Plight of the poverty stricken, Teesdale Mercury

Plight of the poverty stricken

Apr 17, 2008

JUST over 100 years ago, when coal from the pits near Cockfield and Etherley was being converted into coke for the blast furnaces of Teesside, a remarkable book was published about the lives of the ironworkers of Middlesbrough. The book was called ‘At The Works' and it was written by Florence Bell, wife of the wealthy ironmaster Sir Hugh Bell. 

It's a remarkable book because few people in those days ever wrote about the lives of the labouring poor in any kind of detail. Lady Bell even devoted a whole chapter to the expenditure of working families, beginning with one example where the head of the house earned only 18 shillings and sixpence a week. That's less than a pound a week in new money. ‘At The Works' was published in 1907 and is still considered to be a classic in history circles.

As far as I know, no-one ever wrote a book about poor families in Teesdale in those hard times but if they had done, I imagine it would make harrowing reading. After all, the ironworkers of Middlesbrough, while being poorly paid, were nevertheless earning wages that were higher than the average amongst working men. 

It was in rural areas, such as Teesdale, that men brought home wages that were well below average. Poverty was right here on our doorstep and the shadow of the Union Workhouse, at the top end of Galgate, was ever present in Queen Victoria's reign.

Some idea of the hardship suffered by a number of local families can be gained from a letter written under a pseudonym about 20 years before Lady Bell's book was published. The letter was written to the Teesdale Mercury by someone using the nom de plume ‘Nil Desperandum'. 

The author claimed to be ‘on intimate terms' with a man who earned no more than 7 shillings a week. Just imagine - that's 35 pence in modern money. 

Even if you make adjustments for inflation, it's still not what we would call a living wage. This man had a wife and two children to support on his meagre income. His family of four rented a single room for tenpence a week - that's all they could afford. I don't suppose there was much space for furniture in their little room. I wonder if they even had more than one bed? The family didn't pay any tax, but they were called upon twice a year to make a small contribution to the poor rate. It hardly seems fair does it?

The breakdown of the family's weekly expenditure included a certain amount on coal. The man of the house was quoted as saying: "We must have something to warm us outwardly, when we have so little warmth and nourishment within."

The room was lit only by candles: there was no gas light. The clothes that the family wore were nearly all given to them, otherwise they would have been in even greater difficulties. Out of the seven shillings a week wage, five shillings and fivepence was spend on food. Most days, the family lived on tea and dry bread. Butter was a luxury beyond their means. It was so long since they had last eaten any meat that they had almost forgotten how it tasted. 

There was an exception to this - they sometimes had scraps of bacon or the occasional tin of corned beef. The Mercury correspondent worked this out at about one penny per head per meal, with three meals a day.

Health care and children's education constituted further drains on family resources in late Victorian England. This father couldn't afford doctor's bills, but if the need arose, he could get medical help for his family with the aid of a dispensary ticket. He couldn't afford to pay the ‘school pence' every week, so one of his children went to school occasionally, while the other didn't go at all. The School Board had the authority to enforce compulsory attendance and they could waive school fees where there was hardship. Neither seems to have happened in this case. In spite of his problems, ‘Nil Desperandum' was proud to say that his friend had never been brought before the magistrates - he had never resorted to crime to help feed his family.

The writer of the letter had often heard his friends wondering how such families live. "Live," he exclaimed, "they do not!  They barely exist!" In polite company in Barnard Castle in the 1880s there was a lot of talk about life in the poorest parishes of London's East End yet, the writer reckoned, such people knew little about their own neighbours. ‘Nil Desperandum' concluded: "How true is the saying that one half of the world does not know how the other half lives."

First published in the Mercury, April 9, 2008