Living on Seven Shillings a Week.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 483, 25 June 1890, Page 3

Living on Seven Shillings a Week.

The case noticed a short time ago of a sandwich-board-man who had contrived to : exist on 7s a week attracted so much attention and comment, that one would imagine the feat was a rarity. As a matter of fact, and without the least exaggeration, the case has to-day thousands of parallels. In the common lodging-houses of London there are at the present moment iiving—or existing is perhaps the term — many who, if an average of their year’s earnings could be struck, would be found to have gained no more than the modest amount mentioned at the head of this article. If anyone doubts the fact, let him 4 interview ’ one of these dwellers in the 4 model ’ or 4 registered lodging-houses’ with which the metropolis abounds. Let this man speak for himself, He lives in a South London ‘Model,’ and waxed communicative under the cheering 1 influence of a beverage of his own express choice, the nature of which may perhaps be guessed. 4 I’ve lived there (at the “Modol’Jon and off these last six years. Formerly I was a copying clerk to a firm of solicitors, but I lost my situation and my character at the same time. Since then I have scraped together enough to live on by addressing envelopes and wrappers, for which I get Is 6d per thousand. Sometimes I do five thousand in the week, and now and again six, buc four is the average, taking one week with another ; for some weeks I’ve not bad any to do at all. Now and again I make an odd copper or so by doing some writing for the lodgers. Taking things all round, I should say 7s a week is a trifle over my earnings; but I can live very comfortably in the 44 Model ” on that. You see there’s nothing to pay except 2s a week for rent. That includes gas, firing, the use of a large room to sit in--where I may do my work--a kitchen to cook your 44 grub ” in, and a yaid to do your washing in. I reckon it costs me sixpence a day for food, and this is the way I spend it. Every morning, at a chandler’s shop close to the “ Model,” where they sell small quantities to suit the needs of the lodgers there, I get a pen’orth of tea—that’s an ounce—a ha'p’orth of sugar, a pen’orth of butter, and a loaf —that’s fourpence ha’penny altogether, when the bread’s fourpence a quartern. This finds me tea and bread and butter for the day. At one of the meals I have a relish in the shape of a haddock or a couple of bloaters, or two eggs, and so on. If the bread’s 2|d for a small loaf, I do with fd worth of tea. Then I’ve generally enough in the evening to get a screw of shag and half-a-pint of four ale, though sometimes I have to do without the latter.

‘ Of course I do my own washing. Nearly all the lodgers do. There’s a place out in the yard specially for it. Sunday morning is the time it’s usually done. Those who have only one shirt take it off, and after washing it sib in front of the fire till it’s dry.’

‘ How do you manage to get on for clothing ?’ 4 Oh, if I’m badly in want of anything—a coat, say—l save up through the week for it—go without my baccy and beer.’ * Yes, bub you surely cannot save sufficient in one week to buy a coat.

‘ Oh, yes ; I never give more than eightpence or a shilling for a coat. You can always get a very decent one for that at any rag shop. You see when things are very old they’re bought by weight as rags. Well, the best of these are picked out, and sold to anyone who hasn’t got money enough to buy better. You can get a suit for half-a-crown at the outside. Boots come the most expensive. You can’t often get a pair of second-hand boots to be any good for less then eighbeenpence or two shillings. You can buy the suit one thing at a time, a coat one week, waistcoat the next, and so on ; but of course you must buy both boots at the same time—though I’ve known chaps in winter time who had one boot very much worse than the other manage to buy an odd one for a copper or two at a ragshop.’

‘ Are there any of tho other lodgers as badly off as you V 4 Dozens. There’s one chap sells pills down the “ Cut.” Mondays and Saturdays are his best nights—other times very often he can’t get a “start” at all. He makes the pills up in the kitchen, generally on Tuesday afternoons, and fills enough boxes to make up a gross, with what he’s got loft from the week before—generally between two or three dozen. He reckons they cost him, with the candles he has to burn of nights—he only works at night time —a trifle over 2s, so you’ll see he don’t earn any more than I do.’ ‘I suppose a good many shoeblacks live in the lodging-houses ?’ ‘ There’s been one or more in every lodg-ing-house I’ve been in. Generally speaking, they don’t earn much —often being out twelve or fourteen hours, and not making much more than sixpence, sometimes even less. Sundays and holidays are the best time for them. Then they’ll sometimes earn as much as 3s or 4s, and occasionally even more than that. In particular cases, where men have got a good position, they may earn as much as a pound a week, but that’s very rare, as they let the “ Brigade boys ” work inside railway stations and other good places. During a wet week a shoeblack is very lucky if he has a chance to earn anything like 7s, so that unless he has saved up against a rainy day he is even worse off than myself.’ The flow of information at this point threatened to flag on account of the contents of the pint having become reduced to nothing. The appearance of another pint of the informants favourite beverage immediately produced a favourable reaction.

4 ln our crib,’ he continued, ‘there’s one old chap who says he was once an actor. He knows every town and village in England, Scotland, and Wales, and says he has played in them all, both in booths and in theatres. He’s at a theatre now, “ supering,” for which he gets a shilling a night and sixpence for rehearsals. Of course, these sixpences are a godsend, and when there are none he manages to live on the six shillings a week he gets, though sometimes he picks up a copper or two, or a drink, in the daytime, running errands for the stage hands, and such like. 4 There’s another old fellow goes round the “pubs,” selling old songs, “Tom Bowling,” “The Thorn,” and “Home, Sweet Home.” People buy them oubofpity, I think. There’s no knowing how much he earns—about as much as pays his week’s lodgings I fancy. He don’t have any meals at home—in the “Model,” I mean. Very likely he gets something to eat given him out of pity in some of the places he goes to. 4 There’s lots more cadgers, matchsellers, tramps, and beggars, bub this sorb generally only stop for a short time, and then go somewhere else. Sometimes they spend a night or two in the casual ward when they can’t pick up their lodging money.’

From what has been stated it will be seen that hero, in one lodging-house alone, are numerous instances of men—leaving women out of the question altogether—living on as little as seven shillings weekly, and many others on bub a trifle more; some,indeed, on a little less. When the number of these refuges for the poverty-stricken in London and the large provincial towns is taken into account, it will be seen what a formidable number the total must be. It is therefore evident that the poor wretch who made out a bal-ance-sheet showing 4 how he lived on seven shillings a week ’ is only exceptional so far as committing the fact to writing goes, and represents a far too numerous class. From the ‘ London Globe.’