The true face of the workhouse

Letter sent from an Inmate in Boston Workhouse "When I was a child and became orphaned in 1916, along with several brothers and sisters, I was deposited at that 'place' in Skirbeck Road then known as the workhouse, or Poor law Institution. And a more heartless, cold, inhuman place for parentless children to live in is hard to imagine. In the children's section the regime was unfeeling and harsh, the building was prison-like.

I remember the flagstone floor of our living room (which we children sometimes had to wash), the playground, or exercise yard, also surfaced with flagstones, enclosed by a high brick wall.
We were always hungry, a condition somewhat relieved when the boys of nine years old upwards graduated to the men's quarters, where there were better opportunities to leave the dining hall with slices of bread up one's jumper, to be augmented after dark by slipping out of the bathroom window into the garden and returning with carrots, turnips, apple, pears etc. What a tucking we often had in our dormitory. If you've read any escape stories you will know what I mean!
To return to the beginning. In the first few weeks of my incarceration the harshness hit me so hard (I was six at the time) that I ran away (or shall I say escaped) and made the journey of nine miles back to the old family home at Wigtoft.
That did not have a happy outcome, so my next escape was in the direction of Freiston Shore. Another failure. After that I just had to grin and bear it, but forever after when I think of my life in the workhouse I think also of Wormwood Scrubs, Colditz, The Lubianka, Oliver Twist - they all go together. "
Source: Sent in by Janet Corney

The Workhouse

In February 1911, a writer on “Tramp life” stayed in the Workhouse at Boston for a night and described his experience. He said the institution was known to the ordinary tramp as a Spike, a Grubber or a Derrick. The bed is a Lay down, and the food supplied termed Scran, Tommy, Rooty or Grub.
“Now, Boston Spike,” an old man said to him as they trudged along the Spalding Road, “is a good un. It’s a fine lay down, an’ you could stand yer spoon up in the skilly (referring to the thickness of the porridge). On entry into Boston Workhouse (pictured below) he found himself in the company of nearly a dozen vagrants. Some were very old, one claiming to have been 40 years on the road. Others were younger, one a stripling of eighteen, having been released the day before from Lincoln Prison.

When the reporters turn came, he gave the porter his name, age, occupation, place journeyed from and destination, also he handed over his pipe, tobacco and matches etc. for smoking was strictly prohibited in the workhouse.
Next he had to take a bath, which he didn’t mind but as one tramp expressed it “When you get a bath every night for a fortnight, you’re likely to be washed away,” while another said, “it let the cowd awful in his bones”.
Then he went to his bed in a small, cell like room with three rugs as a covering. His supper consisted of 8 ounces of bread and a drink of hot water, and he said that he slept well.
About 6. 30 a.m. the next morning he was woken and ordered to dress and by 7. 00 a.m. had received his breakfast, a pint of the famous Boston “skilly” with 6 ounces of bread, and an hour later he was paraded for work.
At about 11’o’ clock, after 3 hours of either breaking stones, picking oakum, sawing wood or gardening they were all released. Once outside the gates, pipes were produced, and a smoke indulged in, then the motley crowd set out on their ways.
In concluding his article he stated that Boston Tramp Ward amply fulfilled all the requirements set forth by the Local Government Board, he praised all the officials and said the rooms were very clean.