Shadows of the Workhouse

provision of holidays for workhouse children. This work was also close to the heart of his wife, Lady Lavinia. They had made a systematic study of the workhouse system, and though they acknowledged that conditions had improved a great deal since the 1850s, they had seen with their own eyes hundreds of grey, unsmiling children crowded into workhouses and orphanages and were determined to do something about it. The idea of an annual holiday was Lady Lavinia’s. Surely, she argued, two weeks by the sea for unwanted children, with healthy air and sunshine, was not too much to ask of society?
    The opposition was loud in its scorn. “Holidays! For pauper children! What next? Let them learn to be grateful that they are given food and shelter.”
    Sir Ian and his lady battled on. When it was proved that one of the causes of rickets was lack of sunlight, they knew that this information could be used to further their cause. Were not many workhouse children afflicted with rickets? And were they not advocating a holiday in the sunshine?
    Eventually they won the debate and, to their overwhelming relief, the committee passed, by a narrow majority, the resolution that money should be set aside for holidays for the children of one London workhouse. Additional funds were approved for a further five, if the experiment proved successful.
    Suitable premises were found in Kent. These consisted of a series of large barns and sheds that could be adapted as dormitories for the children, who would sleep on straw mattresses on the floor. One of the sheds could be converted into a kitchen. The sheds were situated in fields that ran down to the sea. Sir Ian and members of the committee travelled to Kent to inspect the site and the accommodation. It all seemed perfect.
    Sir Ian’s next visit was to the workhouse selected for the experiment, in order to address the children himself and tell them of their good fortune. He wasn’t going to hand over that pleasant task to anyone else, he told his wife. Was it not he who had haggled with the committee, hour after hour? Now he was going to have the reward of seeing the children’s faces when they were told.
    Accordingly Sir Ian had taken the train from Oxford, and was in a cab bound for his destination in the East End. He told the cabman to halt about a mile from the workhouse, because he wanted to walk the rest of the way in order to absorb the atmosphere. He attracted much attention in the London streets. He was tall and slim and well dressed. He was also clean. “Vere’s a toff, nah, do-goodin’,” was one of many whispers as he passed. Sir Ian was unaware of the sideways glances. His mind was fixed on his mission and he was determined that, in years ahead, the holiday project would be expanded to all workhouse children, nationwide.

    The crocodile of little girls was returning from school. Jane was about halfway along the line, humming to herself as she marched along. She was looking at the pigtails of the little girl in front of her, watching them bounce up and down and wondering why they bounced more times than each step. “There must be some reason,” she was thinking. She looked up, and her heart stopped beating. Pigtails, marching, the street, the buildings, the very sky itself vanished from her universe. Her daddy was on the other side of the street, walking straight towards the workhouse. She stood stock-still. The girls behind piled into her, causing commotion in the line.
    “Get along there,” shouted Officer Hawkins and hit her on the head. She neither heard nor felt a thing. Her daddy had turned into the workhouse gate and was walking straight towards the main door. She knew that it was him. Not a shadow of doubt. He was exactly as she had always known he would look, and exactly like the picture in the book – tall, slim, grey trousers, a frock coat, a top hat and a walking-cane. He had come to take her away, as he had always said he would.
    Joy, unspeakable joy, flooded through Jane, with a rush of love impossible for a mere adult to describe. The intensity of a child’s feelings is quite beyond our understanding, though we have all been children. Jane was almost suffocating with the power of her emotions. She felt that something huge and unknown was inside her and she was going to burst wide open.
    “Get on there, I told you.”
    Another clout round the head, and Jane ran a few steps to catch up with the others. The door had closed behind her daddy, and the girls