The Worst Street in London: Foreword by Peter Ackroyd (6 page)

Gradually, the situation began to improve. New businesses were set up by convicts who had served their sentences but could not afford the passage home. Marriages were conducted and children born, thus strengthening community bonds. Convicts and settlers became less homesick as they slowly adjusted to their new surroundings. On arriving in New South Wales, Major Robert Ross had summed up the opinion of virtually everyone present by describing the place as the ‘outcast of God’s works’. By the time Philip finished his term as Governor in 1792, the colony was beginning to become a fully functioning community, though it would be nearly 60 years before the Gold Rush of the 1850s enticed any significant numbers of free settlers to build a new life in Australia. By then, most of the pioneers were dead but their refusal to quit in the face of adversity left an enduring legacy that helped shape the former penal colony into one of the 21st century’s wealthiest nations.

Despite the undeniably harsh conditions faced by transported convicts, there is little evidence to suggest that the threat of exile deterred the populace from breaking the law. Just two years after the passing of the Transportation Act, the East India Company infuriated the Spitalfields weavers for a second time when it began importing cheap printed calico from India. When made up into a garment, printed calico took on the look of woven silk, but cost a fraction of the price. Therefore it became very popular throughout the City, much to the silk weavers’ disgust. The weavers referred to women who wore dresses of this printed cloth as ‘calico madams’ and were known to attack them in the street. One poor unsuspecting woman was assaulted by a crowd of weavers who ‘tore, cut, pulled off her gown and petticoat by violence, threatened her with vile language and left her naked in the fields’. The printed calico problem came to a head when a group of weavers tried to march to Lewisham to destroy some calico printing presses but were met by troops, who shot one of the weavers dead. As a result, the Government passed the Calico Act in 1721, which banned the use and wear of all printed calicos.

Chapter 6

A New Parish and a Gradual Descent

By the 1720s, Spitalfields had become so densely populated that the old chapels and churches could not accommodate enough people. The Huguenots were well-served by their own chapels, but many Spitalfields residents were not French Protestants and needed their own place of worship. There was an old chapel on Wheler Street and a Friends Meeting House in the aptly-named Quaker Street, but both these places were far too small to serve the burgeoning population. The decision was made in 1728 to create a new parish in the area. This parish was named Christ Church and its church was built by the great ecclesiastical architect Nicholas Hawksmoor on Red Lion Street (now Commercial Street), almost opposite the market. Christ Church was consecrated on 5th July 1729 and is distinguished by its exceptionally tall spire, which measures 225 feet.

By the 1740s, Spitalfields was at the height of its prosperity. The parish clerk, John Walker, noted that there were at the time 2,190 houses in Spitalfields, not counting those in Norton Folgate, the Old Artillery Ground or Spital Square. The properties along the major thoroughfares were occupied by master weavers and silk merchants, while the artisans and journeymen lived in the side turnings, such as Dorset Street and Fashion Street. In the Ten Bells pub on Commercial Street, a 19th century tiled frieze depicts a Spitalfields street scene in the mid-18th century. The picture shows a busy, cheerful community of craftsmen and merchants, doing business with one another and evidently taking great pride in their work. However, the good times were not destined to last for long and by the 1760s, cracks began to show in the hitherto closely-knit weaving community that by now formed the backbone of the area.

For some time, journeymen silk weavers had been unhappy about the level of wages they received. An article from the
Gentleman’s Magazine
dated November 1763 illustrates how this dissatisfaction sometimes descended into violence: ‘in a riotous manner (the journeymen weavers) broke into the house of one of their masters, destroyed his looms and cut a great quantity of silk to pieces, after which they placed his effigy in a cart, with a halter round its neck, an executioner on one side, and a coffin on the other; and after drawing it through the streets, they hanged it on a gibbet, then burnt it to ashes and afterwards dispersed.’

This particular act of aggression against an employer was by no means an isolated incident. By 1768, these outbreaks of violence had become so widespread that an act of Parliament was passed making it punishable by death to break into any house or shop with the intention of maliciously damaging or destroying silk goods in the process of manufacture. The fiery-tempered journeymen were undeterred by the act and continued to loot the homes and workplaces of employers who they felt had treated them unfairly.

As time went on, the attacks on the master weavers’ homes became more organised and it soon became clear that the journeymen were becoming a cohesive unit, capable of severely damaging the local industry. As a result, troops were employed to break up meetings of journeymen whenever and wherever they took place. In 1769, a meeting at the Dolphin pub in Spitalfields was raided by troops, who opened fire on the journeymen, killing two and forcing the ringleaders to beat a hasty retreat from the area. Two of them were subsequently caught and hanged at the crossroads at Bethnal Green (also a weaving area) as a warning to others.

The Government realised that while force could be employed to calm the journeymen weavers’ tempers, the silk weaving industry was facing problems of a much more far-reaching nature. As news of Spitalfields’ burgeoning silk weaving industry spread throughout the 18th century, the area experienced a dramatic influx of poor from all over the British Isles looking for work. At first, the master weavers welcomed this state of affairs because it meant they could buy cheap labour, but by the middle of the century, there were simply too few jobs to go round.

In 1773, the Government passed the Spitalfields Acts and attempted to remedy the situation by restricting the number of people entering the industry and having independent local Justices set the journeymen’s wages. However, this external control of wages and restricted employment meant that the master weavers found it difficult to operate their businesses day to day. This, coupled with the introduction of mechanised looms and the fact that woven silks were gradually slipping out of fashion, meant that the master weavers began to move out of the area to towns in Essex, where they had the freedom to run their businesses as they pleased, with lower overheads. The Spitalfields silk industry was in decline.

Despite the exodus of master weavers to the Essex countryside, the influx of poor coming to Spitalfields looking for work continued unabated. Soon the cheaper accommodation in the alleys and courts became overrun with people. Disease spread quickly in such a claustrophobic atmosphere and the more desperate residents resorted to petty crime in order to make ends meet.

However, all was not doom and gloom just yet. Many weaving businesses continued to employ journeymen weavers and throwsters from the area and other businesses, such as Truman’s Brewery, which had stood in Black Lion Street since 1669, were also major employers. Dorset Street and Spitalfields in general was also considered an attractive location for manufacturers’ London showrooms due to its proximity to the City. In the early 1820s, Thomas Wedgwood opened a showroom for his family’s world famous china at number 40 Dorset Street. The Wedgwood family had been potters for generations, however, it was the creative vision and sound business acumen of Thomas’ great, great uncle, Josiah Wedgwood, that brought the pottery international success. Josiah was responsible for the creation of the pottery’s signature Queen’s Ware, a simple, classical design with a plain cream glaze, which is still available today.

Queen’s Ware is named after Queen Charlotte, a regular Wedgwood customer who appointed the firm ‘Queen’s Potter’ in 1762. Ironically, Josiah Wedgwood was an active campaigner for social reform and led the way for improved living conditions for the poor by building model dwellings for his workers in Stoke on Trent. It is a pity he was not alive to see the overrun and dilapidated courts and alleyways that surrounded his company’s London showroom in the early 19th century. Despite its good location, Thomas Wedgwood left the Dorset Street property in the mid-1840s, no doubt realising the area was in slow but unstoppable decline. He retired soon after and lived out his days in rural Bengeo, Hertfordshire, where he died in 1864.

Another business that had grown to dominate the area was Spitalfields Market. The market had been gradually improved and enlarged throughout the latter part of the 18th century and by 1800 was a major supplier of fruit and vegetables (mainly potatoes) to the masses. The market offered a wide variety of job opportunities from administrative positions for those who could read and write, to portering and selling for workers who had not benefited from a formal education (or preferred more physical work). Freelance opportunities were also available for costermongers who took produce from the market on their barrows and wheeled it round the streets looking for buyers. Workers from all around the London area and beyond travelled to the market to do business.

Many men who travelled some distance to the market found it easier to stay in the area overnight rather than face a long journey home after a hard days work. Consequently cheap lodgings and an evening’s entertainment became widely sought. Public houses sprang up on any available land within a short walk from the market. One of the earliest market pubs was the Blue Coat Boy at 32 Dorset Street. Situated a mere two minutes away from the market gates, this pub was certainly in existence by 1825 and had probably stood on the site for much longer. Although fairly small, it provided an opportunity to relax with colleagues before the next day’s hard work began. Some pubs offered rooms to let above the bar but it soon became clear that a significantly larger amount of accommodation was required to satisfy the rapidly increasing demand from itinerant workers. Thus, one of the major forces in the downfall of Spitalfields arrived – the common lodging house.

Chapter 7

The Rise of the Common Lodging House

The Spitalfields common lodging houses evolved purely in response to demand. If the residents had known what they would do to the area, there is little doubt they would have banned them on the spot. However, as more itinerant workers arrived, locals realised that good money could be earned by letting out spare rooms on a nightly basis. When it transpired that the spare rooms could be let virtually all year round, empty properties were sought, which could be turned into yet more sleeping quarters, yielding more cash.

Until 1851, there were virtually no regulations regarding the running of common lodging houses. Anyone could run one, so long as they could pay the rent on the property. Consequently, conditions in common lodging houses could be horrendous. An inquest into the death of James Parkinson, aged 36, was printed in the
Morning Herald
newspaper in 1836. It gives a shocking depiction of day-to-day life in one of these establishments: Parkinson, a dealer in cats’ meat, had apparently arrived at a ‘low lodging house for travellers’ in Saffron Hill (an area well known for this type of establishment), paid for his bed and promptly retired for the night. At some stage during the night, the poor man died in his sleep. Incredibly, the landlady did not realise that he was dead for several days, despite seeing his body in the bed on several occasions. Perhaps even more incomprehensible is the fact that none of the other lodgers reported anything odd about their room-mate and seemed oblivious to the terrible smell brought on by decomposition of the corpse. By the time Parkinson’s death was recorded, his face had turned black. When questioned about the incredible lack of perception demonstrated by her and the other lodgers, the landlady shrugged ‘they go in and out without seeming to care for each other.’