Читать книгу The Dreaded Workhouse - Danny McFaul - Страница 4

Among the public buildings in a certain town I shall refrain from naming, for several reasons. I shall instead assign to it the fictitious name of Larne. In the Victorian Era there were buildings that were common to most towns, great or small, they were called Workhouses. And in the Larne Workhouse was born a male child by the name of Kirk Hansen. For some time after he was born into this world with little help from the Parish doctor, it remained a matter of considerable doubt that the child would survive to bear any name at all. That is not to say that I am insinuating that being born in a Workhouse is in itself the most unfortunate circumstance that can possibly befall a human being. But I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Kirk Hansen that could have happened. The fact is that there were complications as Kirk lay gasping on a dirty flock mattress drifting between this world and the next. If the time had been in the late 1900s he would have been surrounded by grandparents, anxious aunts, cousins, experienced nurses and doctors. But this was Victorian times when places like a Workhouse didn’t have Doctors with profound wisdom and when, but for the grace of God, Kirk could have been killed in no time; there being nobody close at hand but a toothless old pauper woman, who was an ex prostitute and acting as a nurse. She was rendered rather misty eyed by a certain amount of beer. She was assisting the parish doctor at the birth and he only carried out such matters on a contract basis. It was a tossup between Kirk and Nature as to who would win the battle for survival between them. The result was that after a few struggles Kirk breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to announce to the other inmates of the Workhouse the fact that a new burden has been imposed upon the parish, by letting out a long loud cry. The doctor had been sitting by the fire warming his hands as Kirk’s young mother spoke in a very faint tone. The doctor rose and advanced to the bed’s head. ‘You will be fine’ he told the young mother. ‘We will have you out of here in no time dear’ interposed the so called nurse, after replacing a glass bottle in her apron pocket. The patient shook her head and stretched out a hand towards her child as the doctor deposited Kirk into her arms. She kissed her new born baby boy with her cold white lips passionately on his forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed round; fell back and died. They tried in vain to revive her. ‘Ah poor dear’ said the prostitute, picking up the cork of the glass bottle, which had fallen on to the bed as she stooped to take up the child. The doctor now considered that he had done his job as he said to his assistant‘. Give me a call if the child cries too much nurse’ putting on his hat and gloves. ‘If it is a bit troublesome give it a little gruel.’ He continued and pausing by the bedside the doctor added. ‘Where did she come from nurse?’ ‘She was brought here last night,’ replied the old woman. ‘She was found lying in the street.’ With the doctor gone the old prostitute again turned her attention to the glass bottle as she sat on a small low chair near the fire to dress baby Kirk. For most of the following year, Kirk was the victim of the establishment which proceeded on a course of deception. As his mother had died Kirk was brought up by hand. This hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan Kirk Hansen was reported by the Workhouse authorities to the Parish authorities. The Parish authorities inquired if there was no female there domiciled in the Workhouse who was in a situation to impart to Kirk the love and nourishment of which he was in dire need of. The Workhouse authorities replied that there was not. The Parish authorities resolved the problem by suggesting that Kirk should be ‘farmed out’ or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch Workhouse some miles away where several other offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the supervision of another reformed local female prostitute for the consideration of five pence per small head, per week. Five pence worth per week meant a good round diet for a child then as a great deal may be had for Five pence, at least enough to fill its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. This female prostitute was a Woman of great experience, she knew what was good for children and she had a very accurate perception of what was good for her, which is why she apportioned the greater part of the weekly stipend to her own use. Several years later Kirk was to become one of the brighter lads in the Workhouse. He was a little taller than other seven – year - olds, with hazel eyes and dark hair. He was full of mischief and liked playing practical jokes and he was punished of course. Sometimes he cried himself to sleep at night, but in the morning, irrepressible, he was laughing again. ‘Who was it who climbed the drainpipe in the playground and who was it who tied Officer Robinson’s shoelaces together as she sat darning socks?’ If it was not Kirk, it might as well have been, as he got the punishment and the master of the Workhouse, a bully called Fleming, vowed to break the ‘saucy little beggar.’ Life in the Workhouse was hard especially for children and once when Kirk owned up to making a sketch of the master with a square head, large eyes, and a big belly, he was taken to the discipline room, a small cell with no windows and no furniture except for a stool. The master took down one of several canes and beat the boy so severely that he couldn’t sit down for several days. But if the bully had expected to break Kirk’s spirit, he was very much mistaken. Kirk had lived in the Workhouse since birth and for some time after his mother had died.