Extract taken from “For Every Lie” by J E Seaward
The horrors of a cold Victorian winter did not immediately touch the Atkinsons and the better-off classes in Hammersmith, nor even Mary herself. She had the protection of a warm kitchen, food in her stomach and clothes on her back. She had a better life than many, but she also had first hand knowledge of poverty – it was all around her. There was her own mother working long, hard hours at the laundry for little pay. Her mother’s landlord had callously threatened to throw her out when she’d complained about the leaking roof, saying there were many who would pay double for such a dwelling.
Dire poverty, hunger and crime were thrust in Mary’s face on her daily shopping trips to King Street. She saw a whole family begging, sitting among refuse from the shops to keep themselves warm and dependent on donations from passers by before being able to buy a loaf of bread or a cup of tea. Ragged, dirty-faced children, as young as three or four, approached strangers to try and sell any small thing they had stolen or found on the streets. Some would offer wood or rope they’d gleaned from the riverbed at low tide – anything, from a lump of coal to a lace-edged handkerchief.
Some mornings, shop windows were boarded up after being smashed by looters during the night. This prompted many shopkeepers to install iron grilles over their windows – like prison bars, reminding everyone of the consequence of crime. The only windows that were never broken belonged to the undertaker’s. The rate of death doubled in a harsh winter and death was a profitable line of business. Each clothing shop displayed the latest styles for mourning along with winter tweeds and furs. Jewellers took their jet and diamond mourning brooches from under the counter and put them on full view. Even the rich were not protected from death; it was just more dignified.
The worst thing that Mary saw during that winter was the naked corpse of a young boy, wrapped in rags and newspaper. It had been left in an alley beside Mme Goosen’s shop. His stomach was distended with malnutrition and his skin was filthy and covered with sores. The police had been called and they were unwrapping the body as Mary came out of the shop. There were a few onlookers trying to give reason to the tragedy.
‘Must be starvation – dear God, look at the state of him!’
‘But why leave the poor little devil naked, all alone?’
‘Couldn’t afford the funeral, I shouldn’t wonder.’ An undertaker’s cart came and the police moved the crowd aside.
‘Move away, ladies and gents, get about your business. He’s with his Maker now. No more to gawp at.’ It made Mary feel deeply sad. The boy had looked about her brother’s age and she could think of nothing else that day and he came into her dreams for many nights after that.
The Victorians lived in a an unfair society of rich and poor. There was a middle class but not many people were able to aspire to it once poverty had set in. This situation grew worse throughout the Victorian era – even craftsmen were poorly paid and lived a relatively plain life. Britain was conquering the world and technology was beginning to move forward – but people were still dying from poverty. Children were starving, and there was no where to turn except to take charity from the church and, the final degradation… the workhouse. There were other options if you were really desperate; crime and prostitution.
There was no national health, social security or council housing and landlords took good rent for appalling accommodation. Slums bred disease, and sick people couldn’t work. Despite the incredible improvements in social and healthcare provisions, there are still parts of our society, let alone the rest of the World, that struggle beyond most of our imaginations.
West London has always had a special meaning for me – mainly due to the Randell family, my ancestors, having been traceable residents in Hammersmith for almost 200 years. They lived in the diocese of St Paul’s Church, which administered to and registered many of my family’s births marriages and deaths. This was in the days before Hammersmith’s heritage had started to be cut up, torn down, built on and left behind for modernity. St Paul’s now proudly shows off its classy, Victorian architecture, to the motorists on the Hammersmith flyover.
The Randell’s mostly lived in the close knit communities around the church; from King street, Queen Street – now Queen Caroline Street, Wellington Road, Waterloo Street and Chapel street, to Fulham Palace Road, Chancellor Road and Alma Terrace. Now, Wellington Road, Waterloo Street, Chapel Street, and Alma Terrace no longer exist.
In the 1930’s, when the Gaumont Palace cinema was built, it rudely flattened the historic Carnforth Lodge with its beautiful garden, the Six Bells Pub and a small terrace of early victorian houses in which my Great Great Grandparents had lived in the 1860’s and 70’s. St Vincent House Convent and Temple lodge, once lived in by the artist Frank Brangwyn, escaped the bulldozer and were allowed to survive. The 2nd world war made more holes in Hammersmith’s layout, including St Vincent House Convent and the northern end of the Fulham Palace Road, where my Great Grandmother, Jessie Randell, had lived up until 1883.
As a child, visiting my Grandma Jane in Hammersmith from South East London was a days excursion. I saw much building, and demolition, taking place and witnessed the building of the flyover during the late 1950’s until it opened in 1961. By then, the suburb of Hammersmith had firmly become part of London and was striving to provide more housing and employment for its fast growing number of residents. It also had to find a better transport network to prevent further bottlenecks as the ever-increasing traffic tried to pass along the same roads that the stage coaches had used on their way West in the 1800’s.
So this is how the Hammersmith flyover came about. In its time, it was seen as a remarkable feat of advanced engineering, linking the A4 to the M4. It had under-deck heating, solitary expansion joint and precast, segmental and pre-stressed concrete. It was one of the first of its type in the world. Now, a mere fifty three years later, it is reviled as a monster which never had it’s heating turned on after the first year as neither of the relevant councils would foot the £4,000 heating bill. Now the salt and grit that is used to stop the surface freezing in winter is the very cause of its demise as it’s been corroding the cables and making the flyover unsafe. It is now costing millions of pounds to repair.
They say you can never look back but, thanks to some excellent historians, enthusiasts, early cameras and ancestry, the past hasn’t all been forgotten. There is a great movement nowadays towards bringing more green space and trees back into our lives. Green fields, gardens and common land, judging by old ordnance survey maps, is something which my ancestors in Hammersmith had plenty of. An excellent project has been under way promoting the Hammersmith Flyunder. With the backing of residents and the London Mayor, the flyover is in line, sometime in the future, to be removed and a flyunder put in its place. This will free up a huge amount of land for new homes offices and that all important green space. St. Paul’s Church will breath again, as will the residents in pleasant walkways with trees, cycle paths and the promise of a Hammersmith to be proud of. I’m sure my ancestor’s would approve!
When the railway began to forge its way across the length and width of England, during the early parts of the 19th century, it was received with every emotion and expletive. But there was no way to stop it; in the name of progress the railway cut its way from up-and-coming industrial towns, such as Manchester and Birmingham, linking them and subsidiary towns to London. On its relentless journey it swallowed up farms, small villages, miles of countryside, and anything else that got in its way. Although, fortunately for us, to save the important history of our Capital, the railway companies were not allowed to demolish property across the West End and City of London, so the various train lines all culminated around the impoverished fringes.
It was in these fringes where, more often than not, the poor and working-class Londoners lived. Making way for the tracks and stations meant that often whole streets, if they had no importance, were ripped up and the needy residents spat out into other neighbouring and often overcrowded slums. As usual, the poor suffered as the rich got richer. Investors could make a fortune if they were brave enough and equally, for a hard-working man, there was at least the chance of regular employment
The train proved to have many benefits: deliveries of food and other essentials were faster and cheaper. This brought prices down – coal and flour for example. Journey time for travellers was reduced considerably, lowering costs and tedium, and a commuter workforce was able to travel by rail from outlying, sleepy-villages to better paid jobs in London. The building of homes around the still rural outskirts suddenly escalated; the villages became towns and, before long, were stretching out their impatient fingers towards the metropolis.
By the 1850’s the placement of the London train stations started to cause a problem. As the number of commuter’s grew, the London station exits began to heave with people needing to get across or around the West End and City to reach their daily destinations. The commuter’s were transported comfortably by the increasing number of horse-drawn vehicles, and the choice was good; an agile two-seater Hansom Cab for those in a hurry, a one horse Brougham for two, and a larger four-seater version called The Clarence with two horses and room for four passengers with luggage. This was commonly known as a “growler” due to the noise it made going over the cobbled streets.
For a cheaper ride there was the horse drawn Omnibus with an open air top deck and stairs at the back and, for group travel, a Charabanc, an early relation to the modern coach. Some travellers chose to go it alone on horseback but many had to walk. Adding to the melee were carts and wagons used for transporting goods.
By the late 1850’s the roads in the City and West End of London were badly congested; especially during the early morning hours and in the evening. It was the birth of the “rush hour”. Even the agile hansom cabs were having a problem – the roads had become dangerous, there were no traffic lights or rights of way, and pedestrians took their lives in their hands when they tried to cross the roads, dodging between the rolling wheels and horses hooves. Street lighting was poor and, during Autumn and Winter, London was prone to dense fog – “pea souper’s” – something would have to be done!
In January, 1863, the Metropolitan Underground Railway was opened, linking several of the London stations, and was the beginning of the “Tube” as we fondly call it now.