GENEALOGY
My Great, Great Grandfather, the Pauper
A Life or Existence
Since the turn of the 17th century, Britain had a system in place to provide relief to the poorest strata of society. This was known as The Poor Law, a phrase that would become notorious in British social history.
Even though it started with good intentions, this was an example of “the road to hell being paved with good intentions.” Queen Elizabeth the first’s government introduced the Poor Law Relief Act, which obliged parishes to collect taxes to support people who could not work. Unfortunately, this law was not as benevolent as it sounded and was extremely unpopular with those who had to pay taxes to support it.
Although people who were physically unable to work were sheltered in almshouses, the majority were made to toil in a house of industry, and children of the poor were set to work as apprentices. The “idle poor” and vagrants could even be sent to prison under the act.
Over the years, the law was amended, mainly to take into account the socio-economic changes that were happening throughout the country. The economy changed from being agriculture-based to one that was based on the new industries that were emerging, culminating in a mass exodus from rural living to the increasingly expanding towns.
In 1834, the Poor Law Amendment Act came into law to change the original Poor Law into one of the most Draconian pieces of legislation the United Kingdom had ever enacted. The core of the act was the workhouse, which became the scourge of the impoverished classes.
Throughout the ages, there was a school of thought that believed the welfare systems were being abused and measures had to be taken to counter the abuse. The premise of the act sought to end the distribution of food and money to the needy and to get them under one roof where conditions could be controlled.
Life in the workhouse was far from the one depicted in the film Oliver, where ragged children sang their way through everyday life. The deaths of children were recorded as being caused by disease brought on by the rotting and putrid waste that was collected on the premises. Conditions were horrific.
My great-great-grandfather, James Broomhead, applied for poor law relief in 1852, which must have been his last resort. The thought of taking your family into the workhouse must have been heart-wrenching for him and, presumably, a decision that would not have been taken lightly. As well as his three children, all under the age of 11, my great-great-grandmother, Eliza, was described as being in a state of near confinement. In other words, she was close to giving birth to their fourth child. With the knowledge that people died in the workhouse due to the unsanitary conditions, the final decision to ask for help must have been very difficult.
Giving birth in the workhouse was not that uncommon; it has been recorded that in London, over a five-year period between 1861 and 1865, 12,000 women gave birth. Not only was it a danger to the child to be born in the workhouse, but it was also a danger to the mother, as you would expect in those conditions.
Henry MacKay Broomhead was the resultant child, and he lived to the age of 70, and Eliza lived to 85, so we would assume that they were made of hardy stock to survive the workhouse.
Life in the workhouse was made particularly hard to deter people from entering; the burden of paying for the upkeep of the workhouses fell on the local taxpayers who, as you would expect, wanted to pay as little tax as possible. This led to an extremely harsh living and working environment within the premises and the stigma attached when inmates left and entered back into society.
Conditions in workhouses were inhospitable, unsanitary, and brutal. The Bethnal Green Workhouse was no exception, and it featured in an article in The Lancet, the journal of the British Medical Association, on the conditions in the infirmary. There is an excellent website dedicated to the workhouses, which can be found at www.workhouses.org.uk. It is curated by Peter Higginbotham, who has written a number of books on the subject.
The report in The Lancet on the Bethnal Green Workhouse criticised the institution’s infirmary on many points, including the fact that it had no running water from 5 pm to 7 am. Even in the living areas of the able-bodied, this would be considered unhealthy, but it is even more astonishing to find this in the supposed sanctuary where the sick were tended.
There was overcrowding amongst the patients, each one having 300 cubic feet of living space, which was a quarter of the official recommendations. Bearing in mind that some of the inmates would have had communicable diseases, that statistic alone would be enough to close down a modern institution.
The Victorians had an extremely Draconian attitude towards the poor, especially those unfortunates who could not care for themselves or their families. The workhouse in Bethnal Green employed two untrained nurses to care for up to 600 patients, and it was noted that the number of medical officers was inadequate for the number of patients.
Even with the harsh conditions awaiting them, every new applicant had to undergo a rigorous procedure to be admitted to the premises. It was not a case of just knocking on the door and asking to come in. The applicant would be required to apply for admission, followed by an interview in which their particular circumstances would be assessed to ensure they were needy enough to be allowed to enter.
Applicants for entry into the workhouse must have been in dire straits to voluntarily go into such an institution, but before they could enter, they would have to prove how impoverished they were. Inmates were required to wear the workhouse uniform, and although it was not a prison, inmates were free to leave on a permanent basis. Short-term leave was only permitted in very special circumstances. The buildings must have given the feeling of a gaol as there was a strict regime to follow once inside.
James Broomhead must have been desperate to take his heavily pregnant wife and three children into that environment; to a modern mind, it seemed like hell on earth. But his circumstances must have dictated that he did.
One of the confusing aspects of genealogy is that families used forenames that had been used by previous generations, so James’ father was named James, as was one of his sons.
My forebearers entered into the Bethnal Green Workhouse, which was a large, imposing building built specifically for the task. The family would have been split up on entry and almost certainly had little or no contact once inside, as there were various age groups and sex category areas. Recreation would have consisted of walking around a courtyard, which would have been surrounded by the workhouse walls and buildings.
It was a thing with certain inmates that they would discharge themselves, have a day on the outside, and then return, sometimes the same evening, and demand to be readmitted. The problem was that they would have to go through the whole admittance procedure from the beginning and throw themselves at the mercy of the Board.
We know that James and his family left the workhouse at some stage as he reapplied to take his family into the premises for the second time in May 1857, with even more children than before. Once again, he must have been desperate as he’d witnessed the conditions firsthand previously.
One of the most famous inmates of the workhouse system was Charlie Chaplin, who entered the Newington workhouse with his mother and brother, Sidney. At seven years old, the young Charlie was separated from his mother and later separated from his brother, just the same as any other child suffering the same fate of being admitted to the workhouse. Charlie was eventually put into the care of his father when his mother was admitted to Cane Hill Asylum, a picture of which David Bowie would use as an album cover in later years. Bowie used the image in memory of his brother, who died whilst a patient there.
The work given to inmates was repetitive and hard, with long days; some workhouses even tried to operate at a profit. Mundane tasks such as rock breaking were given to the men, whilst the women were given tasks such as cleaning, cooking, or laundry work. It appears the jobs were allocated stereotypically in line with Victorian thinking. Also in line with Victorian ethics was the fact that Sunday was a day of rest, presumably not for the cooks, though.
Although it is unclear why James Broomhead entered the Bethnal Green Workhouse, I think he must have been extremely desperate to have taken that step. His trade was a turner, as was his son’s, my great grandfather, so he was, at the very least, semi-skilled. I can find no reason why he would have thrown himself on the mercy of that system; perhaps he could not find work, or perhaps he was too ill to work. I have not found any evidence either way.
I am still searching for answers, especially as to why he left the workhouse and under what circumstances he felt that he could provide for his family once again. Also, I am intrigued as to why he had to return to the Bethnal Green Workhouse five years after the first time. I am continuing my quest to find out.
