The Northern News. — 1896-09-05 (Carlisle, Cumbria, England)

VAGRANTS AND VAGRANCY. The tramp population of Great Britain has of late years been increasing at an alarming rate. True, there seems at present to be a tendency in the other direction, 1895 showed, on the whole, a welcome decrease over 1894, and 1896 so far is an improvement on 1895. Whether this is a permanent reflux, or a mere ebb of the tide which may be expected to flow again after a due interval, time only can show. The numbers are still great enough to cause serious misgivings to all who have the welfare of the people at heart. Boards of Guardians are becoming alive to the fact that this is a problem that must be grappled with in a more serious fashion than has hitherto been attempted, and many conferences have been held recently to consider the subject. That something more than mere talk will be the result of these conferences everyone must earnestly hope. At such a time it may not be inopportune to detail some of the experiences of a Carlisle citizen in his efforts to relieve members of the vagrant fraternity, and do them good. My efforts, he says, have led me to the conclusion that every tramp's tale is more or less a lie; that they have, as a class, absolutely no moral sense; that each is engaged in continually exercising his wits—not always of the dullest—in obtaining the means of living, which too often means simply drinking, from the charitable on false pretences. I have been told by lodging-house keepers that from four to eight shillings a day can he earned by good beggars, and that it is a common saying amongst tramps that "it is a poor street that will not yield a penny." I have been in a lodging house about eight o'clock in the evening, when the fire was covered with pans, wherein were frying beef steak and onions, or something equally savoury. The one great fact that has impressed itself upon me is that what every tramp wants is money. He will ask for something else, food or clothing, or even work, or a ticket for a lodging house. But be cares for none of these things, except in so far as they may be turned into cash. Let me recall a few instances. A middle-aged, able-bodied vagrant called at my door. Interrupting his plausible tale, Tasked him if he was hungry. No; he had got his breakfast. I told him I could not give him money. He then begged for a pair of shoes, pointing to those he wore, which were artistically ventilated with parallel slits, either to create compassion or for ease in walking. I gave him a pair which he accepted with effusive gratitude. Taking off his old ones he pitched them into a field behind the house, and putting on the others declared they were a perfect fit. He was then quite sober. An hour later I saw him at the Durham Ox corner perfectly, comfortably, and jollily drunk, with the old slit shoes upon his feet. On another occasion a tall man came to me whom I recognised as one whom I had seen on a certain village green I am acquainted with. The children were teasing him, and he was roaring out "robbery and murder; I charge you with both." He told me he was faint with hunger, having fasted 48 hours. I took him to a cocoa room, and put down twopence on the counter, ordering soup and bread for him, and hurried back. I was scarcely halfway across the street ere I heard the proprietor call out that the man had got the twopence. I turned back. He had the money in his hand and his hand in his pocket, and confronted me with a determined visage. With equal determination I ordered him to put the money down, or I would put him down, and take it from him. Not until I was on the point of laying my hands on him did he reluctantly withdraw a penny, begging to be allowed to keep the other which he wanted for another purpose. But I was inexorable, and he finally gave way. Certainly for a man who had fasted 48 hours he showed remarkably little appetite for the fare set before him.