if satisfactory, a sure means of employment; a teacher, inspector, etc., has a certificate which is a pronouncement of efficiency; but however great the achievement of the theatre there is no lasting sign of your work, and the want of definite aim is mentally demoralising. I have heard men say, and I think not unjustly, that as many of these women are practically "on the rocks," they will do anything for money; and this brings one to a question which looms largely when considering unskilled trades. The unskilled, pleasure-loving, short-sighted but ambitious girl, is apt to lose her sense of values, and to be an easy and sometimes very willing victim. If she be attractive, the eye of a powerful person may alight upon her, and several shades of temptations are placed before her. Not only money, and the advantages which an outward show of prosperity may bring with it; not only amusements and luxuries; but a much more dangerous and difficult temptation, which is not possible in other trades, is placed before the worker—the offer of greater opportunities in her work, the opportunities which an "understudy" may bring in its train; the opportunity of a small part; the gratification of ambition. There is no more immorality than in other trades, but there is an amount of humiliating and degrading philandering, a mauling sensuality which is more degrading than any violent abduction. To be immoral a certain amount of courage is required; but the curse of modern theatrical conditions is this corrupt debauchery. Many girls have come to me explaining their difficulties, and many in asking my advice ended up with the persistent cry of the modern woman, "I do so want to get on!" This is a transitional stage in the world, as well as in the theatre. When women are more intelligent and independent, there will not be the same amount of selling themselves for the necessities of existence. They will be able to secure the necessities, and a large number of the luxuries, for themselves—one of the reasons, doubtless, why the reactionaries cry out so loudly against the woman's movement.

People love power over others; they love to control their destinies; and there is a very large number of men who drift towards the theatre, and like to consider the poor little butterflies as creatures of a different species from their wives and daughters—a species provided by a material Providence, who supplies their other appetites. The poor little butterflies are glad, for a short time, to put up with stupidity and egoism for the sake of a temporary relief from sordid discomfort and gloom. Of course, I am not speaking of the women who, without economic pressure, lead an illicit life. There are a few of these women who are more than able to protect themselves, and occasionally avenge their sisters.

Of course, there are also theatres which are obviously dependent for their great success upon this "oldest profession in the world": theatres where a fairly good salary is offered with the suggestion that it is as well to sup at some well-known restaurant, at least three times a week; to drive to the theatre in a motor car, and to be dressed by one of the famous dressmakers, whose names are given with the salary. There are theatres where an eye is kept on the number of stalls which are filled by the employed. But on the tours of these successes, the managers are often very strict in their regulations, and do everything to prevent those employed from supplementing their incomes in this manner.

There are, unfortunately, too many women who still believe in dependence, so the supply is quite as great as the demand. To the real artist who is deeply centred in her work, this particular evil is of practically little importance. A great belief in her own powers enables her to push aside opportunities which are not genuine. Men are also human, and if met frankly and straightforwardly in work, or for that matter, out of it, are as capable of honest, helpful good fellowship as any woman. In fact, the work of the theatre, which employs men and women, on more or less equal terms, is a splendid place to find out that humanity is not limited to sexual problems, and that the spirit of work removes these limitations, and gives place to a healthy, invigorating atmosphere of camaraderie. It is quite a false idea that a move in the wrong direction is in any way necessary to success.

Something must be said with regard to the sanitation and ventilation of the theatre. Though there has been latterly a great effort to improve the dressing-rooms in the new buildings, there is still a great deal to be remedied. Here is a description of a dressing-room used by a young artist in a modern West End theatre.

"We were seven in a room which just held seven small toilet tables on a shelf running round the wall, and a narrow walking space from the door to the window in between. This dressing-room was two floors below the level of the street, and the one window opened on a passage covered with thick glass, so that there was no direct air channel. Next door was a man's urinal used by about forty men—actors, stage hands, and scene shifters. A pipe from this place came through the dressing-room; the smell sometimes, even in the winter, was overpowering; and we ourselves bought Sanitas and kept sprinkling it on the floor of the room and the passage. Added to this was the fact that the stairs from the stage led straight down facing the entrance of this men's urinal, and not infrequently the door would be open and shut as we came down, and it was altogether very objectionable."

The report of a young artist who toured for some time with a comedy sketch in the music halls shows equally bad conditions. This sketch was sent out by a first rate London management, and the halls visited were on the first-class tours. She told me that in one of the largest towns in England the Music Hall had only one ladies' lavatory, which was on the stage exactly behind the back-drop. A horse was necessary for an Indian sketch on the same bill in which the comedy sketch was played, and the recess by the lavatory was found to be the only safe place to stable the horse. The door of the ladies' lavatory was therefore nailed up for the week. Should anyone wish, she could, on explaining to the ushers in the front of the house, receive a pass of admission to the ladies' cloakroom, but to reach the front of the house meant a walk of four minutes round a complete block, and, even if it had not been winter time, it is almost impossible for any actress, when once dressed for her part, to go into the street without attracting a great deal of notice, and also very likely entirely spoiling her appearance, as theatrical "make-up" is only meant for the dry atmosphere of the theatre.

On this same tour, in a famous south coast resort, this lady had to dress in an underground dressing-room with twelve others, and the only lavatory for women's use was opposite the stage-door box, where all letters were called for, and the stage hands lounged about the whole evening. In the most important town on this tour the dressing-room in which she was directed to dress had, for its sole ventilation, the door by which one entered, exactly facing the one general lavatory. The aperture, high up in the wall, opened into another room where, during this week, fifty cocks and hens, used in an animal turn, were kept. It would be quite impossible to describe the sickening smell which all this meant. The only thoroughly clean, sanitary hall which she visited, was in Scotland.