The eight shillings lasted three days and four nights. After my bad experience in the Waterloo Road I moved eastward1, and spent the next night in a lodging-house in Pennyfields. This was a typical lodging-house, like scores of others in London. It had accommodation for between fifty and a hundred men, and was managed by a ‘deputy’ — a deputy for the owner, that is, for these lodging-houses are profitable concerns and are owned by rich men. We slept fifteen or twenty in a dormitory; the beds were again cold and hard, but the sheets were not more than a week from the wash, which was an improvement. The charge was ninepence or a shilling (in the shilling dormitory the beds were six feet apart instead of four) and the terms were cash down by seven in the evening or out you went.
[It is a curious but well-known fact that bugs2 are much commoner in south than north London. For some reason they have not yet crossed the river in any great numbers.]
Downstairs there was a kitchen common to all lodgers4, with free firing and a supply of cooking-pots, tea-basins, and toasting-forks. There were two great clinker fires, which were kept burning day and night the year through. The work of tending the fires, sweeping6 the kitchen and making the beds was done by the lodgers in rotation7. One senior lodger3, a fine Norman-looking stevedore8 named Steve, was known as ‘head of the house’, and was arbiter9 of disputes and unpaid10 chucker-out.
I liked the kitchen. It was a low-ceiled cellar deep underground, very hot and drowsy11 with coke fumes12, and lighted only by the fires, which cast black velvet13 shadows in the comers. Ragged14 washing hung on strings15 from the ceiling. Red-lit men, stevedores16 mostly, moved about the fires with cooking-pots; some of them were quite naked, for they had been laundering17 and were waiting for their clothes to dry. At night there were games of nap and draughts18, and songs — ’ I’m a chap what’s done wrong by my parents,’ was a favourite, and so was another popular song about a shipwreck19. Sometimes late at night men would come in with a pail of winkles they had bought cheap, and share them out. There was a general sharing of food, and it was taken for granted to feed men who were out of work. A little pale, wizened20 creature, obviously dying, referred to as ‘pore Brown, bin21 under the doctor and cut open three times,’ was regularly fed by the others.
Two or three of the lodgers were old-age pensioners22. Till meeting them I had never realized that there are people in England who live on nothing but the old-age pension often shillings a week. None of these old men had any other resource whatever. One of them was talkative, and I asked him how he managed to exist. He said:
‘Well, there’s ninepence a night for yer kip — that’s five an’ threepence a week. Then there’s threepence on Saturday for a shave — that’s five an’ six. Then say you ‘as a ‘aircut once a month for sixpence — that’s another three’apence a week. So you ‘as about four an’ four-pence for food an’ bacca.’
He could imagine no other expenses. His food was bread and margarine and tea — towards the end of the week dry bread and tea without milk — and perhaps he got his clothes from charity. He seemed contented24, valuing his bed and fire more than food. But, with an income of ten shillings a week, to spend money on a shave — it is awe-inspiring.
All day I loafed in the streets, east as far as Wapping, west as far as Whitechapel. It was queer after Paris; everything was so much cleaner and quieter and drearier25. One missed the scream of the trams, and the noisy, festering life of the back streets, and the armed men clattering26 through the squares. The crowds were better dressed and the faces comelier27 and milder and more alike, without that fierce individuality and malice28 of the French. There was less drunkenness, and less dirt, and less quarrelling, and more idling. Knots of men stood at all the corners, slightly underfed, but kept going by the tea-and-two-slices which the Londoner swallows every two hours. One seemed to breathe a less feverish29 air than in Paris. It was the land of the tea urn5 and the Labour Exchange, as Paris is the land of the BISTRO and the sweatshop.
It was interesting to watch the crowds. The East London women are pretty (it is the mixture of blood, perhaps), and Limehouse was sprinkled with Orientals — Chinamen, Ghittagonian lascars, Dravidians selling silk scarves, even a few Sikhs, come goodness knows how. Here and there were street meetings. In Whitechapel somebody called The Singing Evangel undertook to save you from hell for the charge of sixpence. In the East India Dock Road the Salvation30 Army were holding a service. They were singing ‘Anybody here like sneaking31 Judas?’ to the tune32 of ‘What’s to be done with a drunken sailor?’ On Tower Hill two Mormons were trying to address a meeting. Round their platform struggled a mob of men, shouting and interrupting. Someone was denouncing them for polygamists. A lame33, bearded man, evidently an atheist34, had heard the word God and was heckling angrily. There was a confused uproar35 of voices.
‘My dear friends, if you would only let us finish what we were saying —! — That’s right, give ‘em a say. Don’t get on the argue! — No, no, you answer me. Can you SHOW me God? You SHOW ‘im me, then I’ll believe in ‘im. — Oh, shut up, don’t keep interrupting of ‘em! — Interrupt yourself! — polygamists! — Well, there’s a lot to be said for polygamy. Take the — women out of industry, anyway. — My dear friends, if you would just — No, no, don’t you slip out of it. ‘Ave you SEEN God? ‘Ave you TOUCHED ‘im? ‘Ave you shook ‘ANDS with ‘im? — Oh, don’t get on the argue, for Christ’s sake don’t get on the ARGUE!’ etc. etc. I listened for twenty minutes, anxious to learn something about Mormonism, but the meeting never got beyond shouts. It is the general fate of street meetings.
In Middlesex Street, among the crowds at the market, a draggled, down-at-heel woman was hauling a brat36 of five by the arm. She brandished37 a tin trumpet38 in its face. The brat was squalling.
‘Enjoy yourself!’ yelled the mother. ‘What yer think I brought yer out ‘ere for an’ bought y’ a trumpet an’ all? D’ya want to go across my knee? You little bastard39, you SHALL enjoy yerself!’
Some drops of spittle fell from the trumpet. The mother and the child disappeared, both bawling40. It was all very queer after Paris.
The last night that I was in the Pennyfields lodging-house there was a quarrel between two of the lodgers, a vile41 scene. One of the old-age pensioners, a man of about seventy, naked to the waist (he had been laundering), was violently abusing a short, thickset stevedore, who stood with his back to the fire. I could see the old man’s face in the light of the fire, and he was almost crying with grief and rage. Evidently something very serious had happened.
THE OLD-AGE PENSIONER23:‘You —!’
THE STEVEDORE: ‘Shut yer mouth, you ole —, afore I set about yer!’
THE OLD-AGE PENSIONER: ‘Jest you try it on, you —! I’m thirty year older’n you, but it wouldn’t take much to make me give you one as’d knock you into a bucketful of piss!’
THE STEVEDORE: ‘Ah, an’ then p’raps I wouldn’t smash you up after, you ole —!’
Thus for five minutes. The lodgers sat round, unhappy, trying to disregard the quarrel. The stevedore looked, sullen42, but the old man was growing more and more furious. He kept making little rushes at the other, sticking out his face and screaming from a few inches distant like a cat on a wall, and spitting. He was trying to nerve himself to strike a blow, and not quite succeeding. Finally he burst out:
‘A—, that’s what you are, a ——! Take that in your dirty gob and suck it, you —! By —, I’ll smash you afore I’ve done with you. A—, that’s what you are, a son of a — whore. Lick that, you —! That’s what I think of you, you —, you —, you — you BLACK BASTARD!’
Whereat he suddenly collapsed43 on a bench, took his face in his hands, and began crying. The other man seeing that public feeling was against him, went out.
Afterwards I heard Steve explaining the cause of the quarrel. It appeared that it was all about a shilling’s worth of food. In some way the old man had lost his store of bread and margarine, and so would have nothing to eat for the next three days, except what the others gave him in charity. The stevedore, who was in work and well fed, had taunted44 him; hence the quarrel.
When my money was down to one and fourpence I went for a night to a lodging-house in Bow, where the charge was only eightpence. One went down an area and through an alley-way into a deep, stifling45 cellar, ten feet square. Ten men, navvies mostly, were sitting in the fierce glare of the fire. It was midnight, but the deputy’s son, a pale, sticky child of five, was there playing on the navvies’ knees. An old Irishman was whistling to a blind bullfinch in a tiny cage. There were other songbirds there — tiny, faded things, that had lived all their lives underground. The lodgers habitually46 made water in the fire, to save going across a yard to the lavatory47. As I sat at the table I felt something stir near my feet, and, looking down, saw a wave of black things moving slowly across the floor; they were black-beetles.
There were six beds in the dormitory, and the sheets, marked in huge letters ‘Stolen from No. — Road’, smelt48 loathsome49. In the next bed to me lay a very old man, a pavement artist, with some extraordinary curvature of the spine50 that made him stick right out of bed, with his back a foot or two from my face. It was bare, and marked with curious swirls51 of dirt, like a marble table-top. During the night a man came in drunk and was sick on the floor, close to my bed. There were bugs too — not so bad as in Paris, but enough to keep one awake. It was a filthy52 place. Yet the deputy and his wife were friendly people, and ready to make one a cup of tea at any hour of the day or night.
1 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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2 bugs | |
adj.疯狂的,发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 );病菌;虫子;[计算机](制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的)错误 | |
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3 lodger | |
n.寄宿人,房客 | |
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4 lodgers | |
n.房客,租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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5 urn | |
n.(有座脚的)瓮;坟墓;骨灰瓮 | |
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6 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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7 rotation | |
n.旋转;循环,轮流 | |
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8 stevedore | |
n.码头工人;v.装载货物 | |
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9 arbiter | |
n.仲裁人,公断人 | |
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10 unpaid | |
adj.未付款的,无报酬的 | |
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11 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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12 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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13 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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14 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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15 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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16 stevedores | |
n.码头装卸工人,搬运工( stevedore的名词复数 ) | |
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17 laundering | |
n.洗涤(衣等),洗烫(衣等);洗(钱)v.洗(衣服等),洗烫(衣服等)( launder的现在分词 );洗(黑钱)(把非法收入改头换面,变为貌似合法的收入) | |
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18 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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19 shipwreck | |
n.船舶失事,海难 | |
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20 wizened | |
adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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21 bin | |
n.箱柜;vt.放入箱内;[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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22 pensioners | |
n.领取退休、养老金或抚恤金的人( pensioner的名词复数 ) | |
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23 pensioner | |
n.领养老金的人 | |
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24 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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25 drearier | |
使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 ); 阴沉的; 令人厌烦的; 单调的 | |
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26 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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27 comelier | |
adj.英俊的,好看的( comely的比较级 ) | |
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28 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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29 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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30 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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31 sneaking | |
a.秘密的,不公开的 | |
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32 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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33 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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34 atheist | |
n.无神论者 | |
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35 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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36 brat | |
n.孩子;顽童 | |
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37 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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38 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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39 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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40 bawling | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的现在分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
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41 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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42 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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43 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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44 taunted | |
嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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45 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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46 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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47 lavatory | |
n.盥洗室,厕所 | |
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48 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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49 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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50 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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51 swirls | |
n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 );卷状物;漩涡;尘旋v.旋转,打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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