Part 13
It is less easy to describe the diet of costermongers than it is to describe that of many other of the labouring classes, for their diet, so to speak, is an “out-door diet.” They breakfast at a coffee-stall, and (if all their means have been expended in purchasing their stock, and none of it be yet sold) they expend on the meal only 1_d._, reserved for the purpose. For this sum they can procure a small cup of coffee, and two “thin” (that is to say two thin slices of bread and butter). For dinner--which on a week-day is hardly ever eaten at the costermonger’s abode--they buy “block ornaments,” as they call the small, dark-coloured pieces of meat exposed on the cheap butchers’ blocks or counters. These they cook in a tap-room; half a pound costing 2_d._ If time be an object, the coster buys a hot pie or two; preferring fruit-pies when in season, and next to them meat-pies. “We never eat eel-pies,” said one man to me, “because we know they’re often made of large dead eels. _We_, of all people, are not to be had that way. But the haristocrats eats ’em and never knows the difference.” I did not hear that these men had any repugnance to meat-pies; but the use of the dead eel happens to come within the immediate knowledge of the costermongers, who are, indeed, its purveyors. Saveloys, with a pint of beer, or a glass of “short” (neat gin) is with them another common week-day dinner. The costers make all possible purchases of street-dealers, and pride themselves in thus “sticking to their own.” On Sunday, the costermonger, when not “cracked up,” enjoys a good dinner at his own abode. This is always a joint--most frequently a shoulder or half-shoulder of mutton--and invariably with “lots of good taturs baked along with it.” In the quality of their potatoes these people are generally particular.
The costermonger’s usual beverage is beer, and many of them drink hard, having no other way of spending their leisure but in drinking and gambling. It is not unusual in “a good time,” for a costermonger to spend 12_s._ out of every 20_s._ in beer and pleasure.
I ought to add, that the “single fellows,” instead of living on “block ornaments” and the like, live, when doing well, on the best fare, at the “spiciest” cook-shops on their rounds, or in the neighbourhood of their residence.
There are some families of costermongers who have persevered in carrying out the principles of teetotalism. One man thought there might be 200 individuals, including men, women, and children, who practised total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. These parties are nearly all somewhat better off than their drinking companions. The number of teetotallers amongst the costers, however, was more numerous three or four years back.
OF THE CRIES, ROUNDS, AND DAYS OF COSTERMONGERS.
I shall now proceed to treat of the London costermongers’ mode of doing business.
In the first place all the goods they sell are cried or “hawked,” and the cries of the costermongers in the present day are as varied as the articles they sell. The principal ones, uttered in a sort of cadence, are now, “Ni-ew mackerel, 6 a shilling.” (“I’ve got a good jacketing many a Sunday morning,” said one dealer, “for waking people up with crying mackerel, but I’ve said, ‘I must live while you sleep.’”) “Buy a pair of live soles, 3 pair for 6_d._”--or, with a barrow, “Soles, 1_d._ a pair, 1_d._ a pair;” “Plaice alive, alive, cheap;” “Buy a pound crab, cheap;” “Pine-apples, 1/2_d._ a slice;” “Mussels a penny a quart;” “Oysters, a penny a lot;” “Salmon alive, 6_d._ a pound;” “Cod alive, 2_d._ a pound;” “Real Yarmouth bloaters, 2 a penny;” “New herrings alive, 16 a groat” (this is the loudest cry of any); “Penny a bunch turnips” (the same with greens, cabbages, &c.); “All new nuts, 1_d._ half-pint;” “Oranges, 2 a penny;” “All large and alive-O, new sprats, O, 1_d._ a plate;” “Wi-ild Hampshire rabbits, 2 a shilling;” “Cherry ripe, 2_d._ a pound;” “Fine ripe plums, 1_d._ a pint;” “Ing-uns, a penny a quart;” “Eels, 3lbs. a shilling--large live eels 3lbs. a shilling.”
The continual calling in the streets is very distressing to the voice. One man told me that it had broken his, and that very often while out he lost his voice altogether. “They seem to have no breath,” the men say, “after calling for a little while.” The repeated shouting brings on a hoarseness, which is one of the peculiar characteristics of hawkers in general. The costers mostly go out with a boy to cry their goods for them. If they have two or three hallooing together, it makes more noise than one, and the boys can shout better and louder than the men. The more noise they can make in a place the better they find their trade. Street-selling has been so bad lately that many have been obliged to have a drum for their bloaters, “to drum the fish off,” as they call it.
In the second place, the costermongers, as I said before, have mostly their little bit of a “round;” that is, they go only to certain places; and if they don’t sell their goods they “work back” the same way again. If they visit a respectable quarter, they confine themselves to the mews near the gentlemen’s houses. They generally prefer the poorer neighbourhoods. They go down or through almost all the courts and alleys--and avoid the better kind of streets, unless with lobsters, rabbits, or onions. If they have anything inferior, they visit the low Irish districts--for the Irish people, they say, want only quantity, and care nothing about quality--_that_ they don’t study. But if they have anything they wish to make a price of, they seek out the mews, and try to get it off among the gentlemen’s coachmen, for _they_ will have what is good; or else they go among the residences of mechanics,--for their wives, they say, like good-living as well as the coachmen. Some costers, on the other hand, go chance rounds.
Concerning the busiest days of the week for the coster’s trade, they say Wednesdays and Fridays are the best, because they are regular fish days. These two days are considered to be those on which the poorer classes generally run short of money. Wednesday night is called “draw night” among some mechanics and labourers--that is, they then get a portion of their wages in advance, and on Friday they run short as well as on the Wednesday, and have to make shift for their dinners. With the few halfpence they have left, they are glad to pick up anything cheap, and the street-fishmonger never refuses an offer. Besides, he can supply them with a cheaper dinner than any other person. In the season the poor generally dine upon herrings. The poorer classes live mostly on fish, and the “dropped” and “rough” fish is bought chiefly for the poor. The fish-huckster has no respect for persons, however; one assured me that if Prince Halbert was to stop him in the street to buy a pair of soles of him, he’d as soon sell him a “rough pair as any other man--indeed, I’d take in my own father,” he added, “if he wanted to deal with me.” Saturday is the worst day of all for fish, for then the poor people have scarcely anything at all to spend; Saturday night, however, the street-seller takes more money than at any other time in the week.
OF THE COSTERMONGERS ON THEIR COUNTRY ROUNDS.
Some costermongers go what they term “country rounds,” and they speak of their country expeditions as if they were summer excursions of mere pleasure. They are generally variations from a life growing monotonous. It was computed for me that at present three out of every twenty costermongers “take a turn in the country” at least once a year. Before the prevalence of railways twice as many of these men carried their speculations in fish, fruit, or vegetables to a country mart. Some did so well that they never returned to London. Two for instance, after a country round, settled at Salisbury; they are now regular shopkeepers, “and very respectable, too,” was said to me, “for I believe they are both pretty tidy off for money; and are growing rich.” The railway communication supplies the local-dealer with fish, vegetables, or any perishable article, with such rapidity and cheapness that the London itinerant’s occupation in the towns and villages about the metropolis is now half gone.
In the following statement by a costermonger, the mode of life on a country round, is detailed with something of an assumption of metropolitan superiority.
“It was fine times, sir, ten year back, aye, and five year back, in the country, and it ain’t so bad now, if a man’s known. It depends on that now far more than it did, and on a man’s knowing how to work a village. Why, I can tell you if it wasn’t for such as me, there’s many a man working on a farm would never taste such a nice thing as a fresh herring--never, sir. It’s a feast at a poor country labourer’s place, when he springs six-penn’orth of fresh herrings, some for supper, and some in salt for next day. I’ve taken a shillings’-worth to a farmer’s door of a darkish night in a cold autumn, and they’d a warm and good dish for supper, and looked on me as a sort of friend. We carry them relishes from London; and they like London relishes, for we know how to set them off. I’ve fresh herringed a whole village near Guildford, first thing in the morning. I’ve drummed round Guildford too, and done well. I’ve waked up Kingston with herrings. I’ve been as welcome as anything to the soldiers in the barracks at Brentwood, and Romford, and Maidstone with my fresh herrings; for they’re good customers. In two days I’ve made 2_l._ out of 10_s._ worth of fresh herrings, bought at Billingsgate. I always lodge at a public-house in the country; so do all of us, for the publicans are customers. We are well received at the public-houses; some of us go there for the handiness of the ‘lush.’ I’ve done pretty well with red herrings in the country. A barrel holds (say) 800. We sell the barrels at 6_d._ a piece, and the old women fight after them. They pitch and tar them, to make water-barrels. More of us would settle in the country, only there’s no life there.”
The most frequented round is from Lambeth to Wandsworth, Kingston, Richmond, Guildford, and Farnham. The costermonger is then “sold out,” as he calls it,--he has disposed of his stock, and returns by the way which is most lightly tolled, no matter if the saving of 1_d._ or 2_d._ entail some miles extra travelling. “It cost me 15_d._ for tolls from Guildford for an empty cart and donkey,” said a costermonger just up from the country.
Another round is to Croydon, Reigate, and the neighbourhoods; another to Edgeware, Kilburn, Watford, and Barnet; another to Maidstone; but the costermonger, if he starts trading at a distance, as he now does frequently, has his barrow and goods sent down by railway to such towns as Maidstone, so he saves the delay and cost of a donkey-cart. A “mate” sees to the transmission of the goods from London, the owner walking to Maidstone to be in readiness to “work” them immediately he receives them. “The railway’s an ease and a saving,” I was told; “I’ve got a stock sent for 2_s._, and a donkey’s keep would cost that for the time it would be in travelling. There’s 5,000 of us, I think, might get a living in the country, if we stuck to it entirely.”
If the country enterprise be a failure, the men sometimes abandon it in “a pet,” sell their goods at any loss, and walk home, generally getting drunk as the first step to their return. Some have been known to pawn their barrow on the road for drink. This they call “doing queer.”
In summer the costermongers carry plums, peas, new potatoes, cucumbers, and quantities of pickling vegetables, especially green walnuts, to the country. In winter their commodities are onions, fresh and red herrings, and sprats. “I don’t know how it is,” said one man to me, “but we sell ing-uns and all sorts of fruits and vegetables, cheaper than they can buy them where they’re grown; and green walnuts, too, when you’d think they had only to be knocked off a tree.”
Another costermonger told me that, in the country, he and his mates attended every dance or other amusement, “if it wasn’t too respectable.” Another said: “If I’m idle in the country on a Sunday, I never go to church. I never was in a church; I don’t know why, for my silk handkerchief’s worth more than one of their smock-frocks, and is quite as respectable.”
Some costermongers confine their exertions to the fairs and races, and many of them are connected with the gipsies, who are said to be the usual receivers of the stolen handkerchiefs at such places.
OF THE EARNINGS OF COSTERMONGERS.
The earnings of the costermonger--the next subject of inquiry that, in due order, presents itself--vary as much as in more fashionable callings, for he is greatly dependent on the season, though he may be little affected by London being full or empty.
Concurrent testimony supplied me with the following estimate of their earnings. I cite the average earnings (apart from any charges or drawbacks), of the most staple commodities:
In January and February the costers generally sell fish. In these months the wealthier of the street fishmongers, or those who can always command “money to go to market,” enjoy a kind of monopoly. The wintry season renders the supply of fish dearer and less regular, so that the poorer dealers cannot buy “at first hand,” and sometimes cannot be supplied at all; while the others monopolise the fish, more or less, and will not sell it to any of the other street-dealers until a profit has been realised out of their own regular customers, and the demand
## partially satisfied. “Why, I’ve known one man sell 10_l._ worth of
fish--most of it mackarel--at his stall in Whitecross-street,” said a costermonger to me, “and all in one snowy day, in last January. It was very stormy at that time, and fish came in unregular, and he got a haul. I’ve known him sell 2_l._ worth in an hour, and once 2_l._ 10_s._ worth, for I then helped at his stall. If people has dinner
## parties they must have fish, and gentlemen’s servants came to buy.” The
_average_ earnings however of those that “go rounds” in these months are computed not to exceed 8_s._ a week; Monday and Saturday being days of little trade in fish.
“March is dreadful,” said an itinerant fish seller to me; “we don’t average, I’m satisfied, more nor 4_s._ a week. I’ve had my barrow idle for a week sometimes--at home every day, though it had to be paid for, all the same. At the latter end of March, if it’s fine, it’s 1_s._ a week better, because there’s flower roots in--‘all a-growing,’ you know, sir. And that lasts until April, and we then make above 6_s._ a week. I’ve heard people say when I’ve cried ‘all a-growing’ on a fine-ish day, ‘Aye, now summer’s a-coming.’ I wish you may get it, says I to myself; for I’ve studied the seasons.”
In May the costermonger’s profit is greater. He vends fresh fish--of which there is a greater supply and a greater demand, and the fine and often not very hot weather insures its freshness--and he sells dried herrings and “roots” (as they are called) such as wall-flowers and stocks. The average earnings then are from 10_s._ to 12_s._ a week.
In June, new potatoes, peas, and beans tempt the costermongers’ customers, and then his earnings rise to 1_l._ a week. In addition to this 1_l._, if the season allow, a costermonger at the end of the week, I was told by an experienced hand, “will earn an extra 10_s._ if he has anything of a round.” “Why, I’ve cleared thirty shillings myself,” he added, “on a Saturday night.”
In July cherries are the principal article of traffic, and then the profit varies from 4_s._ to 8_s._ a day, weather permitting, or 30_s._ a week on a low average. On my inquiry if they did not sell fish in that month, the answer was, “No, sir; we pitch fish to the ----; we stick to cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and ripe currants and gooseberries. Potatoes is getting good and cheap then, and so is peas. Many a round’s worth a crown every day of the week.”
In August, the chief trading is in Orleans plums, green-gages, apples and pears, and in this month the earnings are from 5_s._ to 6_s._ a day. [I may here remark that the costermongers care little to deal in either vegetables or fish, “when the fruit’s in,” but they usually carry a certain supply of vegetables all the year round, for those customers who require them.]
In September apples are vended, and about 2_s._ 6_d._ a day made.
In October “the weather gets cold,” I was told, “and the apples gets fewer, and the day’s work’s over at four; we then deals most in fish, such as soles; there’s a good bit done in oysters, and we may make 1_s._ or 1_s._ 6_d._ a day, but it’s uncertain.”
In November fish and vegetables are the chief commodities, and then from 1_s._ to 1_s._ 6_d._ a day is made; but in the latter part of the month an extra 6_d._ or 1_s._ a day may be cleared, as sprats come in and sell well when newly introduced.
In December the trade is still principally in fish, and 12_d._ or 18_d._ a day is the costermonger’s earnings. Towards the close of the month he makes rather more, as he deals in new oranges and lemons, holly, ivy, &c., and in Christmas week he makes 3_s._ or 4_s._ a day.
These calculations give an average of about 14_s._ 6_d._ a week, when a man pursues his trade regularly. One man calculated it for me at 15_s._ average the year through--that is supposing, of course, that the larger earnings of the summer are carefully put by to eke out the winter’s income. This, I need hardly say, is never done. Prudence is a virtue, which is comparatively unknown to the London costermongers. They have no knowledge of savings’-banks; and to expect that they themselves should keep their money by them untouched for months (even if they had the means of so doing) is simply to expect impossibilities--to look for the continued withstanding of temptation among a class who are unused to the least moral or prudential restraint.
_Some_ costers, I am told, make upwards of 30_s._ a week all the year round; but allowing for cessations in the street-trade, through bad weather, neglect, ill-health, or casualty of any kind, and taking the more prosperous costers with the less successful--the English with the Irish--the men with the women--perhaps 10_s._ a week may be a fair average of the earnings of the entire body the year through.
These earnings, I am assured, were five years ago at least 25 per cent. higher; some said they made half as much again: “I can’t make it out how it is,” said one man, “but I remember that I could go out and sell twelve bushel of fruit in a day, when sugar was dear, and now, when sugar’s cheap, I can’t sell three bushel on the same round. Perhaps we want thinning.”
Such is the state of the working-classes; say all the costers, they have little or no money to spend. “Why, I can assure you,” declared one of the parties from whom I obtained much important information, “there’s my missis--she sits at the corner of the street with fruit. Eight years ago she would have taken 8_s._ out of that street on a Saturday, and last Saturday week she had one bushel of apples, which cost 1_s._ 6_d._ She was out from ten in the morning till ten at night, and all she took that day was 1_s._ 7-1/2_d._ Go to whoever you will, you will hear much upon the same thing.” Another told me, “The costers are often obliged to sell the things for what they gave for them. The people haven’t got money to lay out with them--they tell us so; and if they are poor we must be poor too. If we can’t get a profit upon what goods we buy with our stock-money, let it be our own or anybody’s else, we are compelled to live upon it, and when that’s broken into, we must either go to the workhouse or starve. If we go to the workhouse, they’ll give us a piece of dry bread, and abuse us worse than dogs.” Indeed, the whole course of my narratives shows how the costers generally--though far from universally--complain of the depressed state of their trade. The following statement was given to me by a man who, for twelve years, had been a stall-keeper in a street-market. It shows to what causes he (and I found others express similar opinions) attributes the depression:--
“I never knew things so bad as at present--never! I had six prime cod-fish, weighing 15lbs. to 20lbs. each, yesterday and the day before, and had to take two home with me last night, and lost money on the others--besides all my time, and trouble, and expense. I had 100 herrings, too, that cost 3_s._--prime quality, and I only sold ten out of them in a whole day. I had two pads of soles, sir, and lost 4_s._--that is one pad--by them. I took only 4_s._ the first day I laid in this stock, and only 2_s._ 6_d._ the next; I then had to sell for anything I could get, and throw some away. Yet, people say mine’s a lazy, easy life. I think the fall off is owing to meat being so cheap, ’cause people buy that rather than my goods, as they think there’s more stay in it. I’m afeard things will get worse too.” (He then added by way of _sequitur_, though it is difficult to follow the reasoning,) “If this here is free-trade, then to h-- with it, I say!”
OF THE CAPITAL AND INCOME OF THE COSTERMONGERS.
I shall now pass, from the consideration of the individual earnings, to the income and capital of the entire body. Great pains have been taken to ensure exactitude on these points, and the following calculations are certainly below the mark. In order to be within due bounds, I will take the costermongers, exclusive of their wives and families, at 10,000, whereas it would appear that their numbers are upwards of 11,000.