Part 126

“Yes, some crossings is worth a good deal of money. There was a black in Regent-street, at the corner of Conduit-street, I think, who had two or three houses--at least, I’ve heard so; and I know for a certainty that the man in Cavendish-square used to get so much a week from the Duke of Portland--he got a shilling a-day, and eighteenpence on Sundays. I don’t know why he got more on Sundays. I don’t know whether he gets it since the old Duke’s death.

“The boys worry me. I mean the little boys with brooms; they are an abusive set, and give me a good deal of annoyance; they are so very cheeky; they watch the police away; but if they see the police coming, they bolt like a shot. There are a great many Irish lads among them. There were not nearly so many boys about a few years ago.

“I once made eighteenpence in one day, that was the best day I ever made: it was very bad weather: but, take the year through, I don’t make more than sixpence a-day.

“I haven’t worked at bricklaying for a matter of six year. What did I do for the two years before I took to crossing-sweeping? Why, sir, I had saved a little money, and managed to get on somehow. Yes, I have had my troubles, but I never had what I call great ones, excepting my wife’s blindness. She was blind, sir, for eleven year, and so I had to fight for everything: she has been dead two year, come September.

“I have seven children, five boys and two girls; they are all grown up and got families. Yes, they ought, amongst them, to do something for me; but if you have to trust to children, you will soon find out what _that_ is. If they want anything of you, they know where to find you; but if you want anything of them, it’s no go.

“I think I made more money when first I swept this crossing than I do now; it’s not a _good_ crossing, sir. Oh, no; but it’s handy home, you see. When a shower of rain comes on, I can run home, and needn’t go into a public-house; but it’s a poor neighbourhood.

“Oh yes, indeed sir, I am always here. Certainly; I am laid up sometimes for a day with my feet. I am subject to the rheumatic gout, you see. Well, I don’t know whether so much standing has anything to do with it.

“Yes, sir, I _have_ heard of what you call ‘shutting-up shop.’ I never heard it called by that name before, though; but there’s lots of sweepers as sweep back the dirt before leaving at night. I know they do, some of them. I never did it myself--I don’t care about it; I always think there’s the trouble of sweeping it back in the morning.

“People liberal? No, sir, I don’t think there are many liberal people about; if people were liberal I should make a good deal of money.

“Sometimes, after I get home, I read a book, if I can borrow one. What do I read? Well, novels, when I can get them. What did I read last night? Well, _Reynolds’s Miscellany_; before that I read the _Pilgrim’s Progress_. I have read it three times over; but there’s always something new in it.

“Well, weather makes very little difference in this neighbourhood. My rent is two-and-sixpence a-week. I have a little relief from the parish. How much? Two-and-sixpence. How much does my living cost? Well, I am forced to live on what I can get. I manage as well as I can; if I have a good week, I spend it--I get more nourishment then, that’s all.

“I used to smoke, sir, a great deal, but I haven’t touched a pipe for a matter of forty year. Yes, sir, I take snuff, Scotch and Rappee, mixed. If I go without a meal of victuals, I must have my snuff. I take an ounce a-week, sir; it costs fourpence--that there is the only luxury I get, unless somebody gives me a half pint of beer.

“I very rarely get an odd job, this is not the neighbourhood for them things.

“Yes, sir, I go to church on Sunday; I go to All Souls’, in Langham-place, the church with the sharp spire. I go in the morning; once a day is quite enough for me. In the afternoon, I generally take a walk in the Park, or I go to see one of my young ones; they won’t come to the old crossing-sweeper, so I go to them.”

A REGENT-STREET CROSSING-SWEEPER.

A man who had stationed himself at the end of Regent-street, near the County Fire Office, gave me the following particulars.

He was a man far superior to the ordinary run of sweepers, and, as will be seen, had formerly been a gentleman’s servant. His costume was of that peculiar miscellaneous description which showed that it had from time to time been given to him in charity. A dress-coat so marvellously tight that the stitches were stretching open, a waistcoat with a remnant of embroidery, and a pair of trousers which wrinkled like a groom’s top-boot, had all evidently been part of the wardrobe of the gentlemen whose errands he had run. His boots were the most curious portion of his toilette, for they were large enough for a fisherman, and the portion unoccupied by the foot had gone flat and turned up like a Turkish slipper.

He spoke with a tone and manner which showed some education. Once or twice whilst I was listening to his statement he insisted upon removing some dirt from my shoulder, and, on leaving, he by force seized my hat and brushed it--all which habits of attention he had contracted whilst in service.

I was surprised to see stuck in the wristband of his coat-sleeve a row of pins, arranged as neatly as in the papers sold at the mercers’.

“Since the Irish have come so much--the boys, I mean--my crossing has been completely cut up,” he said; “and yet it is in as good a spot as could well be, from the County Fire Office (Mr. Beaumont as owns it) to Swan and Edgar’s. It ought to be one of the fust crossings in the kingdom, but these Irish have spiled it.

“I should think, as far as I can guess, I’ve been on it eight year, if not better; but it was some time before I got known. You see, it does a feller good to be some time on a crossing; but it all depends, of course, whether you are honest or not, for it’s according to your honesty as you gets rewarded. By rewarded, I means, you gets a character given to you by word of mouth. For instance, a party wants me to do a job for ’em, and they says, ‘Can you get any lady or gentleman to speak for you?’ And I says, ‘Yes;’ and I gets my character by word of mouth--that’s what I calls being rewarded.

“Before ever I took a broom in hand, the good times had gone for crossings and sweepers. The good times was thirty year back. In the regular season, when _they_ (the gentry) are in town, I _have_ taken from one and sixpence to two shillings a-day; but every day’s not alike, for people stop at home in wet days. But, you see, in winter-time the crossings ain’t no good, and then we turn off to shovelling snow; so that, you see, a shilling a-day is even too high for us to take regular all the year round. Now, I ain’t taken a shilling, no, nor a blessed bit of silver, for these three days. All the quality’s out of town.

“It ain’t what a man gets on a crossing as keeps him; _that_ ain’t worth mentioning. I don’t think I takes sixpence a-day regular--all the year round, mind--on the crossing. No, I’d take my solemn oath I don’t! If you was to put down fourpence it would be nearer the mark. I’ll tell you the use of a crossing to such as me and my likes. It’s our shop, and it ain’t what we gets a-sweeping, but it’s a place like for us to stand, and then people as wants us, comes and fetches us.

“In the summer I do a good deal in jobs. I do anything in the portering line, or if I’m called to do boots and shoes, or clean knives and forks, then I does that. But that’s only when people’s busy; for I’ve only got one regular place I goes to, and that’s in A---- street, Piccadilly. I goes messages, parcels, letters, and anything that’s required, either for the master of the hotel or the gents that uses there. Now, there’s one party at Swan and Edgar’s, and I goes to take parcels for him sometimes; and he won’t trust anybody but me, for you see I’m know’d to be trustworthy, and then they reckons me as safe as the Bank,--there, that’s just it.

“I got to the hotel only lately. You see, when the peace was on and the soldiers was coming home from the Crimmy, then the governor he was exceeding busy, so he give me two shillings a-day and my board; but that wasn’t reg’lar, for as he wants me he comes and fetches me. It’s a-nigh impossible to say what I makes, it don’t turn out reg’lar; Sunday’s a shilling or one-and-sixpence, other days nothing at all--not salt to my porridge. You see, when I helps the party at the hotel, I gets my food, and that’s a lift. I’ve never put down what I made in the course of the year, but I’ve got enough to find food and raiment for myself and family. Sir, I think I may say I gets about six shillings a-week, but it ain’t more.

“I’ve been abroad a good deal. I was in Cape Town, Table Bay, one-and-twenty miles from Simons’ Town--for you see the French mans-of-war comes in at Cape Town, and the English mans-of-war comes in at Simons’ Town. I was a gentleman’s servant over there, and a very good place it was; and if anybody was to have told me years back that I was to have come to what I am now, I could never have credited it; but misfortunes has brought me to what I am.

“I come to England thinking to better myself, if so be it was the opportunity; besides, I was tired of Africy, and anxious to see my native land.

“I was very hard up--ay, very hard up indeed--before I took to the cross, and, in preference to turning out dishonest, I says, I’ll buy a broom and go and sweep and get a honest livelihood.

“There was a Jewish lady and her husband used to live in the Suckus, and I knowed them and the family--very fine sons they was--and I went into the shop to ask them to let me work before the shop, and they give me their permission so to do, and, says she, ‘I’ll allow you threepence a-week.’ They’ve been good friends to me, and send me a messages; and wherever they be, may they do well, I says.

“I sometimes gets clothes give to me, but it’s only at Christmas times, or after its over; and that helps me along--it does so, indeed.

“Whenever I sees a pin or a needle, I picks it up; sometimes I finds as many as a dozen a-day, and I always sticks them either in my cuff or in my waistcoat. Very often a lady sees ’em, and then they comes to me and says, ‘Can you oblige me with a pin?’ and I says, ‘Oh yes, marm; a couple, or three, if you requires them;’ but it turns out very rare that I gets a trifle for anything like that. I only does it to be obliging--besides, it makes you friends, like.

“I can’t tell who’s got the best crossing in London. I’m no judge of that; it isn’t a broom as can keep a man now. They’re going out of town so fast, all the harristocracy; though it’s middling classes--such as is in a middling way like--as is the best friends to me.”

A TRADESMAN’S CROSSING-SWEEPER.

A man who had worked at crossing-sweeping as a boy when he first came to London, and again when he grew too old to do his work as a labourer in a coal-yard, gave me a statement of the kind of life he led, and the earnings he made. He was an old man, with a forehead so wrinkled that the dark, waved lines reminded me of the grain of oak. His thick hair was, despite his great age--which was nearly seventy--still dark; and as he conversed with me, he was continually taking off his hat, and wiping his face with what appeared to be a piece of flannel, about a foot square.

His costume was of what might be called “the all-sorts” kind, and, from constant wear, it had lost its original colour, and had turned into a sort of dirty green-grey hue. It consisted of a waistcoat of tweed, fastened together with buttons of glass, metal, and bone; a tail-coat, turned brown with weather, a pair of trousers repaired here and there with big stitches, like the teeth of a comb, and these formed the extent of his wardrobe. Around the collar of the coat and waistcoat, and on the thighs of the pantaloons, the layers of grease were so thick that the fibre of the cloth was choked up, and it looked as if it had been pieced with bits of leather.

Rubbing his unshorn chin, whereon the bristles stood up like the pegs in the barrel of a musical-box--until it made a noise like a hair-brush, he began his story:--

“I’m known all about in Parliament-street--ay, every bit about them parts,--for more than thirty year. Ay, I’m as well known as the statty itself, all about them parts at Charing-cross. Afore I took to crossing-sweeping I was at coal-work. The coal-work I did was backing and filling, and anythink in that way. I worked at Wood’s, and Penny’s, and Douglas’s. They were good masters, Mr. Wood ’specially; but the work was too much for me as I got old. There was plenty of coal work in them times; indeed, I’ve yearned as much as nine shillings of a day. That was the time as the meters was on. Now men can hardly earn a living at coal-work. I left the coal-work because I was took ill with a fever, as was brought on by sweating--over-_exaction_ they called it. It left me so weak I wasn’t able to do nothink in the yards.

“I know Mr. G----, the fishmonger, and Mr. J----, the publican. I should think Mr. J---- has knowed me this eight-and-thirty-year, and they put me on to the crossing. You see, when I was odd man at a coal job, I’d go and do whatever there was to be done in the neighbourhood. If there was anythink as Mr. G----’s men couldn’t do--such as carrying fish home to a customer, when the other men were busy--I was sent for. Or Mr. J---- would send me with sperrits--a gallon, or half a gallon, or anythink of that sort--a long journey. In fact, I’d get anythink as come handy.

“I had done crossing-sweeping as a boy, before I took to coal-work, when I first come out of the country. My own head first put me up to the notion, and that’s more than fifty year ago--ay, more than that; but I can’t call to mind exactly, for I’ve had no parents ever since I was eight year old, and now I’m nigh seventy; but it’s as close as I can remember. I was about thirteen at that time. There was no police on then, and I saw a good bit of road as was dirty, and says I, ‘That’s a good spot to keep clean,’ and I took it. I used to go up to the tops of the houses to throw over the snow, and I’ve often been obliged to get men to help me. I suppose I was about the first person as ever swept a crossing in Charing-cross; (here, as if proud of the fact, he gave a kind of moist chuckle, which ended in a fit of coughing). I used to make a good bit of money then; but it ain’t worth nothink, now.

“After I left coal-backing, I went back to the old crossing opposite the Adm’ralty gates, and I stopped there until Mr. G---- give me the one I’m on now, and thank him for it, I says. Mr. G---- had the crossing paved, as leads to his shop, to accommodate the customers. He had a German there to sweep it afore me. He used to sweep in the day--come about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning, and then at night he turned watchman; for when there was any wenson, as Mr. G---- deals in, hanging out, he was put to watch it. This German worked there, I reckon, about seven year, and when he died I took the crossing.

“The crossing ain’t much of a living for any body--that is, what I takes on it. But then I’ve got regular customers as gives me money. There’s Mr. G----, he gives a shilling a-week; and there’s Captain R----, of the Adm’ralty, he gives me sixpence a fortnight; and another captain, of the name of R----, he gives me fourpence every Sunday. Ah! I’d forgot Mr. O----, the Secretary at the Adm’ralty; he gives me sixpence now and then. Besides, I do a lot of odd jobs for different people; they knows where to come and find me when they wants me. They gets me to carry letters, or a parcel, or a box, or anythink of that there. I has a bit of vittals, too, give me every now and then; but as for money, it’s very little as I get on the crossings--perhaps seven or eight shilling a-week, reg’lar customers and all.

“I never heard of anybody as was leaving a crossing selling it; no, never. My crossing ain’t a reg’lar one as anybody could have. If I was to leave, it depends upon whether Mr. G---- would like to have the party, as to who gets it. There’s no such thing as turning a reg’lar sweeper out, the police stops that. I’ve been known to them for years, and they are very kind to me. As they come’s by they says, ‘Jimmy, how are you?’ You see, my crossing comes handy for them, for it’s agin Scotland-yard; and when they turns out in their clean boots it saves their blacking.

“Lord G---- used to be at the Adm’ralty, but he ain’t there now; I don’t know why he left, but he’s gone. He used to give me sixpence every now and then when he come over. I was near to my crossing when Mr. Drummond was shot, but I wasn’t near enough to hear the pistol; but I didn’t see nothink. I know’d the late Sir Robert Peel, oh, certantly, but he seldom crossed over my crossing, though whenever he did, he’d give me somethink. The present Sir Robert goes over to the chapel in Spring-gardens when he’s in town, but he keeps on the other side of the way; so I never had anythink from him. He’s the very picture of his father, and I knows him from that, only his father were rather stouter than he is. I don’t know none of the members of parliament, they most on ’em keeps on shifting so, that I hasn’t no time to recognise ’em.

“The watering-carts ain’t no friends of our’n. They makes dirt and no pay for cleaning it. There’s so much traffic with coaches and carts going right over my crossing that a fine or wet day don’t make much difference to me, for people are afraid to cross for fear of being run over. I’m forced to have my eyes about me and dodge the wehicles. I never heerd, as I can tell on, of a crossing-sweeper being run over.”

2. THE ABLE-BODIED FEMALE CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

THE OLD WOMAN “OVER THE WATER.”

She is the widow of a sweep--“as respectable and ’dustrious a man,” I was told, “as any in the neighbourhood of the ‘Borough;’ he was a short man, sir,--very short,” said my informant, “and had a weakness for top-boots, white hats, and leather breeches,” and in that unsweeplike costume he would parade himself up and down the Dover and New Kent-roads. He had a capital connexion (or, as his widow terms it, “seat of business”), and left behind him a good name and reputation that would have kept the “seat of business” together, if it had not been for the misconduct of the children, two of whom (sons) have been transported, while a daughter “went wrong,” though she, wretched creature, paid a fearful penalty, I learnt, for her frailties, having been burnt to death in the middle of the night, through a careless habit of smoking in bed.

The old sweeper herself, eighty years of age, and almost beyond labour, very deaf, and rather feeble to all appearance, yet manages to get out every morning between four and five, so as to catch the workmen and “time-keepers” on their way to the factories. She has the true obsequious curtsey, but is said to be very strong in her “likes and dislikes.”

She bears a good character, though sometimes inclining, I was informed, towards “the other half-pint,” but never guilty of any excess. She is somewhat profuse in her scriptural ejaculations and professions of gratitude. Her statement was as follows:--

“Fifteen years I’ve been on the crossing, come next Christmas. My husband died in Guy’s Hospital, of the cholera, three days after he got in, and I took to the crossing some time after. I had nothing to do. I am eighty years of age, and I couldn’t do hard work. I have nothing but what the great God above pleases to give me. The poor woman who had the crossing before me was killed, and so I took it. The gentleman who was the foreman of the road, gave me the grant to take it. I didn’t ask him, for poor people as wants a bit of bread they goes on the crossings as they likes, but he never interfered with me. The first day I took sixpence; but them good times is all gone, they’ll never come back again. The best times I used to take a shilling a-day, and now I don’t take but a few pence. The winter is as bad as the summer, for poor people haven’t got it to give, and gentlefolks get very near now. People are not so liberal as they used to be, and they never will be again.

“To do a hard day’s washing, I couldn’t. I used to go to a lady’s house to do a bit of washing when I had my strength, but I can’t do it now.

“People going to their offices at six or seven in the morning gives me a ha’penny or a penny; if they don’t, I must go without it. I go at five, and stand there till eleven or twelve, till I find it is no use being there any longer. Oh, the gentlemen give me the most, I’m sure; the ladies don’t give me nothing.