Sherwood – A Story of Poverty in London’s East End

This chapter of the Sherwood story begins with my 3xgreat grandfather, William Sherwood. He was born in the Lincolnshire village of Saxilby on 18^th November 1820. Church records show that his parents, Richard and Elizabeth Sherwood had him baptised in the parish church the following day. Richard was an agricultural labourer and this would have provided some small income for the family.

Saxilby is situated 8 miles from the city of Lincoln and is located on the Foss Dyke, an inland waterway which, in those days, enabled grain and wool to be transported from Lincoln to the North via the River Trent. In return, it also allowed coal and cloth to be imported from the industrial areas of the north. Growing up, William would have witnessed barges sailing along the Foss Dyke and it was probably scenes such as these which inspired him to go to sea as an apprentice at the age of 16. 

Seaman's ticket

At the time of writing, nothing is known about the early years of his career. However, on 16^th August 1845, he was registered with a seaman’s ticket. The seaman’s ticket system was introduced by the government to create a register of merchant seaman who, in the event of war, could be called into naval service. The document provides some fascinating details. It reveals that William was 5ft 6 inches tall and he had brown hair, a dark complexion and hazel eyes. He also had a tattoo of a man on his right arm. Significantly, when he wasn’t employed on a vessel as a seaman, he was living in London.

The document offers tantalising information about his voyages as well. On 22^nd November 1845, he set sail from London on a London-registered ship bound for the West Indies. He was at sea for almost 9 months and his ship did not return to London until 14^th August 1846. When his ship docked he would have had to run the gauntlet of local people who lived off the sailors. This account written after the event paints a vivid picture of the dockland community in about 1845:

The inhabitants of Ratcliff Highway lived upon the sailors. There were a great many lodging-houses there; still more clothiers and outfitters; and any number of public-houses and beer shops, nearly every one of which had a dancing saloon at the back of the bar. Jack came ashore with his pockets full of money, but they quickly emptied. He was ready enough to spend his pay, but there were other persons still more ready to despoil him of it. In those days there were no Government officials to board the vessels and arrange for the safe despatch of Jack’s money, and Jack himself to his home. No sooner did a vessel reach her moorings than she was swarming with boarding-house touts, crimps, outfitters, runners, and other rapacious beasts of prey. Poor Jack was soon in the hands of the Philistines.
 From the public-houses in Ratcliff Highway there constantly issued the sound of loud laughter, mingled with shouting and fearful imprecations. Far into the night the women and the drunken sailors danced and sang to the accompaniment of screeching fiddles. For the most part the women wore white dresses and white shoes. If the sailors were not entirely fleeced inside the saloons, the process was completed by bullies and fighting men when they staggered out into the street. The poor fellows were frequently drugged, and sometimes half murdered. (Round London : Down East and Up West, by Montagu Williams Q.C., (1894))

Bill did not remain in port long and returned to sea on 24^th August on a Newcastle registered ship. The ship did not return to England until 7^th December when it docked in Newcastle. Bill spent Christmas in England and may have visited his parents in Saxilby. He set sail early in the new year and departed Newcastle on 6^th January 1847.

The ship spent over four and half months at sea before docking at Hull on 30^th May. Bill spent the remainder of the year on dry land. During this time, he may have visited his family in Lincolnshire before returning to London.

Once back in London he met a girl. Charlotte Tarrant was a parasol maker from Wapping and her father was, like him, a mariner. They were married on 21^st February 1848 at Christchurch, Watney Street. Once they were married they moved into Charlotte’s family’s house at 37 Broad Street, Wapping. The house was on the east side of the road and looked across to the huge sugar warehouse that formed part of the London Docks. Henry Mayhew captured the scene at the time:

As you enter the dock the sight of the forest of masts in the distance, and the tall chimneys vomiting clouds of black smoke, and the many-coloured flags flying in the air, has a most peculiar effect; while the sheds with the monster wheels arching through the roofs look like the paddle-boxes of huge steamers. Along the quay you see, now men with their faces blue with indigo, and now gangers with their long brass tipped rule dripping with spirit from the cask they have been probing. Then will come a group of flaxen-haired sailors, chattering German; and next a black sailor, with a cotton handkerchief twisted turban-like round his head. Presently a blue-smocked butcher, with fresh meat and a bunch of cabbages in the tray on his shoulder; and shortly afterwards a mate, with green paroquets in a wooden cage. Here you will see sitting on a bench a sorrowful-looking woman, with new bright cooking tins at her feet, telling you she is an emigrant preparing for her voyage. As you pass along this quay the air is pungent with tobacco; on that, it overpowers you with the fumes of rum; then you are nearly sickened with the stench of hides and huge bins of horns; and shortly afterwards the atmosphere is fragrant with coffee and spice. Nearly everywhere you meet stacks of cork, or else yellow bins of sulphur, or lead-coloured copper ore. As you enter this warehouse the flooring is sticky, as if it had been newly tarred, with the sugar that has leaked through the casks; and as you descend into the dark vaults, you see long lines of lights hanging from the black arches, and lamps flitting about midway. Here you sniff the fumes of the wine, and there the peculiar fungus-smell of dry rot; there the jumble of sounds as you pass along the dock blends in anything but sweet concord. The sailors are singing boisterous nigger songs from the Yankee ship just entering; the cooper is hammering at the casks on the quay; the chains of the cranes, loosed of their weight, rattle as they fly up again; the ropes splash in the water; some captain shouts his orders through his hands; a goat bleats from some ship in the basin; and empty casks roll along the stones with a heavy, drum-like sound. Here the heavily-laden ships are down far below the quay, and you descend to them by ladders; whilst in another basin they are high up out of the water, so that their green copper sheathing is almost level with the eye of the passenger; while above his head a long line of bowsprits stretches far over the quay, and from them hang spars and planks as a gangway to each ship. ('The Tower Subway and London Docks', Old and New London: Volume 2 (1878))

London Docks circa 1845

On 4^th March 1848, less than two weeks after they were married, Bill went to sea again. He returned to London exactly 5 months later on 4^th August 1848. Charlotte became pregnant and she gave birth to their first child, whom they named Sarah Elizabeth Sherwood, in the early months of 1849. Sarah was born in Saxilby, which suggests they travelled freely between London and Lincolnshire. Sarah’s birth was followed by a son the following year. William Francis Sherwood was born on 19^th December 1850 at 37 Broad Street. The baby William was baptised on 5^th January 1851 at St Georges in the East.

William Francis Sherwood birth certificate

By the time of the census three months later, Bill had moved back to Church Road, Saxilby with his parents and was working as an agricultural labourer. His wife Charlotte remained in London and was living with their children at 37 Broad Street. They shared the house with her father John Tarrant, who was now working as a sail maker, his wife (Sarah) and their three children Sarah, Samuel and William. Also living in the house was a blacksmith, his wife and their two children. A grand total of 12 people living in very cramped conditions. Charlotte and two other members of the household were working as parasol makers.

Why had Bill left his wife and kids behind? Was there a scarcity of work in London? Or had their marriage hit the rocks? Perhaps it was both. Whatever the reason for their separation, Bill returned to London to be with them by the end of the year and the following summer Martha Warrick Sherwood was born. She was baptised on 24^th October 1852 at St Georges in the East.

The following autumn disaster struck the family. Bill's 4-year-old daughter Sarah died suddenly of Cholera on 18th November 1853 and within days her younger sister Martha followed her. The overcrowded housing of the East End enabled infection to spread quickly and there was little that could be done in those days, especially if you were poor. The pain of this loss must have been unbearable.

Ellen Sherwood was born in the early months of 1854 and although her birth must have helped to ease their sense of loss, there must have been concern that disease could return. Other parts of the city had seen various epidemics. There had been outbreaks of Cholera in South London the previous summer and in the summer of 1854 there was a major outbreak in Soho.

On 3^rd April 1856 William and Charlotte had another son whom they named John Moses Sherwood. Baby John was baptised at St George in the East on 27^th April .  At the time, the family had recently moved to 1 Princes Street following the death of Charlotte’s father. 1 Princes Street was in Wapping and was the address of the St George in the East workhouse. It was perhaps the poor conditions at the workhouse that lead to another family tragedy, the death of baby John that summer aged just 4 months. He was buried at St Dunstan’s, Stepney on 5^th August.

London in the mid-nineteenth century was an extremely dirty and unhealthy place. Three million people populated the city and many houses still relied on cess pits, especially in the poorer districts. Effluent was often forced upwards after periods of sustained wet weather. In 1847 the Metropolitan Commission of Sewers decreed that all privy waste must be discharged into sewers. This seemed like a good idea and many districts in London, particularly the wealthier areas, were connected to a network of sewers. The problem was that these sewers discharged directly into the Thames and its tributaries and the rivers were overwhelmed by untreated sewage. Those same rivers were still used as a source for cleaning and drinking in some areas. Wildlife disappeared from the Thames and the river died. The Prime Minister at the time, Benjamin Disraeli, described the Thames as ‘a Stygian pool reeking with ineffable and unbearable horror’ (Disraeli, (1858)). By the summer of 1858, the situation had become unbearable and the windows of the Houses of Parliament had to be protected by curtains soaked in chlorine to keep out the smell. This situation became known as The Great Stink and it finally prompted The Metropolitan Board of Works and their engineer Joseph Bazalgette to construct new sewers that diverted the effluent downriver to outfalls at Beckton and Crossness.

The Silent Highwayman

Bill took whatever employment he could to support his family. Earlier in his married life he had briefly worked as an agricultural labourer back in his native Lincolnshire, but now that he was living permanently in London, he needed an alternative source of income if he couldn't find work on a ship. He became one of the thousands who worked casually in the docks.

On 14th July 1858, Bill's wife, Charlotte, gave birth to another baby daughter. She was baptised with the name Harriet at St Mary's, Cable Street, on 15th August 1858. At the time of the baptism, Bill and his family were living at 31 James Place, Ratcliff. James Place was situated between Cable Street and the railway line and was book-ended by Devonport Street in the west and Stepney Causeway in the east. It was a narrow street, just 7 feet separated the houses running along its southern side from a high brick wall on the northern side. It was reached by descending several steps down from the streets at each end and was a dark, dank and unhealthy place. It was probably these conditions which lead to the death of baby Harriet in the autumn of that year.

The situation for the casual dock labourer grew especially desperate in January 1861. London was in the grip of freezing winter weather and the ships were unable to dock. There was no work and many families went hungry. Many dock labourers were involved in bread riots and rampaged along Commercial Road smashing windows and stealing food.

According to the 1861 census they were still living at 31 James Place in spite of the awful conditions.  Bill was a dock labourer and Charlotte was still making parasols. Their two surviving children, William and Ellen, were both attending school.

Cholera returned to London in the summer of 1866. The Times newspaper of 21^st July 1866 reported:

Thirteen cases have been admitted into the London Hospital, and five deaths have occurred there this week, and other patients are now in a precarious state. Several deaths from cholera have taken place in the neighbourhood of the hospital. In accordance with the provisions advocated in the short article which we lately published on cholera hospitals a spacious ward has been set aside for these cases. It is already nearly full.

On 25^th July The Times further reported:

In all London last week there were 346 deaths from cholera and 221 from diarrhea…It was evident, therefore, he added that cholera of a fatal type was prevalent in London, and as far as his observations on it had gone, especially in the London Hospital, where many cases had been treated, it was almost entirely among the poor, and the occupants of the worst classes of houses, where sanitary regulations had been neglected.

Bill fell ill at the end on the month and his symptoms were severe enough for him to be transferred to the London Hospital in Whitechapel. The vomiting and diarrhea would have resulted in chronic dehydration and in spite of medical intervention, he died on 31^st July. The cause of his death was certified as Cholera.

William Sherwood death certificate

At the time London was in the grip of the worst Cholera outbreak since 1854. The Times newspaper contained the following in an article on 1^st August:

…The excess of deaths was caused entirely by cholera and diarrhea. 904 deaths by cholera,349 by diarrhea were registered in the week making the aggregate 1253 deaths…It is a peculiarity of the case that the greater part of this slaughter in seven days of 1253 people of all ages took place within a limited portion of the London area. 924 of the deaths, 811 by cholera and 113 by diarrhea, were registered in the six districts of Bethnal Green, Whitechapel, St George-in-the-East, Stepney, Mile End Old Town and Poplar (including Bow), among about a seventh part of the population of London and on about one fourteenth of its area. The attack extends all along the north side of the Thames, from the River Lea and the Isle of Dogs to the Tower of London. Limehouse Basin and the Regent’s Canal are the central line of the attack, which stretches as far north as Victoria Park. This is essentially the port of London, inhabited by its maritime population. The canals and the basin are full of foul water, and are apparently connected with the Limehouse Cut, Hackney Cut and the River Lea. The East London Waterworks Canal draws its supply from the river at Lea Bridge, where there is a reservoir, and runs for a couple of miles by the side of Hackney cut down to its other reservoirs north of Bow and near the Lea. The present cholera field derives its water from these works….The people are falling ill every hour; you see them of all ages, children and adults, lying about their beds  like people under the influence of a deadly poison, some acutely suffering, nearly all conscious of their fate and of all that is going on around them…Several wards of the London Hospital are full of patients…The people themselves are the most patient; most willing to help each other, the women always in front , and none shrinking from danger.  There is no desertion of children, husbands, wives, fathers or mothers from fear.

It must have been terrifying not only for Bill and his family, but also for the countless others whose lives were affected by the outbreak. The source of the outbreak was contaminated drinking water supplied from the River Lea by the East London Water Company. There were stories at the time of people’s pipes being blocked by dead eels and brown-coloured drinking water.  At a time when the rest of London’s sanitation had started to improve, the outbreak was a huge scandal. The water company was found to be responsible and has the blood of thousands of East Enders like William Sherwood on its hands.

Bill’s son, William Francis, was just 15 at the time and the loss of his father would have been a massive shock, but with the only other source of family income being derived from his mum’s parasol making, it was imperative that he stayed strong. He was the man of the house now and had to earn a living not only for himself but also for his sister, Ellen, and his mum. There is no evidence of them having entered the local workhouse in the aftermath of his father’s death and this suggests they managed to scrape together enough money to provide a roof over their heads and food on the table.

10 years after his father’s death, William Francis lost his mother as well. Charlotte died of bronchitis at her home in 42 London Street on 11^th June 1876. She was just 49 at the time and William’s sister, Ellen, had been present at her death.

By this time, William Francis had a girlfriend. Kate Matthews was the daughter of a master butcher who had a shop in Bow Common Lane, Mile End. The relationship had progressed to the extent that she had fallen pregnant and they now had to get married. The wedding took place at St James’s the Great parish church in Bethnal Green on 19^th June 1876. At that time Bill was employed as a porter. Just a few weeks later they had a daughter whom they christened Kate Elizabeth Sherwood.

Two years after the birth of young Kate, they had another baby. This time it was a boy and they christened him William Edward Sherwood. He was joined two years after that by a second daughter. Charlotte Emily Sherwood was born on 23^rd June 1880 at 3 Medland Street, Ratcliff, which was a common lodging house.

 

Ratcliff 1890s vs present day

Soon after Charlotte’s birth the family moved to 1 The Orchard, Ratcliff. William Francis was now working as a “coal tank filler”. Coal tanks were small black steam locomotives that were initially used for freight work over short distances. They were probably being used in the docks at the time.

The census taken during the following year shows they were still living at 1 The Orchard. William was described as a “general labourer” and was living at the address with his wife and their three children.

On 16^th May 1883 William and Kate had another daughter named Martha. She was baptised on 1^st June at St James’s Church in Ratcliff. By the time of Martha’s arrival into the world, the family had moved to 12 London Street. Unfortunately the joy surrounding the birth was short-lived as Martha developed water on the brain. She died at Shadwell Children’s Hospital on 12^th December 1883 aged just 6 months.

Extract from Charles Booth Survey Map

In the years that followed, Charles Booth, who later founded the Salvation Army, conducted a survey of London. He walked the streets taking copious notes and eventually produced a map that classified their social class and poverty. The Booth survey describes Medland Street as being populated by “sailor’s widows” and “loose women”. Nearby London Street is described as “very rough” and the children were “booted, but ragged”. The streets were indicated on the map as dark blue and black respectively. Dark blue was described as “Very poor, casual, chronic want”. Black was described as “Lowest class, vicious, semi criminal”. (Booth, 1889-1899)

Booth’s survey paints a grim picture of the living conditions in the area. At the time the air would have been thick with coal smoke from industry and their lodgings damp. Inevitably, all this took its toll on William’s health. Like his mother, he caught bronchitis and died at his home, 10 London Street, on 19^th April 1888 aged just 37. and was laid to rest at the City of London and Tower Hamlets Cemetery on 29^th April 1888. At the time of his death he was working as a dock labourer and once again would have had to experience the scrum of the “call on” in order to earn the privilege of a day’s work in the docks that would have involved working in all weathers. He lived a lived a hard life and died young even by Victorian standards. The average life expectancy for men at the time was around 45.