The Dreaded Workhouse

By Danny McFaul

The book is about a man who was born in a Workhouse. His mother died soon after he was born. He remained in the care of the Workhouse authorities for a few years before he was found a foster home. But he went through the rest of his life haunted by the shame and guilt that he felt came with being born in a workhouse. He believed that HE should have been the one to die and NOT his mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456623951

Book preview

Guilt

CHAPTER 1

Kirk’s Early Years

Among the public buildings in a certain town I shall refrain from naming, for several reasons. I shall instead assign to it the fictitious name of Larne. In the Victorian Era there were buildings that were common to most towns, great or small, they were called Workhouses. And in the Larne Workhouse was born a male child by the name of Kirk Hansen. For some time after he was born into this world with little help from the Parish doctor, it remained a matter of considerable doubt that the child would survive to bear any name at all. That is not to say that I am insinuating that being born in a Workhouse is in itself the most unfortunate circumstance that can possibly befall a human being. But I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Kirk Hansen that could have happened. The fact is that there were complications as Kirk lay gasping on a dirty flock mattress drifting between this world and the next. If the time had been in the late 1900s he would have been surrounded by grandparents, anxious aunts, cousins, experienced nurses and doctors. But this was Victorian times when places like a Workhouse didn’t have Doctors with profound wisdom and when, but for the grace of God, Kirk could have been killed in no time; there being nobody close at hand but a toothless old pauper woman, who was an ex prostitute and acting as a nurse. She was rendered rather misty eyed by a certain amount of beer. She was assisting the parish doctor at the birth and he only carried out such matters on a contract basis. It was a tossup between Kirk and Nature as to who would win the battle for survival between them. The result was that after a few struggles Kirk breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to announce to the other inmates of the Workhouse the fact that a new burden has been imposed upon the parish, by letting out a long loud cry. The doctor had been sitting by the fire warming his hands as Kirk’s young mother spoke in a very faint tone. The doctor rose and advanced to the bed’s head. ‘You will be fine’ he told the young mother. ‘We will have you out of here in no time dear’ interposed the so called nurse, after replacing a glass bottle in her apron pocket. The patient shook her head and stretched out a hand towards her child as the doctor deposited Kirk into her arms. She kissed her new born baby boy with her cold white lips passionately on his forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed round; fell back and died. They tried in vain to revive her. ‘Ah poor dear’ said the prostitute, picking up the cork of the glass bottle, which had fallen on to the bed as she stooped to take up the child. The doctor now considered that he had done his job as he said to his assistant‘. Give me a call if the child cries too much nurse’ putting on his hat and gloves. ‘If it is a bit troublesome give it a little gruel.’ He continued and pausing by the bedside the doctor added. ‘Where did she come from nurse?’ ‘She was brought here last night,’ replied the old woman. ‘She was found lying in the street.’ With the doctor gone the old prostitute again turned her attention to the glass bottle as she sat on a small low chair near the fire to dress baby Kirk. For most of the following year, Kirk was the victim of the establishment which proceeded on a course of deception. As his mother had died Kirk was brought up by hand. This hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan Kirk Hansen was reported by the Workhouse authorities to the Parish authorities. The Parish authorities inquired if there was no female there domiciled in the Workhouse who was in a situation to impart to Kirk the love and nourishment of which he was in dire need of. The Workhouse authorities replied that there was not. The Parish authorities resolved the problem by suggesting that Kirk should be ‘farmed out’ or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch Workhouse some miles away where several other offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the supervision of another reformed local female prostitute for the consideration of five pence per small head, per week. Five pence worth per week meant a good round diet for a child then as a great deal may be had for Five pence, at least enough to fill its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. This female prostitute was a Woman of great experience, she knew what was good for children and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for her, which is why she apportioned the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use. Several years later Kirk was to become one of the brighter lads in the Workhouse. He was a little taller than other seven – year - olds, with hazel eyes and dark hair. He was full of mischief and liked playing practical jokes and he was punished of course. Sometimes he cried himself to sleep at night, but in the morning, irrepressible, he was laughing again. ‘Who was it who climbed the drainpipe in the playground and who was it who tied Officer Robinson’s shoelaces together as she sat darning socks?’ If it was not Kirk, it might as well have been, as he got the punishment and the master of the Workhouse, a bully called Fleming, vowed to break the ‘saucy little beggar.’ Life in the Workhouse was hard especially for children and once when Kirk owned up to making a sketch of the master with a square head, large eyes, and a big belly, he was taken to the discipline room, a small cell with no windows and no furniture except for a stool. The master took down one of several canes and beat the boy so severely that he couldn’t sit down for several days. But if the bully had expected to break Kirk’s spirit, he was very much mistaken. Kirk had lived in the Workhouse since birth and for some time after his mother had died.

CHAPTER 2

Kirk Leaves the Workhouse

The members of the Workhouse Board of Guardians were very sage, deep, philosophical men; and when they turned their attention to Workhouse matters, they found out at once, what ordinary people would never have discovered; the poor pauper inmates actually liked the Workhouse they thought. After all it was a regular place of public entertainment for the poorer classes; a Guesthouse where there was nothing to pay; a public breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper all the year round; a brick and mortar heaven, where it was all play and best of all no work.

‘A’ha’ said the Board Chairman; ‘We are the fellows to put this to rights; we will stop it all in no time.’ So they made a rule, that all paupers should have an alternative (they would not compel anybody not the Board). The alternative was; being starved by a gradual process inside the Workhouse, or by a quick one out of it. With this in view, they contracted with the water suppliers to lay on an unlimited supply of water; and with a corn factory to supply periodically small quantities of oatmeal; then to issue three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice a week, and half a roll on Sundays. They intended also to make a great many other wise and humane regulations. One of these regulations made reference to the ladies which it is not necessary for me to repeat. But they kindly undertook to divorce those paupers who were married family inmates; because of the great expense of a separate room and instead of compelling a man to support his family, as they had previously done, they took his family away from him and made him a Bachelor.

Ordinarily there is no telling how many applicants for   relief under these last two Rules might start up in all classes of society, if it had not been implemented by the Workhouse Board; but the Board were long-seeing men and had provided for this difficulty as the relief was inseparable from the Workhouse and the gruel. This frightened people. It was rather expensive at first, because of the increase in the undertaker’s bills, and the necessity of altering the clothes of all the paupers, which fluttered loosely on their wasted, shrunken bodies, after a week or two on gruel. But as the number of Workhouse inmates got thin so did the paupers; and the board were delighted with the expense and the savings that were made.

One fine morning Kirk had not been at the breakfast table of the Workhouse a quarter of an hour and had scarcely completed the demolition of a second helping of Gruel when one of his lesser liked Beadles Mr. Browning informed him that the Board had said he was to appear before it forthwith. Not clearly understanding what a live Board is Kirk was not quite certain whether he ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think about the matter, however; for Mr. Browning gave him a clout on the ear, with his cane and another on the back to make him take notice at the same time bidding Kirk to follow him. He was led into a large whitewashed room where seven rather fat gentlemen were sitting round a table. At the top of the table, seated in an arm-chair rather higher up than the rest, was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round, red face. ‘Bow to the Board,’ Browning roared at Kirk, at the same time cuffing his ear with his cane. Kirk brushed away two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no Board but the table, fortunately bowed to that. ‘What’s your name, boy?’ said the gentleman in the high chair. ‘Kirk Sir’ replied Kirk a little frightened at the sight of so many gentlemen and more so about why they had summoned him. These two alarming causes made him answer in a very low and hesitating voice; whereupon a gentleman in a Red Robe said he was a fool. ‘Boy’ said the gentleman in the high chair, ‘listen to me. You know you’re an orphan, I suppose?’ ‘What’s that sir?’ inquired Kirk. ‘The boy is a fool as I thought he was,’ said the gentleman in the Red Robe. ‘Hush!’ said the gentleman who had spoken first. ‘You know you’ve got no father or mother and that you were brought up all these years by the parish don’t you?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Kirk as he didn’t know what else to say. ‘I hope you say your prayers every night,’ said another gentleman in a gruff voice; ‘and pray for the people who feed you, and take care of you like good Christians.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ stammered Kirk.   ‘Well! You have come here to be educated and taught a useful trade, you are Fourteen years old and your next step is to work at something useful and suitable’ said the red-faced gentleman in the high chair. ‘So you’ll be leaving the Workhouse to live with your new master from tomorrow morning at six o’clock’ added the surly gentleman.   Kirk again bowed low in the direction of the table and was then hurried away to a large ward; where, on a rough, hard bed, he sobbed himself to sleep.   Poor Kirk! Little did he know as he lay sleeping in happy unconsciousness, that the Board had that very day arrived at a decision which was to influence his future fortunes. But they had and that was it: It was the practice of the Board that when a young man in Kirk’s situation who is growing up in a Workhouse, to look at the possibility of   sending him to sea by shipping him off in some small trading vessel bound for a distant port and the probability being that the skipper would flog him to death, in a playful mood, some day after dinner, or would knock his brains out with an iron bar; both pastimes being as is pretty generally known, favourite recreations among gentleman of that class. The more the case presented itself to the board the more the advantageous the step appeared to be. So they came to the conclusion that the only way of providing for Kirk effectually, was to send him to sea without delay. At an earlier date a Parish Beadle Mr. Crossmoor had been dispatched to make various preliminary inquiries, with the view of seeking out some Captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy without any friends; and had returned his findings to the Board to communicate the result of his mission, which revealed that there was no urgent call for a Cabin Boy. However as Mr. Crossmoor approached the Workhouse gate he encountered no less a person than Mr. Campbell, the parochial shoemaker. Mr. Campbell was a tall gaunt, large-jointed man, who was dressed in a suit of threadbare black, with darned cotton stockings of the same colour, and shoes to answer. He resembled an undertaker more than a shoemaker Mr. Crossmoor thought and to add to this Mr. Campbell’s features were not naturally intended to wear a smiling aspect, but he was in general rather of a playful joking disposition as he advanced to Mr. Crossmoor and shook him cordially by the hand. ‘I have just sold three pairs of bespoke shoes Mr. Crossmoor,’ said the shoemaker. ‘You’ll make your fortune one day, Mr. Campbell,’ said the Beadle, as he thrust his thumb and forefinger into the snuff-box of the shoemaker’s: which was an ingenious little model of a patent child’s shoe. ‘I say you’ll make your fortune, Mr. Campbell,’ repeated Mr. Crossmore tapping the shoemaker on the shoulder in a friendly manner with his cane. ‘Think so?’ said the shoemaker in a tone which half admitted and half disputed the probability of the event. ‘The prices allowed by the board are very small for shoes, Mr Campbell, ‘So are the shoes,’ replied the Beadle: with precisely as near an approach to a laugh as an official ought to indulge in. Mr. Crossmore was much tickled at this: as of course he ought to be; and laughed a long time without cessation. ‘Well, well, Mr. Campbell,’ he said at length, ‘there’s no denying that, since the new system of feeding has come in, the shoes are something much   narrower and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Crossmoor. Well seasoned Leather is an expensive article sir and bows and buckles have to be bought from the City of Belfast. ‘Well, well,’ said Mr. Crossmoor, ‘every trade has its drawbacks. A fair profit is, of course, allowable.’ ‘Of course, of course,’ replied the shoemaker; ‘and if I don’t get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long-run, you see, he! he! he!’ ‘Just so’ said the Beadle. ‘Though I must say Mr. Crossmoor,’ that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage: which is, that all the thin and skinny people go off the quickest. The people who have paid rates and taxes for many years, are the first to sink when they come into the Workhouse; and let me tell you, Mr. Crossmore that one or two shoe sizes less than one’s calculation makes a great hole in one’s profits: especially when one has a family to provide for, sir.’ As Mr. Campbell said this, with the air of an ill-used man; and as the Beadle felt that it rather tended to convey a reflection on the honour of the parish; the latter gentleman thought it advisable to change the subject. Kirk Hansen being uppermost in his mind. ‘By the bye,’ said Mr. Crossmoor, ‘You don’t know anybody who wants a boy, do you? A porochial ‘aprentis, who is at present a dead-weight; a millstone, as I may say, round the porochial throat? Liberal terms Mr. Campbell, liberal terms?’ As the Beadle spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above him, and gave three distinct raps upon the words ‘five pounds’: which were printed thereon in Roman capitals of gigantic size. ‘Gadso!’ said the shoemaker taking Mr. Crossmoor by the gilt-edged lapel of his official coat; ‘That’s just the very thing I wanted to speak to you about. You know dear me, what a very elegant button this is, Mr. Crossmoor! I never noticed it before.’ ‘Yes, I think it rather pretty,’ said the Beadle, glancing proudly downwards at the large brass buttons which embellished his coat. ‘The die is the same as the parochial