Shadows of the Workhouse

leather thongs were hard and cut the skin, exposing the bones to further pain and injury. The lead pellets struck in random places, tearing the flesh.
    By the fifth lash, Jane began to lose consciousness. All her weight fell on to the arms of the officer who held her, and she vomited down his trousers.
    “Dirty little thing,” he exclaimed, and jerked his knee upwards, catching her in the mouth. Her teeth clamped together over her tongue, which was lolling forward, and blood trickled out of her mouth.
    Still the Master continued his self-appointed task. He had intended twenty lashes of the whip, but his wife had cautioned him, saying, “You don’t want to kill her. Questions might be asked. Ten lashes will be enough to teach the girl the lesson she deserves.”
    Jane felt no more pain. She was only conscious of a terrible jolt to her body each time the lash fell. She could hear and see nothing beyond a red mist that swam all around her.
    Eight . . . nine . . . ten. The Master brought down the last stroke with satisfaction. The officer let go of Jane’s hands, and she fell to the floor. She had wet herself, and she slid into the urine that was mixed with vomit and blood.
    “Get a couple of the women to take her to the dormitory. She is to come to my office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, before she goes to school.”
    The Master issued the orders, hung the whip on the hook, and left the punishment room.

    A nurse and a female officer came to collect Jane and take her up to the dormitory. The nurse was shocked with what she saw but the officer, who had seen it all before, was very blasé.
    “She’ll get over it. A good beating never did a child any harm. ‘Spare the lash and spoil the child.’ Come on. Get up on your feet, you lazy girl, and put your dress on.”
    The nurse was horrified. “You can’t put a dress on with her back like that. She needs lint and gauze and ointments.”
    “Well she won’t get them,” said the female officer, with finality in her voice. “The Master would never stand for favouritism.”
    The nurse took off her apron and wrapped the child in it. Jane could barely stand, let alone walk, so the nurse carried her upstairs to the dormitory. She laid her on the bed, face down, and fetched a bowl of cold water. She sat beside the bed for hours, bathing the girl’s back with cold water to reduce the blood flow and restrict the terminal capillaries, so reducing the inflammation.
    In spite of the pain Jane fell asleep. The nurse continued to bathe her back and all the girls crept into the dormitory, subdued and silent. They slipped into bed, and only a few whispers were heard. One of their number, the brightest and liveliest, had been terribly flogged, and a wave of shock and horror united them in silence.
    A little girl with blonde hair crept up to the nurse. She was crying piteously. She said her name was Peggy and she laid her fair hair against Jane’s dark curls, whispering to her, kissing her, and sobbing. She asked the nurse if she could help, and so she took a cold sponge and bathed Jane’s back just as the nurse showed her. Together, the stunned and silent nurse and the weeping little girl ministered to the stricken Jane, until Peggy was so tired that she too fell asleep.
    It was probably this action on the part of the nurse and her child helper that saved Jane’s life. All night she drifted in and out of consciousness, and the nurse sat up with her through the long hours whilst the other girls slept. Sometimes Jane moaned in pain, and moved her limbs. Sometimes she let out a weak cry of “Daddy”. Sometimes she took the nurse’s hand, and held it fast. The blood on her back was clotting, the nurse noted with satisfaction, and the child could obviously move her legs, so at least her spine had not been broken. The hours slipped past.
    The Master had ordered that Jane should report to his office at 8 a.m. before school. But Jane could not be roused. The Mistress was called and she, although secretly shocked by the child’s appearance, declared that she was shamming, and pulled the mattress so hard that Jane fell out of bed onto the floor, where she lay, immobile. The Mistress then looked coldly at her, turned her with her foot and declared that she could have the day in bed, but must be ready for school the following morning.
    Thinking to be helpful, the nurse (who knew nothing of the background), said to the Mistress as she was leaving. “The child has been