Punch: Punch (100.1891)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,

291

Listen, Bet, from your comfortless seat on the turned-

up pail,—if yon've got the time;
Isn't it queer that Society's cleansers must pass their

lives amidst muck and grime ? [" swell" and sweet,
Spotless flannels no doubt are nice—and snowy linen is
But steaming reek is around our heads, and trickling

foulness about our feet.

If the dainty ladies whose linen we lave, we laundress

drudges, could look in here,
Wouldn't their feet shrink back with sickness, and

wouldn't their faces go pale with fear?
White, well-ironed, all sheen and sweetness, that linen

looks wben it leaves our hands;
Bnt they little think of the sodden Fqualor that marks

the den where the laundress stands.

Scrub, scrub, scrub, at the reeking tub, for eighteen hours

at a stretch, perchance,
Till our bowed backs ache, and our knuckles smart, and

the lights through the steam like spectres dance ;
Ankle-deep in the watery sludge, where the tile is ioose

or the drainage blocked !
Oh, I haven't a doubt that the dainty dames—if they

only knew !—would be sorely shocked.

Typhoid ! Terribly menacing word, the whisper of which

would destroy our trade ;
But dirt, and damp, and defective drainage will raise

that ghost on a world afraid ;
And at thirty years our strength is sapped by insidious

siege of the stifling fume, [fort such life illume.

Or what if we linger a little longer ? Scant rays of corn-
Grievances, Bet? Well, I make no doubt that the

woild of idlers is sorely sick
Of the moans and groans of the likes of us. When the

whip, the needle, the spade, the pick,
Are all on strike for a higher wage, 'tis a worry, of

coarse, to the well-to-do, [official to me and you.
And a sleek Home-Sec. must " decline to pledge " support

Of course, of course 1 Who are we, my dear, to bother

the big-wigs and stir their bile ?
Why, it 's all along of our "discontent," and 1he

Agitator's insidious guile. [sided pacts,

But Labour, Bet, is agog just now to revise the old one-
And even a Laundress may have an eye to the benefit

of the Factory Acts.

Those bad, bad 'Busmen, Bet ray girl, claim shorter hours,
and a longer pay; [we women not have our say

J ust think of such for the Slaves of the Tub ! Why should

in the Park o' Sunday, like like Dan the Docker, or Tom
the Tailor, or Will the " Whip" ?

The Tub and the Ironing-board appear to have got a chance
—which they mustn't let slip :

An Object Lesson in Laundress Labour, may move the
callous and shame the quiz.

A CURE FOR INFLUENZA.

Major 0'Gourmand. "Sure, me Docthoe said a Glass or two of Dry Cham-
pagne 'll do me good ! Begorbah, the Bottle's dry enough by this time !"

STBLKING INTELLIGENCE.-A Page from a Londoner's Diary.

Sunday.—Can scarcely believe the news ! What, no omnibuses I A strike!
What shall we do ? Fortunately always go to church on foot, so no loss in that.
Then subsequent parade in the Park—don't require an omnibus for that, either.
At the end of the day, can say that, take one thing with another, state of affairs
more comfortable than might have been anticipated.

Monday— Dreaded continuance of strike, but found, practically, little incon-
We dream of "Washing as well it might be" ; we'll venience. Had to walk to the office, and enjoyed the promenade immensely.

show them " Washing as now it is." j Haa no idea that a stroll along the Embankment was so delightful. After all,

We know it, Bet, in the sodden wet and the choking ! one can exist without omnibuses—at least, for a time.

fume; with the aching back, _ _ Tuesday.—Find that people who were at their wits' end .at the mere sug-

The long, long hours, and the typhoid taint, the inverted ; gestion of a strike, are becoming reconciled to the situation. Streets certainly

pail and the hurried snack.
There may—who knows?—be hope for us yet, for you and

pleasanter without the omnibuses. Great, lumbering conveyances, filling up
the road, and stopping the traffic 1 London looks twice as well without them!
roe, Bet \ Jusf think o'ThatT * J~"' I Tradesmen, too, say that the shops are just as well attended now as when the

Oh, I know it is hard to believe it, my girl. The Sweater's! two great Companies were in full swing. , x, ., ^.

Wednesday — Can't see what the omnibus people (both sides—Directors and
employes) are quarrelling about. No matter of mine, and the Public are only
too glad for a chance of a good walk. Fifty per oent. better since I have been
obliged to give up the morning 'bus. Asked to-day to contribute something in
support of the strikers. Certainly not, the longer the strike lasts the worse for
the Public.

Thursday — Really the present state of affairs is delightful. I have to
thank the deadlock for teaching me to patronise the river steamboats. Pleasant
journey from Vauxhall to the Temple for a penny 1 No idea that the Thames
was so pretty at Westminster. Yiew of the Houses of Parliament and the
Embankment capital.

Friday.—Strike continues. Well I do not complain. Hired a hansom and
find that considering the cab takes you up to door, it is really cheaper in the
long run. If you use an omnibus, you get jolted, and run a chance of
smashing your hat. If it rains you geti splashed and having to finish your
journey on foot, you might just as well have walked the whole way.

Saturday.—Strike arranged to cease on Monday ! This is too much ! Just as
we were getting comfortable, all the disgusting lumbering old omnibuses are to
come back again 1 It ought not to be allowed. Asked to-day to contribute some-
thing in support of the strikers. Certainly, the longer the strike lasts the
better for the Public.

strong, and appeal falls flat [against us go ;

On official ears ; and fine-lady fears, and household hurry
But "evil is wrought by want of thought." says some
poet, I think ;—so we'll let them know !

Ah ! snowy sheets and sweet lavender scent of the dear

old days in my village home !
The breadths of linen a-bleach on the grass! How little I

thought that to this I'd come
Grand ladies of old to their laundry looked, and the tubs

were white, and the presses fair ;
Now we cleansers clean in the midst of dirt, in a dank,

dark den, with a noisome air.

Sometimes I dream till the clouds of steam take the

shadowy form of a spectral thing,
A tyrant terror that threatens our lives, whilst we rub and

scrub, whilst we rinse and wring.
Well, cheer up, Bet, girl, stiffen your lip, and straighten

your back. You have finished your grub,
So to work once more ; if our champions score, we may
find a new end to this Tale of a Tub !