THE HOMES OF OUR WORKERS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12401, 24 October 1903, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE HOMES OF OUR WORKERS.

No. V. POVERTY, DRINK, AND FAMILIES. [by otjk special lady commissioner.] Fancy finding a woman «till working hard, having reared a family of 17 ! She did not seem to mind very much, and she still spoke of seeing that her "boss" was comfortable. He is a bricklayer's labourer, and in work earns 7s 6d j?er day. When he is not,, he goes to the gumfields, and his wife sends a pair of clean sheets with him. But in spite of signs of work on all hands I cannot say that the house, or that part which I saw, was not muddled, and there was a huge dog extended - under the table, snoring for all it was worth. The mother told me the story of her marriage, At 13 years of age she ran away from home and a stepfather, walked 15 miles to service, stayed till she was 19, in which time she saved " fifteen golden sovereigns," and then married. During my visit she was very irate with a daughter of 14, who, she said, would not work to her satisfaction, and who saw nothing in running away from home. I could not quite gather whether running away, was commendable or not, but from the mother's experience I concluded that it was meritorious. However, Mary was unsatisfactory, the mother attributing it to the "colony," and the other, elder children did not seem to care whether they were in work or not. Then I went down from a main street into the gully of the hidden Auckland, saw a row of shanties inhabited by people of very questionable character. Living next to them was a respectable woman whose husband beats her and her children. He is certainly, from all accounts, anything but a worker. He eats the food sent in by neighbours to her and the children, and " knocks her about" when there is no " tucker." She applied for rations to the Charitable Aid Board. The husband is ordered to put in an appearance before the Board, refuses, and thus deprives the family —a sick son among themfrom benefit. Here is a case for the Society for the Protection of Women and Children! The woman who told me this lives at the back of the questionable row, the proprietors of which are two old ladies, one over 80. My subject was young in the twenties, with a family of five, cleanly kept. Her husband works at one of the timber mills. She pays 6s for three rooms, has no yard or conveniences, and is looking. out (for months past, of course) for another house at the same rent in a better neighbourhood. She suffers from rheumatism on account of the low situation, and her husband is ailing. In most cases I find that the husband is suffering from indigestion or similar complaints, and I fear it arises from lack of variety in food too much bread and butter. This woman occasionally makes soup, and her husband sometimes catches fish. But she she saves nothing, though she is proud of keeping her family respectably dressed. A good, honest little woman, with a good husband, and with plenty of self-respect! I heard of another case where the wife has given way altogether to drink. She is surrounded by women who drink, who bring beer into her house to drink, and she, originally of a respectable family, is the consequence of her surroundings. Her husband banks a certain sum every week, being for years in constant work, but, as her sister told me, he also banks the daughter's wages in his own name; and though aTways raging at his wife, does not refuse to share her beer without asking how it was obtained. So he can scarcely be held up for approval; since his duty is, very plainly, to remove his wife to a decent neighbourhood away from temptation. I was told of the case of a widow, who thred years ago was & respectable woman. Nov/ sue is a drunkard. She lives in a bad street, hidden away, of course, round corners, in purlieus unknown, undreamt of by people who live in the suburbs. There are about half-a-dozen really resp.;;t.ib".e_ families in this street, The rest are occupied by drunkards. This woman has given herself over altogether to drink, her children play neglected in the streets, her 13-year-old girl has passed all her standards, and idles the time away—the poor little thing, what else can she do ? Here again, drink was brought into the house by neighbours. They want company. They bring their beer with them. Familiarity wears off the disgust, and -gradually the lower life is in the ascendancy. Of course, I cannot vouch for the absolute accuracy of the reports, but I give them as told to me. I have seen two of the children, and I have seen the street. Those are quite sufficient. In a house of six small rooms, tenanted by a family of 11, at a rental of 10s, I saw ah Orion range. The sight was refreshing. In the backyard of this property, which belongs, by the way, to a well-known contractor, there is an outflow of water which finds its way through and comes out again, crossing the whole of another little street. But nobody seems to mind the flow of water, and it goes on serenely bubbling out. In a semi-detached house of three rooms the addition of a small cooking range has raised the rent by sixpence a week, and every drop of water has to be brought from the basement. The one who has to bring it is a cripple. She has a sick child. Her husband works ou the gumfields, and makes a scanty living. The other three children are bonny little things. Of course they have to

The family of a clerk, consumptive, occupies another house close by. The man goes to his work often, without food, has no lunch, and very often has no appetite when he returns home. His wife speaks unconcernedly about his spitting blood. Of course, he needs nourishing food; but he earns little enough with which to get much of it. Then there is a girl of 22, married at 17, with a family of three. She is very cheerful, and clean. Sometimes her husband earns good wages at pick and shovel work, sometimes scarcely anything. He is good to her and quite unhappy when out of work. She has better ideas "of managing a small income than many I met; but, here, too, 6s a week have to go for her tiny crib. I found another woman of 40 years old, very respectable, with four wee little rooms, but as clean and tidy as possible. When we went in, one of a pair of twins was in the perambulator, the other an a sofa, but both excellently neat. Then there was a sturdy-limbed youth of three, and above him, "a year older, another pair of twins. There were 11 in this house, rented at 7s 6d. But the crib was nicely painted, and the mother neat. It was just approaching dinner time, and the elder twins, just home from school, called repeatedly to their mother to come and make the tea. So I came away. I think it will be conceded that the homes ! visited are representative of the working : classes. There are bakers, gumdiggers; bricklayers, wharf labourers, gardeners, ' I road men, clerks, timber hands, and others. j Some of the wives work away from home, j But I seldom hear of saving. One woman, j with a large family, was disgusted with sav- ; ing. Twice she had Iwd to sacrifice her savings because her husband had raised a ■ bill of sale on her furniture. In most cases, however, I see a machine, a new one. I suppose the übiquitous canvasser is responsible for this. But a 13-guinea machine j takes some paying off ; and in most of the \ cases I hardly think the expensive new machine i# justified by the amount of work turned out. Deferred payments are a mixed blessing to poor people ; but these are the prey of canvassers, and something or somebody must suffer. Bad cooking, or rather laziness to provide any meals that require thought, is also responsible for much poverty. Few poor housewives know anything of the value of a neck of mutton. They plod on with bread and butter, their sixpenny worths of scrap meat, their monotony of living. They keep their weekly store bills instead"'of paying cash ; they send in a hurry for a tin of fish, which is expensive, and which is a very bare meal, and it is a case all the time of hand to mouth. The Technical Cooking School has its chance here to effect a reform in the case of the children. Hay it avail itself