I’m glad I was reading Shadows of the Workhouse in the comfort of my own lounge. As with her previous book, Call the Midwife, Jennifer Worth had me in tears. The workhouse is often considered to be a peculiarly Victorian phenomenon, but this barbaric institution wasn’t officially closed until an Act of Parliament in 1930. Even then, those forbidding buildings continued to be used for several decades, retaining their ability to terrify the communities over which they loomed.
Worth movingly describes the experiences of East End families whose families were absolutely devastated by the legacy of the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834. Thankfully, she doesn’t indulge in the popular sport of Victorian-bashing, instead acknowledging that the nineteenth century saw the start of important reforms, prompted by the realisation that a prosperous industrial nation had to do something to provide for its most needy inhabitants. Tragically, those who were a the mercy of this nascent welfare state suffered inhumane treatment at the hands of vicious sadists, who took pleasure in inflicting astonishing physical and mental cruelty.
Fortunately, the at times unrelenting gloom of the narrative is leavened by the supporting cast of nuns from the Nonnatus House. There is much welcome mirth when Sister Jane is tricked by a cheeky costermonger into buying Sister Julienne a wooden dildo for Christmas. She is led to believe that it’s actually a honey pot-stirrer. Ahem. Her touching innocence is less amusing, however, when it becomes clear that Sister Jane is herself a product of the workhouse. Initially a bright, intelligent child, the most appalling violence leaves her unable to deal with the outside world.
There are also more positive stories, such as that of Frank the Fish, who turns adversity into triumph, throwing off the parish boy stigma to become a successful costermonger and householder. He is indeed evidence that the workhouse system was in part successful. Without the shelter and limited food it provided, Frank would have almost certainly perished. Some of the cruelty of the poor law guardians can be ascribed to the prevailing medical ignorance of the age. Worth tells the chilling story of Sister Monica’s mother who, after suffering prolonged depression at the age of 35, is ordered by her doctor to have her head shaved and all her teeth pulled. This was not in the violent atmosphere of the workhouse, but in the supposed sanctity of an upper-middle-class home.
All of the characters are utterly compelling and unforgettable. It’s a shame, therefore, that Worth seems to embellish their stories. For example, how does she know the last moments of two people who died alone? Also, she includes intimate details of an incestuous relationship, which those involved were highly unlikely to have shared with her. I think this foray into fiction undermines the credibility of what could be a valuable historical document. I was also slightly miffed by the implication that homosexuality is a regrettable but understandable indulgence with which men console themselves when there are no women around.
Those niggles aside, Worth has made an important contribution to social history in chronicling the lives of those who are often unjustly forgotten.
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I saw the book on midwifes come out and I hesitated because I’m squeamish – but this sounds very interesting and I’d be most tempted to pick it up. The author certainly seems to have a good storyteller’s touch with the non-fiction.
Hmm, Jennifer Worth’s books would certainly present a challenge to the squeamish. Having been a midwife for so long, she has an unerring ability to present the most gruesome scenes in a matter-of-fact way. On the other hand, the stories are so well spun that they do offer an effective distraction from some of gory detail.