INTERMEZZO

Or

Brief but necessary editorial digression.

Before I go any further, I need to weary the reader with a few facts.

I have been accused of tactlessness in making light of the Victorian workhouse. Let’s get one or two things straight.

First of all, forget “Oliver.”

At the time this narrative is set, some 60 years after the time of that musical, workhouses had improved a lot. Historical tales of squalor as portrayed by Dickens were quite realistic and were still well-known in the 1890’s, and the authorities were determined that such should never happen again. Some of the bigger metropolitan workhouses had relocated to purpose-built complexes in the country, and included central heating and proper sanitation along with the healthier country air amongst their amenities. I shan’t tax the reader’s patience with details of diet and infirmaries (which could be almost as large as the workhouse itself), as the critic can find these readily on the net. Suffice it to say that any shortcomings were due to the general lack of sophistication of the times, for which our forebears cannot be blamed, along with limited resources, rather than any deliberate neglect on the part of the workhouse itself. As is inevitable with large institutions, reports of abuse did occasionally come to light (and still do, long after the abolition of the workhouse), human nature being what it’s always been, but these were dealt with – either by the administration itself, or in the case of criminal activity, by the courts. Investigative journalism was active even then, and the administrators had their reputations to consider. And when one reads the tales emerging from orphanages and old folks’ homes in more recent times, are we really any better now?

Whilst the workhouse was never intended to be luxurious, and admission was seen by most as a last resort, it beat the alternatives by a long chalk. The authorities concerned were equally anxious that while the workhouse should provide basic conditions for the needy, they should not be seen as an easy option for the idle, who existed then as they do now. Resources were too scarce to be spent on those capable of supporting themselves.

Yes, workhouse life was strictly regimented. With residents in the larger establishments numbering in the hundreds, some discipline was necessary, and was enforced. Yes, the genders were segregated, which meant breaking up families.In the days before contraception was easily available, what else could the authorities do, when the last thing they needed was to encourage more infantile mouths to feed and care for? Not to mention the spread of certain diseases which many prefer not to talk about, but which, in some parts of London, had infected up to 1/3 of the population, and were terminal unless something else happened to kill you first.

I can understand how one might be tempted to think of workhouses as prisons, or Trappist monasteries minus the vows. This is utterly incorrect. Yes, it’s true that prison inmates knew they had a definite release date, and a monk could walk out any time he wanted. So it was with workhouse residents. They could leave at any time. It would be a mistake, however, to forget that workhouse residents were kept “inside” by the very conditions that put them there in the first place. The modern social security system did not exist in the 19th century; consequently, it would be a big mistake to imagine that one could fling the gates open and announce, “You are all free.”  Where would everyone have gone? What would they have done?

By way of a minor digression – yes, many young men discovered a way out of the workhouse when the Army began recruiting en masse in 1914. Those who have already looked into this will have been surprised to learn that a sizeable proportion of candidates were rejected as medically unfit. One should, however, not overlook that the Army’s recruiting machine were equally surprised at the number of unsuitable candidates they discovered outside the workhouse, both in cities and in rural parts. The Army’s standards weren’t as exacting as they were in the 1970’s of the typist’s own experience, but nonetheless, they did have standards for which the workhouse cannot be blamed – any unfit candidates were almost certainly unfit before they arrived at the workhouse.

As for the activities conducted in the workhouse - yes, rocks were broken and yes, oakum was picked. But there was also the chance to learn a trade such as bootmaking and tailoring. And let us not forget that since a workhouse was a self-contained community, any workhouse worth its salt would use any specialist skills which might be possessed by residents, and where possible, would train replacements. As for the more “human”  side of life, I refuse to believe that humour did not exist in the workhouse. There is ample evidence to show that concerts and divers entertainments were arranged both by the residents and by visiting artists. With this in mind, allowing humour into the context of the workhouse is no more distasteful than including it in the contexts of pirates or the Royal Navy of the Napoleonic era (both of which are popular subjects for humour, while being widely misunderstood), and infinitely less so than the revisionist history routinely publicised by Hollywood, and which many who don’t know better are happy to accept as gospel.

On a more personal note, relatives of mine lived and died in the workhouse. I know where these were, what they were like and how they were run, be that for better or worse. Consequently, I have the right to state categorically that I know what I’m talking about. Critics are advised to do their own homework before launching allegations. I will not censor, slant or otherwise rewrite my narrative to suit the misconceptions of others.

Now, back to what I was doing………

VB