A Winner of the Victoria Cross.
From out of the populous city men groan, and the soul of the wounded crieth out.
-JOB.
I HAVE FOUND THAT IT is not easy to get into the casual ward of the workhouse.I have made two attempts now, and I shall shortly make a third.The first time I started out at seven o'clock in the evening with four shillings in my pocket.Herein I committed two errors.In the first place, the applicant for admission to the casual ward must be destitute, and as he is subjected to a rigorous search, he must really be destitute; and fourpence, much less four shillings, is sufficient affluence to disqualify him.In the second place, I made the mistake of tardiness.Seven o'clock in the evening is too late in the day for a pauper to get a pauper's bed.
For the benefit of gently nurtured and innocent folk, let me explain what a casual ward is.It is a building where the homeless, bedless, penniless man, if he be lucky, may casually rest his weary bones, and then work like a navvy next day to pay for it.
My second attempt to break into the casual ward began more auspiciously.I started in the middle of the afternoon, accompanied by the burning young socialist and another friend, and all I had in my pocket was thru'pence.They piloted me to the Whitechapel Workhouse, at which I peered from around a friendly corner.It was a few minutes past five in the afternoon, but already a long and melancholy line was formed, which strung out around the corner of the building and out of sight.