Professional Documents
Culture Documents
in the 1880’s.
By
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the roof and there’s my robin drinking from a puddle. I’m so lucky to live here.
Thirty three people lived here in 1881, fourteen men, five women and five
children, in two rows of twelve two roomed cottages. George Redhead was the
Master and amazingly is listed in the census of that year as blind. His wife
Maria was the Matron, assisted by her twenty year old daughter, Margaret. At
sixty years old George and Maria seem quite elderly to be carrying out such
onerous duties.
Five of the male inmates, ranging in age from twenty nine to seventy, are
means. I wonder also how they fitted in to life in the workhouse. I’m sure all
inmates were relieved to find board and lodging but how degrading it must have
been, to admit you couldn’t support yourself or your family, to have to apply for
What if they didn’t offer you a place? What would become of you? And what
The Hursley workhouse was tiny compared to most in the 19th century. It was
usually one of the largest and most significant buildings in the area and even
the sight of it filled people with dread. Peter Higginbotham tells us in his
website, (see end of article), that the largest ones housed more than one
thousand inmates. They were built on the edge of towns where possible, as no
one would choose to live in their shadow. This one was built four miles from
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Winchester.
Ellen Martin and her son Henry aged twelve lived here in 1881. Ellen is
Possibly she’d been abandoned by her family for having a child out of wedlock.
How I wish I could talk to her, ask her how it was, how she spent her days.
I’m sitting at my kitchen table typing these words when something catches my
eye. I look up and there she is, standing by my window, gazing out. She’s
wearing a rough wool dress with a white smock over it. She turns around and
looks at me, her boots scraping on the stone floor and my kitchen feels
We appraise one another. I take in her thin, pale face and her rough, red hands.
‘Ellen?’ The census entry told me she’s only thirty four but she looks much
older.
‘Ellen, don’t be afraid, I just want to talk to you. About your life here.’
She sighs and relaxes her shoulders a little. ‘Oh my goodness! Didn’t know
we’d got an Inspector comin’. Matron never said anythin’ about it at prayer
time.’
I smile at her. ‘I won’t keep you long, Ellen, I know you have a lot to do. Seven
o’clock is such an early start and it’s eleven already. What have you been
working on today?’
‘I’ve been doing the mending. I’m getting good at it, Matron says. But I mustn’t
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be away from my needle too long. Don’t want her thinkin’ I’m a shirker. And
then I must help scrub out the rooms from top to bottom.’
I put out my hand to touch her thin arm and there’s nothing of her.
‘Must be about twelve years now. Ever since I was expectin’ my ‘Enry.’ Her face
closes down and she wipes her cheek. ‘They turned me out, said I was no use
‘Still. It’s not so bad. The Master and ‘is family are good to us, and they love the
boy. But I do miss ‘im. ‘E ‘as to stay on the men’s side sometimes. It breaks
‘There’s three of us sharing. Elizabeth and me are close in age, and she ‘elps
me with ‘Enry, especially when ‘is chest’s bad and ‘e can’t go to the Parish
School. Poor little soul, ‘e never seems to be really well. That stagnant pool by
I stare at her.
‘It’s at the end there. I’ll show you. Inspectors always want to see it.’
We cross the yard, and she points out the Master’s house at the far end of the
courtyard, where a foetid smell engulfs us. I resist holding my nose and peer
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studded with iron nails. A grated window looks out onto the muddy lane.
‘They puts vagrants down there. That’s if they ‘aven’t tramped on the four miles
to Winchester. Damp, reekin’ and cold as a dungeon it is. Don’t envy the
I peer down through the rusty grating. It’s like an empty coal cellar, with a dirty
brick floor, damp walls and a metal bedstead with not a single cover. We both
shiver.
Back in the yard I can’t pretend to ignore the smell from the water closets that
divide the courtyard. She wants to show me her sleeping quarters and I follow
her upstairs. Three beds are somehow crammed into the tiny room, with straw
mattresses and rough woollen blankets. No sheets or pillows here. I ask her
‘That’s for washing!’ she replies cheerfully. ‘We pride ourselves on keeping
clean. Every cottage has one and we get towels, not always enough to go
round though they reckon we’ll get some more soon. And they sees we get a
I stare at the ridiculously small container of cold water, picturing my own array of
‘Soon be dinner time. Can’t you smell it? Matron is such a clever cook. I
usually do the veggies. We like cooking with her, she’s always cheerful and
she’s good at making a little go a long way. It’s boiled bacon today with cabbage
if we’re lucky. Don’t get meat often, she knew you were coming!’
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I picture the food I’ve planned for supper, chicken pie and runner beans. And
‘Meal times are the best time of the day.’ She swallows as her mouth waters.
‘It was suet puddun’ and veggies for dinner yesterday. It’s usually bread and
cheese or gruel for breakfast and bread and cheese again for supper. They say
the food is ‘orrible in those big places. We’re very lucky here. Well fed, we are!’
We make our way over to the men’s side of the courtyard, trying to avoid the
worst of the mud. Ellen shows me another two roomed cottage where one very
‘This is Charles. Kicked by an ‘orse ‘e was and bedridden ‘ere for many a year.
Charles manages a grin through his grey beard, and is that a wink on the
wrinkled face?
‘I was a real ladies man, y’ know. They all loved me when I was young but I
couldn’t get no work no more, being lame. Matron looks out for me, sees I’m all
His rough woollen trousers, tied round with twine to shorten them, look clean
enough, and his cloth cap perches on a rough wooden bench alongside a thick
wool jacket and a smock, waiting patiently for the day when he might go out
again.
Next door is the Old Men’s day room. A rough corner cupboard houses a soap
dish and shaving brush, a religious book and some odd bits of crockery.
There’s a wooden bench, a table and a Windsor chair for all to share.
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‘I don’t see any razors, Ellen.’
‘No. They all ‘ave to grow beards. Master looks after the razors, just in case.’
I glance up at the solitary shaving brush. Surely they don’t all share this?
‘Where do you keep your personal things?’ I ask as we walk back across the
‘We don’t have much but there is a cupboard in the Women’s day room we can
use. Most of our stuff is locked away by the Master along with the clothes we
‘Oh no. You ‘ave to tell the Master, give ‘im three hours notice, and they ‘ave to
write it all down. He lets us go over to the church or to a sick relative without
any fuss. Old Thomas tried going off one day without telling nobody and ‘e got
‘Matron told us that in some places they keeps on going out and then coming in,
never know whether they’re in or out. She says they calls ‘em the ‘ins and
outs’!’
We both laugh.
Ellen smiles. ‘Well, Matron and Margaret takes care of us in the two upstairs
sick rooms and we all help with the nursing. Master has some medicines if we
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need ‘em.’
‘We ‘as our supper and then we sit and talk. Clergyman’s wife comes and
reads to us sometimes, ‘til the bell rings eight o’clock for bed. No more candles
after that. But I always sleep well after a day’s hard work.’ She stands at my
window once more. Despite her brave words she looks forlorn and exhausted.
My computer screen lights the room and I sit down again in the half light, trying
to gather my thoughts. The room feels warmer now and I know there’s no longer
I’ll keep looking out for Ellen and perhaps I’ll see her, carrying a basket of
washing to peg out across the yard, pausing to listen to the blackbird singing on
the slate roof or simply watching our robin drinking from a puddle