by David Field
As if ashamed that they had allowed this disgrace to be created in the first place, the authorities — such as there had been until the formation of the LCC three years ago — had turned a blind eye to the subsequent appearance of shanty-style developments on what had originally been open spaces, creating illegal courts, small houses, workshops, stables, cowsheds and donkey stalls. All attempts at maintaining accurate maps of the Old Nichol had long since been abandoned, as had any hope of calculating the precise population numbers.
Families with more than one child often lied to be able to obtain a room and risked being thrown out if the rent collector or landlord found out that more than one child lived with its family in one room. But it had to be presumed that all the rent collectors were blind, since the average room occupancy was believed to be eight. Given that there were usually six rooms per house, this meant that almost fifty people of all ages and states of health shared the damp unhealthy space, served by a single water tap at the rear that operated for ten minutes of each day, with the exception of Sundays and the competition for which caused many a violent brawl.
The London County Council, when established, gave priority to eliminating the worst scandals that could be identified within its poorer areas and it had wasted no time in declaring the Old Nichol to be a slum and beginning to ‘clear’ the 730 existing houses in order to replace it with alternative ‘model’ housing for working-class tenants. But before that could occur, the old houses had to be knocked down in order to clear the land for the new ones and those who cared in the slightest for the welfare of those people who would thereby be rendered homeless until the work was completed had begun to protest vociferously in the local press, on street corners and everywhere else where an audience might be found.
Those protesting the most effectively were the middle-class ‘do-gooders’, as they were called by both the more moneyed class who regarded their meddling as socially inflammatory and the working classes who felt them to be condescending. And ‘do-gooding’ was nowhere more regularly practised than in organisations such as the Charity Organisation Society, composed as it was of those whose philanthropic urges drove them to seek to improve the lives of those less fortunate than themselves, along with those more motivated towards an elevated social status and perhaps even a medal.
Realising that their greatest opportunity to silence any publicly expressed discontent regarding their plans for the Old Nichol was to sell the idea to those best placed to express their opinions in the newspapers, the LCC regularly sent its emissaries to meetings of ‘middle-class meddlers’ such as the organisation of which both Matthew and Carlyle were well-meaning members and this evening was just such an occasion.
Councillor Treadwell was already in place in the centre of the table raised two feet off the floor by means of a platform as Matthew tactfully refrained from taking a seat alongside James and Adelaide Carlyle and instead joined his colleagues from the Shoreditch Branch in a row towards the rear of the room.
The Hackney Branch person chairing the meeting rang a large handbell and the conversation among those attending ceased as he rose to his feet and introduced their speaker for the evening.
Councillor Treadwell looked every inch the self-satisfied prig that he was rumoured to be as he rose to his feet, dabbed a white kerchief across his already faintly perspiring florid face and began. ‘Ladies and gentlemen — and may I say how delighted I am to see that we have a few ladies in attendance this evening — I thank you for affording me this invitation to address you regarding the most significant initiative ever embarked upon in the short few years since the LCC came into being.
‘When completed, it is anticipated that the new housing scheme that our architects have designed will consist of blocks of the most modern and well-appointed residences for the artisan class. There will, in all, be, according to our preliminary calculations, a total of some twenty odd blocks, each containing between 10 and 85 tenements, depending on the size and location of the block. This will generate a total of 1,069 tenements, mostly two or three-roomed, which together will accommodate 5,524 persons. In the process we will be setting new aesthetic standards for housing the artisan and working classes.
‘We will, of course, ensure that existing churches and schools are preserved, so there will be no loss of either cultural or religious influence and it is intended that the leases granted to the new tenants will contain a sobriety clause, to ensure that our brave new initiative will not be marred by the sort of unseemly disregard for law and order and common decency that we have come to expect from those dwelling in the current slum that this progressive new development will replace.
‘Over here to my right is a large diagram that proudly depicts what the new scheme will look like. There are also ample copies of a pamphlet prepared for the members of the press present this evening, which they may wish to take away with them, in order that the people of the East End will be left in no doubt of the magnificence of what is already in the early stages of development. In the meantime, if there are any questions, I’d be delighted to answer them. If not, then I’m advised that refreshments are available in the room off to the left-hand side.’
A tall, thin-faced man near the front, armed with notebook and pencil, raised his hand and rose to his feet. ‘Edwin Roundhay, editor of the Morning Post. Councillor Treadwell, can you confirm the rumour that large areas of what is currently the Old Nichol have recently been bought out by so-called property developers at a cheap price and that their hired thugs are terrorising the inhabitants into leaving before their leases fall due? And can you further confirm that the properties that have consequently fallen vacant are in the process of being sold off to the LCC for this much-vaunted development at an exorbitant profit to the slum clearers?’
A nervous and angry rumble ran round the room, since these rumours had been circulating now for several weeks.
Councillor Treadwell mopped his brow nervously and assumed an obsequious grin. ‘That is a most outrageous suggestion, sir, and reeks of the foulest corruption which I am delighted to be able to refute. While it is true that the process of land acquisition has been placed in the hands of a most reputable property agency, I can categorically assure you that not a single tenant has been either ejected against their will, or terrorised into leaving prematurely.’
‘Rubbish!’ Matthew shouted before he could stop himself. All eyes turned to him and, red in the face from a mixture of embarrassment and moral indignation, he rose to his feet. ‘Matthew West, from the East End Mission in Shadwell. I regularly have occasion to enter the Old Nichol — which I suspect is more than you do — and in my capacity as a clergyman to whom they turn for comfort and hope in the evil times that have descended upon them, partly at the hand of the London County Council, I can state from experience that bully boys are visiting the area almost nightly and are threatening honest, God-fearing people whose only sin is that of poverty that if they do not remove themselves immediately, their insanitary and rat-plagued dwellings will be knocked down around them. Shame on you, sir, and shame on the London County Council! God sees your wickedness and does not collect His debts in gold!’
‘No, He sends phantoms from the old plague pits!’ came another voice and a general hubbub ensued, which the chairman brought to an end by banging a heavy mallet down on a block of wood on the table in front of him. ‘Gentlemen, please!’ he yelled. ‘Let’s keep this civilised and let the councillor answer the question put to him.’
‘While he’s at it,’ Matthew yelled back, ‘he can answer another one. What rents is it proposed will be charged for these new dwellings of which you appear to be so inordinately proud? Will they be within the means of those currently living in squalor in the worst rat-runs in the entire East End of London and therefore paying the lowest rents?’
Councillor Treadwell appeared to have been thinking quickly during the brief period made available and he adopted an almost regal, but certainly pompous, expression as he replied, ‘You may claim
to speak with the authority of God, young man, but you have no right to level insinuations against those who work tirelessly — and without remuneration, let me remind you — for the benefit of this city. I will not lower either myself or the publicly elected organisation of which I am proud to be a member by even attempting to reply to your scurrilous and totally unfounded accusations. Fie, sir, you are a disgrace to the dog collar that I notice you are not even wearing. How do we know you are not some Fenian troublemaker?’
‘I can vouch for him,’ Carlyle replied calmly as he rose to his feet. ‘I am Dr James Carlyle, surgeon at the London Hospital. Mr West is indeed who he claims to be and my dealings with him of late inspire me with every confidence in his honesty and integrity. And you, sir,’ he concluded with a finger extended towards Councillor Treadwell, ‘have some very important questions to answer.’
‘I have already indicated that I will not rise to cheap innuendo,’ Treadwell retorted with all the dignity of which he was capable, ‘so does anyone else have a question, or shall we adjourn for tea?’
‘I have a question,’ came a voice from beside Carlyle as Adelaide rose to her feet. ‘I’m Adelaide Carlyle, daughter of Dr Carlyle. My question to you is why the London County Council has no women on its governing body?’
It fell deathly quiet, but the smile that lit Councillor Treadwell’s face suggested that he was glad of the change of subject. ‘No doubt because no woman has yet achieved election, young lady,’ he oozed. ‘I, for one, would welcome the opportunity to meet regularly around the table with a lady of such beauty. Do you perhaps have in mind standing for election yourself?’
‘Don’t patronise me, you self-satisfied balloon!’ Adelaide spat back. ‘As for standing for election to the LCC, I might consider doing so if I thought I stood a chance in Hell of being elected.’ She angrily shrugged off her father’s warning hand on the sleeve of her jacket and continued. ‘No, I won’t be silenced! You patronisingly welcomed the ladies present here this evening and so far as I can see there are only three of us. Why is that? No, don’t bother opening your mouth to reply, because it’s not a pleasant sight. Allow me to answer my own question.
‘There are not more because we know only too well that we have no voice in matters such as this. When it comes to something as important as ensuring that women and children are safely housed in decent accommodation, we’re supposed to leave it to the men. Our job is to have the babies, to make our husbands feel important and to conduct the menial work such as washing, cooking and mending, while reassuring our menfolk how wonderful they are. How strong and brave they are when they beat the living daylights out of us. How we want nothing more than to subject ourselves to their vile needs and suffer yet more childbirth, yet more poverty, yet more beatings and still be thought nothing of! Did it never occur to any of you self-important bullies that we might have something to offer from between our ears as well as between our legs?’
This last remark provoked a few ‘tuts’ around the room and Adelaide turned to glare angrily at the rows of journalists with notebooks and pencils poised. ‘Will you be writing any of that in your male-dominated scandal sheets tomorrow? I very much doubt it.’
She sat down angrily and after a few desultory questions to Councillor Treadwell regarding estimated completion dates, road closures during the building stage, and possible additional burdens on ratepayers, the meeting fizzled to an end and those who remained shuffled into the queue for tea and biscuits.
Matthew caught up with Carlyle near the back of the queue and grinned. ‘Well, that was certainly telling them where they got off!’
Carlyle sighed. ‘My precious daughter will never learn, I’m afraid. She gets into the second or third sentence of what she intends to say — which usually contains a lot of good common sense — then she loses her temper and weakens her case by throwing in personal jibes and — regrettably, as this evening — somewhat indelicate turns of phrase.’
‘She had a good point, though,’ Matthew argued. ‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘She stormed off outside. I assume that she’s flounced into the coach and is waiting for me. But I need a cup of tea first.’
‘You let her out there on her own, after the things she said about men?’ Matthew asked, horrified. ‘Excuse me.’
Outside, Adelaide had not made it beyond the top step of the entrance to the meeting hall. Below her in the roadway was a ring of newspaper reporters, all eagerly scribbling down what she was yelling at them, in her intemperance, regarding the suppression of women in modern society, the arrogance and stupidity of the men who claimed to run the nation and how ‘biology has reduced women to the status of second-rate citizens.’
Matthew had just reached her side when the man from the Morning Post asked, ‘Is it your intention to stand for election to the London County Council, Miss Carlyle?’
‘I might,’ Adelaide replied stiffly. ‘And I might not. The elections are not until next year, so far as I am aware, so I don’t have to make a final decision yet. Now, if you would excuse me, my coach is waiting.’
‘If you’re right about what you said in there, no-one would vote for you anyway,’ sneered a ferrety-faced man with a notebook and pencil.
‘I would, for one,’ Matthew announced without thinking as usual.
Adelaide turned and appeared to become aware of his presence for the first time. She smiled wanly at him, but the reporter wasn’t finished with her yet.
‘And what if you were elected, then got in the family way, Miss? How could you properly discharge your duties then?’
Adelaide bristled visibly and fired back, ‘Since I’m currently unmarried, that’s hardly likely to be a problem, is it? But since you seem determined to raise the usual fatuous objection to a “mere woman” taking a role in government, I’ll be on my way. Just step aside so that I can walk to my coach.’
Far from walking away, the reporter walked up two steps, so that he was only two feet away from where Adelaide was regarding him with an expression of obvious distaste.
‘Out of my way!’ she demanded, but he persisted.
‘Do you have a prospective husband, Miss Carlyle? Or at least a gentleman friend? Perhaps this gallant young man at your side?’ he suggested with a nod towards Matthew, who’d heard enough.
‘You heard the lady. Get out of her way.’
‘Else what?’
‘Else you’ll be eating that stupid notebook of yours,’ Matthew warned him in a voice shaking with anger. ‘And I’d take the greatest delight in sticking that pencil up your ... your ... your nose. Now move away!’
The man stepped rapidly backwards down the stairs to street level and Matthew took Adelaide’s arm as he guided her to the coach further down the narrow street, to where Collins stood ready to open the door.
On the way towards it Adelaide gently shrugged off Matthew’s arm and muttered, ‘I suppose you expect thanks for that. But you were simply proving my point. A “mere woman” like me relies on the brute force of a man to survive. As long as that state of affairs is allowed to continue, women will never achieve the role in society that they deserve.’
‘I’m sorry for being a man,’ Matthew replied sarcastically, ‘but if it’s any consolation I agreed entirely with what you had to say in there.’
‘And I’m sorry for my ingratitude,’ Adelaide replied in a softer tone. ‘Here’s your anticipated reward,’ she added as she kissed him on the cheek prior to stepping inside the open door of the coach, leaving Matthew standing in the roadway in shock.
11
‘You’re in the paper,’ George West announced as he looked up from his bacon and eggs. ‘Mind you, it sounds like you were on your banana box down at the Docks again. I hope you didn’t insult that councillor too much, since we could benefit from a few more contracts from them.’
Matthew sighed and held out a hand. ‘Let me see,’ he requested, and his father reluctantly handed over that morning’s edition of The Herald.
Whoever had been covering the previous evening’s meeting had lost no time in sending his ‘copy’ down the wire for inclusion in the early edition. That was perhaps because of the air of drama that the hack had sought to inject into what had been, at best, a bad-tempered exchange of prejudices. But Matthew appeared to be on the side of the angels in the portion that read ‘Local clergyman the Reverend Matthew West advised the meeting of the truth of certain rumours that recently reached this office regarding the forcible ejection of decent citizens from existing homes in the Old Nichol at the hands of “bully boys” employed by the LCC to ensure that they get vacant possession in early course. The bravery of upstanding citizens such as the Reverend West is to be commended and one hopes that nothing ill will befall him as the result of his candour.’
Matthew scanned the rest of the article quickly, but — as she had predicted — there was no reference to Adelaide’s outburst. He handed the newspaper back across the breakfast table with a sigh, mentally preparing himself to answer to his Mission superintendent. It was as well that he did, because he was barely through the door of the East End Mission before the man in question poked gestured with his head for Matthew to join him.
‘Congratulations on speaking out so boldly about what’s really going on in the Old Nichol,’ Superintendent Livingstone said, ‘but a note of caution, if I may. We prefer to go about our ministry here in the East End Mission in humility and silence, foreswearing publicity. And I assume that you did not refer to yourself as a ‘Reverend’, given that you have not yet been allocated to a permanent living?’
‘Indeed not,’ Mathew confirmed. ‘In fact that pompous ass Councillor Treadwell commented on the fact that I was not wearing a dog collar, given that I’m not yet entitled to one. We’ve discussed this difficulty before and I have been ordained.’
‘Believe me, Matthew,’ Livingstone reassured him, ‘I sympathise with your plight and that of every other young man on the first rung of our ladder, but the policy has been agreed by the Senior Trustees. The thinking, as you well know, is that we gain humility by not hiding behind costumes and that one learns to be more persuasive in street preaching when one is not wearing the collar that denotes one’s vocation.’