Chapter One
Getting Your Bearings
âYou will not have gone a hundred paces along the street with a valise or bag in your hand, without having a band of street boys and loafers at your heels. They are all on the look-out for a chance of earning a penny, if you confide your luggage to them to carry, or of disappearing round the corner with it, if you turn your back an instant. If you require to cross the road, a beggar in rags will step in front of you, and sweep away the mud out of your path with his broom. You will come across these poor devils in the most fashionable quarters.â
(Max OâRell, John Bull and His Island, 1884)
Arriving on a busy Victorian street is a bewildering and intimidating experience, and an assault on the senses. There is a cacophony of noise: the lusty cries of street sellers like costermongers, muffin-men, and flower-girls; the clip-clop of horsesâ hooves on cobblestones and the jingle of their harnesses; the impromptu performances by dancers and street musicians with barrel-organs and hurdy-gurdies; and the voices of the crowds jostling for space along the half-made pavements and muddy streets churned up by horse-drawn vehicles.
âThe noise of the street is at times overpowering to a person of weak nerves, and the confusion indescribableâ, wrote David W. Bartlett in What I Saw in London (1853). âThe policeman with his leather-topped hat and baton is busy giving an order here, assisting there, and exercising in a laughable manner his authorityâ.
In addition to the deafening din, a heady concoction of unpleasant odours emanates from every corner. The stench of horse manure, animal dung and human waste overflowing from cesspits and open sewers mingles with that of rotting fish, meat and vegetables; smoke and soot; and the general odour of unwashed people and rarely-laundered clothing. Add the offensive smells created by the leather tanning industry and slaughter houses wafting in from the outskirts, and you end up with an incredible stink. It can be unbearable, but you are still outside in the open air! Just wait until you enter a buildingâŚ
What you will see, hear and smell will depend on whether youâre visiting a vast city, large town or rural village. Wherever you are, watch your step because debris, rubbish and dung are everywhere. The underclass of scavengers collects every scrap of detritus but itâs still possible to slip over on discarded peelings or oyster shells if youâre not looking carefully.
You may be shocked to see âpure-findersâ picking up dog excrement in the street with their bare hands; they sell it on to leather-dressers and tanners. An American, John Henry Sherburne, who visited England in 1847, wrote that on passing through the great thoroughfares of Liverpool, âthe most disgusting sightâ to him âwas seeing women and young girls employed in scraping up street manure with their naked hands, and placing it in baskets, or their apronsâ. He concluded, âThese scenes are so common, as not to be noticed by the citizensâ.
COME RAIN OR SHINE
The scene in the streets changes at different times of the year. In the sweltering heat of summer, clouds of dust created by horse-drawn vehicles settle on clothing, windows and faces, while piles of horse manure and dung attract swarms of flies. In her memoir Period Piece, Gwen Raverat recalled how in summer âthe thick white dust came powdering in at all the windows; rising in clouds from the horsesâ hooves, and whitening the grass and the trees across the road⌠And everywhere and all the time there was the smell of horses; it came in at the windows with the dustâ.
At all times of the year, the sooty skies create a grimy atmosphere, especially in large towns and cities, spoiling clothing and furnishings alike. âAn Old Correspondentâ from the country wrote to The Magazine of Domestic Economy in 1842, after visiting London for the season, complaining of the âmultitudinous blacksâ that poured in at every open window; spoiling each article of wearing apparel which would have remained unharmed for years in the countryâ. She suggested to her hostess that she fit muslin blinds to the windows with the positive result that âinstead of finding on my toilet table showers of black snow, my sleeping apartment and dressing-room were always airy, and nearly as clean as the rooms of my home in the countryâ.
You can experience the legendary thick, acrid fogs of English cities, especially London, at any time of the year. They are so bad that breathing is often made difficult and visibility is extremely poor. When Reverend Francis Kilvert visited London in February 1873, there was âa thick yellow fog all day. London very dark and it was of no use to go to see pictures. Candles at breakfast and needful till ten oâclockâ.
The âoozy, jammy mudâ of Gwen Raveratâs childhood frequently causes accidents when horses slip over in the middle of the street. The Victorians love a spectacle and you will see a crowd gathering whenever it happens. Miraculously, as quickly as the incident occurs, it is cleared away. There is always a good-natured driver who helps to unbuckle the harness, while another bystander calms the horse and keeps his head down.
There is a different hazard for horses during harsh winters as there are deep, frozen ruts made by the wheels of carts, carriages and omnibuses which scar the roads, rendering them dangerous and often impassable.
STREET ETIQUETTE
Although you will naturally be curious and want to linger to peer in the windows of drapersâ shops, jewellers and fancy bazaars, this is not advisable on busy city streets. You will be pushed and jostled along by people going about their daily business, so donât be surprised if you have a few bruises by the end of the day. George Frederick Pardon warns readers of The Popular Guide to London and its Suburbs (1852) to âavoid lingering in crowded thoroughfares, and keep the right-hand to the wallâ. He adds:
âNever enter into conversation with men who wish to show you the way, offer to sell âsmuggled cigarsâ or invite you to take a glass of ale or play a game at skittles. If in doubt about the direction of any street or building, inquire at a respectable shop, or of the nearest policeman. Do not relieve street-beggars and avoid bye-ways and poor neighbourhoods after dark. Carry no more money than is necessary for the dayâs expenses. Look after your watch and chain, and take care of your pockets at the entrance to theatres, exhibitions, churches, and in the omnibuses and streets.â
You would be a fool indeed if you walk about with your watch, purse or pocket-book (for holding banknotes) on show. There are pockets in a manâs coat tails, but it is best not to put anything valuable there as they are easily picked. Gentlemenâs watches are usually carried in waistcoat pockets, and a highly-skilled thief can even steal from here without the owner noticing. Ladiesâ pockets are deep in their dresses, but because of their multiple layers of petticoats or their crinolines, a pickpocket can easily put their whole hand in undetected and filch valuables hidden there.
Pickpockets have their own social hierarchy and crimes are often committed by organised gangs, each member playing their part. Henry Mayhew termed the pickpocket a âmobsmanâ in London Labour and the London Poor (1861). This criminal took his name from âthe gregarious habits of the class to which he belongs, it being necessary for the successful picking of pockets that the work be done in small gangs or mobs, so as to âcoverâ the operatorâ. The âmobsmanâ âusually dresses in the same elaborate style of fashion as a Jew on a Saturday⌠and âmixesâ generally in the âbest of companyâ, frequenting for the purposes of business, all the places of public entertainment, and often being a regular attendant at church, and the more elegant chapels â especially during charity sermonsâ.
Executions of criminals took place in public until 1868 and they always drew large crowds, making them another favourite haunt of pickpockets. âBuzzersâ specialise in picking gentlemenâs pockets, while âwiresâ are more manually dextrous and can pick a ladyâs pocket with ease. The railway âsneakâ is another thief who will quickly walk off with your overcoat, cape or portmanteau if they are left unattended. Nine times out of ten, you wonât realise youâve become a victim to thieves until after the event, but if you do notice someone getting too close for comfort, you could always shout or scream for help, or threaten them with your trusty umbrella.
As you walk about, youâll notice that advertising is everywhere, from the omnibuses and railway carriages through to the walking sandwich-board men and the hundreds of handbills distributed every day by young boys. To stand out from the crowd, the advertisers have to be creative. In Saunterings In and About London (1853), Max Schlesinger recalls seeing âthree immense wooden pyramids advertising a new panorama of Egypt; a mosque publicising âa most marvellous Arabian medicine, warranted to cure the bite of mad dogs and venomous reptiles generallyâ and a trumpeting chariot inviting visitors to Vauxhallâ.
CROSSING THE ROAD
If you try to cross a busy street at a spot other than a main crossing, you will seriously endanger your life. Horse-drawn vehicles of all descriptions are wedged in together so it is nigh on impossible to reach the other side of the road without injury. While you wait with the other pedestrians, make sure you have a penny ready to hand to the ragged crossing sweeper who keeps the area clear of mud and dung. If you do not pay him, he may not be so courteous next time.
Youâll find that some areas of the road are paved with wooden blocks, rather than cobblestones. This is to deaden the thundering noise of the traffic and also to spare the horses, since there is less chance of them slipping on wood. However, it is difficult to maintain and from the 1870s onwards, itâs more common to see roads which have been macadamised or resurfaced with asphalt.
AFTER DARK
When night falls, the hiss of the gas-lights becomes a part of the city soundscape. They are lit each evening by a man with a ladder and a hand-lamp, who also extinguishes the lamps on his round the next morning. The streets take on a cheerier feel as even the smallest shops are illuminated. From butchers to bakers, gin palaces to markets, all burn gas from one-inch tubes to attract evening customers. Youâll find that opening hours are far longer on Saturdays than on any other night of the week. This is when the working classes have been paid and still have money to spend.
One rung below them on the social ladder, the poverty-stricken live in the miserable squalor of narrow alleys and courtyards, cheek by jowl with the wealthy. On a visit to Liverpool in 1839, Lord Shaftesbury âsurveyed the town, admired its buildings, commended its broad streets, and wondered at its wealthâ. He then saw âthousands of the dirtiest, worst-clad childrenâŚpresenting a strange inconsistency with the signs of luxury all aroundâ. One peep into the side-alleys revealed they had come from the Irish immigrant quarter, where some of the most deprived people in English cities lived.
Middle-class observers (also known as âslummersâ), who visited the poorest districts of urban England, all reported on the vast numbers of children about the streets. âAt one time, in a narrow alley, I had fourteen or fifteen all round me, dirty, barefoot, one tiny girl carrying an infant, a baby still at breast but whose whitish head was completely baldâ, wrote Hippolyte Taine in Notes on England (1872). âNothing could be more dismal than these livid little bodies, the pale, stringy hair, the cheeks of flabby flesh encrusted with old filth. They kept running up, pointing out the âgentlemanâ to each other with curious and avid gesturesâ.
DOWN IN THE COUNTRY
Anyone visiting a large English city from the countryside will experience the same bewilderment that you feel as a visitor from modern times. The pace of life, the numbers of people, the volume of traffic, and the level of noise are all markedly different in rural areas.
Contrasting London with a visit to Surrey, David W. Bartlett wrote:
âHamlets, hedges, farm-houses and cottage-homes were scattered at our feet. The village green was below in full view, and out upon it were boys and girls shouting for very happinessâŚAround the farm-houses the quiet cows were gathered, and the milkmaids were at their workâŚevery garden bloomed with choice flowers⌠No rude noise startled us; the music of a tiny stream touched our ears pleasantly; there were no harsh London noises; no dismal sights and noxious scents; no whining mendicants or flaunting prostitutesâ.
As long as you are dressed correctly in Victorian attire, you can blend in easily with an urban crowd. This is not the case in a small country village where strangers are a novelty. At first, the number of stares you will attract may make you think there is something amiss with your appearance but it is simply that in village life, everyone knows everyone else.
The pretty rural Cheshire village of Davenham in the late nineteenth century was recalled by a contributor to Pat Barrâs I Remember:
âthe shops supplied almost all our wants. The public bake houses baked for the people who made their own bread, the butcher killed his own meat, also he killed the pigs for the cottagers, for almost every cottage had a sty and kept a pig. The shoe-shop sold, made and mended boots and shoesâŚThere were two tailor shops, who made everybodyâs suits and the corn miller and the saddler, also a livery stables, which had cabs and a wagonette for hire. There were also the painters and plumbers, a small builders and repairersâŚDavenham was fortunate in having so many craftsmen of one kind and anotherâ.
It is on market days when quiet country towns really come alive, as described by Richard Jefferies in Hodge and His Masters (1880): âCart-horses furbished up for sale, with strawbound tails and glistening skins; baaing flocks of sheep; squeaking pigs; bullocks with their heads held ominously lowâŚ; lads rushing hither and thither; dogs barking; everything and everybody crushing, jostling, rushing through the narrow streetâ.
WHAT TO LOOK OUT FOR
Whether youâre visiting a great city, a sleepy market town or a rural village, itâs important to get your bearings before you start exploring. Start by identifying prominent landmarks, such as the railway station in large towns and cities or, in more rural areas, the local inn. You could also try using a local map created especially for tourists, one of the by-products of railway development, which can be bought at booksellers and stationers.
As a stranger, you should think of the police officers clad in blue (nicknamed âbluebottlesâ) as your new best friends. In towns, you can always turn to them if you are lost or you have been the victim of a crime. When he visited Liverpool in 1847, John Henry Sherburne found the police to be numerous and present in every square. In The Touristâs Guide, he wrote, âTheir regulations are most admirable, and their polite attention to strangers, both day and night, is proverbial; going frequently much out of their way to serve them, and are never known to take the smallest fee for their troubleâ.
Walking around the streets, it may appear that Victorian England is an exclusively male-oriented world. Until the 1870s, unaccompanied females in the streets of towns and cities were presumed to be prostitutes so they were a no-go area for the respectable. Gradually, the look of the streets changes over time, as it becomes more common to see unmarried women and girls shopping or eating out, using omnibuses and trains...