For a few years after 1871 the Local Government Board tried to keep the able-bodied under a separate penal regime, but this successfully deterred the genuinely able-bodied, and in practice these âTest Workhousesâ took in homeless old men or those with a variety of mental and physical ailments, and acted as overflows for the general houses. Jack London described the regime of a test workhouse in 1902,6 and since he gave an unusually detailed customerâs-eye view, some long quotations are included. âI asked them what I might expect in the way of treatment if we succeeded in getting into the Poplar Workhouse, and between them I was supplied with much information. Having taken a cold bath on entering, I would be given for supper six ounces of bread, and "three parts of skilly". "Three parts" means three-quarters of a pint, and "skilly" is a fluid concoction of three quarts of oatmeal stirred into three buckets and a half of hot water. . . .
âAnd I was informed that I was sent directly to bed. "Call you at half after five in the morninâ, anâ you get up anâ take a âsluiceââif thereâs any soap. Then breakfast, same as supper, three parts oâ skilly anâ a six-ounce loaf. . . .
6 Jack London: People of the Abyss, Panther Books, 1963. â "Then youâve got to do your task, pick four pounds of oakum, or clean anâ scrub, or break ten to eleven hundredweights of stone; I donât âave to break stones; Iâm past sixty, you see. Theyâll make you do it, though. Youâre young anâ strong."â
Jack London found that, in London at least, the number of workhouses was not enough to cope with the level of homelessness.
âAfter my two unsuccessful attempts to penetrate the White-chapel casual ward, I started early, and joined the desolate line before three oâ clock in the afternoon. They did not "Let in" till six, but at that early hour I was number twenty, while the news had gone forth that only twenty-two were to be admitted. By four oâclock there were thirty-four in line, the last ten hanging on in the slender hope of getting in by some kind of miracle. Many more came, looked at the line, and went away, wise to the bitter fact that the spike would be "full up".â
The workhouses were full because the alternative was worse.
âShould you rest upon a bench, and your tired eyes close, depend upon it the policeman would rouse you and gruffly order you to "move on". You may rest upon the bench, and benches are few and far between; but if rest means sleep, on you must go, dragging your tired body through the endless streets. Should you, in desperate slyness seek some forlorn alley or dark passageway and lie down, the omnipresent policeman will rout you out just the same. It is his business to rout you out. It is a law of the powers that be that you should be routed out. . . . But for old men of sixty, seventy, and eighty, ill-fed, with neither meat nor blood, to greet the dawn unrefreshed, and to stagger through the day in mad search for crusts with relentless night rushing down upon them again, and to do this five nights and daysâO dear, soft people, full of meat and blood, how can you ever understand?â
The majority report of the 1905-9 Royal Commission argued that persons needing penal treatment should receive it through the Home Office, not the Poor Law Division, and put the âPrinciple of Restorationâ in place of the âPrinciple of Less Eligibilityâ. Although there was no rash of legislation following this report, the agreement to make separate provision for, amongst others, state schools, hospitals, old-aged pensioners and the unemployed1 set the tone for Local Government Board circulars, and was officially acknowledged in section 5 of the Local Government Act, 1929.1 Ten years later the Minister of Health discussed his duty to see that âas soon as circumstances permitted, all assistance which could lawfully be provided otherwise than by way of poor relief should be so provided. This policy, commonly referred to as the "break-up" of the Poor Law, takes its origin from the reports of the Royal Commission of 1905-9.â2 He went on to add, however, that the subsequent period âhas clearly shown that the Poor Law has still an important role to fulfil. . . it still remains the service whose function it is to fill the gaps left by the specialized services with their necessarily limited powersâ.3
1 B. and S. Webb: English Poor Law History, Part 2, p. 545. But homelessness was not one of the social needs to be exempted in the Majority Report from the Poor Law stigma, and remained part of a category described by Professor Bernard Bosanquet as âa failure of social self-maintenance . . . a defect in citizen character, or at least a grave danger to its integrityâ.4 A modified version of less eligibility continued to be practised in poor law institutions through to 1940, until it was overrun by old and handicapped evacuees and by the rush of victims of bombing.
Families have always been accommodated in workhouses, though it is difficult to find references to them as such, and they were broken up on entry and generally segregated except during restricted visiting hours. Separation was initially by sex, but humanitarian views towards the end of the last century favoured a more extensive break-down, to isolate the sick from the able-bodied, the young from the old. When arrangements were made in the present century for married couples to share quarters, they were half-hearted and sometimes frivolous. A guardian of the poor of the Romford Union described it thus: âIn our workhouse we had three different classes of inmate to cater for, I mean outside the hospital and mental cases. The three classes were the young and able-bodied, the able-bodied and the infirm. The men a...