tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38858765116231507912024-02-07T03:09:37.659-08:00GaryDolmanwww.garydolman.co.ukGary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-13152590150177779462016-09-28T04:05:00.001-07:002016-09-28T04:05:29.800-07:00The Alchemist of Holy IslandOn a recent research trip to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, (a tidal island off the coast of north Northumberland, England), I came across this, in the churchyard of St Cuthbert’s church there:<br />
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It’s a gravestone, obviously, and one of no little antiquity. The National Trust guide, to whom I pointed it out, quipped, that with the skull-and-crossbones device, it might have been a pirate’s.<br />
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But it isn’t. Very probably, this is the gravestone of an alchemist.<br />
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Most people think of alchemy as the quest for chrysopoeia, that is, the transmutation of base metals into gold, and in a very limited, rather vulgar sense, it is. But this is just a microcosm of the true purpose of alchemy, which is the transmutation of the base material person; the alchemist’s own self, into pure, divine essence.<br />
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The alchemical process comprises several distinct stages of refinement, (typically 4, 7, or 12 in number), the first of which is Nigredo, a blackening, often involving death and putrefaction. The Caput mortuum – the useless residue left over from an alchemical process – is symbolised using a stylised skull, hence the use of a skull on a gravestone following death. The crossed bones beneath may be taken to represent two triangles, one pointing upwards towards the divine, and the other pointing to that which is below: in other words, the base, earthly body.<br />
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The philosophy of alchemy had its roots in ancient Egypt and Hellenic Greece. The respective gods of thosecultures, Thoth and Hermes, were traditionally viewed as messengers and mediators between the gods and man and therefore each became implicitly bound up with the alchemical journey. With the conquest of Egypt by the Greek Alexander the Great, they eventually became conflated as Hermes the thrice-great, or Hermes Trismegistus.<br />
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In respect of this, here is an excerpt from my novel The Satyr’s Dance, (Reynard Press, 2016):<br />
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<i>‘When Alexander the Great had turned his armies to the south, towards Egypt, he discovered the entire pantheon of Hellenic gods already there. In the great Amun-Ra he had found Zeus; in Hathor, the beautiful Aphrodite. And in Thoth, revered God of Wisdom and Writing and Magic, the messenger and mediator between mankind and the gods – the Earthly and Divine, and all things opposing – he found Hermes.</i><br />
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<i>When he looked east, towards the Levant and what would later become known as the Holy Land, he found Hermes there too. Revered for his wisdom, for his riches, and for the great temple he had built, there he was known as Solomon....................</i><br />
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<i>.............Centuries after Alexander’s time, the crusading knights had come to the Holy Land and there built for themselves great churches and castles. As many were infected with leprosy, so too were they by the Egyptian and Hellenic wisdoms of astrology, alchemy and theurgy. It was there that Hermes Trismegistus, no longer Solomon but Baphomet, came to be worshipped as a god by the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon – the Knights Templar.”</i><br />
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The conquests of Alexander caused the concepts of alchemy and Gnosis (the secret wisdom that enables the achievement of perfection), to be carried into the Levant and beyond. Here they were taken up by the Arabs and developed further as part of the rich learned and philosophical traditions which blossomed there. The Templars, (based principally at the site of Solomon’s Temple – the Temple Mount) adopted many of the Gnostic ideas and carried them to the west, where alchemy took root and flourished, especially during the Enlightenment period.<br />
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Interestingly, the powerful sea fleet controlled by the Templar order used the skull and crossed bones symbol as their naval pennant. Indirectly, this led to its use in various forms by the later pirates. So perhaps the national Trust guide on Holy Island wasn’t too far out, after all.<br />
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Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-74698627790307035082016-05-31T02:59:00.000-07:002016-05-31T02:59:14.580-07:00The 1st Marquess of Ripon.In my third novel, THE SATYR’S DANCE, I borrow a number of real characters from history. One of the more illustrious of these is George Frederick Samuel Robinson, the celebrated First Marquess of Ripon.<br />
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In 1780, George Robinson’s grandfather Lord Grantham married Mary Gemima Grey Yorke, who was the daughter of the second Earl of Hardwicke. They had two sons who survived infancy: The elder, Thomas Phillip was born in 1781 and he inherited the title and estates when Grantham died in 1786. Additional inheritances, including the de Grey earldom and the magnificent Ripon estate of Studley Royal made him one of the greatest landowners in England. The younger brother Frederick John entered politics and went on to become Prime Minister, (albeit briefly) in the autumn and winter of 1827/28. It was during his father’s short tenure as Prime Minister that George Frederick Samuel Robinson was born, on the 24th October, 1827, at No. 10, Downing Street.<br />
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George’s schooling was given at his mother’s home, Nocton Hall in Lincolnshire and he attended neither school nor university. His mother’s first son had died soon after birth and a daughter (Elinor Henrietta) at the age of eleven. Unsurprisingly, Lady Sarah was very protective of George.<br />
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Ripon duly survived into adulthood and was married at the age of 24 to Henrietta Vyner, his cousin, the ceremony being held at the house of Earl de Grey in St. James Square, London. He came into his inheritance in 1859; this comprising not only his father’s estates, but his uncle’s too, including Studley Royal and Fountain’s Abbey.<br />
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The magnificent house of Studley Royal, which burned down in 1946.</div>
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The house of Studley Royal burned down in 1946 but the stables (now privately owned) survive. The grounds, a four-hundred acre deer park and one of the most beautiful water gardens in England, are in the ownership of the National Trust and open to the public.</div>
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Around 1849, Ripon, who had already developed ‘radical’ views, became inclined to enter politics. Europe at that time was still reeling from the great 1848 ‘year of revolutions’. The British government feared dissent and open rebellion by the people against the ruling aristocracy, who still held the controlling strings in both national and local politics. Ripon’s father therefore arranged for him to go on a diplomatic mission to Brussels. Perhaps he hoped that direct contact with a Europe in turmoil would dissuade his son from his radical viewpoint. On the contrary however, it further cemented it. On his return from Europe, and to his father’s horror, Ripon began to associate with the Christian Socialist movement.</div>
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In late 1851, Ripon was drawn out of his previously mainly academic and paternalistic politics into the moil of an industrial dispute: the ‘lock-out’ of the engineers. The Christian Socialists were here prominent by their appearances on worker’s platforms, their letters to newspapers, and by their many public lectures. After the collapse of the dispute in April 1852, Ripon turned his full attention to politics, convinced that the country needed to become more democratic, with the aristocratic hegemony broken and suffrage extended beyond the land owners and middle class. </div>
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Because of his opinions, Ripon’s uncle (the Earl de Grey) would neither sponsor him, nor provide him with a family ‘pocket borough’, (which was the usual route by which young aristocrats were entered into politics). Undeterred, Ripon stood as a parliamentary candidate for Hull, a tough, sea-faring borough with a reputation for corruption. Ripon, who took great pride in honest electioneering, was duly elected although he was unseated shortly afterwards when a campaign official was accused of bribery. It did not put him off however, and he re-entered the Houses of Parliament via the constituency of Huddersfield.</div>
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In parliament, Ripon became the de facto leader of the Goderichites, who took a particular interest in army and civil service reform, Indian and industrial affairs, and the abolition of privilege.</div>
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In January 1859, on his father’s death, Ripon was elevated to the House of Lords as the Earl of Ripon, later the Earl de Grey and Ripon.</div>
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In 1861, Ripon was appointed to the cabinet as Secretary for War, his term of office coinciding with the start of American Civil War (1861-5). He worked closely with Florence Nightingale to improve military hygiene and the status and role of medical officers.</div>
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By the time WE Gladstone returned to power in 1868, Ripon had established a reputation as an enlightened and efficient administrator. He was given the Lord Presidency of the Council, which allowed him to pursue another long-standing passion, educational reform, and particularly its provision to the lower classes.</div>
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<b>Alabama Treaty</b></div>
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A high-point of Ripon’s tenure in office within Gladstone’s administration was his work on the joint Anglo-American High Commission of 1871. The state of Anglo-American relations at the time was so low that war seemed inevitable. Underlying this was the failure of the British to understand the deep sense of grievance felt by the Americans over the fitting out of several Confederate ships in British ports at the time of the Civil War. The crisis reached its zenith over what were known as the Alabama claims. The British statute on neutral conduct, (the Foreign Enlistment Act, 1819), forbade the equipping, furnishing, fitting- out, or arming within British jurisdiction of vessels for the purpose of attacking the commerce of friendly powers, or the augmentation of ‘the warlike force’ of such vessels, but it did not expressly prohibit the building of such vessels.</div>
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Taking advantage of this loophole, Captain James D. Bulloch, the Confederate agent charged with such business, arranged with English shipbuilding firms for the construction of the Confederate cruisers <i>Florida</i> and <i>Alabama</i> and later the <i>Shenandoah</i>. In each case the ship was built but not equipped, fitted-out or armed in a British shipyard. Instead, they put to sea, where they were met by another ship bringing armament, officers, and crew.</div>
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The United States also held that Great Britain had violated the principles of neutrality by permitting confederate cruisers to undertake replenishment and repair in ports of the British Empire.</div>
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With Canada at risk from an aggressive United States, Britain was facing the possibility of war on two fronts. Into the midst of this, Ripon was dispatched as Chairman of the Joint Commission. Ripon’s conciliatory approach won widespread praise and he succeeded in quickly diffusing the crisis. Tanterden, who was the secretary to the British commissioners remarked upon: ‘...the very able way in which (Lord) Ripon conducts the discussion. He never loses temper, never presses an advantage too far and hits hard whenever required... and is wonderfully quick in catching at, and making his points’.</div>
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For Britain’s failure to exercise "due diligence" over the <i>Alabama</i>, the <i>Florida</i> and the <i>Shenandoah</i>, she agreed to pay £3 million in reparations. The ‘Washington Treaty’ was a landmark in the history of international law and lead to much improved relations between the two nations. In addition, it enabled the withdrawal of the British from North America without conflict, whilst leaving Canada intact. For his role in the treaty, Ripon was given a marquisate and in 1871 became the 1st Marquess of Ripon.</div>
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In August 1873 Lord Ripon resigned from Gladstone’s government, partly because the great reform ministry had effectively run its course, but also because of personal troubles. His mother, to whom he was devoted, died in 1867; F.D. Maurice, his great political mentor, died in 1872; in 1870, his brother-in-law was massacred by Greek brigands and in 1873 his son came close to death.</div>
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In September 1874 there was a development in lord Ripon’s life, which I use as a major plot-line in <i>The Satyr’s Dance</i>. Lord Ripon announced his conversion to Catholicism, something that took society and even his closest friends by complete surprise. He had been an active Freemason for over twenty years, even rising, in 1870, to become its Grand Master. However, his religious conversion prompted not only his resignation from the Freemasons but also his stern direction to his gardener that his Masonic regalia be burned.</div>
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When Ripon was formally received into the Catholic Church on the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin on 8 September 1874, the outcry from press and pulpit, and the dismay of Gladstone himself, effectively ended his political career.</div>
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<b>The Viceroy of India.</b></div>
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The spring of 1880 saw the return of the Liberals to power, with Gladstone again at their head. Lord Ripon was offered, and accepted, the position of Viceroy of India. He personally disliked imperial rule and anticipated to its eventual demise. Pursuant to this, he strived towards a greater ‘native’ participation in local government. Self-government was one of Ripon’s most cherished political principles.</div>
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Ripon also re-established the freedom of the press in India. A free press, subject only to registration, had been the norm in India since 1853, and was only temporarily suspended during the 1857/8 Uprising. However in 1878, Lord Lytton curbed the indigenous press, and printers and publishers were obliged to give bonds and submit proofs for local government inspection before they were permitted to go to press. </div>
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Ripon is often credited for laying the foundations of a future independent India and is still held in high regard in the subcontinent.</div>
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After Ripon returned to England in January 1885, he was appointed 1st Lord of the Admiralty (1886) and, in 1892, Colonial Secretary, an office he held until 1895 under both Gladstone and Earl Rosebery. (From 1895 to 1902 the Liberals were in opposition against the Conservatives under the Marquess of Salisbury).</div>
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<b>Lord Privy Seal.</b></div>
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After the revival of Liberal fortunes in 1903, Ripon became Lord Privy Seal and Leader of the Liberals in the House of Lords. He acquired a renewed enthusiasm for political life, being charged at almost eighty years of age to lead the small band of Liberal peers against the entrenched Conservative majority. He resigned from office in 1908, citing his advanced age and failing health.</div>
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Lord Ripon also served for many years as Chairman of the Guardians of Ripon Union Workhouse. Ripon workhouse was well-known amongst the county’s vagrants as one of the better ‘spikes’. It had a reputation for paternalism and kindliness which undoubtedly reflected Lord Ripon’s own nature. Indeed, regular excursions were arranged for the pauper inmates to the Studley Royal estate, a short walk from the city, which must have been an exciting and much appreciated break from their toilsome existence. This perhaps as much as anything illustrates the depth of the man’s humanity.</div>
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Lord Ripon died at Studley from heart failure in July 1909. He is interred at St Mary’s Church, Studley Royal.</div>
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St Mary's Church at Studley Royal.</div>
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<a href="http://www.garydolman.co.uk/the-satyrs-dance/4592421504" target="_blank">The Satyr's Dance</a>, Gary Dolman, May 2016.</div>
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Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-52911779370263010512014-04-27T05:17:00.002-07:002014-04-27T05:19:43.528-07:00Humanity and Heroines.In my novel <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell, </i>I make several references to the celebrated Victorian heroine Grace Darling.<br />
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Grace is well-known even today for her part in the rescue of several passengers and crew members of the paddle-steamer SS Forfarshire when it ran aground and broke up on the Farne Islands, off the coast of Northumberland, Gt Britain in 1838. However, as probably the first media celebrity, hers was a fascinating and ultimately tragic tale above and beyond the rescue itself.<br />
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This is her story:<br />
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Grace Horsley Darling was born in 1815 – the year of the Battle of Waterloo – as the seventh child of a lighthouse keeper. She began life in an estate cottage in Bamburgh, Northumberland and was brought up in the lighthouse on Brownsman Island, one of the nearby Farne Islands.<br />
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At the age of ten, Grace moved with her family to a newly-constructed lighthouse on the Longstone rock, built to warn the rapidly increasing shipping of the dangerous outermost rocks of the Farnes group. She never attended school, but instead was taught in scriptural and secular matters by her father, William Darling, up in the lighthouse lantern. Hers was a quiet and gentle existence, isolated except for occasional visitors to the island and trips over to Bamburgh village.<br />
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On the morning of Friday, 7th September 1838, however, all that was to change forever.<br />
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Two days earlier, the paddle-steamship SS Forfarshire (450 Tons) had sailed from Hull, Yorkshire with passengers and a full cargo bound for Dundee, Scotland. There were around forty cabin and deck passengers on board, (although a complete passenger list was never made) and twenty-two crewmen plus the Captain, John Humble and his wife.<br />
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Whilst docked at Hull, the ship's boilers had been inspected and repairs made. However, the boilers continued to give cause for concern from early in the voyage, leaking and losing pressure continually and there was much talk that the Forfarshire should head for one of the ports on the River Tyne for repair, especially as the seas were heavy. The captain however assured passengers there was nothing to be concerned about.<br />
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By early evening on Thursday, 6th September they steamed north past the Farne Islands but by now the condition of the boilers meant that the crew were forced to raise sail to assist passage. As the ship passed Berwick-upon-Tweed the weather deteriorated further and the wind rose into a northerly gale. The extra pressure this exerted on the boilers caused them to fail completely and the engines were stopped. Under pressure of wind and current, the Forfarshire began to drift south.<br />
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At 1.00 am on Friday, 7th September and now under sail in an increasing storm, Captain Humble gave the order to turn back, intending to seek shelter near the Farnes. After a difficult period negotiating rapidly changing tidal currents and with the big paddle-boxes catching the swell and making navigation extremely difficult, the light of a lighthouse was seen. Captain Humble identified it as the lighthouse of the Inner Farne and intending to find shelter in Fairway, (the relatively slack water between this island and the coast), he kept the lighthouse to his port bow.<br />
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It was a catastrophic mistake. The light he had seen had not been that of Inner Farne but of Longstone, much farther out. In keeping it to port, he was in fact steering straight for the rocks.<br />
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At 4.00am the ship hit the Big Harcar Rock. Immediately the crew lowered the quarter-boat and eight of them jumped in. The swift current and winds through the Piper Gut channel carried them away from the wreck and into the relative safety of the open sea.<br />
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The Forfarshire lurched back and struck the rock again and the vessel split in two. The front portion became stuck fast but the after-part, together with the cargo and all below deck was lost to the sea.<br />
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There were a few however who had survived on the deck, clinging to anything they could find. To make matters worse, the tide was now falling, causing the wreck to become unstable. The survivors scrambled onto the rock, including a Mrs Sarah Dawson, with her two children and they also brought out the corpse of another passenger, a Reverend Robb, deciding to save his body from the sea.<br />
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That night, Grace and her parents were in the lighthouse. Grace, unable to sleep, was watching the storm from her bedroom window. Through the darkness she saw a large, black shape on Harcar Rock – a ship – and she ran to wake her father.<br />
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Through a telescope, they studied the wreck for signs of life and at this point saw none. Grace continued to watch however and as daylight swelled, at around 7.00am, she saw movement. There were what looked to be three or four survivors after all.<br />
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William Darling thought the sea too rough for the North Sunderland (Seahouses) lifeboat to put out even if the wreck had been seen from the look-out point on Bamburgh Castle at all, and so Grace pleaded with him that they take their own coble to attempt to rescue them.<br />
<br />
Thomasin, Grace’s mother was against it – afraid they would both be drowned and William himself was dubious. Grace however, was insistent. Two people at least were needed to handle the 20ft boat so both William and Grace made haste to launch it. Almost immediately they disappeared from view and poor Thomasin thought they were lost. However they were not. William had decided to take the southerly course around Blue Caps and Clove Car to Big Harcar. It was the long way round, nearly a mile in distance, but much more sheltered. Nevertheless the gale, the swell, the noise and the sheer physical effort involved must have been incredible. Eventually they fought their way to the wreck and instead of the handful of survivors they expected, there were, mercifully, no fewer than nine. William realised that two trips would now be required.<br />
<br />
He leapt across onto the Big Harcar rock while Grace somehow held the coble steady. Mrs Dawson’s two small children were dead and William had to insist that they were left behind along with the Reverend Robb’s corpse. An injured passenger was also taken, along with two crew members to help row the coble. Grace presumably would have comforted Mrs Dawson and nursed the injured man as best she could.<br />
<br />
They arrived safely at Longstone and William returned with the two crewmen to collect the remaining crewman and three passengers. The three bodies were left, to collect when it was safer to do so.<br />
<br />
The story of the rescue immediately made the local, and then the national newspapers. They made much of how, against all odds, Grace had been able to save nine souls from the wreck. The part played by William Darling was largely forgotten in the frenzy, as was that that of the North Sunderland lifeboat crew who did in fact put to sea and who rowed through the storm for over five hours, eventually arriving at Harcar not long after the Darlings.<br />
<br />
Gifts, awards and donations for Grace came flooding in. Silks, silverware, books and bibles arrived from admirers across the country and even from abroad. Queen Victoria, herself only nineteen, sent Grace £50. Hundreds of letters were sent to Longstone, many requested her autograph, locks of her hair or a piece of the clothing she wore during the rescue.<br />
<br />
Along with the letters came visitors, arriving every day in hired boats hoping to meet or see Grace or simply to stand and stare at her. Her image became hugely popular and artists arrived regularly to paint her likeness. These likenesses, of an ordinary young woman with ‘windswept hair’, sealed it. She became the romantic heroine of the age.<br />
<br />
Books were written about her, often fictional accounts, which bore little resemblance to the actual events; poems were penned by no lesser writers than Wordsworth and Swinburne; songs sung and even theatrical dramatisations performed in the great London theatres. Floods of cheap souvenirs were made and Cadbury even produced a range of ‘Grace Darling’ chocolates.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeENVrnbQDgzPg3Qn_4nThbz2rczRWjvP4ZPAjmnN1pct4NNmMrymClmLsAHQPhWhyphenhyphenPfR_3JPwvmnnPYlYb1x-JUW2ZpTH3BlPj0ISbzWyG1S2ZjFuAdecxDr904i-rvgKU5Ve4PdIu4k/s1600/Grace_Darling_Chocolate_Box.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeENVrnbQDgzPg3Qn_4nThbz2rczRWjvP4ZPAjmnN1pct4NNmMrymClmLsAHQPhWhyphenhyphenPfR_3JPwvmnnPYlYb1x-JUW2ZpTH3BlPj0ISbzWyG1S2ZjFuAdecxDr904i-rvgKU5Ve4PdIu4k/s1600/Grace_Darling_Chocolate_Box.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
What was initially thrilling for Grace soon became onerous and then quite overwhelming. She was used to a simple, quiet and ordered life. Now, there was constant pressure to attend functions and to receive awards and honours, to respond to letters and to receive visitors. Each morning, she would see a flotilla of boats setting out from Bamburgh, Seahouses and Beadnell with no way of knowing which were fishermen and which hired boats coming to see her. She began to suffer and to withdraw into herself, refusing invitations and being racked with guilt at the offense she might have caused by doing so.<br />
<br />
In an attempt to deflect the adulation she was receiving, Grace began to say that it was God who had given her the strength to carry out the rescue. This only made matters worse. The Church leaped onto it and many clergymen and representatives were sent to visit and to write to her, wanting to meet to reflect on matters spiritual.<br />
<br />
The public’s obsession with Grace Darling did not diminish one degree right up what tragically became her last year of life.<br />
<br />
In 1842, her brother William Brooks Darling was appointed assistant lighthouse keeper to their father at Longstone. In order to accommodate his wife and family, cottages had to be built beside the lighthouse. Not only were there many workmen present on the island whilst construction was taking place, William Brooks’ family also had to move into the lighthouse. Their sister Mary Ann, a widow, had already moved back to Longstone with her daughter and Grace had no privacy, nowhere to hide away, even in what was her own home.<br />
<br />
It was decided that Grace needed time away from the bustle and in March she went a little way south to Coquet Island where her eldest brother, William, was keeper of the lighthouse. Her short appearance at Seahouses harbour in boarding the steamer caused a sensation and Grace was forced to hide below deck. From Coquet Island she went on to the town of Alnwick where she stayed with her cousins before returning to Longstone. Ominously, she caught a virus during this time and developed a persistent cough.<br />
<br />
Throughout that summer the visitor numbers to Longstone were unrelenting. This together with endless letter-writing and responding to invitations took its toll on Grace and she withdrew yet further into herself, eventually becoming quite ill and weak.<br />
<br />
In September 1842, Grace was sent to Wooler to stay with friends. In this short time she did improve a little and even rode a pony into the Cheviot Hills, but then it was decided to return her to Alnwick, to the cramped and crowded Narrowgate. Here, Grace rapidly declined once more so she was moved again to a quieter house in Prudhoe Street. There the Duchess of Northumberland sent the Duke's personal physician to attend upon her. He diagnosed tuberculosis. The deeply concerned Duchess visited her bedside but this only caused poor Grace further distress. <br />
<br />
Grace's mental health suffered. She began to have psychotic experiences of staring eyes and of crowds outside her window, and paranoid delusions that everyone was finding fault with her. She grew deeply anxious and depressed, becoming feverish and increasingly weak. As her sister Thomasin wrote of her at this time: “She went like the snow.”<br />
<br />
Her father decided to return her to Bamburgh village, to her uncle’s home, where he hoped the familiar surroundings would calm her. In the event, however, it only made matters worse. Every knock at the door from well-wishers, every sound she heard caused her anguish and distress. She lay in a box bed, with a sliding wall panel, shut away from the world, scarcely getting up and clearly profoundly clinically depressed.<br />
<br />
Grace began to realise that the end from tuberculosis was close. She asked for her family to be summoned and from her deathbed Grace distributed personal items to her relatives. She was quite calm and composed at this time. I believe that the knowledge that she was dying and that the unrelenting pressure would soon be over was a blessed relief to her.<br />
<br />
On the evening of Thursday, 20th October 1842, Grace Darling asked to be raised up from her pillow. She died in her father’s arms at 8.15pm. She was just twenty-six years old.<br />
<br />
The story of the Darlings’ rescue of the survivors of the wreck of the Forfarshire is a very well known one. Much less so is that of Grace’s inability to cope with the fame and attention it threw up. It demonstrates powerfully how mental disorder can affect even the strongest and most heroic of people and that anyone can be affected given a particular set of circumstances.<br />
<br />
Tragic though it was, Grace Darling’s suffering and decline is testament to her humanity as well as her courage. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-81884702464139677222014-03-22T07:26:00.002-07:002014-03-24T22:52:46.874-07:00The Business of Publishing: My Perspective.<div class="MsoNormal">
As I reckon up, I am in just my fifth year of ‘interaction’ with the publishing industry; little more than a baby really. However, because that industry has
changed so much in those few years, (which seem more like a lifetime), and because I have been such a keen observer of
those changes, I have decided to post my own thoughts and experiences of the industry thus far. </div>
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<br /></div>
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To begin, I shall declare my position: I have two titles (traditionally) published with a small press; Thames River Press of London, (a
sister imprint of Anthem Press) and I am due to submit a third shortly. I will
also declare my dislike of pejoratives; I will use neither the term ‘vanity
publishing’ nor ‘legacy publishing’ in this post since I believe that both are
used all too often with the hint of a sneer. </div>
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<br /></div>
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For me, going back in time to a first ‘finished’ manuscript lying
on my desk, the decision as to which publishing model to adopt was easy. At that time, I perceived a definite stigma
towards self-published books. My own lack of confidence in my writing abilities
was such that I needed the reassurance of a third-party who was prepared to put
their own time and money into believing in it. I needed to be traditionally published.</div>
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I quickly acquired a literary agent who set about submitting
my work to the big London publishing houses. Rejection after rejection resulted
and he quickly terminated our agreement suggesting that I self-publish to prove
the work, and then go back to the traditional channel on the back of solid
evidence of sales. This reinforced my view at the time that those who could not
get with a ‘proper publisher’, self-published and I chose to reject that advice.
Instead, I started to query the bigger of the small presses with a second
manuscript I had written, <i>The Eighth
Circle of Hell.</i> That one was accepted almost immediately by Thames River
Press and so off I went. </div>
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<br /></div>
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A little
over three years down the line from that point, what are my thoughts now?</div>
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Well, firstly I am still convinced that there are very few authors who would not jump at a deal with one of the very big publishing houses. There has
been much mention in blogs and commentaries about negotiating print-only deals
and the like with those houses but that is for the phenomenally successful few.
Most of the rest of us would rather like a bog-standard deal, thank you very
much, with its attendant marketing budgets and its SKU access to bookstores and
its top-level reviewers. That dream is becoming less and less likely each year however
as the market at that end consolidates and the big houses, (and the literary
agents who serve them) become increasingly dependent on sure-fire-winner
material and second-guessing the chains.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So that really leaves the small presses and self-publishing, even
though some of the small presses are really quite large these days. You are
much more likely to be offered a traditional publishing contract by the editor
of a small press than a large one, quite obviously. Many will accept direct
queries; many will work hard with a manuscript they feel shows promise and many
are looking for literary, rather than commercial merit. Importantly to an
aspiring author, they will often give an objective and expert opinion as to
whether a manuscript is commercially viable (and therefore publishable) at all.
Freelance editors will work hard to make an individual manuscript as good as it
can be, but they will/can rarely tell a writer to shred it altogether.</div>
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The actual experience of publishing with a smaller press can
be good too, with a close working and creative relationship with each function
in turn. That was certainly my experience. It is the time beyond the publication
day where things begin to get a little more difficult.</div>
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Most small presses leave the promotion and marketing of a
title almost entirely to the author. They may well have a small internal publicity
department but after the focus of publication day, and despite their best efforts, that resource inevitably begins to spread very
thinly over a large number of titles. My own experience is that within the whole promotional picture, you’re on
your own. That was fine by me; I understood perfectly well that was going to be
the case before signing on the dotted line and it is still easier to reach the print/broadcast
media and many reviewers if you are traditionally published with any publicity department. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But it is still a
hard slog. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The time spent promoting your first title impacts massively on the
time and effort you can spend writing your second and so on. This is a big problem
for small press authors. Their overall sales follow the same model as
for self-published authors; perpetual mid-list, building over time with
incremental engagements. One of the major drivers of sales is therefore a regular
release of titles, which as I noted above, is difficult to do without the big royalty
percentages of self-publishing to make it financially worthwhile. </div>
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The small press business model is all front-loaded it seems
to me. The publisher bears the costs of submission-editing, copy-editing and production,
but after that, the costs are extraordinarily light, especially if print runs
are short, or on-demand. And if print runs are short, or (even worse from the
author’s perspective) on-demand, the author is left struggling to push a
printed title with a high-end retail price. At the other end, e-book prices
tend to be significantly higher than those of self-published authors since
there is simply less margin available to play with. The big houses have begun
to respond in this area too and have started to intelligently discount. This, I
believe, is also beginning to impact on the e-book sales of many self-published
authors.</div>
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I’m quite sure that many traditionally-published authors cast
envious glances in the direction of their self-published colleagues these days,
eyeing their huge royalty percentages, their regular monthly payments and their
ability to turn-on-a-sixpence. This sector, of course, is where I, along with
everyone else, have seen the biggest changes. Self publishing has becoming the
first preference of many. Because of the almost religious fervour of the
self-published community of authors, it has largely shed the stigma of a few years ago, although to a greater extent in the more meritocratic United States I
would say, than in the more establishment-driven United Kingdom. </div>
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Many, even most, self-published authors are quite happy, proud
even, to declare their ‘indie’ status and with the direct cause-effect
relationship between promotion, marketing and royalties, it is little wonder that
social media is constantly buzzing with their tweets and sales messages. </div>
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As with most rapidly-developing new markets, we are
beginning to see some stratification in the self-published sector. There is a
much more general acceptance of the need for professional copy-editing,
cover-design and proof-reading inputs and this does lead to better quality
products. Having said that, there are still too many poorly-written and un-edited,
self-published books out there, which in truth should have stayed in the
writer’s imagination. I see no solution to that. It may damage the credibility
and discoverability of other self-published authors with more professionalism and/or
merit but that’s life. Those books will stutter for a time and die, and others
will come along and do exactly the same. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So we have three sectors of the business, all with their own
advantages and disadvantages, all watching the others out of the corner of
their eyes with some mix of envy and disdain. The continued rise in both tablet
use and print-on-demand technology will benefit both the small presses and the
self-published but with competitive pricing and the new willingness to cede
margin by the big London and New York publishers, whether that will result in
such huge gains in market share as is often bandied about, I am doubtful. I
personally see the market beginning to settle now with each sector continuing
to watch the other with that same mix of envy and disdain, occasionally lobbing
pejoratives at each other but nonetheless co-existing. The biggest ‘churn’ will
be at the small presses where authors, increasingly competent in production
processes will opt for the richer returns of self-publishing, and the commercially
successful who will be snapped up by the bigger houses. Nevertheless, I’m
certain that there will be plenty of aspiring writers to take their places.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So – after all this contemplation, what am I going to do
with my own future work? </div>
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Goodness knows!</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-44375000017329034612014-01-20T04:04:00.001-08:002014-01-20T04:08:34.278-08:00Stoking The Eighth Circle of Hell<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;">In January of 2013, the crime fiction magazine <a href="http://crimesquad.com/">CRIMESQUAD.COM</a> were kind enough to feature me as their FRESH BLOOD for the month. This was following their review of my debut novel </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4;"><a href="http://garydolman.blogspot.co.uk/p/eighth-circle-of-hell.html" target="_blank">The Eighth Circle of Hell.</a> </i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;">They were kind enough too, to list it as one of their <a href="http://www.crimesquad.com/topten.asp" target="_blank">top ten crime fiction novels</a> of 2013. Mr Graham Smith, the reviewer tweeted me a couple of days ago to say that even a year later the novel still haunted him; this from someone who lives and breathes the very darkest of crime fiction.</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;"><br /></span></h3>
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;">I'm not really surprised that it should, since The Eighth Circle of Hell addresses the brutal, if rather unlikely subject of 19</span><sup style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-weight: normal;">th</sup><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4;"> Century child sexual abuse. I am continually asked why I chose this as a subject for a novel and it’s an interesting story. So here it is:</span></h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-9184621811546576991" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 578px;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Around six years or so ago, there were a number of difficult elements in my personal life; severe illness of close family members, hardship and death. I began to write creatively as a catharsis to these and as a form of escapism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">One day, I was visiting my father in the care home where he lived when one of the other residents, an elderly lady who, like my father, was also in the end-stages of Alzheimer’s Disease, suddenly cried out, begging some uncle to stop, screaming that he was hurting her. The room fell into excruciating silence, staff and visitors alike exchanging discomforted glances and trying to imagine what sort of horrors she must be reliving. The lady herself was beyond conversation, beyond comfort and beyond reassurance and surely the only relief she would have from her memories would be her death. That thought very soon took form and shape in my mind as <i><a href="http://garydolman.blogspot.co.uk/p/eighth-circle-of-hell.html" target="_blank">The Eighth Circle of Hell</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Another conversation which fed into the story-line was one I had with the senior nurse at the time. He explained that my father (who was by then doubly-incontinent) was violently resisting attempts by the nurses to bath him. That was hardly surprising, he told me, since my father could not remember who the nurses were from one hour to the next. To his mind, several burly men had grabbed him and were forcibly removing his clothes. Little wonder he fought back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The plot for the novel that had formed in my mind needed to predate dementia drugs or even modern mental health services and living at the time in Harrogate – essentially a Victorian town – I decided to set it in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Which is when I happened to stumble across the abomination of the Defloration Mania.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Defloration Mania was a period during the Victorian age when adolescent, mainly virgin girls were bought, duped, kidnapped, or otherwise procured for rich, so-called gentlemen to rape. It was a time of soundproofed rooms, chloroform and procuresses and the rape was carried out on an almost industrial scale. The pioneering journalist WT Stead eventually exposed it in 1885 in a series of shocking articles entitled <i>The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon, </i>(which I have reprinted in full in my previous posts)<i>.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The articles outraged a Victorian public and it outraged me, especially as I remembered the terror in the old lady’s screams. It was this anger that gave life to the manuscript for <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell</i>. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 1.4; text-indent: 36pt;">Everything I describe in the plot; the horrific baby farming, the Annexe, the procuresses and even the gentlemen’s cabaret entertainment was real and typical to the Mania.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 1.4; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 1.4; text-indent: 36pt;">The most amazing thing about the period was that despite the 1885 scandal and the riots that Stead’s articles ignited, virtually no one these days, even in England, has heard of the Defloration Mania. The government of the day hurriedly raised the age of consent for girls from 13 to 16 years and the whole thing quickly faded away – in the public’s consciousness at least.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 1.4; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 1.4; text-indent: 36pt;">The reality however, as opposed to the consciousness did not. The current rash of celebrity prosecutions and accusations related to sexual abuse demonstrates that wealth and power tend to corrupt as much as they ever did. The Mania continues to this day.</span></div>
</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-87838452324886729292014-01-04T11:07:00.000-08:002014-01-04T11:07:52.242-08:00The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon IV by WT SteadThe final article in the sensational series published in <i>The Pall Mall Gazette</i> of 1885 by the celebrated journalist WT Stead. I set my novel <b>THE EIGHTH CIRCLE OF HELL</b> in this period of the Defloration Mania.<br />
<br />
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<b>The watchword</b> with which we started, Liberty for Vice,
Repression for Crime, is the only safe keynote for the Legislature in dealing
with this question. The Criminal Law Amendment Bill, as framed by Sir W.
Harcourt, was not so much a bill for raising the age of consent and increasing
the stringency of the provisions against procuration and the traffic in English
girls as a bill for increasing the arbitrary power of the police in the
streets.</div>
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<br /></div>
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No one who has any acquaintance with the enormous variety of
the duties which modern civilization imposes upon the police can sympathize
with the abuse so ignorantly and uncharitably showered upon the force. The
constable is the official upon whom modern society has devolved all the duties
of the ancient knight errant. There is no more useful being in the world, and
there are few nobler ideals of human activity than the daily life of a really
public-spirited, chivalrous policeman. But the majority of policemen, being
only mortal, are no more to be trusted with arbitrary power than any other
human beings, especially over the other sex. Its possession leads to
corruption, and the more that power is increased the more mischief is done. I
have no wish to bring any railing accusations against a body of men who are
constantly performing the most arduous duties in the public service; but those
who think most highly of the force should be most anxious to save it from any
increase of a temptation which already seriously impairs both its morale and
its efficiency. In this, I am informed, I am expressing not only the unanimous
opinion of our Commission, but also the matured conviction of some of the best
authorities in the force.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The power of the police over women in the streets is already
ample, not merely for the purposes of maintaining order and for preventing
indecency and molestation, but also for the purpose of levying blackmail upon
unfortunates.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have been assured by a chaplain of one of her Majesty's
gaols, who perhaps has more opportunities of talking to these women than any
other individual in the realm, that there is absolute unanimity in the ranks
that if they do not tip the police they get run in. From the highest to the
lowest, he informs me, the universal testimony is that you must pay the
constable, or you get into trouble. With them it has come to be part of the
recognized necessities of their profession. Tipping porters is contrary to the
by-laws of the railway companies, yet it is constantly done by passengers; and
tipping the police is as constant a practice on the part of the women of the
street. Some pay with purse, others with person–many poor wretches with both.
There are good policemen who would not touch the money of a harlot or drink
with her, much less have anything to do with her otherwise. But there are great
numbers who regard these things as the perquisites of their office, and who act
on their belief.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The power of a policeman over a girl of the streets,
although theoretically very slight, is in reality almost despotic. "If you
quarrel with a policeman you are done for," is not far from the truth. The
esprit de corps of the force is strong, and both prostitutes and policemen
agree in this, that if a girl were once to tip and tell she might just as well
leave London at once. She would be harried out of division after division, and
never allowed to rest until she was outside the radius of the metropolitan
district. If policemen can do that to avenge a breach of faith, it need not be
pointed out that they are able materially to affect a girl's position and prospects
without absolutely doing anything wrong. They have only to appear
inconveniently inquisitive when a bargain is being driven in order to scare off
a customer, and at any time, if they choose to be animated by a severe sense of
public duty, they can discover evidence sufficient to justify at least a threat
of apprehension. A girl's livelihood is in a policeman's hand, and in too many
cases he makes the most of his opportunity. To increase by one jot or one
tittle the power of the man in uniform over the women who are left un-friended
even by their own sex is a crime against liberty and justice, which no
impatience at markets of vice, or holy horror at the sight of girls on the
streets, ought to be allowed to excuse. If we say that the policeman is constantly
tempted to transmute his power into cash, we only say that he is human and that
he is poor. But it is too bad to convert the truncheoned custodians of public
order into a set of "ponces" in uniform, levying a disgraceful
tribute on the fallen maidens of modern Babylon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>AN UN-NATURAL ALLIANCE</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If the police are constantly in danger of being corrupted by
the arbitrary power which they, possess, over prostitutes, the temptation
presented by brothels is still more insidious. Every one knows how Mrs. Jefferies
tried to tip Minahan, and how his superiors laughed him to scorn because he did
not take hush money like the rest. The policeman theoretically has no power
over the house of ill fame. But if he chooses he can make it almost impossible
for any brothel to do good business. The police, by simple refusal to accept
yesterday an interpretation of their duty on which they had acted the previous
afternoon, made Northumberland-Street impassable and delayed the publication of
the Pall Mall Gazette by three hours. Anything more scandalous, that was not
openly riotous–for the crowd was very good-humoured–than the scene upon which
Lord Aberdeen, the Hon. Auberon Herbert, and many others, looked down upon from
our office windows yesterday it would be difficult to conceive. Men were flung
bodily through our windows, and had a single door given way the office would
have been looted of every paper it contained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The police for hours gave us no protection, and did little
or nothing to secure freedom of egress and of exit to our premises. Whatever
may have been the reason it was not until a question was asked in the House of
Commons, and a formal complaint lodged at the Home Office, that the police
abandoned an interpretation of their duty which for the greater part of the day
rendered it impossible for any one to gain access to our premises, or for the
ordinary and legitimate business of a newspaper to be carried on. Now, if the
police can do this in dealing with an influential journal, with powerful
friends in both Houses of Parliament and an immense following in the country,
what can they not do in dealing with a brothel-keeper, who is constantly within
an ace of breaking the law, even if he does not, as a great many of them do,
convert his house into a shebeen? The inevitable result follows. Every brothel
becomes more or less a source of revenue to the policemen on the beat.
"The police are the brothel-keepers' best friends," said an old
keeper to me sententiously. " 'Cos why? They keep things snug. And the
brothel-keepers are the police's best friend, 'cos they pay them."
"How much did you pay the police?" I asked. "£3 a week year in
and year out," he said reflectively, "and mine was only a small
house." I have been told that at one famous house in the East-end the
police allowance is as much as £500 a year, to say nothing of free quarters
when they are wanted, for either the constables or the detectives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This of course I cannot verify: I can only say that it is a
matter-of common repute in the East, and if Sir Richard Cross wishes to know
the name and the address of the house for purposes of independent inquiry it is
at his service. What is the natural result? An alliance is struck up between
the brothel keeper and the constable. A lady skilled in rescue work, and in a position
to speak authoritatively, told me that if ever she wished to save a girl from a
bad house in the West-end she had to take the greatest care not to allow a
whisper of her intention to reach the ears of the police. "If I do."
she said, "I nearly always find that the keeper has received a warning,
and that the poor girl has been spirited off to some other house." It is
better in the East; but in the West, if you want to circumvent the men whose
crimes I have been exposing, don't tell the police.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FLOCK</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course there are police and police. Some the best of men,
others very much the reverse. Until Colonel Henderson put his foot down, and
gave his superintendents to understand that the roughs were not to be allowed
to maltreat the processions of the Salvation Army, the difference between a
perfectly peaceful demonstration and a general riot depended almost entirely
upon the goodwill or the reverse of the constable on the beat. Hence an
enormous responsibility depends upon those who are charged with the maintenance
of the high character of the force. Some of the superintendents are excellent
men, and many of the inspectors. Others hardly deserve such praise. Mr.
Charrington, in a letter received this morning, assures me that when he has
gone to try and rescue poor little outraged children the police have done their
best to prevent him. On one occasion he declares two policemen actually handed
him over to the busies from the brothels to be murdered, saying at the same
time they would go round the corner and not see it. "Only a few weeks ago
when some good honest policemen did do their duty and protected me by taking
into custody a man who assaulted me, they were immediately taken away from the
spot and ordered not to go near it, while the scoundrel who did his best to get
him murdered was allowed to remain." An ex-officer of long standing
assured me that "policemen and soldiers between them ruin more girls than
any other class of men in London." From Edinburgh I receive a report from
a City missionary that he met with a case in that city where a gentleman saved
a girl from a policeman who had threatened to run her in unless he might have
his will with her, and, as he adds significantly, for one which we find there
may be many. Many of the police are unmarried men, living in barracks as much
as soldiers, and are no more fit to be invested with absolute control of the
streets, which, after all, are the drawing-room of the poor, than are the
Guards. Sometimes there is a thoroughly bad sheep in the flock, and his
presence corrupts the rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A STARTLING STATEMENT</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have received a horrible statement concerning one officer
who was recently in high command in the Metropolitan police–a story so
horrible, both in its central fact and still more as to the tyranny which it
represents, that we for some time hesitated to publish it. Even now, while
promising to communicate to the Home Secretary, in order that the charge may be
strictly investigated, the name of the person accused we merely give the tale
in outline, so incredible does it appear to us, extracted from a written
declaration now before us, which was sworn yesterday before the mayor of
Winchester:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A.B., an officer of high standing in the force, fifteen
years ago violently seduced his daughter, who was then sixteen years old. Alter
this intercourse had continued some time she left home, but afterwards falling
into distress appealed to her father for help, saying that unless she got
relief she would be compelled to apply to the magistrate. He sent a married
sister to threaten her with imprisonment if she did anything of the kind. I
continue the story in the words of the daughter, who is now a woman of
thirty-one years of age, and engaged to be married to a man named Gibbons.
"On receiving my statement that I would apply to the magistrate, he,
having influence in Scotland-Yard, sent two detectives in plain clothes to my
lodgings, 1, Caledonian-street, King's-cross. I was alone. One of the men set
his back against the door, and they began to intimidate me. They said I was to
write a letter to my father and sign it, declaring that my accusation of him
was untrue. I refused to write and sign any such letter, as it would be a
falsehood. I asked if I could call in Mr. Gibbons, a young man to whom I was
engaged to be married, that he might be present as a witness. They then
threatened me with ten years' imprisonment and Gibbons with five if I did not
write the letter. They had no warrant, but had merely been directed to
intimidate me. They brought some note-paper. I had fainted with fear and
distress. One of the policemen held me up to the table and composed the letter
he wished me to write, and under the threat that they would take me up to
prison there and then they held my hand, and forced me to write the letter. I
told them, when written, that it was every bit false. I fainted again, and they
left me in that condition and went away. I wrote again to my father telling him
that although he had sent these detectives to my room to force me lo write the letter
I'd rather suffer imprisonment to let the truth be known. On the same day that
my father received this letter he applied for his pension, and in a short time
afterwards he retired from the force on a good pension. We applied to a
magistrate in Clerkenwell. He told us he must consult a brother magistrate, and
later he informed us that, considering the position of the gentleman who was
accused, he would rather not have anything to do with the case. Through the
influence of the police reports against Mr. Gibbons were set afloat, and in
consequence he lost his situation as a carpenter. Mr. Gibbons has made his
statement before a public prosecutor." This statement and other documents
relating to the case are, it is said, in the hands of Professor Stuart, M.P.
She further avers that Mr. Benjamin Scott, chairman of the London Committee for
Stopping the Traffic in English Girls, sent persons to verify my story, and
found it to be correct.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, if this story be true–and we publish it merely in order
to challenge the most searching inquiry, and if possible to secure its
immediate contradiction –what a piece of wickedness is here exposed to light!
And what security can there be for individual liberty and the protection of
female honour if the police in authority on any beat or in any division should
be capable of such a crime. But it does not need so startling a piece of
evidence as this to show that men, even when helmets are placed on their heads,
are not fit to be trusted with what is practically absolute power over women
who are even weaker and less protected than the rest of their sex. Hence I
regard the excision of the clauses increasing the power of the police over
women in the streets as absolutely necessary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>WHAT, THEN, ABOUT THE STATE OF THE STREETS?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing can be more absurdly exaggerated than the usual talk
about the scandalous state of the streets. Of course Regent-street at midnight
is a grim and soul-saddening sight, and so are one or two other neighbourhoods
that might be named. It may be possible to legislate solely for these quarters
where vice is congested, by treating them as disorderly places, to be cleared
by exceptional powers, only to be brought into exercise by the initiative of
two or more residents in the neighbourhood. But we are against exceptional
powers, even when initiated by private citizens. If any number of people are
really in earnest about abating this scandal, why can they not imitate the
example of the people of St. Jude's, King's-cross, and organize a vigilance
committee? One or two members of this committee appeared to give evidence of
general annoyance, while the police proved the individual acts of solicitation.
That cleared the streets at St. Jude's, and it would clear Regent-street. The
streets belong to the prostitute as much as to the vestryman, and her right to
walk there as long as she behaves herself ought to be defended to the last.
Those who take their places if they are dragooned into the slums are certainly
no more virtuous than the unreclaimed Magdalens of the streets.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As to the extent of the evil of importunate solicitation, I
can bear personal testimony as to the gross exaggeration of the popular notion.
I have been a night prowler for weeks. I have gone in different guises to most
of the favourite rendezvous of harlots. I have strolled along Ratcliff-highway,
and sauntered round and round the Quadrant at midnight. I have haunted St,
James's Park, and twice enjoyed the strange sweetness of summer night by the
sides of the Serpentine. I have been at all hours in Leicester-square and the
Strand, and have spent the midnight in Mile-end-road and the vicinity of the
Tower. Sometimes I was alone; sometimes accompanied by a friend; and the deep
and strong impression which I have brought back is one of respect and admiration
for the extraordinarily good behaviour of the English girls who pursue this
dreadful calling. In the whole of my wanderings I have not been accosted
half-a-dozen times, and then I was more to blame than the woman. I was turned
out of Hyde Park at midnight in company with a drunken prostitute, but she did
not begin the conversation. I have been much more offensively accosted in
Parisian boulevards than I have ever been in English park or English street,
and on the whole I have brought back from the infernal labyrinth a very deep
conviction that if there is one truth in the Bible that is truer than another
it is this, that the publicans and harlots are nearer the kingdom of heaven
than the scribes and pharisees who are always trying to qualify for a passport
to bliss hereafter by driving their unfortunate sisters here to the very real
hell of a police despotism.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only in one respect would I like to see the powers of the
police strengthened, and that is in exactly assimilating the law as to man and
woman in molestation and solicitation. Why should not the male analogue of a
prostitute – the man who habitually and persistently annoys women by
solicitation – be subject to the same punishment for annoying girls by
offensive overtures as are women who annoy men? It would be a real gain to get
rid of one little bit, however small, of the scandalous immorality of having a
severe law for the weak and a lax law for the strong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>DO THE POLICE KNOW OF THESE CRIMES?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is one argument that is constantly used, which is
utterly worthless. These things could not have happened, it is said, because
the police would have found them out long ago. The police knew all about them
long ago, but they do not put them down. Here is one fact for the accuracy of
which we can vouch from our own personal knowledge. People doubt the existence
of the firm of procuresses Mdmes. X. and Z., and their delivery of virgins.
What, then, will they say when I tell them, so far from the firm having retired
from business owing to the exposure with which all London is ringing, that
yesterday, with the street all vocal with the cries of newsboys vending the
Pall Mall Gazette's revelations, these worthy women of business delivered over
two of the certified virgins to be seduced, and entered into a further contract
to supply a girl for export to a foreign brothel? Now, do the police know
anything of the transactions of yesterday? If they do not know now, when we
have told them all about it, what value is the argument that facts are not
facts because the police must have found out all about them long ago if they
had been true?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE POLICE AND THE SECRET COMMISSION</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have often been asked whether, in the course of the six
weeks during which our Secret Commission was investigating, any of its members
were arrested by the police or in any way incommoded in their apparently
criminal transactions by the authorities at Scotland-yard. In no single
instance did we experience the slightest inconvenience from the members of the
force. Experimental contracts were entered into and executed, maidens were
examined and despatched to their destinations, and arrangements made for the
supposed perpetration of similar crimes to those which have excited the horror
and indignation of the public without the slightest interference on the part of
the police. The only case in which any members of the Commission came into
disagreeable proximity with the officers of the Criminal Investigation
Department was very significant of the ease with which an instrument devised
for the protection of the innocent can be converted into a weapon fashioned
ready to the hand of the evil-doer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of our trusted agents brought us word that a little
German girl of delicate health, about 16 years of age, who had been brought
over from Cologne by a fraudulent agency, had just been launched upon the
streets. She was said to be in the clutches of a bully who lived upon her
earnings. She was, we were told, deeply distressed at the necessity which drove
her to lead such a life, and we determined at once to rescue her if possible
from, the clutches of the man who had imported her in order to profit by her
ruin. A French procuress in one of the courts, leading out of Leicester-square
undertook to arrange a meeting between the little German girl and myself, presumably,
of course, for an immoral purpose, because if we had avowed our real intention
we should never have set eyes upon the girl. Punctually at the time appointed
the girl was brought to the house of assignation, but as it was impossible to
arrange for her rescue under the eyes of the procuress an excuse was made for
taking her away to a restaurant. The unfortunate young girl, who could only
speak German, told a piteous tale. She was alone in the world, was penniless in
London, was suffering from consumption, and not likely to live more than two
months. She said that she had been three days without food or lodging before
she fell, and her story confirmed our desire to save her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the restaurant we took her to a place leading off the
Strand, and awaited the arrival of an excellent Swiss lady, who had arranged to
take the girl, if she was willing, to a comfortable home. When after some delay
this lady arrived, the girl refused to go with her that day. She might call
to-morrow, and would bring her box on Saturday, but go home that night she
must, for she had her rent to pay. So handing over the sovereign which was to
have been her fee, we let her go. On returning home the girl appears to have
spoken of the attempt to get her into a home, and the bully who lived upon her
gains determined to frustrate our designs. And what did he do? He seems to have
gone straight to the police and there laid an information against us imputing
all manner of attempts upon the virtue, liberty, and even the life of "an
innocent little English girl"–who, as it turned out, was then, and is to
this day, a German prostitute walking the Strand. The consequence was that the
next night, when two members of our Commission met again at the same place,
they were startled by the appearance of a detective, and this is what passed:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The detective took a seat in the room, and confronted my
friend. "Who are you?" he was asked. In answer, he produced his card,
similar to a railway season ticket, inscribed with his name. "I am
Detective-Sergeant––, of the – Division, I have been sent here to elucidate a
case." So saying, he produced a roll of thin foolscap, numbering, perhaps,
six or seven closely written sheets. He was requested to tell us what he
wanted, and read from his blue foolscap, addressing himself to my friend, who
was sitting on the sofa. I do not pretend to give more than the gist of what he
read. He informed us that an old gentleman came here and made an agreement (or
a young girl to be sold to him. It was agreed that a certain young English girl
should pretend to be modest. "English girl," interrupted my
companion, "you know she is a little German prostitute now walking the
Strand." "Well," said he, "the little German prostitute and
the old gentleman met. He seemed to approve after a talk with her, and he was
sufficiently satisfied with his bargain to take her to Gatti's to dinner. They
dined together there, and then she was taken to a house in a street leading off
the Strand. She was taken by the old gentleman into this house, where no
questions were asked, led upstairs, where she found another man. The two tried
to persuade her to take a situation, offered her drugged coffee and sweets,
none of which she would take, and talked to her for a long time, always
endeavouring to persuade her to leave London. Presently a woman came in under
the guise of the habit of a Sister of Mercy. This lady then talked to the girl,
and gave her a Bible, which she tore to pieces, and tried every art to prevail
upon her to accede to the request of the two gentlemen in the room. But it was
all in vain. The girl saw the fiendish design of the disguised nun, and was
eventually allowed to go, having received a douceur for her trouble."
This, so far as I remember, was the gist of what the sergeant read. He then began
to cross-examine my friend. "You need not inculpate yourself, of course,
by answering any of my questions; but I should be obliged if you would tell me
all you know. What did you want with the girl, and why did you wish to entice
her away?" I thought it best to tell the detective nothing, indeed to try
him to the end of his tether by an insolent demeanour and a steady refusal to
aid him or the police in any way. "Would you allow us to consult in
private for five minutes?" I asked. "Certainly; I will retire."
We then agreed to give up my own name with an address where I could be found,
and my address only. The sergeant seemed surprised, as I was not mentioned in
the statement he read. "That is my name and my address. We refuse to tell
you anything. My friend declines to give you either his name and address. Now
do what you can. Take us in charge if you like; we should like nothing
better." " That is final. You will give me no more information,
then?" "No." Having taken the name and address of the willing ––
, Sergeant –– departed, no wiser than he came, and evidently fancying we were a
pair of scoundrels. No blame to him. I should like to say a word for his
politeness and civility under trying circumstances, for we purposely tried his
temper to the utmost. Giving him time to get out, I followed him to see if he
could stand the test of a bribe. I found him in the court talking to the
servant. "Are you going off to report to Mr. Dunlop?" I asked.
"Never mind what I am going to do. I am sorry I cannot introduce you to
him to-night in his official capacity." "I have already the pleasure
of the superintendent's acquaintance." "I dare say," was the
sardonic reply. "May I walk with you a little way?" "If you
please. Are you going to tell me what your fnend wanted with the little girl
?" "Certainly not, you must find out for yourself. But supposing I
had come out to offer you a ten-pound note to say nothing more." "Now
don't you try that game, please, you've got the wrong man." And the sergeant
walked off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since then we have heard absolutely nothing more of the
case, and we have much pleasure in stating that the conduct of Detective –– .
was perfect throughout.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THEATRES AND EMPORIUMS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A good deal has been said in the course of these articles
and in the comments based upon the revelations already made as to the
responsibility of the dissolute rich for the ruin of the daughters of the poor.
No mistake would be greater, however, than the assumption that those answerable
for the wide-spread corruption of the working women of London are solely to be
found among the very wealthy and the immoral idlers of the "upper
ten." Their share, no doubt, is great, and greater is their responsibility
for the abuse of privileges granted them for vastly different ends. If, however,
I were asked to describe as by far the most ruinous form of London vice, I
would point, not to fashionable West-end houses, such as that kept by Mrs.
Jeffries, nor to the systematized business of procuration, but rather to
certain of the great drapery and millinery establishments of the metropolis, in
which every year hundreds, if not thousands, of young women are ruined. It is
not my purpose to give names, and I have no wish to do more at present than
indicate one of the most deadly plague spots on the social system. It is
pitiful to think of the number of young girls who have been tenderly trained
and carefully educated at home and at school in our country villages who will
come up to town in the course of the present year only to discover that the
business on which their parents fondly built high hopes as to their future
position in life is little better than an open doorway–a pathway leading to the
hell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is said that at a certain notorious theatre no girl ever
kept her virtue more than three months; and that at an equally notorious
business establishment in West London it is rare to find a girl who has not
lost her virtue in less than six months. This may be an exaggeration, of
course. Some theatrical managers are, rightly or wrongly, accused of insisting
upon a claim to ruin actresses whom they allow to appear on their boards; and
it is to be feared that a certain persistent report is not ill founded, and
that the head of a great London emporium regards the women in his employ in
much the same aspect as the Sultan of Turkey regards the inmates of his
seraglio, the master of the establishment selecting for himself the prettiest
girls in the shop. Such an example is naturally followed throughout the whole
warehouse, from top to bottom. I have not been able to devote much time to the
verification of individual cases, but sufficient has come to my knowledge to
justify the assertion that while many houses of business employing hundreds of
women may be and are excellently conducted, others are little better than horrible
antechambers to the brothel. But upon that subject I will not dwell. In Paris,
of course, in many houses it is quite understood that girls accept situations
not so much for the salary, which is insufficient often to pay their lodgings,
as for the opportunities which they furnish for supplementing legitimate
earnings by the wages of sin. A similar system is creeping into some
fashionable shops in London, and when once it obtains a firm bold the mischief
is almost irremediable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES AND SERVANTS' REGISTRIES</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is bad enough when a man kills a sheep for the sake of
its fleece, but it would be worse if the animal were slaughtered solely for its
ears. This is, however, a fair analogy to the case when girls are ruined not
for the sake of the possession of the victim, but solely because an
intermediary can turn a miserable commission by luring them into a position
from which a life of vice is the only exit. In the course of this inquiry it
has come repeatedly under our notice that while many respectable agencies are
carried on, even the most respectable are liable to be abused for vicious
purposes by unscrupulous men and their female agents, and in some cases there
is a suspicion, almost amounting to a certainty, that the agency itself is little
better than an organization for carrying on the business of procuration. When
you find that a notorious keeper of immoral houses occasionally opens a
servants' registry in the intervals when the police have chased her from the
pursuit of her ordinary calling, such suspicion is natural, and, unfortunately,
it is too often the case that persons engaged in a business which should be
beyond reproach have a record more or less immoral, if not, as in some cases,
actually criminal. A sojourn in prison for a felony is hardly a better
preparation for the honest conduct of an employment agency than the keeping of
a disorderly house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of the most scandalous of these agencies are among
those which are reputedly the most respectable. Girls are brought from a distance,
often from abroad, by promises of a situation which does not exist. They pay
their fee and live in continually increasing anxiety either in lodgings
connected with the agency or elsewhere until their little capital is exhausted.
Debt is incurred, against which their box is held as security, and when all
hope disappears the agent who tempted them to London with fair promises of
honest and profitable employment suggests that the only mode of making a
livelihood is to accept their kind service in introducing them to gentlemen or
to keepers of houses who are on the constant look out for respectable young
girls. Only this week one of the most widely-known governess agencies in London
offered me the choice of several poor girls, speaking French and German, to
accompany me as an intimate–too intimate–travelling companion on the Continent
There was no disguise whatever about the purpose for which the girl was wanted.
She had to be young, not more than twenty-two, pretty, lively, and of full
figure, and willing to travel alone with a gentleman, The number of girls whom
this firm is said to have been the means of launching upon the London streets
who would otherwise have lived quietly at home in Belgium, France, Germany, and
Switzerland is I am assured if competent authorities almost incalculable. Other
governess agencies will occasionally do the same thing. They get their profit,
and for them that is sufficient.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE IMPORT OF FOREIGN GIRLS TO LONDON</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
London, say those who are engaged in the white slave trade,
is the greatest market of human flesh in the whole world. Like other markets
the traffic consists of imports and exports, and although we have heard a great
deal of late about the exportation of English girls abroad, there is a chapter
quite as ghastly which remains to be written concerning the import of foreign
girls into England. The difference between the two is that in England vice is
free, whereas on the Continent it is a legalized slavery, and that of course is
immense. But so far as the ruin of innocent girls is concerned the compulsion
of poverty and helplessness arising from youth, inexperience, friendlessness,
and absolute ignorance of the language, is quite as tyrannical as the savagery
of the State brothel-keeper and the unfeeling barbarity of the official doctor.
Girls are regularly brought over to London from France, Belgium, Germany, and
Switzerland for the purpose of being ruined. The idea of the men who import
these girls, many of whom are perfectly respectable, is to force them to lead a
life of vice from which they can reap a heavy profit. There is a great colony
of maquereaux in the French quarter whose chief idea of securing an easy
livelihood is to get a girl into their possession, body and soul, to drive her
upon the street, and to live and thrive upon the profits of her prostitution.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some very remarkable cases of importation have been exposed
by Miss Sterling, the devoted and public-spirited founder of the Edinburgh and
Leith Children's Aid and Refuge. According to the official correspondent,
George N–––, described by the pastor in Hamburg as "the young German
workman who did certainly trade in young girls," got two girls, Annie and
Elise, by the following advertisement in the Reform of Hamburg: "A good
family in Edinburgh, in Scotland, wish to adopt a girl, age nine to twelve
years of age; a child of poor parents or orphan preferred; address letters to
No. 424, Stockbridge Post Office, Edinburgh." After Miss Sterling rescued
these poor children from his clutches, N––– became very violent, and police
protection was afforded Miss Sterling for five months. She was threatened with
death, and went about in fear of her life, her only offence being that she had
rescued two wee bairns from the hand of a slave trader. It is apparently an
organized trade. Much surprise was expressed by the Hamburg Burgomaster that
English law did not deal with such cases, and as late as March 8, 1884, Count Munster referred in terms of
honor to the shocking trade which George N––– and others seem to have been
carrying on for some time. The stewardesses on Currie's steamers are apparently
useful in detecting these offences. The hint ought not to be lost here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several times in the course of the present inquiry we have
heard of cases, apparently authentic, in which girls who had been struggling
vainly for weeks against the necessity of seeking a livelihood on the trottoir
had succumbed in some cases only a week, and in others only a day before we
heard of the case. One very painful instance of this nature will never be forgotten
by those engaged in this inquiry. A German girl who had been brought over by
promises of a situation, and then had found herself confronted by the
alternative of starvation or prostitution, was actually brought to the house of
a trustworthy person in order to be placed by us in a place of safety. Some
misunderstanding arose about the time when we should have arrived, and the
girl, timid and mistrustful, took alarm at the arrival of some well-known slave
traders of the colony, left the house, and was immediately carried off by the
maquereaux, who was furious at the thought that his prey might escape him. The
poor girl cast an appealing look to her friend as she was hurried off, but it
was of no avail. "It is high time you were doing something," said her
captor. "You must start at once." That night she was compelled to
receive two visitors, and then she disappeared, as so many others have done,
into the great gulf. No traces of her have we been able again to discover, in
spite of all efforts. During the operations of the Commission we constantly
felt ourselves to be in the position of spectators who watch a shipwreck with
straining eyes, making such endeavours as they can to snatch here and there one
stray swimmer from a watery grave. A rope is thrown into the abyss; it falls a
yard short, and the last chance is gone. The waters close over the strong
swimmer in his agony, and no second opportunity is afforded. Occasionally we
were more fortunate–not indeed in preventing but in rescuing; and in the case of
one victim of this cruellest of all frauds, we took down the following story
from her own lips:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW MARGUERITE WAS RUINED</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marguerite de S–––, a French girl, twenty-one years of age,
formerly a leading dressmaker in a Parisian establishment, whose mother is
dead, and whose father is foreman in a large French warehouse–a person of much
refinement, quick intelligence, and pleasing manners.---–was induced to come to
this country by an advertisement inserted in the Journal des Renseignements,
published by Mdme Pilus, 56, Rue de Richelieu, Paris. This This advertisement
offered a nursery governess's place in England to a respectable French girl,
and answers were were to be addressed to "M.B –––, 33 ––– street, Lambeth
London." M. B–– professed himself to be the head of an employment agency,
for the respectability of which Mdme Palus (sic) vouched "You can put
yourself safely in his hands," she said. Now, this M.B ––– disreputable
even amongt the shadiest characters in the French colony.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He lives in a room for which he pays 3s. 6d. a week rent,
and the furniture of his chamber could probably be purchased for 15s.
Marguerite wrote to M. B––, applying for the situation, and was forwarded a
letter in French, purporting to come from a "Mr. Southern, of Oaley-street,
London," who promised that if she came he would "treat her as one of
the family." This letter was written by a man whom I have seen, who
confesses that he was employed to invent the whole story. There was no
"Mr. Southern" in existence, and when she arrived in London upon the
day agreed upon, the poor girl made a long and trying search for him in vain.
She then betook herself to M. B–––'s room to seek explanations. The man whom
M.B–– employed as his secretary here met her in a state of intoxication, and in
escorting her (as he insisted upon doing) to the London Bridge Hotel, where she
had previously taken a room, he made improper proposals to her which she
indignantly rejected. This the man admits. The next morning M. B––, whom
Marguerite describes as "an exceedingly ill-looking man," visited
her. Telling her she "arrived too late, the vacancy having been filled
up"–she arrived at the time appointed– M. B––– offered to find her another
place in three days if she would give him 10s., and she gave him 7s., the only
English money she had. In the evening he returned to tell her he hoped to get
her a situation, but he feared she was too good-looking for it, as the lady was
of a jealous disposition. Claiming that he had been spending money in her
interests, he got another 2s. On two following days he came with similar
stories with the same result, and at the end of a week she found her small
stock of cash had almost disappeared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt myself (she says) utterly helpless, and knowing no
other person in London I even clung for guidance and help to M. B––, whose
words and behaviour did not inspire me with more confidence than his looks. He
advised me to leave the hotel, and offered to find me a cheap apartment. I
accepted his offer, and removed to a room at 6s. a week at 19, Manners-street,
button-street. Afterwards advertisements appeared on my behalf. There were a
few answers, which B–– gave me to understand were of a trivial or of an immoral
character. On my remarking to B–– that I should soon be without money, he said:
"You have a nice gold watch and chain; but if you want to get a good
advance on them, you must pledge them through me." A day or two before
this he tried to get some more money from me. On my refusing, he presently
informed me that he was about to leave for Paris for a short trip, as he wanted
to find out why Mdme. Pilus kept sending him girls while he had no vacancies
open for them. Before taking leave of me he said he would as a dcrnier devoir
introduce me to the Misses Oppenheim, of Berners-street, as he had every
confidence that those ladies could shortly procure me a nice place. He took me
to their office, and they undertook to find a place for me, but the only
situation they ever offered me was that of a nursemaid. This 1 declined and
never called on them again. B––left for Paris. After being about a month in
London I was visited at my room by a person I had not before met, L––, who I
afterwards learned was really in league with B––. I had the day before pledged
my gold watch and chain, but having paid my landlady and bought some
necessaries, I had spent my money, and really did not know what to do, as I did
not like to let my father know how I was situated. I was, therefore, glad to
see a person who professed the most friendly intentions in my behalf, as did
this L––. He assured me that B–– and C–– M–– had plotted to rob me of my box on
my arrival at Victoria station, as it was there that they expected me. He said
B–– had left in the parcels office a parcel containing nothing more valuable
than old newspapers, and it was arranged that when I deposited my box in that
office, C–– M––should hand to me the ticket given out for this parcel of
newspapers, instead of the one for my box. Then L––declared to me that I was in
the hands of rogues, that there were three of them, and that they were still
conspiring to cheat, rob, and ruin me. You must get out of this house at
once," he said, "for if you remain another day B––will contrive to
steal your box." I was greatly alarmed at hearing all this. He represented
himself as an honest man, and I took him for such. He asked me to go out and
breakfast with him, and I consenting, he took me to a neighbouring restaurant.
During the meal he assured me that I was a nice little woman, and that he
should like to have one just like me. He said he was a merchant, and could earn
£5. He offered to take an apartment for me, more suitable than the one 1 was
in. He said he would take me to his own apartments, which were in a house kept
by a married couple, but he took me instead to apartments in a house kept by a
maquereau and his woman, in Poland-street. As soon as I had taken possession of
these apartments he unmasked himself, telling me I should have to pay £2 a week
for the lodgings, ,£1 5s, for my board, and £1 5s. for his own board,
Altogether ,£4 10s. I asked him how 1 was to find the money? "Oh," he
said, "of course you must see gentlemen." When I indignantly refused
to prostitute myself in order to keep him, he gave me a severe beating. He
struck me on the neck and on the head. I shrieked and he left the room, which
was ever afterwards closed against him. The maquereau and his woman took my
part. But I had brought my box and all my things to their house; I had no
money, and there was only one way of paying my way and of saving my things. The
lady of the house said she could introduce me to a nice gentleman, who would
pay me well. I saw there was no other way of extricating myself from my
difficulties, so I consented, and I fell. After staying one week at this place
I removed to 142, S––street, where I stayed a fortnight, and then to 129, in
the same street, which was kept by the same proprietor. 1 stayed at this last
place four months, paying only 27s. 6d. a week. 1 then removed to 156,
W––street, Pimlico, where I was staying when I was rescued.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of our Commissioners interviewed B–––, and he not only
acknowledged the frauds which he has committed in bringing French girls over,
but he also offered to bring over a French girl for our Commissioner provided
we advanced 10s. for the preliminary expenses and paid him £5 on delivery of
the parcel. His method was to advertise in a Normandy family newspaper,
promising excellent situations to be procured through his agency. This man is
still at work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE FOREIGN EXPORT TRADE</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is not much need to say much about the foreign traffic
in English girls, thanks to the labours of Mr. Scott's committee, and the
admirable report of Mr. Snagge, which Sir W, Harcourt seems to have forgotten,
beyond this–it is the supreme development, the superlative and climax of the
possibilities of blank and irremediable temporal damnation which a girl
inherits who allows herself to be seduced. Prostitution in England is
Purgatory; under the State regulated system which prevails abroad it is Hell.
The foreign traffic is the indefinite prolongation of the labyrinth of modern
Babylon, with absolute and utter hopelessness of any redemption. When a girl
steps over the fatal brink she is at once regarded as fair game for the slave
trader who collects his human "parcels " in the great central mart of
London for transmission to the uttermost ends o the earth. They move from stage
to stage, from town to town–bought exchanged, sold–driven on and ever on like
the restless ghosts of the damned, until at last they too sleep "where the
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>RECRUITS IN THE PROVINCES</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If any say that the foreign traffic has ceased, they deceive
themselves. Only last week a sample lot of three "coils," or parcels,
left the region of Leicester-square for Belgium. Two of them are now in
Antwerp, one in Brussels. A much larger consignment is expected shortly. The
bagmen of this international traffic are now in the provinces. They say that
the London girls have been frightened by the recent exposure of what comes of
going abroad. They got three with difficulty. In the provinces they will pick
them up more easily. In London they could only get three; in the country they
hope to get three dozen. They are recruiting now. The next consignment may
start to-morrow night, but of that I have not yet positive information.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The work of inquiring into the ramifications of this new
slave trade was the most dangerous part of the investigations. The traffic is
almost entirely in the hands of ex-convicts, who know too well the discomforts
of the maison correctionelle to stick at any trifles which might remove an
inconvenient witness or help them to escape conviction. It was at first a new
sensation for me to sit smoking and drinking with men fresh from gaol in the
"snug" of a gin palace, and asking as to the precise cost of
disposing of girls in foreign brothels. One excellent trader who dwells in such
odour of sanctity as can come from having his headquarters within
archiepiscopal shade kindly undertook to dispose of a mistress of whom it was
supposed that I wished to rid myself before my approaching marriage by
depositing her without any ado in a house of ill-fame in Brussels. For this
considerable service he would only charge £10. Another agent eagerly competed
for the job, and was ready to put it through straight if the other had held
back. With a heroism and self-sacrifice worthy of the sainted martyrs a pure
and noble girl volunteered to face the frightful risks of being placed in the
Belgian brothel if it was thought necessary to complete the exposure. "God
has been with me hitherto," said she: "why should He forsake me if in
His cause I face the risks? Surely He will take care of me there as well as
here." I would not sanction so terrible an experiment. But that there are
women capable of such sublimity of devotion to the cause of their outraged and
degraded sisters tends to relieve, as by a ray of Heaven's light, the darkness
of this awful hell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>AN INTERVIEW WITH AN EX-SLAVE TRADER</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week I had a long interview with John, the S–––, who
had within the last few weeks returned to London from a
prolonged–involuntary–sojourn in his native Belgium. This worthy has long had a
high reputation among the exporters of English girls, not only because of his own
exploits, but still more because of those of his wife, an Irishwoman, who is
now practising as procuress for foreign brothels in the city of Manchester. In
April, 1881, John, the S––, was convicted in the Belgian courts of felony and
excitement to debauchery, and condemned to six years' imprisonment in the
Maison Correctionnelle at Ghent. He was released last April, one year of his
sentence being remitted for good behaviour. John is a man who, if well fed and
cared for, would be of remarkable, and even commanding, presence. Now he is
somewhat broken down, but his countenance is striking, and his grey hair gives
him an interesting appearance. We met in a restaurant in the Strand, where we
had a long and confidential conversation upon the trade in English girls–a
profession which he declares he has now for ever abjured. He has had too much
plank bed and bread and water, he says, and having reformed he had no objection
to talk very freely concerning the business of exportation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To what extent," I asked, "do you think English
girls leave this country for foreign houses of prostitution?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
John did not reply offhand. He began an elaborate
calculation as to the numbers of brothels in Brussels, Antwerp, Lille,
Boulogne, and Ostend in which, to his own knowledge, English girls had been
placed. Alter a while he said: "I can only speak for Belgium and the North
of France. I know nothing of the supply to Bordeaux, Paris, Holland, and the
rest of the Continent. But I should think that, on an average, to these places
which 1 have named twenty English girls are in the habit of going every
month."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is about 250 par annual, a large figure. How many of
these are prostitutes before they start ?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About one in three, I should think. Two-thirds of them think
they are going to situations, and only learn their fate when they are safely
within the brothel. Even then the truth is broken to them by degrees. The
English girl is placed alone in the midst of foreign women, who are carefully
tutored not to excite her suspicions until she is broken in. Then, little by
little, she is allowed to see where she is, and she comes to accept her fate as
inevitable, and submits."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don't you think an export of 250 girls per annum is rather
large when you take into account the small area which they supply?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"No," said he; "I think not. Girls do not as
a rule stay very long in one house. They are constantly being exchanged and
passed on from brothel to brothel, so that there is no knowing how far into the
interior of the Continent they may ultimately make their way. They begin in
Belgium and the North of France, and are worked gradually inland."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How many English girls do you regard as the ordinary
complement of the houses which you used to supply? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"One or two is the ordinary rate. I should say that the
normal number of English girls in Brussels is twenty to thirty. In Antwerp they
are much more numerous. I should say that you would find little difficulty in
finding four or five English girls in twenty houses in Antwerp. Possibly there
are altogether a hundred English girls in Belgian houses of ill fame at this
moment. That of course is more or less of a guess on my part. I have no
statistics, but that is what I should expect from what I know of the houses and
their habits."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How are these houses supplied?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It is a regular business. I was only in it in a small
way. In fact, I only took abroad eleven girls in all, not including those which
my wife sent. Of these I took five to Brussels, three to Antwerp, two to
Boulogne, and one to Lille. But my experience is a fair sample of the larger
traders'. I was paid so much a girl by the keeper of the house, provided that
on arrival she passed her examination as a healthy subject. If she was diseased
and had to be sent into the hospital I lost my money. The keepers used to
promise that if they came out cured, and entered their houses, they would pay
me my commission; but they never did," said he, with a sigh over the
dishonesty of the keepers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What was the usual commission?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I have had as much as £10 (250f.), but out of that I
had to pay expenses of collection and delivery."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Are these heavy?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Oh, no," said he, "railway and steamboat
fare and a few expenses. My wife would go out into the street, and pick up
girls– they might either be prostitutes anxious for a change, servant girls out
of work, or shop girls. I always told them where they were going to, but others
I dare say were less particular. It is very simple. You get the girl to listen
to you, and you can persuade her to anything. If they were not as silly as they
are, they would never believe you. But they swallow anything. You tell them
they will have good situations, fine clothes, liberty to go to the theatre,
high wages, and all the inducements which would enable a sharp girl to smell a
rat. But they are not sharp girls; they swallow the bait like gudgeons, and off
they go."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How do they go?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"By Dover to Ostend for the most part. Sometimes the
woman of the house comes to Dover to receive them. She takes good care of them
after she gets hold of them."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What are the difficulties in the way of the
trade?" "(1.) The possibility that some stewardess or Englishwoman on
board the Ostend steamer may get into conversation with the girls, and warn
them where they are being taken. If girls get to know that on board, the
consignee would be aghast, and the parcel would never reach its destination.
(2.) If they are safely landed without having their suspicions aroused, there
is a danger that they may take alarm alter they land, when they could make it very
disagreeable for us if they communicates with the police. The Belgian police
would always befriend the girls, but then, you see, the police speak no
English, the girls no French. The interpreting is usually carried on by the
keeper, and she takes good care to make the most of her advantage. (3.) After
the girls are delivered at their destination they may be got out if any friend
appeals to the Procureur du Roi. The English Consuls are not much good. But the
Procureur du Roi is bound by law to release any English girl detained in a
brothel against her will, even if she has not paid her debt."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Why, then, do girls remain?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"They cannot easily summon the Procureur, and then when
the opportunity occurs it is so easy to deceive a girl, to make her drunk, or otherwise
to spoil her chance of escape. Sometimes girls complain very bitterly,
especially at the official surgical inspection. English girls do not like that,
and there have been cases where they have resisted it violently. You see in
England girls are so free. Belgium is not so free as England, but it is better
than France. In the French provincial brothels there is very little liberty.
Girls are constantly being changed. Sometimes one girl will be in three or four
houses in one year."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Who are the chief exporters now?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"F–––– has gone to Liverpool, a fine field for picking
up girls. My wife is in Manchester, Alfred of the beautiful teeth and some
half-dozen others are in London. K–––, P–––, C––––, C––––, and R–––, all
Belgians, are all in the business. The export of little girls of thirteen or
fourteen for Continental brothels is chiefly in the hands of a woman named
Kate. I do not know who supplies the infants of eight and nine. Most of these
agents will place any girl entrusted to them in a foreign brothel, but I–no,
not for a thousand pounds! If you want to stop the trade, place a trustworthy
person on board steamer to warn the girls, and get some one to see to it that
the Procureur du Roi does his duty. That would cut the trade up by the roots so
far as it is carried on in unwilling girls."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
AN INTERVIEW WITH "A PARCEL" SHIPPED TO BORDEAUX</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The following is the story of one who, for no lofty motive
but from the dire compulsion of adverse destiny, was doomed for three years and
nine months to sojourn in a foreign brothel. This person had spent nearly four
years in a house of ill-fame" in Bordeaux, where she had been placed by a
scoundrelly Greek who once kept a cigar shop in a street leading off
Regent-street, and who took her and three others over from London on the
assurance that he would find them good situations either as barmaids or in
gentlemen's families. Her story, which is confirmed in many details by her
husband, whom she rejoined after her prolonged sojourn in the south of France,
is fairly typical of the way in which the foreign slave trade is worked:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is now nearly six years since (said Mrs. M––), after my
husband's prolonged ill health had brought our little household to the verge of
destitution that I left him to make my living. One of my friends, an English
girl in an honest situation, told me that a certain Greek, whose address she
mentioned, was anxious to take her and other three girls to Bordeaux, where he
could find them excellent situations as soon as they arrived. I was unhappy owing
to the quarrel with my husband, and I grasped the suggestion that I should go
with her to Bordeaux as affording the means of escaping from the associations
and sufferings with which I was so painfully familiar in London. I saw the
Greek, and he convinced me that he was quite able to fulfil his promise and
place me. In a good situation if I would only put myself in his hands.
Foolishly enough, for 1 had not learned wisdom by painful experience, I
consented to go with my friend and two others. Our names were Mary Hanson, aged
twenty, Rosina Marks, whose age I don't remember, Anna Giffard, a dressmaker,
aged twenty-five, and myself, Amelia M––, but I went by the name of Amelia
Powell. We were all taken down lo St. Katharine's Dock, and placed on board a steamer
bound for Bordeaux. We left London on a Thursday night in February or or March
of 1879, and arrived in Bordeaux on Sunday, about seven in the evening. From
the steamer we were taken direct, suspecting nothing, to the house of Mdme.
Suchon, 36, Rue Lambert, which we believed to be an hotel, or the house of the
friend to whom the Greek was about to introduce us; but the landlady was very
kind, and we felt convinced that the Greek was a man of his word. On Monday,
however, a cruel awakening awaited us. Our own clothes were taken away, and we
were tricked out with silk dresses and other finery. Before that, however, we
were taken to a doctor. We were alarmed at this, and protested, but
unfortunately we could speak no French, and the doctor was almost as ignorant
of English. What were we to do? We were alone in a strange land; the man who
had taken us over had disappeared. We were absolutely at the mercy of the
keepers of the house. After the examination the mistress gave us the fine
clothes I have spoken of, and insisted that very night, after giving us
champagne, upon introducing us to gentlemen. I objected, and declared that I
should leave. "You can't do that," said the landlady, "because
you are indebted to me eighteen hundred francs." "Eighteen hundred francs?"
said I. "Why, I have not been in the house two days." "Oh, you
forget," said she ; "you have to pay the cost of your commission for
being brought over, and the price of the silk dress you are wearing." That
is the regular rule, as I afterwards learned. Girls are brought from England
under the belief that they are going to a pleasant situation, and then they are
consigned to one of the houses at so many pounds per head. This purchase-money
or commission, which varies from £10 upward, is entered against the girl as a
debt to her landlady. That, however, is not the worst. They equip you in fine
clothes, which they insist upon you taking, and then debit you with twice their
value, running up in this way a debt of perhaps 1,800 f. I was told that I must
be a good girl, and do as they wished me to, and I would soon earn sufficient
money to get back to my husband, but if I did not I would never see him again.
I may mention that I told the doctor that I was a married woman. "Where is
your husband?" he said, and proceeded without further notice with my
examination. It was some time before I could reconcile myself to receiving
gentlemen, but what weighed with me was that unless I consented I should never
earn sufficient money to pay off my debt and return to London. In order to
raise funds I was submissive, and being then young and attractive I earned my
money in less than six months. Of course none of that money actually remains
with you. It is entered to your credit in the books of the establishment, and
the theory is that when you have worked off your debt you are free to go, but
the keeper takes very good care that you shall never work off your debt. When
the account shows that you have only four or five hundred francs against you
the mistress sets to work to induce you, by cozening, cajoling, or absolute
fraud, to accept other articles of clothing. Thus you go on month after month.
"How long did you stay there?" "Three years and nine
months." "And why in the world did you not communicate with your
husband?" "We were never allowed to send letters out of the house.
Letters were allowed to come in after they had been read by the mistress, but
no replies were ever permitted. Sometimes we used to try and send messages by
English sailors who used to visit us, but never any answer came. There were
seventeen girls in the house, which was a large one, the entry being three
francs. Ours was a middle-class house as distinguished from the low class one,
the entrance to which is one franc, and the fashionable house in Rue Berguin,
where the entrance fee is ten francs and only four girls are kept. When I was
there an English girl called S––, who was said to be the daughter of a
coach-builder in the Edgware-road, died. A sum stood on the book as due to the
house, and when a brother came over from London to take her dead body home for
burial, the mistress refused to allow the corpse to be removed until the debt
was paid. She had been taken from England to Spain and had been bought or
exchanged from the Spanish house to the one in Bordeaux where she died. One of
the English girls who came out with me–Mary Hanson–was sold off to South
America. When I say sold I mean that an agent who was picking up girls arranged
to pay her debt, and took her off with him to the new world. She assented, as
girls always do when they have been long in one house, and see no prospect of
paying their debt, for those who want to remove them always hold out
inducements that they will be able to buy their liberty much sooner in the new
place to which they are going." "Do you know any girls who have ever
bought their liberty?" "No. We are always trying and trying, but we
never succeed, although we have earned sufficient money over and over again to
pay for all that has been spent upon us, but every artifice is used by the
keepers, as I have explained, to hold us in their power. Drink is a potent
agency and easily used." "How many English girls were there in the
house of Mdme. Suchon? Two; but we used to meet with others who were in other
houses in the town at the visite when we went to see the doctor at the public
building in the Rue Graffe on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Mary Hanson
came round to bid us good-bye before she went to South America."
"Could she not have made her escape when visiting?" "She was not
alone. We were never allowed out except in company with the mistress."
"How was it, then, that you got free?" "A gentleman from
Toulouse took a fancy to me, paid off all my debts, and gave me money to pay my
passage to London. Otherwise I should have been thereto this day."
"What English girl did you leave in the house?" "Poor Rosina
Marks, who cried very piteously when I came away." 'How lucky you are,
Amelia,' she said; 'as for me, I shall never be able to pay my debt, and shall
die here.'" "Is Rosina there still?" "To the best of my
belief, but of course she is never allowed to write, and all that I know is
that she was there two years ago, and I have never heard of her death. Her
family were publicans in Southampton, and her father was employed at Squire ––
near that town. A very timid girl was Rosina, and madame used to bully her
fearfully. I have often wished that something could be done to get her out, but
there seems no chance." </div>
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Some one should try to do something for poor Rosina–if she
be still alive and is still at Bordeaux. But who knows? She may be dead, or
sold to Spain or elsewhere, or, like many others, she may have drunk away her
reason and her senses. There are plenty more going the same road. Every now and
then we hear of the mysterious disappearance of girls. Boys, although much more
adventurous, do not disappear in this way. The inference is plain. There have
been the cases from West Ham, the case of the girl Hearnden, at Folkestone, the
case of the granddaughter of a correspondent on the south coast, who has
written to us imploring to know whether we can help her to tidings of her
vanished child. Now that the silence has been broken we shall hear of many
such, and regret their endless multiplication. The one safeguard is publicity,
publicity, publicity. And all who attempt to silence the voice of warning must
share the guilt of those upon one small portion of whose crimes it is our proud
privilege to have turned a little of the wholesome light of day.</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-87320650801282641052013-12-31T05:41:00.001-08:002013-12-31T05:41:09.516-08:00The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon III by W.T. Stead (First published July 1885.)<div class="MsoNormal">
The third article in W.T. Stead's <i>Maiden Tribute</i> series, first published in <i>The Pall Mall Gazette</i> of July 1885 and the basis for my novel <i><b>The Eighth Circle of Hell</b></i>.</div>
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<b>The advocates of the Criminal Law Amendment Bill are
constantly met by two mutually destructive assertions</b>. On one side it is
declared that the raising of the age of consent is entirely useless, because
there are any number of young prostitutes on the streets under the legal age of
thirteen, while, on the other, it is asserted as positively that juvenile
prostitution below the age of fifteen has practically ceased to exist. Both
assertions are entirely false.</div>
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There are not many children under thirteen plying for hire
on the streets, and there are any number to be had between the ages of thirteen
and sixteen. There are children, many children, who are ruined before they are
thirteen; but the crime is one phase of the incest which, as the Report of the Dwellings
Commission shows, is inseparable from overcrowding. But the number who are on
the streets is small. Notwithstanding the most lavish offers of money, I
completely failed to secure a single prostitute under thirteen. I have been
repeatedly promised children under twelve, but they either never appeared or
when produced admitted that they were over thirteen. I have no doubt that I
could discover in time a dozen or more girls of eleven or twelve who are
leading immoral lives, but they are very difficult to find, as the boys of the
same age who pursue the same dreadful calling. This direct evidence is by no
means all that is available to show the deterrent effect of raising the age of
consent. The Rescue Society, of Finsbury-pavement, which has an experience of
thirty-one years, has kept for twenty-five years a record of the ages at which
those whom they have rescued lost their character.</div>
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The following are the numbers of the rescued who were
seduced at the ages of twelve and thirteen for 1862 to 1875, when the close
time was raised to thirteen–33, 55, 65, 107, 102, 103, 77, 60, 78, 62, 40, 43,
30: total, 855, or 66 per annum between the ages of twelve and thirteen. From
1875 to 1883 the figures are as follows: 22, 24, 19, 20, 16, 14, 15, 10, 7;
total, 147; average, 16 per annum. Allowance must be made for the fact that the
total number rescued in 1883 was only half that rescued in 1867, but even then
the number of children seduced at twelve and thirteen would have been reduced
by one-half owing to the raising of the age. All those who have the best means
of knowing how the law would work, gaol chaplains and the rest, are strongly in
favour of extending the close time. The preventive operation of the law is much
more effective than I anticipated, for it is almost the sole barrier against a
constantly increasing appetite for the immature of both sexes. That this
infernal taste prevails is unfortunately beyond all gainsaying, and for proof
we need go no further than the reports of the numerous refuges and homes for
children which have been opened of late years in the neighbourhood of London.
But in the ordinary market the supply is limited to girls who are over
thirteen.</div>
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<b>THE RUIN OF THE VERY YOUNG</b></div>
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There is fortunately no need to dwell upon this revolting
phrase of criminality, for it is recognized by the law, and the criminals when
caught are soundly punished. My object throughout has been to indicate crimes
virtually encouraged by the law; but it is necessary to refer to cases where
even penal servitude has not deterred men from the perpetration of this most
ruthless of outrages, in order to show the need for strengthening the barrier
which alone stands between infants and the brutal lust of dissolute men. Here,
for example, is a portrait of a tiny little mite in the care of a rescue
officer of our excellent Society for the Protection of Children. Her name is
Annie Bryant, and she is now just five years old. Yet that baby girl has been
the victim of rape. She was enticed together with a companion into a house in the
New Cut on May 28, and forcibly outraged, first by a young man named William
Hemmings, and then by a fellow-lodger. The offence was completed, and the poor
little child received internal injuries from which it is doubtful whether she
will ever entirely recover. The scoundrel is now doing two years penal
servitude, but his accomplice escaped. A penny cake was the lure which enticed
the baby to her ruin. As I nursed her on my knee, and made her quite happy with
a sixpence, the matron of the refuge where the little waif was sheltered told
how every night before the baby girl went to sleep she would shudder and cry,
and whisper in her ear. And not until the poor child was solemnly assured and
reassured that the door was fast, and that no "bad man" could possibly
get in, would she dare to go to sleep. Every night it was the same, and when I
saw her it was nearly three weeks since her evil fate had befallen her!</div>
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This instance of a child of such tender years being
subjected to outrage is not an isolated one. A girl of eighteen who is now
walking Regent-street had her little sister of five violated by a
"gentleman" whom she had brought home. She had left the room for a
few minutes, and he took advantage of her absence to ruin the poor child, who
was sleeping peacefully in another corner of the room. The man in this case
escaped unpunished. As a rule the children who are sent to homes as "
fallen" at the age of ten, eleven, and twelve, are children of
prostitutes, bred to the business, and broken in prematurely to their dreadful
calling. There are children" of five in homes now who, although they have
not technically fallen, are little better than animals possessed by an unclean
spirit, for the law of heredity is as terribly true in the brothel as
elsewhere. One child in St. Cyprian's was turned out on to the streets by her
mother to earn a living when ten. At St Mary's Home they do not receive any
children over sixteen. Sister Emma has at present more than fifty children in
her home in Hants. She receives none under twelve. In only four cases was the
man punished. The proportion of victims among the protected is, however,
comparatively small to those who have passed the fatal age of thirteen. If Mr.
Hastings, who would fix the age of consent at ten, or Mr. Warton, who was in
favour of even a lower age than ten, was allowed to have his way, we should
probably have to start homes to accommodate infants of four, five, and six who
had been ruined "by their own consent." What blasphemy!</div>
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<b>THE CHILD PROSTITUTE</b></div>
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It has been computed, says the report of a Hampshire Home,
that there are no less than 10,000 little girls living in sin in Christian
England. I do not know how far that is correct, but there is no doubt as to the
existence of a vast and increasing mass of juvenile prostitution. The Report of
the Lords' Committee in 1882 says:–</div>
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The evidence before the Committee proves beyond doubt that
juvenile prostitution from an almost incredibly early age is increasing to an
appalling extent In England, and especially in London. They are unable,
adequately to Express their tense of the magnitude, both in amoral and physical
point of view, of the evil thus brought to light, and of the necessity for
taking vigorous measures to cope with it. </div>
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Unfortunately the evil, instead of being coped with, is in
the opinion of the chaplains of our gaols rather on the increase than
otherwise. The victims are for the most part thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen
years old.</div>
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At West end houses of the better sort, that is to say,
houses where nothing can be done without a preliminary expenditure of a
sovereign in a bottle of champagne, and where the ordinary fee, without
allowing for tips and wine, is £5, they are very timid in purveying very young
girls. I should have had much less difficulty in establishing the fact but for
the awe that has fallen upon the unholy sisterhood since the chief among them
all was compiled to plead guilty in order to save her clients from exposure.
Houses French, Spanish, and English in fashionable localities where, according
to current report, you might either meet a Cabinet Minister or be supplied with
any number of little children, are now indignant at any application by a
stranger for the accommodation which they only extend to their old clients. But
at one villa in the north of London I found through the assistance of a friend
a lovely child between fourteen and fifteen, tall for her age, but singularly
attractive in her childish innocence. At first the keeper strenuously denied
that they had any such article in the house, but on mentioning who had directed
us to her place, the fact was admitted and an appointment was arranged.</div>
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There was another girl in the house– a brazen-faced harlot,
whose flaunting vice served as a foil to set off the childlike, spirituelle
beauty of the other's baby face. It was cruel to see the poor wee features, not
much larger than those of a doll, of the delicately nurtured girl, as she came
into the room with her fur mantle wrapped closely round her, and timidly asked
me if I would take some wine. Poor child, she had been out driving to the
Inventories that morning, and was somewhat tired and still. It seemed a
profanation to touch her, she was so young and so baby-like. There she was,
turned over to the first comer that would pay, but still to all appearance so
modest, the maiden bloom not altogether having faded off her childish cheeks,
and her pathetic eyes, where still lingered the timid glance of a frightened
fawn. I felt like one of the damned. "She saw old gentlemen," she
said, "almost exclusively. Sometimes it was rather bad, but she liked the
life," she said, timidly trying to face the grim inexorable, "and the
wine, she was so fond of that," although her glass stood untasted before
her. Poor thing! When I left the house as a guilty thing, shrinking away
abashed from before the presence of the child with her baby eyes, I said to the
keeper who let me out, "She is too good for her trade, poor thing."
"Wait a bit," said the woman, with a leer. "She is very young
–only turned fourteen, and has just come out, you know. Come again in a couple
of months, and you will see a great change." A great change, indeed. Would
to God she died before that! And she was but one.</div>
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<b>HOW CRIMINALS ARE SHIELDED BY THE LAW</b></div>
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This frightful development of fantastic vice is directly
encouraged by the law, which marks off all girls over thirteen as fair game for
men. It is only in the spring of this year that a man was sentenced to a term
of imprisonment for indecent assault upon a child. It was shown in evidence
that he had violated more than a dozen children just over thirteen, whom he had
enticed into backyards by promises of sweetmeats, but though they did not know
what he was doing until they felt the pain, they were over age, and so he
escaped scot-free, until one day he was fortunately caught with a child under
thirteen, and was promptly punished. The Rev. J. Horsley, the chaplain at
Clerkenwell, stated last year:–</div>
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There is a monster now walking about who acts as clerk in a
highly respectable establishment He is fifty years of age. For years it has
been his villainous amusement to decoy and ruin children. A very short time ago
sixteen cases were proved against him before a magistrate on the Surrey side of
the river. The children were all fearfully injured, possibly for life. Fourteen
of the girls were thirteen years old, and were therefore beyond the protected
age, and it could not be proved that they were not consenting parties. The wife
of the scoundrel told the officer who had the case in charge that it was her
opinion that her husband ought to be burned. Yet by the English law we cannot
touch this monster of depravity, or so much as inflict a small fine on him.</div>
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<b>A CLOSE TIME FOR GIRLS</b></div>
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Before the 14th of August it is a crime to shoot a grouse,
lest an immature cheeper should not yet have a fair chance to fly. The
sports-man who wishes to follow the partridge through the stubbles must wait
till September 1, and the close time for pheasants is even later.</div>
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Admitting that women are as fair game as grouse and
partridges, why not let us have a close time for bipeds in petticoats as well
as for bipeds In feathers? At present that close time is absurdly low. The day
after a girl has completed her thirteenth year she is perfectly free to dispose
of her person to the first purchaser. A bag of sweets, a fine feather, a good
dinner, or a treat to the theatre are sufficient to induce her to part with
that which may be lost in an hour, but can never be recovered. This is too bad.
It does not give the girls a fair chance. The close time ought to be extended
until they have at least attained physical maturity. That surely is not putting
the matter on too sentimental grounds. Fish out of season are not fit to be
eaten. Girls who have not reached the age of puberty are not fit even to be seduced.
The law ought at least to be as strict about a live child as about a dead
salmon.</div>
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Now, what is the age of puberty with English girls? A
medical man, Dr. Lowndes, who was recommended to me by Mr. Cavendish Bentinck
as a leading surgeon of Liverpool and a great supporter of the C. D. Acts,
says:–"I should like to tell you why so many members of the medical
profession, including myself, would wish to see an extension of the age in
females under which it should be a misdemeanour for any male to have carnal
knowledge. It is because so few girls are really aptae-viro, physically and
medically, till long after thirteen years of age. My colleague has a girl in
the Lock Hospital who is nineteen years old, has been a prostitute for some
time, and yet has only just attained puberty. All the cases of abnormal
precocity we have heard of, such as mothers at eleven, &c., are very
exceptional, and it seems to me that carnal knowledge of any female under
puberty is a cruel outrage." That "cruel outrage" is not forbidden
by the law. It can be perpetrated and is perpetrated constantly, with perfect
impunity to the man, with horrible consequences to the girl. It is also the
fact that such children are far more likely to transmit disease than a
full-grown woman. Scientifically, therefore, the close time should be extended
until the woman has at least completed sixteen years of life. The
recommendation of the Lords' Committee was that the close time should last for
sixteen years. That was the age accepted by the House of Lords in two
successive years, and that is the age which the late Home Secretary promised to
insert in the present bill, which legalizes consent when the girl is fifteen
years old and a day.</div>
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<b>JUVENILE PROSTITUTION IN THE EAST AND WEST</b></div>
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In the East-end of London vice is much more natural than in
the West I have made the casual acquaintance of some score of the youngest
prostitutes whom the West-end experts could procure. The Congregational Union
gave a supper to some seventy young prostitutes in Miss Steer's Bridge of Hope.
So far as I could judge, there are very few much under fifteen. Down
Ratcliff-highway, and in the parts adjacent, there are plenty at about fifteen
or sixteen, but the taste for extreme youth does not seem to have developed in
the crowded East. Here and there there are cases, and there are vast strata
where the children cohabit from preposterously early years, but that is quite
distinct from prostitution. In the most fashionable houses of ill fame, such as
Mrs. Jefferies's, Mrs. B –– 's, J ––– 's, and others, any stranger ordering
young children of very tender age would be looked at askance. These things are
only done for old customers. In the Edgware-road, two keepers of houses of
accommodation were found virtuous enough to refuse admittance to a girl of
fourteen and her companion, but they were watched by a vigilance committee. In
one of the fashionable houses in Park-lane, where inquiry was made whether any
objection would be made to receiving a very, very young girl who was expected
with an old gentleman, the reply was: "Of course not. Do you think we
insist on the production of the baptismal register of all the ladies who visit
us?" I was assured I might bring whom I pleased, as many as I pleased, and
no questions would be asked.</div>
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In and about the Quadrant and Regent-street I have taken or
caused to be taken repeatedly to houses of accommodation young girls from
thirteen and upwards who have been picked up on the streets: no objection was
ever raised by the keepers. These children were in no sense mature. They
usually professed to be fifteen, but did not look thirteen; they usually go in
couples, piding their earnings, and as a rule the child is accompanied by a
friend who is older than herself. Their story is pretty much the same all round.
They were poor, work was bad, every crust they ate at home was grudged, they
stopped out all night with some "gay" friend of the female sex, and
they went the way of all the rest. Occasionally they say that a gentleman took
them to his chambers and ruined them, for consideration received. More of them
are patronized by old men, and early initiated into the worst forms of
elaborate vice. Many of them are at work in the day, and most of them have to
be at home at night at ten or eleven. They have the entry to coffee shops and
other houses of call. It was not necessary to prosecute this branch of the
subject to any great length. Lest any doubt should still prevail as to the
reality of this description of the traffic, I may say that I have at this
moment an agreement with the keeper of one of the houses near Regent-street to
the effect that she will have ready in her house, within a few hours of receipt
of a line from me, a girl under fourteen. I have only tested it once, but I
should not have the least hesitation in trusting her to fulfil it again.</div>
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<b>THE RUIN OF THE YOUNG LIFE. – "THE DEMON CHILD"</b></div>
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"These young girls," says the Report of the Rescue
Society for 1883, are more difficult to deal with than women, because they are
made familiar with sin while so young that the modesty that is so natural to a
woman they never attain." The matron of a Lock Hospital, a good, kindly,
motherly soul, assured me that, according to their painful but almost
invariable experience, they found that the innocent girl once outraged seemed
to suffer a lasting blight of the moral sense. They never came to any good: the
foul passion from the man seemed to enter into the helpless victim of his lust,
and she never again regained her pristine purity of soul. The physical
consequences are often terrible. Here is the story of a child-prostitute who,
at the age of eleven, had for two years been earning her living by vice in the
East-end. My informant says:–</div>
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Emily.–Short of her age, broad and stout, with a pleasant
face with varying expression; sometimes a fearfully old look, and sometimes
with the face of childhood; she told me she had never had a toy in her life or
ever been in a garden. I found her to be fearfully diseased and sent her to the
Lock Hospital. She was there about six weeks. Returned looking fat and well,
but odd in her ways, her mind fearfully fouled by the life she had led, and
which she liked to talk about. Some one called her "the Demon Child,"
and it was an apt name for her. Offended, she would scream as if she was being
murdered if no one touched her; only a look from some would set her off: no one
seemed able to pacify her; if possible she would get away from everybody and
lie down close to a large bed of mignonette, and put her head amongst it and
become calm, "Just an excuse for idleness and wickedness," some would
say, but I saw her do it dozens of times, and gave directions that she should
not be prevented from going into the garden, she was such a child. One day I
saw her as usual tear shrieking along the broad walk and away to the path by
the greenhouse, sit down under an apple tree, and burying her head in thick
grass bloom, subside from shrill screams to sobs and low cries and then to a
perfect calm, so I went down and said, "Why do you always run to this
corner, little one; does the sweet mignonette do you good, and cure you of
being naughty?" "It's the devil makes me so bad," she answered
in a moment, "and I think the nice smell sends him away;'' and down went
her head again.</div>
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Strange that the fragrance of the mignonette should calm the
shattered nerves of the demon child, who had probably never before enjoyed the
smell of a flower. Alternate imbecility and wild screaming are too common among
the child victims of vice. Well may they scream–far worse their lot than the little
slaves of the loom of whom Mrs. Browning says :–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well may those children weep before you,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are weary ere
they ran;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is brighter
than the sun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They know the grief of man, but not the wisdom;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They sink in man's
despair without its calm;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are slaves without the liberty in Christdom,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are martyrs, by the
pang without the palm–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No dear remembrance
keep</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let them weep! let
them weep! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW THE LAW FACILITATES ABDUCTION</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is sometimes said that these children ought to be looked
after by their parents, but those who resort to that argument forget that the
law plays into the hands of the abductor. Suppose a child of thirteen, either
in a fit of temper or enticed by the bribes of a procuress, once gets within
the precincts of a brothel, what is the parent to do? The brothel-keeper has
only to keep the door locked to defy the father. If she had stolen a doll he
could have got a search warrant for stolen property, but as it is only his
daughter he can do nothing. It is true that there is a mode of procedure by Habeas Corpus, but that is so cumbrous and so costly that it is practically
unavailable for the poor. Counsel's opinion was recently taken by the abductor
of a boy as to what steps could be taken to prevent the father obtaining
possession of his son. The answer was as follows:– Refuse father admittance.
You can keep the boy until Habeas Corpus is obtained. At the very earliest this
can not be secured until after twenty-four hours at least. The hearing of the
case to show cause will wait about a week for a turn. The costs are uncertain,
from £30 to £50.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is the use of a remedy which at the earliest cannot be
brought into operation in less than twenty-four hours, even if it could be had
for nothing? A girl may be ruined in ten minutes. By habeas corpus a father has
a means of gaining his end, but he could no more raise the £50 needed than he could
fly. A remedy that involves a preliminary expenditure of £50, and can then only
get into action in a week, is virtually non-existent for the poor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take another case. In Hull last August a man kept a child's
brothel, locally known as "the Infant School." He kept no fewer than
fourteen children there, the eldest only fifteen, and some as young as twelve.
The mothers had gone to the house to try and claim their children, and had been
driven off by the prisoner with the most horrible abuse, and had no power to
get the children away or even to see them. Fortunately, the old reprobate had
sold drink without a licence. For this offence, and not for his stealing
children, the police broke into his house and secured his conviction. By law
abduction is no offence unless the girl is in the custody of her father at the
time of her abduction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How easy it is for a man to seduce a child with impunity the
following record taken from the report of a case heard in Hammersmith
police-court last March will show:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walter Franklin, who lived in North-avenue, Fulham, was
summoned for unlawfully taking Annie Summers, an unmarried girl, under the age
of sixteen, out of the possession of her master, and against the will of her
father. Mr. Gregory said he appeared on behalf of the Society for the
Protection of Young Girls to support the summons. The girl, who was fourteen,
was in service, and met the defendant while on her way to her father to obtain
a change of linen. He invited her to his house, where he kept her all night,
and turned her out in the morning. She was found by her father in Chelsea. Mr.
Sheil referred to the case of "Queen and Miller," and thought no
charge had been disclosed, as she was not in the custody of her father. The
case fell in with the decision in "Queen and Miller." In that case it
was the converse. The girl had left her father, and was on the way to her
mistress. Mr. Gregory: Yon think she was not in the custody of either? Mr.
Sheil replied in the Affirmative. The summons was then withdrawn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>ENTRAPPING IRISH GIRLS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have already spoken of procuring children and silly London
girls. Of a deeper shade of criminality is the system of trapping innocent
girls by inveigling them into houses of ill-fame which are represented as
respectable lodging-houses. A few years ago, when great numbers of Irish girls
used to arrive in the Thames, they formed a constant source of revenue to the
brothel keepers of Ratcliffe-highway. The modus operandi was very simple. The
moment the steamer touched the landing it was hoarded by men retained by the
brothel keepers to bring girls home. Sometimes they accosted the girl, saying
that if she wanted a cheap respectable lodging they could take her to exactly
the kind of place she wanted. More frequently they seized her box and marched off
with it, assuring her that they were taking it to the place where she had to
stop. The Irish girl, being innocent and inexperienced, setting foot for the
first time in a foreign city, without friends and not knowing where to go,
followed the porter, and was soon safely housed A highly respectable Irish girl
in the service of one of my friends had the utmost difficulty in extricating
her box from the grasp of one of these harpies. As, however, it was the second
visit, and as she knew the address where a situation awaited her, she succeeded
in compelling him to leave her box, and let her go to the place. A less
experienced girl, who had no address to which to go, would have fallen an easy
prey. When the girl is once within the brothel she is about as helpless as a
sparrow when caught by the falling brick of the schoolboy's trap. The method of
her gaoler is very simple. The object being in all cases purely mercenary, the
first thing is to strip her of all her scanty store of money. This is done not
by theft, but by running up a bill for board and lodgings, and to this end
every impediment is placed in the way of finding her a situation. The mere fact
of her lodging in such a house stands in the way of her success, even without
the many simple but effective expedients which can be employed to prevent her
engagement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next thing is to get her into debt, and this also is
easily accomplished by the same means. All the time the bill is running up, the
girl is insidiously tempted. She is plied with drink, significant hints are
dropped as to the money she might make if she would "do as the others
do;" possibly a lover is found for her, no stone is left unturned to sap
her virtue. If she is obdurate to the last, two things happen. Her box
containing all her worldly goods is seized and she is turned penniless into the
street, late at night, without a friend or acquaintance in the whole world, and
with dire threats of being handed over to the police for not paying her bill.
What is she to do? A country girl of seventeen or eighteen without a penny in
her pocket in Ratcliff-highway at midnight is marked down for destruction. The
very contemplation of such a position is sufficient to coerce the girl, if not
into complying at least into considering her captors' proposals. Forlorn and
desperate, she is tempted to drink, some snuff is put in her beer, she becomes
unconscious, and when she wakes with a splitting headache in the morning, the
girl is lost. This is no fancy picture. Priests and harlots both agree that it
is the simple truth. Cardinal Manning assured me that so terrible was the havoc
among these immigrants that one notorious procuress in those parts boasted that
no fewer than 1,600 girls had passed through her hands. That, however, was some
years ago. The Irish immigration has almost ceased.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The influx of Irish immigration is comparatively small, but
some girls still arrive in London from Liverpool. The snaring of these girls is
accomplished with more art than by the lassoing method that used to prevail in
Ratcliff-highway. One of the most ingenious, but most diabolical methods of
capture is that which consists in employing a woman dressed as a Sister of
Merry as a lure. This I have been assured by ladies actively engaged in work
among the poor is sometimes adopted with great success. The Irish Catholic girl
arriving at Euston is accosted by what appears to be a Sister or Mercy. She is
told that the good Lady Superior has sent her to meet poor Catholic girls to
take them to good lodgings, where she can look about for a place. The girl
naturally follows her guide, and after a rapid ride in a closed cab through a
maze of streets she is landed in a house of ill fame. After she is shown to her
bedroom the Sister of Mercy disappears, and the field is cleared for her ruin.
The girl has no idea where she is. Every one is kind to her. The procuress wins
her confidence. Perhaps a situation is found for her in another house belonging
to the same management, for some broth-keepers have several houses. Drink is
constantly placed in her way; she is taken to the theatre and dances. Some
night, when worn out and half intoxicated, her bedroom door is opened – for
there are doors which when locked inside will open by pressure from without –
and her ruin is accomplished. After that all is easy – except the return to a
moral life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>DECOY GIRLS AND THEIR ARTS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is by no means only Irish girls who are the prey of the
procuress. English and Scotch are picked up with even greater facility. There
are decoy girls in every great thoroughfare – agents of the procuress in almost
every railway station. Children as they go to and from day school and Sunday
school are noted by the keen eye of the professional decoy–waited for and
watched until the time has come for running them down. "Baker-street
station," said a female missionary," is regularly haunted by an old
decoy, who entices little children to a place in Milton-street. Watch has been
kept for weeks at a time, but she is wary, and when the watch is on the decoy
goes elsewhere. As soon as the watch is removed we hear from children whom she
has tempted that she is back at her old haunts." Most respectable little
girls of the middle class are sometimes accosted when looking into shop windows
by pleasant-spoken, well-dressed ladies, who offer to buy anything they take a
fancy to in order to win their confidence and get them away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One fine child of fourteen in the Brompton-road was promised
by "such a nice little lady" rides on her beautiful quiet pony as
often as she liked, if she would only go home with her. The thing is not done
impromptu. It is a carefully organized system, worked by professionals, whose
earnings are large and whose risk is small. Of 3,000 cases of which particulars
have been taken in Millbank nearly 900, or about 30 per cent, attributed their
ruin to decoy girls. When once a child is enticed away she is often too much
ashamed to go back, and even if she wished, good care is taken to keep her in
the toils. As for tracing her, a needle in a bottle of hay is as easily found
as a child among the four millions of London. Some years ago an old procuress
enticed away the daughter of a city missionary. The girl disappeared for six
months. The police were put on the alert. Handbills were printed and circulated
broadcast. Everything was done to track the girl, and everything was done in
vain. Her mother almost lost her reason, and all hope was abandoned when the
girl turned up one day at a refuge. It was then discovered that she had never
been out of London, that at one time she had been in the workhouse, and that
she never had made any attempt at keeping out of view. She was simply lost in
the Babylonian maze.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>RUINING COUNTRY GIRLS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The country girl offers an almost unresisting quarry. Term
time, when young girls come up to town with their boxes to seek situations, is
the great battue season of the procuress. To such a pass has it come that when
a member of the Girls' Friendly Society comes to town to a situation, the
society deems it indispensable to send some one to meet her to see that she
does not fall into bad hands. In dealing with English girls the woman is
sometimes dressed as a deaconess instead of a sister of mercy. "It makes
one's heart bleed," said a porter at one of the Northern railway stations,"
to see these poor girls snapped up by these bad women." Even if they
escape from the railway station they are often trapped in the street. Here is a
case which came under the personal knowledge of the chaplain at Westminster
prison, A country girl arrived by the Great Northern Railway at King's Cross.
She put her boxes in the left-luggage room and went out, as thousands have done
before her, to see what London looked like, and to inquire her way about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After some little time, being hungry and tired, she asked an
apparently respectable woman where she could get something to eat. The woman
took her to a refreshment house, where they had some food. The drink was
apparently drugged, for the girl remembered nothing until several hours after,
when she came to consciousness in a police cell. She had been found lying,
apparently drunk, in the street, and had been run in. On recovering herself she
found that her purse had been taken, the tickets for her luggage carried off,
most of her underclothing had been taken away, and that she was very sore and
scratched about the thighs. Apparently disturbed before they were able to
proceed to the last extremity, the criminals had hurriedly dressed her in a few
clothes and deposited her in the street, where she was found still unconscious
by the policeman. On inquiry at the Left Luggage Office, it was found that her
boxes had been removed by some one who had produced the ticket, but who he was
no one has ever been able to discover any trace. The girl was proved to be very
respectable. A place was found for her, and she has done well ever since. Mr.
Merrick, who saw her repeatedly and questioned her closely, has no doubt
whatever that she gave a truthful statement of what actually took place, and
but for an accident she would have been outraged as well as robbed. Others less
lucky are now on the streets; but their stories of course are easily dismissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is another case, the accuracy of which is vouched for
by a lady engaged in rescue work at Pimlico. A young girl, aged sixteen or seventeen,
coming from the country on a visit to her uncle, a wealthy tradesman, was
looking after her boxes at the railway station, when a woman, addressing her by
her name, asked her where she was going. "To my uncle, who lives at
–––." The woman replied, "I have been sent to fetch you." She
took the girl in a cab and landed her in a brothel, from which she was not
rescued for some time. The woman had read the girl's name in the address on her
boxes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These malpractices are by no means confined to London. Here
is a tale for the truth of which Mr. Charrington is ready to vouch:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A young lady applied to the proprietor of a provincial
music-hall for an engagement, and as the photograph showed a very pretty girl
of some eighteen Summers, a favourable reply was sent, and respectable (?)
lodgings were procured for her. He allowed her to sing one night, but ere the
second night was passed he had drugged her, seduced her, and communicated to
her a foul and loathsome disease. My friend (who told me her story) found her
literally rotting on some straw in an outhouse where the proprietor had left
her to starve. At first he thought there was no hope of recovery, but her life
was saved, although her beauty and her eyesight were both gone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a report on the social condition of Edinburgh drawn up by
Mr. Fairbairn, a city missionary in 1883, he says:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some houses which are nominally temperance hotels are in
reality brothels (they take the name of temperance hotels because they are thus
open to receive people, and at the same time escape police supervision, having
no licence). Into these places girls are entrapped as servants, and drugged or
made drunk, and then seduced, and tempted to abandon themselves to
prostitution. In two such cases known to the missionary, the keepers have been
sent to prison. At a famous brothel at Liverpool, country girls were frequently
trapped–excursionists and cheap trippers being the favourite prey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>IMPRISONED IN BROTHELS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is easy enough to get into a brothel, it is by no means
easy to get out. Apart from the dress houses, where women are practically
prisoners, forbidden to cross the doorstep and chained to the house by debt,
cases are constantly occurring in which girls find themselves under lock and
key. Every now and then fervid Protestantism lashes itself into wild fury over
the alleged abduction of some girl who is believed to have been spirited away
from convent to convent. These abductions and imprisonments are constantly
going on in the service of vice, but no one pays any heed. The labyrinth of
London, like that of Crete, has many chambers and underground passages; the
clue that leads to the entrance is easily broken. Here, for instance, is one
case in which a girl who is now in a respectable situation was imprisoned until
her ruin was effected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. S., a nursemaid, under fifteen, was once asked to take
tea by a woman whose acquaintance she had made. She entered and was not allowed
to go out. She was detained in the house, but kindly treated. One night she was
drugged, rendered unconscious, and when in that condition she was ruined, it
was said, by a nobleman. He kept her there for some months, when at last she
succeeded in making her escape. The house is in a street near the Marble Arch,
kept by Miss––, who pretended to keep a dyer's shop. The girl was sent to
Cheshire from the Lock Hospital, and is now doing well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is another case reported by a Westminster Rescue Home:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fanny F., fifteen, was imprisoned in the brothel. Her father
was denied all access to the house. He was in great trouble, but at last he got
her out by help of other girl inmates, who had heard of the father's grief.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even when they do escape the brothel keeper seizes
possession of their things. The case of Esther Prausner, a Polish girl, which
came before the Thames police court at the end of June, is–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She came to England from Germany a few months since, for the
purpose of getting a livelihood. After she had been over here a few weeks she
was persuaded to live at Poplar in a house of ill fame, and the unfortunate girl
while there was compelled to lead an immoral life. At last she declined to stay
any longer in the house, and left. When she demanded her box, containing all
her things, and also those of a young man whom she intended to marry, the
landlady refused to give them up, saying that she should not have them at all.
The girl had paid not only the rent for all the time she lived in the house but
also a week's rent in advance in lieu of notice to quit. Still her box was not
given up. She asked the magistrate's advice as to what she should do to recover
her property. Mr. Lushington having directed one of the warrant officers to go
to the house and try and obtain the box, was informed, later on in the day,
that the woman would not give it up. He then directed a summons, free of
charge, to be issued against the person referred to for illegally detaining the
things. The young girl, who was nineteen, and appeared in great distress, then
withdrew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A case which came more immediately under my personal
knowledge was one which occurred only last year in St. John's-wood. Although I
have not been able to see the girl herself I have received from two trustworthy
and independent sources narratives of her adventure which are substantially
identical. It is as follows:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alice B., a Devonshire girl of twenty years of age, came to
London to service on the death of her father. She was seduced when in service
by a doctor who lodged in the house; but after he left she kept company with an
apparently respectable young man. She was engaged to be married, and all seemed
to be going well, when one Sunday afternooon (sic), as they were enjoying their
Sunday walk, he proposed to call and see his aunt, who lived, he said, at No. –
Queen's-road, St. John's Wood. This house, local rumour asserts, is a
fashionable brothel, patronized among others by at least one Prince and one
Cabinet Minister. Of that she knew nothing. Together with her sweetheart she
entered the house and had tea with his supposed aunt. After tea she was asked
if she would not like to wash her hands, and she was taken upstairs to a
handsomely furnished bedroom and left alone. She first discovered her situation
by hearing the key turn in the lock. For three weeks she was never allowed to
leave the room, but was compelled to receive the visits of her first seducer,
who seems to have employed her sweetheart to lure her into this den. She
implored her captor to release her, but although he took her to the theatre and
the opera, dressed her in fine clothes, and talked of marrying her abroad, he
never allowed her to escape. When he was not with her she was kept under lock
and key. When he was with her, she was a captive under surveillance. This went
on for six or seven weeks. The girl was well fed and cared for, and had a maid
to wait on her; but she fretted in captivity, dreaming constantly of escape,
but being utterly unable to get out of the closely guarded house. At last one
morning she was roused by an unusual noise. It was the sweep brushing the
chimney. Her door had to be opened to allow him to enter the adjoining room.
She rose, dressed herself in her old clothes -which fortunately had not been
removed–and fled for her life. She found a little side door at the bottom of
the back stairs open, and in a moment she was free, She had neither hat nor
bonnet, nor had she a penny she could call her own. Her one thought was to get
as far away as possible from the hated house. For three or four days she
wandered friendless and helpless about the street, not knowing where to go. The
police were kind to her and saved her from insult, but she was nearly starved
when by a happy inspiration she made her way to a Salvation Army meeting at
Whitechapel, where she fell into good hands. She was passed on to their Home
and then to the Rescue Society, by whose agency she found a situation, where
she is at the present moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It would be painful to discover how many girls are at this
moment imprisoned like Alice B. in the brothels of London.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A LONDON MINOTAUR</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As in the labyrinth of Crete there was a monster known as
the Minotaur who devoured the maidens who were cast into the mazes of that evil
place, so in London there is at least one monster who may be said to be an
absolute incarnation of brutal lust. The poor maligned brute in the Cretan
labyrinth but devoured his tale of seven maids and as many boys every ninth
year. Here in London, moving about clad as respectably in broad cloth and fine
linen as any bishop, with no foul shape or semblance of brute beast to mark him
off from the rest of his fellows, is Dr,–––, now retired from his profession
and free to devote his fortune and his leisure to the ruin of maids. This is
the "gentleman" whose quantum of virgins from his procuresses is
three per fortnight–all girls who have not previously been seduced. But his
devastating passion sinks into insignificance compared with that of Mr. –––,
another wealthy man, whose whole life is dedicated to the gratification of
lust. During my investigations in the subterranean realm I was constantly
coming across his name. This procuress was getting girls for –––, that woman
was beating up maids for –––, this girl was waiting for –––, that house was a
noted place of –––'s. I ran across his traces so constantly that I began to
make inquiries in the upper world of this redoubtable personage. I soon
obtained confirmation of the evidence I had gathered at first hand below as to
the reality of the existence of this modern Minotaur, this English Tiberius,
whose Caprece is in London.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is no part of my commission to hold up individuals to
popular execration, and the name and address of this creature will not appear
in these columns. But the fact that he exists ought to be put on record, if
only as a striking illustration of the extent to which it is possible for a
wealthy man to ruin not merely hundreds but thousands of poor women, It is
actually Mr. –––'s boast that he has ruined 3,000 women in his time. He never
has anything to do with girls regularly on the streets, but pays liberally for
actresses, shop-girls, and the like. Exercise, recreation; everything is
subordinated to the supreme end of his life. He has paid his victims, no
doubt–never gives a girl less than £5–but it is a question whether the lavish
outlay of £,3,000 to £5,000 on purchasing the assent of girls to their own dis-honour
is not a frightful aggravation of the wrong which he has been for some
mysterious purpose permitted to inflict on his Kind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
'Tis not vain fabulous,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though as esteem'd by shallow ignorance, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What the sage poets, taught by the heav'nly muse,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Storied of old, in high immortal verse,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The blindest unbelief must admit that in this "English
gentleman", we have a far more hideous Minotaur than that which Ovid
fabled and which Theseus slew.</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-91434433426961447512013-12-28T00:15:00.000-08:002013-12-28T00:15:51.756-08:00The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon, II<div class="MsoNormal">
The second in the series of W.T. Stead's sensational articles, first published in 1885 in <i>The Pall Mall Gazette </i>and the basis of my own novel<i>, The Eighth Circle of Hell:</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I described yesterday a scene which took place last Derby
day, in a well known house, within a quarter of a mile of Oxford-circus. It is
no means one of the worst instances of the crimes that are constantly
perpetrated in London, or even in that very house. The victims of the rapes,
for such they are to all intents and purposes, are almost always very young
children between thirteen and fifteen. The reason for that is very simple. The
law at present almost specially marks out such children as the fair game of
dissolute men. The moment a child is thirteen she is a woman in the eye of the
law, with absolute right to dispose of her person to any one who by force or
fraud can bully or cajole her into parting with her virtue. It is the one thing
in the whole world which, if once lost, can never be recovered, it is the most
precious thing a woman ever has, but while the law forbids her absolutely to
dispose of any other valuables until she is sixteen, it insists upon investing
her with unfettered freedom to sell her person at thirteen. The law, indeed,
seems specially framed in order to enable dissolute men to outrage these legal
women of thirteen with impunity. For to quote again from "Stephen's
Digest," a rape in fact is not a rape in law if consent is obtained by
fraud from a woman or a girl who was totally ignorant of the nature of the act
to which she assented. Now it is a fact which I have repeatedly verified that
girls of thirteen, fourteen, and even fifteen, who profess themselves perfectly
willing to be seduced, are absolutely and totally ignorant of the nature of the
act to which they assent. I do not mean merely its remoter consequences and the
extent to which their consent will prejudice the whole of their future life,
but even the mere physical nature of the act to which they are legally
competent to consent is unknown to them. Perhaps one of the most touching
instances of this and the most conclusive was the exclamation of relief that
burst from a Birmingham girl of fourteen when the midwife had finished her
examination.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It's all over now," she said, "I am so
glad."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"You silly child," said the procuress,
"that's nothing. You've not been seduced yet. That is still to come."
How could she know any better, never having been taught? All that the procuress
had told her was that if she consented to meet a rich gentleman she would get
lots of money. Even when an attempt is made to explain that there will be some
physical pain, the information is so shrouded in mystery that in cases that
have come under my own personal knowledge if the man had run a needle into the
girl's thigh and told her that she was seduced, she would have believed it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE RESPONSIBILITY OF
THE MOTHERS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ignorance of these girls is almost incredible. It is one
of the greatest scandals of Protestant training that parents are allowed to
keep their children in total ignorance of the simplest truths of physiology,
without even a rudimentary conception of the nature of sexual morality.
Catholic children are much better trained; and whatever may be the case in
other countries, the chastity of Catholic girls is much greater than that of
Protestants in the same social strata. Owing to the soul and body destroying
taciturnity of Protestant mothers, girls often arrive at the age of legal womanhood
in total ignorance, and are turned loose to contend with all the wiles of the
procuress and the temptations of the seducer without the most elementary
acquaintance with the laws of their own existence. Experientia docet; but in
this case the first experience is too often that of violation. Even after the
act has been consummated, all that they know is that they got badly hurt; but
they think of it and speak of it exactly in the same way as if it meant no more
for them than the pulling out of a tooth. Even more than the scandalous state
of the law, the culpable refusal of mothers to explain to their daughters the
realities and the dangers of their existence contributes to fill the brothels
of London.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>RECRUITING FOR THE
HOUSE OF EVIL FAME<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People imagine that the brothel fills itself. That is a
mistake. It is recruited for as diligently as is the army of her Majesty, which
is perhaps one of its greatest patrons. "Business is very bad," said
Mrs. Jefferies mournfully, a short time before her conviction. "I have
been very slack since the Guards went to Egypt." The house of ill-fame is
a reservoir of vice fed by a multitude of tributary rills. Possibly one-half of
its inmates voluntarily elected to take to the streets as a means of
livelihood. But although they are volunteers, they are not left to find their
way to their destination by natural selection. Every brothel-keeper worth her
salt is a procuress with her eyes constantly on the look-out for likely girls,
and she is quite as busy weaving toils in which to ensnare fresh women as she
is to command fresh customers. When a keeper has spotted a girl whom, she
fancies will be "a good mark" she–for in most cases the creature is
of the feminine gender–sets to work to secure her for her service. Decoy girls
are laid on to tempt the girl with promises of dress and money. The ordinary
formula is that if you come with us you will live like a lady, have plenty of
fine clothes, have your own way in everything and do as you please. If the girl
listens, she is lost. The toils close round. She calls upon her friends. Some
night she stops out after the time her mistress locks the door. She is obliged
to return to seek shelter, and before morning she is done for. That is the
story of thousands, and it is much the most innocent form of procuration.
Almost every house of ill-fame in London is the centre of a network of snares
and wiles and "plants," intended to bring in fresh girls. That is
part of the regular trade. But there are other methods of procuration much more
objectionable. "Gentlemen" who seduce girls under promise of marriage
and then desert them are probably not responsible for more than 5 to 10 per
cent. of our prostitutes, but so long as it is thought honourable and
gentlemanly to ruin a girl's life in order to enjoy half an hour's excitement,
it is no use saying anything about that mode of recruiting "the Black
Army" of our streets. A small proportion take to it from sheer poverty and
absolute despair of evading destitution. Many more adopt it occasionally as a
means of supplementing scanty wages.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>UNWILLING RECRUITS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that to which I specially wish to direct attention are
the arts by which the keeper secures unwilling victims for her house. The
simplest and by far the commonest is to engage a girl for the country by
advertisement or otherwise to help in the housework. The child–she is seldom
more than fifteen or sixteen–comes up from her country village with her box,
and is installed in service. At first nothing is said. Every artifice is used
to make the unsuspecting girl believe that she is in a good place with a kind
mistress. After a time some smart dress is given her, and she is encouraged to
be willing and submissive, by promises of greater liberty and plenty of money.
The girl is tempted to drink, and by degrees she is enlightened as to the
nature of the house. It is a dreadful awakening. What is she to do? In all
London she knows no friend–no one to whom she can appeal. She is never allowed
to go outside alone. She dare not speak to the policeman, for he is tipped by
her mistress. If she asks to leave she is told she must serve out her term, and
then every effort is redoubled to seduce her. If possible she is made drunk,
and then when she wakes she discovers her ruin has been accomplished. Her
character is gone. Hopeless and desperate, without money, without friends, all
avenues of escape closed, she has only one choice. "She must do as the
others do"–the great formula–or starve in the streets. No one will believe
her story, for when a woman is outraged, by fraud or force, her sworn testimony
weighs nothing against the lightest word of the man who perpetrated the crime.
She sees on one hand leisure, luxury, on the other blank despair. Thus the
brothel acquires a new inmate, and another focus of sin and contagion is added
to the streets.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE STORY OF AN
ESCAPE<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within the last month I made the acquaintance of a girl of
seventeen, who escaped at the eleventh hour from just such a trap. I
interviewed her, as I have interviewed many others, but her story is so striking
an illustration of the kind of work that is going on all round us that it is
worth while giving it just as she gave it to me, merely premising that I have
been able, by independent inquiries at Shoreham and Pimlico, to verify the
complete accuracy of her statement:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My name is A––; I am seventeen years old. Last year, about
May, I was living with my grandparents who had brought me up at Shoreham. They
were poor people, and as I had grown up they thought that it was well I should
go to service. I saw an advertisement of a situation: "Wanted a girl to
help in the general work of the house." My grandmother wrote about the
situation, and as it seemed satisfactory, it was decided I should go. My
mistress had to meet me at Victoria station and take me to my new home. I
arrived all safely, and at first I thought everything was going to be all
right. Mrs. C–– was very kind, and let me go to bed at ten. After a time,
however, I began to see something was wrong. The ladies in the house used to
drink very much and keep very late hours. Gentlemen were coming and going till
three and four o'clock in the morning. I began to see that I was in a bad
house. But when I mentioned it to my mother, who is living a gay life in
London, she scolded me, and said she would give me a good hiding if I left my
place. Where was I to go to? Besides, I thought I might be servant in a bad
house without being bad myself. By degrees Mrs. C. began to hint that I was too
good to be a general servant; she would get another girl, and I might be a lady
like the others. But the girl who had been there before me used to cry very
much and tell me never to do as she had done. "Once I was as good as you,
Annie, but now there is my baby, and what can I do?" and then she would
cry bitterly. The other two girls, when they were sober, would warn me to
beware and not come to such a life as theirs, and wish that they had never
taken to the streets. And then they would drink again, and go and paint their
faces and prepare to receive visitors. I used to be sent with money to buy
drink for them, and many a time I wondered if I might run off and never come
back. But I had to bring back either the money or the drink or be taken for a
thief. And so I went on day after day. One night Mrs. C. brought me a red silk
dress and a new hat, and said she was going to take me out. She got into a cab
with me and took me to the Aquarium. There she walked me about and then brought
me home again. This she did several times, never letting me get out of her
sight, never allowing me to go out of doors except for drink and when she took
me to the Aquarium. She became more pressing. She showed me a beautiful pink
dress, and promised me that also if I would do as the others did. And when I
would not, she called me a fool, and used awful language, and said what
pleasure I was missing all from stupidity. Sometimes she would tell the
gentlemen to take liberties with me, but I kept them at a distance. One night
after I had come in with her from the Aquarium, a gentleman tried to catch hold
of me as I was outside the bedroom. I ran as hard as I could downstairs. He
came after me, but I got into the kitchen first, and there I barricaded the
door with chairs and the table, so that he could not get in. I was nearly
distracted and did not know what to do, when I found in my box the back of an
old hymn-book my grandfather had used. It had on it the address of General
Booth, at the headquarters of the Salvation Army. I thought to myself Mr. Booth
must be a good man or he would not have so many halls all over the country, and
then I thought perhaps he will help me to get out of this horrible house, as I
never knew what might happen any night. So I waited quietly all that night,
never taking off my clothes. It was usually four o'clock before the house was
quiet. As soon as they all seemed to be asleep, I waited till nearly six, and
then I crept to the door, opened it, and stole softly away, not even daring to
close the door. I only knew one address in all London–101, Queen
Victoria-street; where that was I did not know. I walked out blindly till I met
a policeman, and he told me the right direction. I walked on and on; it was a
long way; I was very tired. I had had no sleep all night, and I feared at any
moment to be overtaken and brought back. My red silk dress was rather
conspicuous, and I did not know if, even after I got there, whether Mr. Booth
would help me. But I felt sure he was a good man, and I walked on and on. The
bad house was in Gloucester-street, Pimlico, and it was nearly half-past seven
when I got to Queen Victoria-street. The headquarters were closed. I stood
waiting outside, wondering if, after all, I might have to go back. At last some
one came, and they took care of me, and sent me to their home, and then took me
back to Shoreham, where I am now living. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On inquiry at the Salvation Army I found this story, so far
as they were concerned, was strictly correct. They give the girl a good
character, and say that her grandparents are very respectable, honest people at
Shoreham. They sent to the brothel after hearing her story, and insisted on
receiving her box. At first the woman demurred, but on being threatened with
exposure reluctantly gave up the box, wishing "the little hussy had broken
her neck in getting out of the window when she ran away in that fashion."
The girl is now engaged to be married, and, so far as one could judge, seemed a
thoroughly modest, respectable young woman. But for the accident of the
hymn-book, there is little doubt that she would months ago have been a regular
prostitute.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is significant of the tenacity with which these
procuresses cling to their prey, that at the time of Brighton races, when Mrs.
C–– and her establishment migrated to the seaside, her old mistress came over
to Shoreham to try to hire Annie by bribes and threats to return to town. The
frightened girl fled to her grandmother, and the woman had to return
empty-handed. I have full particulars of names, addresses, dates in my
possession, and there is not the least doubt of the substantial accuracy of her
story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>TWO STORIES FROM LIFE<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In melancholy contrast to the story of Annie is the story of
another Annie, a London girl of singularly interesting countenance and pleasing
manner. This child did not escape. I met her in one of the innumerable foreign restaurants
which serve as houses of assignation in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was about fifteen years of age, and at the time when I
saw her had only been on the streets for a few weeks. Her story, as she told it
me with the utmost simplicity and unreserve, was as follows:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was about two months since I was seduced. A friend of
mine, Jane B––, met me one evening in the street near our house, and asked me
if I would go for a walk with her. I said yes, and she proposed to come and
have an ice at the very restaurant in which we are now sitting. "It is
such a famous shop for ices," she said, "and perhaps we shall see my
uncle." I did not know her uncle, nor did I think anything about it, but I
walked down to Leicester-square to the restaurant. She asked me to come
upstairs to a sitting-room, where we had some ices and some cake. After a time
a gentleman came in, whom she said was her uncle; but I found out afterwards he
was no more her uncle than I was. He asked us to have some wine and something
to eat, and we sat eating and drinking. I had never tasted wine before, but he
pressed it on me, and I took one glass and then another, until I think I had
four glasses. My head got very queer, and I hardly knew what I did. Then my
friend said, ."Annie, you must come upstairs now." "What
for?" I said. "Never mind what for," she said ; "you will
get lots of money." My head was queer; I did not care what I did, but I
remember thinking that it was after no good this going upstairs. She insisted,
however, and I went upstairs. The man she called her uncle followed us. She
began to undress me. "What are you doing that for?" Isaid. "You
shan't undress me. I don't want to be undressed here." I struggled, and
then everything went dizzy. I remember nothing more till I woke and found that
I had been undressed and put in bed. The man was in bed with me. I screamed,
and begged him to go away. He paid no heed to me, and began to hurt me
dreadfully. "Keep quiet, you silly girl," said ––––, who stood by the
bed; "you will get lots of money." Oh, I was frightened, and the man
hurt me so much! But I could do nothing. When it was all over the man gave her
£4. She gave me half and kept the other half for herself, as her pay for
getting me seduced. I do not know who the man was, and I have never seen him
since.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course it is obvious that this story rests solely on the
authority of the child herself. But there was no reason to question its
accuracy. She told me her story very simply in the presence of a friend. It was
perfectly natural, and the girl's remembrance of the way in which she had been
ruined was very clear. She seemed a girl of excellent disposition, a Sunday
scholar, and of refined manners, and with a sweetness of expression unusual in
her class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her companion, a young girl of thirteen, was a child of much
greater character and resolution, who, I am glad to say, is now in good hands
in the country. Her story was as follows:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One night a girl I knew came and spoke to me. "Will you
come and see a gentleman?" she said. "Me see a gentleman–what do you
mean?" said I. "Oh, I forgot," she says; "will you come and
take a walk?" I had no objection, so we went for a walk. After a while,
she proposed we should go into a house in P–– street and get something to eat.
We went in, and after we had been there a little time in came a gentleman. He
sat down and talked a bit, and then my friend says, "Take off your things,
Lizzie." "No, I won't," I said. "Why should I take off my
things?" "Don't be a fool," says she, "and do as I tell you,
you will get lots of money;" and she began to undress me. I objected, but
she was older than I, and stronger, and the man took her side. "Now,"
she said after she had undressed me, "get into bed with you."
"What for?" says I, "for I had no idea what she meant."
"Do as I tell you, you little fool, or I will knock you[r] head off you.
This gentleman will give you lots of money, pounds and pounds, if you are good;
but he won't give you a penny if you are stupid." And she half forced me,
half persuaded me, to get into bed. Then the gentleman got into bed. I did not
know what he wanted. I was very frightened, and was crying bitterly. Then he
began to hurt me, and I yelled at the top of my voice. Madame who kept the
house heard me scream, and she came running up. "Vot is you a doin to that
von leetle girl ?" she asked. "Nothing," said the man; "she
has only run a pin into her foot;" and my friend whispered, "Only
keep quiet and you shall have it all. I will give you all the money. But mind
you won't get off, no matter how you scream." Madame went away, and the
man finished me. He gave me £3. 10s.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lizzie, who told me the above story, is a mere child,
thirteen years old last June. Her mother was dead. Her father was a foreman in
a City warehouse. She is a girl of great energy and restlessness, affectionate,
and I believe she is now doing well. Both of these girls, after being seduced,
went on the streets occasionally. It is the first step which costs, and after
having lost their virtue, they argued that they might now and then add to their
scanty earnings by the easily acquired gold to be earned in the brothel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>PROCURATION IN THE
WEST-END<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The price of maids is much higher in the West-end than when
the virgins are picked up in the East. But the purveying of maidens is done
systematically enough. Prices, I should say, rule as follows:–From the
wholesale firm of Mdmes. X. and Z., of which I shall speak shortly, £5, at an
East-end brothel £10, at the West-end £20. These quotations are actual figures,
and have been given me by those who were perfectly willing to fulfil the
contract. In all cases they include the maiden's own fee as well as the
commission paid to the purveyor. In no case was the slightest objection made to
the stipulation that the virginity of the girl should be certified by a doctor
before delivery–a fact which entirely disposes of the cry that no business is
done excepting in harlots vamped up as virgins for that occasion only. I had a
good opportunity of an inside view of procuration as practised in one of the
most select and respectable houses in the West, where I had commissioned the
mistress to procure me a maid at £20. She told me, of course–as they all
do–that she never did such things, that she never had a maid seduced in her
house in her life, and would not for the world, even for her oldest customer,
consent to allow her house to be used for that purpose. In fact, she went so
far as to say that if a girl was seduced in her house she would feel as if she
were bound to provide for her in an afterlife. The value of these preliminary
assurances may be gauged from the fact that she subsequently undertook to
provide me with a maid, and offered me the choice of any room in her house for
the purpose of seducing her. She incidentally described a considerable number
of girls who had been seduced in her house, and then let me so far into her
confidence as to say that she had three procuresses in connection with her
house whose duty it was to pick up girls for her customers. I was offered the
choice between a nursery governess, a nursemaid, and another girl. I selected
the nursery governess, who, I was told, was in a good situation in a
gentleman's family near Victoria station. Unfortunately the day when we had to
meet her mistress sent her with the children to Hurlingham, and she could not
keep her appointment, much to the disappointment of the procuress, who paid no
fewer than three visits to the house. Another appointment was made, but they
brought a housemaid instead of the governess. I saw her in company with the
procuress, a motherly old lady, whose profession was that of charwoman. I had a
long and interesting conversation with her, which need not be detailed here.
The salient feature of it was the complacency with which the good lady regarded
her occupation as procuress. To begin with, she had the excuse of poverty. She
was a widow with a large family, and must do something for the children. Her
second justification was the assumption that the girls whom she procured would
inevitably be seduced, and, said she naively, "If a girl is to be seduced
it is better she should be seduced by a gentleman, and get something for it
than let herself be seduced by a boy or a young fellow who gives her nothing
for it" These two excuses not only satisfied the old lady's conscience,
but made her feel that she was quite a benefactor to her sex.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The maid whom she procured for me (although I cannot speak
positively as to her virginity, as, owing to the delay of a telegram, my doctor
failed to arrive at the trysting-place) was a pretty young girl about fifteen,
a very sweet face, and immature figure. She had been crying because Mrs. –– had
scolded her for dressing like a butterfly instead of wearing black. Her story
was that her mother was ill, which I subsequently discovered was true, and she
wanted to get £10 to help her in her trouble. She was perfectly willing to be
examined by a doctor, for, as the old lady said, "if she is going to be
seduced she need not mind seeing a doctor," and her readiness to submit to
the examination was at least prima facie evidence of the reality of her claim
to be regarded as a maid. The scene with the procuress and the girl was very
striking. The old lady trotted out the child, made her stand up, smile, and
generally put her through her paces, and showed off her points. The motherly
fashion in which she put her arms round the girl's neck, and urged her with
kisses and encouragement not to be timid, but to please the gentleman, was
sickening beyond expression. It was with great difficulty that I got a few
moments alone with the girl. "Why do you want to be seduced?" I
asked. "Tell me the truth." "For the money," she. replied,
quite simply. "Would you rather have £5 and not be seduced, or the £10 and
be seduced?" "Oh, £5 by all means," she said, "and not be
seduced." And then the old procuress returned. The girl seemed timid, but
whether she was really a maid or not I do not know. When the doctor turned up a
second time she did not come, and I have reason to fear that she is no longer
likely to pass the ordeal of an examination.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the course of conversation I found that charwomen are
regarded as excellent procuresses. They have the entry into private houses and
into shops where many girls are employed. Coming day after day, early in the
morning, before the mistress or the manager is about, they have ample
opportunities, of which they make the most, to entice young girls to
destruction. They make it their duty to allay the fears of the girls as to the
consequences of seduction. The old lady was quite eloquent and emphatic in
assuring me that a girl never need fear having a child as the result of a first
seduction. That is the way in which the descensus Averni is smoothed. "No
harm will come the first time" helps the girl to consent, and after she
has lost her maiden estate the argument is, "You can go a second
time." "It is only the first step that costs," and so the girl
gets fairly launched on an immoral life. But in justice to this establishment I
must say that they stoutly refused to deliver the girl over to me altogether.
"I must restore her to her mother's arms," said the old lady, who in
this case had fortified herself with a written certificate from the mother
declaring her assent to her daughter's seduction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A FIRM OF PROCURESSES<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The recruiting for the brothel is by no means left to
occasional irregular agents. It is a systematized business. Mesdames X. and Z.,
procuresses, London, is a firm whose address is not to be found in "The
Post Office Directory." It exists, however, and its operations are in full
swing at this moment. Its members have made the procuration of virgins their
speciality. The ordinary house of ill-fame recruits its inmates occasionally by
purchase, by contract, by force, or by fraud, but as a rule the ordinary
brothel keeper relies for the staple of her commodities upon those who have
already been seduced. To oblige a customer they will procure a maid, in many
cases passing off as virgins those who had long before bade farewell to the
estate of maidenhood; for the tricks of women are innumerable, and the
contrivances by which this can be done are numerous and simple. The number of
vamped-up virgins which Mrs. Jefferies is currently reported to have procured
for her aristocratic clientele in the neighbourhood of the Quadrant is regarded
in the profession as one of the most remarkable achievements of the great
Chelsea procuress. These are, however, but the tricks of the trade, which in no
way concern the object of the present inquiry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The difference between the firm of Mesdames X. and Z. and
the ordinary keeper of an introducing house is that the procuring of maids
(which in the case of the latter is occasional) is the constant occupation of
their lives. They do nothing else. They keep no house of ill-fame. One of the
members of this remarkable firm lives in all the odour of propriety if not of
sanctity with her parents; the other, who has her own lodgings, nominally holds
a position of trust and of influence in the establishment of a well-known firm
in Oxford-street. These things, however, are but as blinds. Their real work, to
which they devote every day in the week, is the purveying of maidens to an
extensive and ever-widening circle of customers. The office of the firm is at
––, ––place, the lodgings of the junior partner, where letters and telegrams
are sent and orders received, and the necessary correspondence conducted. Both
partners are young, the senior member of the firm being really younger than her
partner. The business was started by Miss X––, a young woman of energy and ability
and great natural shrewdness almost immediately after her seduction in 1881.
She was at that time in her sixteenth year. A girl who had already fallen
introduced her to a "gentleman," and pocketed half the price of her
virtue as commission. The ease with which her procuress earned a couple of
pounds came like a revelation to Miss X., and almost immediately after her
seduction she began to look about to find maids for customers and customers for
maids. After two years, business had increased to such an extent that she was
obliged to take into partnership Miss Z., an older girl, about twenty, of
slenderer figure and fairer complexion. At one time Miss Z. gave all her time
to the business, but one of their customers suggested that it would look more respectable,
and besides increase her opportunities, if she resumed her old position as head
of a sewing-room in the establishment alluded to. She accordingly went back to
her old quarters and resumed the responsibility of looking after the morals and
manners of some score young apprentice girls who come up from the country to
learn the business. I am thus precise in giving details not only because the
firm is only one of several which have hitherto escaped the attention of the
social observer, but because the very existence of such an organized business
for the procuration of virgins has been stoutly denied by those who are
believed to know what is going on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW ANNIE WAS
PROCURED<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard accidentally of the operations of this famous firm
in conversation with a bright-looking young girl about sixteen who was telling
me the way in which she was first brought out. "Oh, Miss X. brought me
out," she said, "nearly two years ago. I was at that time, as I still
am, in a situation as nurse girl. I used to go with the perambulator and the
baby to St. James's Park every day. When wheeling the perambulator a
nicely-dressed lady used to pass me nearly every day. She used to say, 'Good
morning,' and pass on. One day she stopped a little to talk about the baby.
'What a fine child,' says she. 'And are you its nurse?' And then she gave the
baby a halfpenny and me a penny, and I thought her a very kind lady indeed.
After that she always used to stop and talk, and I used to tell my mistress
what a pleasant lady Miss X––– was, and how much she liked the baby. 'I would
like to see Miss X–––' said my mistress. 'Would you not invite her to tea some
time?' which I did. Miss X––– was, oh! so polite, said, 'Yes, ma'am,' and 'No,
ma'am,' and quite pleased my mistress. After that, one day when I was in the
park, she came up and said, 'Nance, have you ever had a man?' I did not know
exactly what she meant, and said so. She then asked, 'Would you not like to get
such a lot of money?' Of course I said, 'Yes.' Then she said, 'I know several girls
who have got pounds and pounds, and I can help you to do the same.' 'Can you?'
said I, 'that would be very kind.' 'Yes,' she said, 'it is very easy; you only
need to have a little game with a gentleman.' 'Oh,' I said, 'I don't want to
see a gentleman. What would he do with me?' 'Oh, nothing,' she said. 'But never
mind; if you don't like the chance we'll say no more about it.' And then she
went away, and I did not see her for some time. I thought a great deal about
what she said. I wanted some new clothes. I had not much wages, and she said
pounds and pounds could be got quite easily. I did not know what she meant
about having fun with a gentleman. One day I saw her again, and she came up to
me and said: 'Nance, I am going to give you another chance. Will you go and see
a gentleman friend of mine, and you will get pounds, and you can buy new
dresses, new hats, and nets, and all kinds of things?' 'But what for?' I asked.
'Never mind what for, you silly girl: he will only have a game with you, and
you will be none the worse for it. But look you,' she said, speaking quite
sharp, 'I don't want to fool away my time over you. There's that other girl
will jump at the chance I've offered you. Say you won't and I'll take her.' And
then I said, 'Oh yes, I'll go, I'll go,' and she took me. It was somewhere in
the country. We went by train. Miss X–– took me. The first time I was very
frightened, and when the gentleman began to undress me I cried, for I did not
know what he was going to do. So he did nothing that day, but said I must come
another time. He was a very kind gentleman, who lived in a fine house and
played on the piano. He gave me £5 that time. Miss X–– brought me another day,
and that time he seduced me, and gave me another £5. I did not cry when he
undressed me the second time, but afterwards I screamed. 'Let me go, let me
go,' I shouted, all in a tremble, 'and I'll go and work for my living,' and I
struggled to get free. 'Child,' said he, angrily, 'don't dirty my shirtsleeves.
Don't dirty my shirtsleeves There is a danger of course that the last phrase
may be held apply to Candahar, but we prefer to believe that it refers sole to
Quetta, whatever you do,' for I was tearing at them to get free. It was of no
use, and I was done for." "Who is this Miss X–– ? "I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Miss X–," said Nance, "is the one who gets
nearly all the young girls away from here. She is a very clever woman, and
persuades girls to meet men." "Do they always know what they are
going for?" I asked. "Oh, no," she said; "some do, of
course, but others don't." "And these others–when they find out do
they get away?" "How can they?" she replied; "Miss X. would
knock their heads off if they tried. 'I am not going to have you make a fool of
me and of my gentleman,' she says. The girl cannot get away, then–it is too
late–and if they make much trouble she says, 'You will be seduced all the same
whatever you do, but if you make much row you shan't have a penny.' "And
so the girl gives in."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>"YOU WANT A MAID
DO YOU?"<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All this was said with such perfect good faith and
simplicity, and without the faintest tinge of animosity towards the procuress,
that I was curious to make the acquaintance of so accomplished and vigorous a
lady. An interview was arranged without much difficulty for the transaction of
business. Unfortunately the senior partner was engaged, but Miss Z––– was at
liberty. I explained my business. "Oh, you want a maid, do you?" she
said. "I will bring one to-morrow night. The price will be about £5,
including commission." "But," said I, "she will have to be
certified by a doctor or a midwife as really a maid, otherwise I will not look
at her." "All right," she said, "that is not very usual;
and you will have to pay the doctor. But I have had to do it before now, and
there will be no difficulty about that."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE ORDER EXECUTED<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next night, promptly at the appointed time, Miss Z–––
arrived with her maid. The child was about fourteen, dark, with long black hair
and dark eyes. She was not fully grown, and promised if well cared for to
develop into a woman of somewhat striking appearance. She was a Birmingham
girl, and the London sewing-rooms had not yet robbed her cheeks of the rural
bloom. Her story was soon told. She had been sent to –––, in Oxford-street, to
learn dressmaking, as an apprentice from the country. She was to serve three
months in return for board and lodgings. She received no wages, and was
illiterate–reading with difficulty, and not writing at all. She had only been
in London three weeks, and she had no pocket money, nor was she able to buy the
clothes or boots which she wanted. Miss Z––– had noticed her on her arrival as
a likely girl, and suggested that she might make a few pounds by meeting a rich
gentleman. Every one did it, she said, and she would get the money she needed
without any trouble. The girl, with only the vaguest idea of what was involved
in meeting a gentleman, naturally consented, and she was brought to me as
willing to be seduced. It was on the Monday that I saw her. On the previous
Saturday her mother had died. She was to be buried on the following Tuesday.
The idea of the mother lying dead at home while the daughter was being brought
out for seduction struck me as so peculiarly ghastly that I could not resist
mentioning it to the procuress. "Yes, poor thing," she said, "
it is a pity. But stopping in would not bring her mother to life again, so I
told her she had better come out." I sent the girl to a midwife. It was
this case in which the remarks made by the child after the midwife concluded
the examination, to which I have already referred, proved her innocence. The
child actually imagined that the seduction had been accomplished when the
midwife made her smart. Yet that girl was between fourteen and fifteen years of
age, and in the eye of the law had been for nearly two years fully competent to
give legal assent to her own ruin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>AN INTERVIEW WITH THE
FIRM<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a long conversation with Mesdames X. and Z. on a
subsequent day, as to their business–the way in which it was carried on, and
the facility with which they were able to procure subjects. The members of the
firm were very sociable and communicative, and in the course of the evening
they gave me a good idea of the whole art and mystery of procuration, as
practised by its most skilful professors. The following is a report of an
interview almost unique in its way:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I was told the other day," said I, by way of
opening the conversation, "that the demand for maidenheads has rather
fallen away of late, owing to the frauds of the procurers. The market has been
glutted with vamped-up virgins, of which the supply is always in excess of the
demand, and there are fewer inquiries for the genuine article."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"That is not our experience," said the senior
partner, a remarkable woman, attractive by the force of her character in spite
of the ghastliness of her calling, compared to which that of the common hangman
is more honourable. "We do not know anything about vamped virgins. Nor,
with so many genuine maids to be had for the taking, do I think it worth while
to manufacture virgins. I should say the market was looking up and the demand
increasing. Prices may perhaps have fallen, but that is because our customers
give larger orders. For instance, Dr. ––, one of my friends, who used to take a
maid a week at .£10, now takes three a fortnight at from £5, to £7 each."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What!" I exclaimed; "do you actually supply
one gentleman with seventy fresh maids every year?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Certainly," said she; "and he would take a
hundred if we could get them. But he is so very particular. He will not take a
shop-girl, and he always must have a maid over sixteen."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE PROCURESS LEARNED
IN THE LAW<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Why over sixteen?" said I. "Because of the
law," she replied; "no one is allowed to take away from her home, or
from her proper guardians, a girl who is under sixteen. She can assent to be
seduced after she is thirteen, but even if she assented to go, both the keeper
of the house where we took her, and my partner and I, would be liable to
punishment if she was not over sixteen. Hence my old gentleman, who is very careful,
will not look at a girl under sixteen. That diminishes the area from which
maids can be drawn. The easiest age to pick them up is fourteen or fifteen. At
thirteen they are just out of school, and still more or less babies under the
influence of their mothers. But at fourteen and fifteen they begin to get more
liberty without getting much more sense; they begin to want clothes and things
which money can buy, and they do not understand the value of what they are
parting with in order to get it. After a girl gets past sixteen she gets wiser,
and is more difficult to secure."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"You seem to know the law," said I, "better
than I know it myself."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Have to," said she promptly. "It's my
business. It would never do for me not to know what was safe and what was not.
We might get both ourselves and our friends into no end of trouble, if we did
not know the law."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But how do you get to know all these points?" I
inquired.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the newspapers," she replied. "Always read
the newspapers, they are useful. Every week I take in two, Lloyd's and the
Weekly Dispatch, and I spend the great part of Sunday in reading all the cases
in the courts which relate to this subject. There is a case now going on at
Walworth, where a man is charged with abducting a girl, fifteen, and it was
laid down in court that if she could be proved to be one day over sixteen he
was safe. I am watching that case with great interest. All these cases when
reported I cut out and put in a book for reference, so that I know pretty well
where I am going."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE SPECIALITY OF
THEIR BUSINESS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Then do you do anything in the foreign trade?" I
asked. "Oh, no," she said. "Our business is in maidenheads, not
in maids. My friends take the girls to be seduced and take them back to their
situations after they have been seduced, and that is an end of it so far as we
are concerned. We do only with first seductions, a girl passes only once
through our hands, and she is done with. Our gentlemen want maids, not damaged
articles, and as a rule they only see them once."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What comes of the damaged articles?" "They
all go back to their situations or their places. But," said the procuress
reflectively, "they all go to the streets after a time. When once a girl
has been bad she goes again and again, and finally she ends like the rest.
There are scarcely any exceptions. Do you remember any, Z.?" The junior
partner remembered one or two, but agreed that it was very rare girls ever went
straight after once they had been seduced.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Do they ever have children?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Not very often the first time. Of course we tell them
that it never happens. Girls are so silly, they will believe anything. That
silly little child we brought you, for instance, thought she had been seduced
when the midwife touched her. But of course sometimes they get in the family
way the first time."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then," said I, "I suppose they affiliate the
child?" "On whom, pray?" said the senior partner, laughing.
"We make it a special feature of our business that the maid never knows
who is her seducer, and in most cases they never know our address. How can she
get to know? I have to take a cook, for instance, next Sunday at church time to
Mr.––, who has a place in Bedford-square, and three other places at least all
about where maids are delivered. I take the girl in a cab. We drive through,
street after street. Then we stop opposite a door and go in. The cook will see
a gentleman who maybe with her a few minutes, or he may be with her half an
hour. During that time she is naturally somewhat excited and suffers more or
less pain. As soon as she is dressed I take her away in a cab and she never
sees that gentleman again. Even if she noticed the house, which is doubtful,
she does not know the name of its owner, and in many cases the house is merely
a brothel. What can she do?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE FORCING OF
UNWILLING MAIDS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Do the maids ever repent and object to be seduced when
the time comes?" "Oh, yes," said Miss X., "sometimes we
have no end of trouble with the little fools. You see they often have no idea
in the world as to what being seduced is. We do not take much trouble to
explain, and it is enough for us if the girl willingly consents to see or to
meet or to have a game with a rich gentleman. What meaning she attaches to
seeing a gentleman it is not our business to inquire. All that we have to do is
to bring her there and see that she does not make a fool of the gentleman when
she gets there."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"You always manage it though?" I inquired.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Certainly," she said. "If a girls makes too
much trouble, she loses her maidenhead for nothing instead of losing it for
money. The right way to deal with these silly girls is to convince them that
now they have come they have got to be seduced, willing or unwilling, and that
if they are unwilling, they will be first seduced and then turned into the streets
without a penny. Even then they sometimes kick and scream and make no end of a
row. You remember Janie," she said, appealing to Miss Z. "Don't I
just," said that amiable lady. "You mean that girl we had to hold
down?" "Yes," said Miss X. "We had fearful trouble with
that girl. She wrapped herself up in the bed-curtains and screamed and fought
and made such a rumpus, that I and my friend had to hold her down by main force
in bed while she was being seduced."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Nonsense," I said, "you did not
really?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Didn't we, though?" she replied. "I had to hold
one shoulder and she held the other, and even then it was as much as we could
do to keep her still. She was mortally terrified, and didn't she scream and
yell!" "It gave me such a sickening," said the junior partner,
" that I was almost going to chuck up the business, but I got into it
again."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE PROFITS OF A
PROCURESS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It pays, I suppose?" "Oh yes, there is no
need for me to go to work. It is only for appearance sake and opportunities. I
can leave when I like," said Miss Z., "after I get them started in
the morning. We are paid by commission."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Fifty per cent.? "I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"That depends," said the senior partner.
"Taking the average price of a maid at £5, we sometimes take £1; but
sometimes we take it all, and merely make the girl a present. It depends upon
the trouble which we have, and the character of the girl. Some girls are such
sillies."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How do you mean?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We'll take Nance, for instance. She was a lightheaded girl
who had never fancied money. We got £10 for Nance. If she had got half that, or
quarter, it would have turned her head. She would have gone and bought no end
of clothes, and her mistress and her mother would have found it out, and Nance
would have got into no end of a row. So for Nance's own sake we only gave her a
pound, and as we made her stand treat out of that, she had very little left out
of her money to play the fool with. But we have been good to Nance, afterwards.
I gave her a bonnet, a dress, and a pair of shoes. I should think we have spent
£2 over her."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that she had altogether £3, and you had £7?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just so," said Miss X––, "and girls are often like
that; we have to save them from themselves by keeping most of the money out of
their reach;" and the good lady evidently contemplated herself with the
admiration due to a virtue so careful of the interests of the young sillies who
place themselves in her experienced hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Tell me," said I, reverting to a previous
subject, "when these maids scream so fearfully does no one ever interfere?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"No; we take them to a quiet place, and the people of
the house know us and would not interfere, no matter what noise went on. Often
we take them to private houses, and there of course all is safe. The time for
screaming is not long. As soon as it is over the girl sees it is no use
howling. She gets her money and goes away. We do not need any specially
prepared room. Any quiet room in a house where you are known will do. I have
never known one case of interference in the four years I have been in the
business."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>WHERE MAIDS ARE
PICKED UP<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Who supplies most of your maids?"
"Nurse-girls and shop-girls, although occasionally we get a governess, and
sometimes cooks and other servants. We get to know the servants-through-the
nurses. Young girls from the country, fresh and rosy, are soon picked up in the
shops or as they run errands. But nurse-girls are the great field. My old
friend is always saying to me, 'Why don't you pick up nurse-girls, there are
any number in Hyde Park every morning, and all virgins.' That is when we have
disappointed him, which is not very often."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But how do you manage to pick up so many?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The senior partner replied with conscious pride, "It
takes time, patience, and experience. Many girls need months before they can be
brought in. You need to proceed very cautiously at first. Every morning at this
time of the year my friend and I are up at seven, and after breakfast we put a
shawl round our shoulders and off we go to scour the park. Hyde Park and the
Green Park are the best in the morning; Regent's Park in the afternoon. As we
go coasting along, we keep a sharp look out for any likely girl, and having
spotted one we make up to her; and week after week we see her as often as
possible, until we are sufficiently in her confidence to suggest how easy it is
to earn a few pounds by meeting a man. In the afternoon off goes the shawl and
on goes the jacket, and we are off on the same quest. Thus we have always a
crop of maids ripening, and at any time we can undertake to deliver a maid if we
get due notice."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I ORDER FIVE VIRGINS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Come," said I, in a vein of bravado, "what
do you say to delivering me five on Saturday next?"–It was then
Wednesday–"I want them to be retailed to my friends. You are the wholesale
firm, could you deliver me a parcel of five maids, for me to distribute among
my friends, after having them duly certificated?" "Five," she
said, "is a large order, I could bring you three that I know of; but five!
It is difficult getting so many girls away at the same time from their places.
But we will try, although I have never before delivered more than two, or at
the most three, at one place. It will look like a boarding-school going to the
midwife."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Never mind that. Let us see what you can do."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then and there an agreement was made that it should be
done. They were to deliver five at £5 a head all round, commission included.
But as I was buying wholesale to sell again it was agreed that they would find
the girls at a commission of 20s. a head for each certificated virgin, and
deliver to me a written pledge, signed with the name and address of each girl,
consenting to come at two days' notice to be seduced at any given place for a
certain sum down. I had to pay the doctor's fee for examination and make an
allowance for cabs, &c.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE VIRGINS CERTIFIED<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bargain was struck, an arle-penny was paid over, and the
procuresses set about preparing for the delivery of their goods the following
Saturday. At half-past five o'clock, at a certain point in Marylebone-road, not
far from the very fashionable brothel kept by Mrs. B––, I awaited the arrival
of the convoy. A few minutes after time I saw Mesdames X. and Z. coming along
the streets, but with only three girls. One was tall, pretty, and apparently
about sixteen, the other two were younger–somewhat heavy in their build. Two of
them were shop girls, being employed in different departments of the well-known
firm of – –, the other was learning some milliner's work at another shop. The
procuresses were profuse in their apologies. They had been as far as Highgate
to make up the quota of the five, but two of the girls could not leave their
places on Saturday. They would bring them on Monday without fail. In fact, to
atone for their inability to bring five on Saturday, they would bring three on
Monday, making six in all. Perhaps also it was better not to make a sensation
by having seven women tripping all together into one doctor's. It was safer to
have three at a time. They looked hot and tired and had already spent 6s. in
cabs. The tall girl had given them a great deal of trouble, but they had got
her at last. We went into the doctor's.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
None of the three girls knew each other. They were not
allowed to speak to each other or even to shake hands. As for knowing my name,
the procuresses themselves did not know it. We went into the doctor's. The
maids one by one went in to be examined. They made no objection. After their
examination was done they signed a formal agreement for their subsequent
seduction. To the unutterable disgust of the girls two of them were refused a
certificate. The doctor could not say that they were not virgins; but neither
of them was technically a virgo intacta. I then gave them 5s. per head for
their trouble in coming to be certificated, paid Mesdames X. and Z. their commission
on the one certificated virgin and expenses, and departed armed with the
following set of documents:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
_____ _____ W., </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
June 27, 1885. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is to certify that I have this day examined –– D––,
aged 16 years, and have found her a virgin. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
–– ––, M.D. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agreement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hereby agree to let you have me for a present of £3 or £4.
I will come to any address if you give me two days' notice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Name –– D ––, aged 16. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Address No. 11, –– Street, H–– </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both the non-certificated signed a similar agreement,
differing only in the name, age, and address. Nothing could be more simple or
more businesslike than this transaction, which only differed from the regular
operations carried on every day by the firm of firm of Mesdames X. and Z.,
because for the seduction there was substituted a doctor's examination, and the
signature on a slip of paper, giving me the right to call up my virgins at two
days' notice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doctor, I should state, was in the secret, and consented
to undertake the examination solely in order to expose the system of
procuration in which less unscrupulous medical men sometimes play a leading
part.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The procuresses were much upset at the rejection of
two-thirds of their consignment. The girls were very indignant at the
reflection upon their chastity–which after all may have been entirely
unfounded. But like sensible business people the firm determined to execute
their order without more ado. On the following Monday the nursemaids were
delivered at the doctor's. Both were virgins. I hold the following certificates
and agreements:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
–– ––, W., </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
June 39, 1885.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is to certify that I have examined –– W––, aged 17
years, and –– K––, aged 17 years, and have found them both virgins. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
–– ––, M.D.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agreement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hereby agree to let you have me for £ , and will come to
any address you send me at two days' notice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Name, –– K––, aged 17. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Address, 24, R–– Street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agreement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hereby agree to let you have me for £ , and will come to
any address you send me at two days' notice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Name, –– + (her mark), aged 17. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Address, 318, S –– Street.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sum for which they agreed to sell their chastity was
left blank in the original. Thus in six days I had secured three certificated
maids and two uncertificated. The tale was still incomplete, and although I was
satisfied, the firm insisted upon holding me to my bargain. Five I had ordered
and five I should have, but they must have a day or two's grace. Last Friday
morning they arrived at the doctor's with no fewer than four girls–three
fourteen years old, and one an under-cook of eighteen, from one of the first
hotels in the West-end. They had brought four, they explained, lest any of them
should fail to pass their examination. Singular to relate, all the younger
children were rejected. Only the eighteen-year-old was certificated. "I
never saw anything like these young things," said Miss X.; "it is
always the young ones who are unable to stand the doctor's examination."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The certificated maid stood out for £5. Here is her certificate
and her agreement:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is to certify that having examined ––– D ––– , I have
found her to be a virgin. –––– ––– , M.D., &c.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agreement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hereby agree to let you have me for £5. I will come to any
address if you give me two days' notice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Name, ––– D ––– , aged 18. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Address,––– Hotel. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took another agreement from one of the fourteen-year-old
uncertificated children for £4, and assured the firm that I was content. They
had brought me altogether nine girls in ten days from the receipt of the order,
four of whom were certificated as maids and five were rejected. I have now in
my possession the agreement for seduction of all the certificated maids and of
three of the uncertificated, of the virginity of whom I have very little doubt.
In all, I have agreements signed by seven girls varying from fourteen to
eighteen years of age, who are ready to be seduced by any one when and where I
please, provided only that I give two days' notice, and pay them altogether a
sum not less than £24, nor more than £29. Fees, expenses, &c., incurred in
procuring these girls cost, say, £10 or £15 more. Altogether I was in a
position to retail virgins at £10 each, and make a handsome profit on the
transaction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>DELIVERED FOR
SEDUCTION<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The firm of Mesdames X. and Z. had, however, no intention of
allowing me to call up my virgins without their intervention. They had
carefully instructed all the girls to give false addresses, in order that I
might be compelled to obtain them through the firm. This was a breach of
contract on the part of the firm which I had good reason to resent, especially
as I only discovered it incidentally by sending a summons to call up some of
the girls. The reason for this breach of faith was, they allege, that if I had
communicated directly with the girls I might have alarmed their parents or
employers, and that it was necessary to do it through them. The real reason was
the desire of the firm to make quite sure that they received the fifty per
cent, commission which they charged the unfortunate victims of their benevolent
intervention. Finding that I could not help myself, I ordered the delivery of
two of those whose agreements I held on Saturday night last. They only had six
instead of forty-eight hours' notice, but they were punctually brought to Mdme.
Tussaud's at seven o'clock. Mdmes. X. and Z. were both in attendance, and at
first insisted upon accompanying their charges to the place of seduction. This,
however, for obvious reasons I would not permit, but I had to pay another pound
a head before I could get the girls out of their clutches. My friend drove off
rapidly in a cab in an opposite direction to the house in which I awaited them,
and then doubled back when the procuresses were out of sight. They stipulated,
however, that they had to be returned to Mdme. Tussaud's at nine o'clock. The
two virgins, both certificated, were among the older girls. One, Bessie, the
cook, had been destined for Dr. ––. who takes three maids a fortnight. He was
out of town, however, and she was brought on to me, to be handed over to an
imaginary friend, to whom I was supposed to have resold her. She was eighteen
years old. Her father was dead. Her mother was given to drink, and she was in a
good situation as under-cook at a first-class hotel. She came perfectly
prepared to be seduced, apparently believing it was the proper thing to do,
although her ideas were somewhat hazy. I told her before I could take the
responsibility of handing her over to my friend I wished to be quite sure, first,
that she knew what she was going to experience, and, secondly, that she had
calculated the consequences. "I suppose I must go through with it
now," she said, "whatever it is." "Oh, no," I replied;
"that would be the case in most places; but here you have only to say you
would rather not, and you are free to go at once." In conversation I found
that the idea of being seduced never occurred to her until a month or two
before, when it was proposed by Miss X–– as a thing every one did, and a
convenient method of raising a little ready money. At first she was indignant
and somewhat frightened; but an old school friend who had gone through the
ordeal assured her that it was not so very dreadful, and the procuress, to use
her own phrase, "so poisoned her mind that she felt she must go through
with it," and she consented. She was to have £2. 10s. as her share, the
rest would go to the firm. She did not mind the pain, and she would chance the
baby, for Miss X. had told her that girls never had babies the first time. She
knew it was wrong, her mother would not like it, and if she had a baby she
would either get it put away or she would drown herself. But, on the whole,
except for one trivial detail, she thought she would prefer to be seduced.
"There are very few virtuous girls about now, they say," was the
remark by which she apparently soothed her conscience. But the triviality
appearing to weigh with her, I sent her into another room to a lady friend, and
turned my attention to the second maid, who had been waiting below.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was a nice, simple, and affectionate girl of sixteen,
very different from the other, but even more utterly incapable of understanding
the consequences of her act. Her father is "afflicted"–that is,
touched in his wits; her mother is a charwoman. She herself works at some kind
of millinery, for which she receives 5s. a week. Until a month or two ago she
had attended Sunday school, and to all appearance she was a girl decidedly
above the average. She was to have £4, of which the firm were to have £2. The
poor child was nervous and timid, and it was touching to see the way in which
she bit her lips to restrain her tears. I talked to her as kindly as possible,
and endeavoured to deter her from taking the fatal step, by setting forth the
possible consequences that might follow. She was very frank and I believe
perfectly straightforward and sincere. The one thing she dreaded about being
seduced was having to be undressed. Poor child, it was the only thing she could
realized Her lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she pleaded to be
allowed to escape that ordeal. What being seduced meant beyond the formula that
she would "lose her maid" she had not the remotest idea. When I asked
her what she would do if she had a baby, she started, and then said, "But
having a baby doesn't come of being seduced, does it? I had no idea of
that." "Of course it does," I replied; "they ought to have
told you so." "But they did not," she said; "indeed, they
said babies never came from a first seduction."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nevertheless, to my astonishment, the child persisted that
she was ready to be seduced. "We are very poor," she said.
"Mother does not know anything of this: she will think a lady friend of
Miss Z.'s has given me the money; but she does need it so much." "But,"
I said, "it is only £2." "Yes," she said, "but I would
not like to disappoint Miss Z., who was also to have £2." By questioning I
found out that the artful procuress had for months past been actually advancing
money to the poor girl and her mother when they were in distress, in order to
get hold of her when the time came! She persisted that Miss Z. had been such a
good friend of hers; she wanted to get her something. She would not disappoint
her for anything. "How much do you think she has given you first and
last?" "About 10s. I should think, but she gave mother much
more." "How much more?" "Perhaps 20s. would cover it."
"That is to say, that for a year past Miss Z. has been giving you a
shilling here and a shilling there; and why? Listen to me. She has already got
£3 from me for you, and you will give her £2– that is to say, she will make £5
out of you in return for 30s., and in the meantime she will have sold you to
destruction." "Oh, but Miss Z. is so kind!" Poor, trusting
little thing, what damnable art the procuress must have used to attach her
victim to her in this fashion! But the girl was quite incapable of forming any
calculation as to the consequences of her own action. This will appear from the
following conversation. "Now," said I, "if you are seduced you
will get £2 for yourself; but you will lose your maidenhood; you will do wrong,
your character will be gone, and you may have a baby which it will cost all
your wages to keep. Now I will give you £1 if you will not be seduced; which
will you have?" "Please sir," she said, "I will be
seduced." "And face the pain, and the wrong-doing, and the shame, and
the possible ruin and ending your days on the streets, all for the difference
of one pound?" "Yes, sir," and she burst into tears, "we
are so poor." Could any proof be more conclusive as to the absolute
inability of this girl of sixteen to form an estimate of the value of the only
commodity with which the law considers her amply able to deal the day after she
is thirteen?</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-58488670483225003402013-12-26T09:23:00.001-08:002013-12-26T09:23:47.396-08:00The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon I: The Report of our Secret Commission.<div class="MsoNormal">
First published by W.T. Stead in The Pall Mall Gazette, July 6<sup>th</sup>
1885 and referred to in my novel The Eighth Circle of Hell. Truly horrific.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In ancient times, if we may believe the myths of Hellas,
Athens, after a disastrous campaign, was compelled by her conqueror to send
once every nine years a tribute to Crete of seven youths and seven maidens. The
doomed fourteen, who were selected by lot amid the lamentations of the
citizens, returned no more. The vessel that bore them to Crete unfurled black
sails as the symbol of despair, and on arrival her passengers were flung into
the famous Labyrinth of Daedalus, there to wander about blindly until such time
as they were devoured by the Minotaur, a frightful monster, half man, half
bull, the foul product of an unnatural lust. "The labyrinth was as large
as a town and had countless courts and galleries. Those who entered it could
never find their way out again. If they hurried from one to another of the
numberless rooms looking for the entrance door, it was all in vain. They only
became more hopelessly lost in the bewildering labyrinth, until at last they
were devoured by the Minotaur."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twice at each ninth year the Athenians paid the maiden
tribute to King Minos, lamenting sorely the dire necessity of bowing to his
iron law. When the third tribute came to be exacted, the distress of the city
of the Violet Crown was insupportable. From the King's palace to the peasant's
hamlet, everywhere were heard cries and groans and the choking sob of despair,
until the whole air seemed to vibrate with the sorrow of an unutterable
anguish. Then it was that the hero Theseus volunteered to be offered up among
those who drew the black balls from the brazen urn of destiny, and the story of
his self-sacrifice, his victory, and his triumphant return, is among the most
familiar of the tales which since the childhood of the world have kindled the
imagination and fired the heart of the human race. The labyrinth was cunningly
wrought like a house; says Ovid, with many rooms and winding passages, that so
the shameful creature of lust whose abode it was to be should be far removed
from sight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Destinat hunc Minos thalamis removere pudorem,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Multiplicique domo, caecisque includere tectis.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Daedalus ingenio fabra celeberrimus artis</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ponit opus: turbatque notas, et lumina flexura</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ducit in errorera variarum ambage viarum.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what happened to the victims–the young men and
maidens–who were there interned, no one could surely tell. Some say that they
were done to death; others that they lived in servile employments to old age.
But in this alone do all the stories agree, that those who were once caught in
the coils could never retrace their steps, so "inextricable" were the
paths, so "blind" the footsteps, so "innumerable" the ways
of wrong-doing. On the southern wall of the porch of the cathedral at Lucca
there is a slightly traced piece of sculpture, representing the Cretan
labyrinth, "out of which," says the legend written in straggling
letters at the side, "nobody could get who was inside":–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hie quern credicus edit Dedalus est laberinthus</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
De quo nullus vadere quirit qui fuit intus.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fact that the Athenians should have taken so bitterly to
heart the paltry maiden tribute that once in nine years they had to pay to the
Minotaur seems incredible, almost inconceivable. This very night in London, and
every night, year in and year out, not seven maidens only, but many times
seven, selected almost as much by chance as those who in the Athenian
market-place drew lots as to which should be flung into the Cretan labyrinth,
will be offered up as the Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon. Maidens they were
when this morning dawned, but to-night their ruin will be accomplished, and
to-morrow they will find themselves within the portals of the maze of London
brotheldom. Within that labyrinth wander, like lost souls, the vast host of
London prostitutes, whose numbers no man can compute, but who are probably not
much below 50,000 strong. Many, no doubt, who venture but a little way within
the maze make their escape. But multitudes are swept irresistibly on and on to
be destroyed in due season, to give place to others, who also will share their
doom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The maw of the London Minotaur is insatiable, and none that
go into the secret recesses of his lair return again. After some years'
dolorous wandering in this palace of despair–for "hope of rest to solace
there is none, nor e'en of milder pang," save the poisonous anodyne of
drink–most of those ensnared to-night will perish, some of them in horrible
torture. Yet, so far from this great city being convulsed with woe, London
cares for none of these things, and the cultured man of the world, the heir of
all the ages, the ultimate product of a long series of civilizations and
religions, will shrug his shoulders in scorn at the folly of any one who
ventures in public print to raise even the mildest protest against a horror a
thousand times more horrible than that which, in the youth of the world,
haunted like a nightmare the imagination of mankind. Nevertheless, I have not
yet lost faith in the heart and conscience of the English folk, the sturdy
innate chivalry and right thinking of our common people; and although I am no vain
dreamer of Utopias peopled solely by Sir Galahads and vestal virgins, I am not
without hope that there may be some check placed upon this vast tribute of
maidens, unwitting or unwilling, which is nightly levied in London by the vices
of the rich upon the necessities of the poor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
London's lust annually uses up many thousands of women, who
are literally killed and made away with–living sacrifices slain in the service
of vice. That may be inevitable, and with that I have nothing to do. But I do
ask that those doomed to the house of evil fame shall not be trapped into it
unwillingly, and that none shall be beguiled into the chamber of death before
they are of an age to read the inscription above the portal–"All hope
abandon ye who enter here." If the daughters of the people must be served
up as dainty morsels to minister to the passions of the rich, let them at least
attain an age when they can understand the nature of the sacrifice which they
are asked to make. And if we must cast maidens–not seven, but seven times
seven– nightly into the jaws of vice, let us at least see to it that they
assent to their own immolation, and are not unwilling sacrifices procured by
force and fraud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is surely not too much to ask from the dissolute rich.
Even considerations of self-interest might lead our rulers to assent to so
modest a demand. For the hour of Democracy has struck, and there is no wrong
which a man resents like this. If it has not been resented hitherto, it is not
because it was not felt. The Roman Republic was founded by the rape of Lucrece,
but Lucrece was a member of one of the governing families. A similar offence
placed Spain under the domination of the Moors, but there again the victim of
Royal licence was the daughter of a Count. But the fathers and brothers whose
daughters and sisters are purchased like slaves, not for labour, but for lust,
are now at last enrolled among the governing classes–a circumstance full of
hope for the nation, but by no means without menace for a class. Many of the
French Revolutionists were dissolute enough, but nothing gave such an edge to
the guillotine as the memory of the Parc aux Cerfs; and even in our time the
horrors that attended the suppression of the Commune were largely due to the
despair of the femme vengeresse. Hence, unless the levying of the
maiden-tribute in London is shorn of its worst abuses–at present, as I shall
show, flourishing unchecked–resentment, which might be appeased by reform, may
hereafter be the virus of a social revolution. It is the one explosive which is
strong enough to wreck the Throne.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>LIBERTY FOR VICE, REPRESSION FOR CRIME</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To avoid all misapprehension as to the object with which I
propose to set forth the ghastly and criminal features of this infernal
traffic, I wish to say emphatically at the outset that, however strongly I may
feel as to the imperative importance of morality and chastity, I do not ask for
any police interference with the liberty of vice. I ask only for the repression
of crime. Sexual immorality, however evil it may be in itself or in its
consequences, must be dealt with not by the policeman but by the teacher, so
long as the persons contracting are of full age, are perfectly free agents, and
in their sin are guilty of no outrage on public morals. Let us by all means
apply the sacred principles of free trade to trade in vice, and regulate the
relations of the sexes by the haggling of the market and the liberty of private
contract. Whatever may be my belief as to the reality and the importance of a
transcendental theory of purity in the relations between man and woman, that is
an affair for the moralist, not for the legislator.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So far from demanding any increased power for the police, I
would rather incline to say to the police, "Hands off," when they
interfere arbitrarily with the ordinary operations of the market of vice. But
the more freely we permit to adults absolute liberty to dispose of their
persons in accordance with the principles of private contract and free trade,
the more stringent must be our precautions against the innumerable crimes which
spring from vice, as vice itself springs from the impure imaginings of the
heart of man. These crimes flourish on every side, unnoticed and unchecked–if,
indeed, they are not absolutely encouraged by the law, as they are certainly
practised by some legislators and winked at by many administrators of the law.
To extirpate vice by Act of Parliament is impossible; but because we must leave
vice free that is no reason why we should acquiesce helplessly in the
perpetration of crime. And that crime of the most ruthless and abominable
description is constantly and systematically practised in London without let or
hindrance, I am in a position to prove from my own personal knowledge–a
knowledge purchased at a cost of which I prefer not to speak. Those crimes may
be roughly classified as follows:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I. The sale and purchase and violation of children.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
II. The procuration of virgins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
III. The entrapping and ruin of women.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
IV. The international slave trade in girls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
V. Atrocities, brutalities, and unnatural crimes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is what I call sexual criminality, as opposed to sexual
immorality. It flourishes in all its branches on every side to an extent of
which even those specially engaged in rescue work have but little idea. Those
who are constantly engaged in its practice naturally deny its existence. But I
speak of that which I do know, not from hearsay or rumour, but of my own
personal knowledge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW THE FACTS WERE VERIFIED</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the Criminal Law Amendment Bill was talked out just
before the defeat of the Ministry it became necessary to rouse public attention
to the necessity for legislation on this painful subject. I undertook an
investigation into the facts. The evidence taken before the House of Lords'
Committee in 1882 was useful, but the facts were not up to date: members said
things had changed since then, and the need for legislation had passed. It was
necessary to bring the information up to date, and that duty–albeit with some
reluctance–I resolutely undertook. For four weeks, aided by two or three
coadjutors of whose devotion and self-sacrifice, combined with a rare instinct
for investigation and a singular personal fearlessness, I cannot speak too
highly, I have been exploring the London Inferno. It has been a strange and
unexampled experience. For a month I have oscillated between the noblest and
the meanest of mankind, the saviours and the destroyers of their race, spending
hours alternately in brothels and hospitals, in the streets and in refuges, in
the company of procuresses and of bishops.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
London beneath the gas glare of its innumerable lamps
became, not like Paris in 1793–"a naphtha-lighted city of Dis" – but
a resurrected and magnified City of the Plain, with all the vices of Gomorrah,
daring the vengeance of long-suffering Heaven. It seemed a strange, inverted
world, that in which I lived those terrible weeks–the world of the streets and
of the brothel. It was the same, yet not the same, as the world of business and
the world of politics. I heard of much the same people in the house of ill-fame
as those of whom you hear in caucuses, in law courts, and on Change. But all
were judged by a different standard, and their relative importance was
altogether changed. It was as if the position of our world had suddenly been
altered, and you saw most of the planets and fixed stars in different
combinations, and of altogether different magnitudes, so that at first it was
difficult to recognize them. For the house of evil fame has its own ethics, and
the best man in the world–the first of Englishmen, in the estimation of the
bawd–is often one of whom society knows nothing and cares less. To hear
statesmen reckoned up from the standpoint of the brothel is at first almost as
novel and perplexing an experience as it is to hear judges and Queen's Counsel
praised or blamed, not for their judicial acumen and legal lore, but for their
addiction to unnatural crimes or their familiarity with obscene literature.
After a time the eye grows familiar with the foul and poisonous air, but at the
best you wander in a Circe's isle, where the victims of the foul enchantress's
wand meet you at every turn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But with a difference, for whereas the enchanted in olden
time had the heads and the voices and the bristles of swine, while the heart of
a man was in them still, these have not put on in outward form "the
inglorious likeness of a beast," but are in semblance as other men, while
within there is only the heart of a beast–bestial, ferocious, and filthy beyond
the imagination of decent men. For days and nights it is as if I had suffered
the penalties inflicted upon the lost souls in the Moslem Hell, for I seemed to
have to drink of the purulent matter that flows from the bodies of the damned.
But the sojourn in this hell has not been fruitless. The facts which I and my
coadjutors have verified I now place on record at once as a revelation and a
warning–a revelation of the system, and a warning to those who may be its
victims. In the statement which follows I give no names and I omit addresses.
My purpose was not to secure the punishment of criminals but to lay bare the
working of a great organization of crime. But as a proof of good faith, and in
order to substantiate the accuracy of every statement contained herein, I am
prepared after an assurance has been given me that the information so afforded
will not be made use of either for purposes of individual exposure or of
criminal proceedings, to communicate the names, dates, localities referred to,
together with full and detailed explanations of the way in which I secured the
information, in confidence to any of the following persons:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Samuel Morley, M.P.,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Earl of Shaftesbury,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Earl of Dalhousie, as the author of the Criminal Law
Amendment Bill, and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Howard Vincent, ex-Director of the Criminal
Investigation Department.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not propose to communicate this information to any
member of the executive Government, as the responsibilities of their position
might render it impossible for them to give the requisite assurance as to the
confidential character of my communication. More than this I could not do
unless I was prepared (1) to violate the confidence reposed in me in the course
of my investigation, and (2) to spend the next six weeks of my life as a
witness in the Criminal Court. This I absolutely refuse to do. I am an
investigator; I am not an informer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE VIOLATION OF VIRGINS</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This branch of the subject is one upon which even the
coolest and most scientific observer may well find it difficult to speak
dispassionately in a spirit of calm and philosophic investigation. The facts,
however, as they have been elucidated in the course of a careful and
painstaking inquiry are so startling, and the horror which they excite so
overwhelming, that it is doubly necessary to approach the subject with a
scepticism proof against all but the most overwhelming demonstration. It is,
however, a fact that there is in full operation among us a system of which the
violation of virgins is one of the ordinary incidents; that these virgins are
mostly of tender age, being too young in fact to understand the nature of the
crime of which they are the unwilling victims; that these outrages are
constantly perpetrated with almost absolute impunity; and that the arrangements
for procuring, certifying, violating, repairing, and disposing of these ruined
victims of the lust of London are made with a simplicity and efficiency
incredible to all who have not made actual demonstration of the facility with
which the crime can be accomplished.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To avoid misapprehension, I admit that the vast majority of
those who are on the streets in London have not come there by the road of
organized rape. Most women fall either by the seduction of individuals or by
the temptation which well-dressed vice can offer to the poor. But there is a
minority which has been as much the victim of violence as were the Bulgarian
maidens with whose wrongs Mr. Gladstone made the world ring some eight years
ago. Some are simply snared, trapped and outraged either when under the
influence of drugs or after a prolonged struggle in a locked room, in which the
weaker succumbs to sheer downright force. Others are regularly procured; bought
at so much per head in some cases, or enticed under various promises into the
fatal chamber from which they are never allowed to emerge until they have lost
what woman ought to value more than life. It is to this department of the
subject that I now address myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before beginning this inquiry I had a confidential interview
with one of the most experienced officers who for many years was in a position
to possess an intimate acquaintance with all phases of London crime. I asked
him, "Is it or is it not a fact that, at this moment, if I were to go to
the proper houses, well introduced, the keeper would, in return for money down,
supply me in due time with a maid–a genuine article, I mean, not a mere
prostitute tricked out as a virgin, but a girl who had never been
seduced?" "Certainly," he replied without a moment's hesitation.
"At what price?" I continued. "That is a difficult
question," he said. "I remember one case which came under my official
cognizance in Scotland-yard in which the price agreed upon was stated to be
£20. Some parties in Lambeth undertook to deliver a maid for that sum ----to a
house of ill fame, and I have no doubt it is frequently done all over
London."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But, "I continued, "are these maids willing
or unwilling parties to the transaction–that is, are they really maiden, not
merely in being each a virgo intacta in the physical sense, but as being chaste
girls who are not consenting parties to their seduction? " He looked
surprised at my question, and then replied emphatically: "Of course they
are rarely willing, and as a rule they do not know what they are coming
for." "But," I said in amazement, "then do you mean to tell
me that in very truth actual rapes, in the legal sense of the word, are
constantly being perpetrated in London on unwilling virgins, purveyed and
procured to rich men at so much a head by keepers of brothels?"
"Certainly," said he, "there is not a doubt of it."
"Why, "I exclaimed, "the very thought is enough to raise
hell." "It is true," he said; "and although it ought to
raise hell, it does not even raise the neighbours."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But do the girls cry out?" "Of course they
do. But what avails screaming in a quiet bedroom? Remember, the utmost limit of
howling or excessively violent screaming, such as a man or woman would make if
actual murder was being attempted, is only two minutes, and the limit of
screaming of any kind is only five. Suppose a girl is being outraged in a room
next to your house. You hear her screaming, just as you are dozing to sleep. Do
you get up, dress, rush downstairs, and insist on admittance? Hardly. But
suppose the screams continue and you get uneasy, you begin to think whether you
should not do something? Before you have made up your mind and got dressed the
screams cease, and you think you were a fool for your pains." "But
the policeman on the beat?" "He has no right to interfere, even if he
heard anything. Suppose that a constable had a right to force his way into any
house where a woman screamed fearfully, policemen would be almost as regular
attendants at childbed as doctors. Once a girl gets into such a house she is
almost helpless, and may be ravished with comparative safety."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But surely rape is a felony punishable with penal
servitude. Can she not prosecute?" "Whom is she to prosecute? She
does not know her assailant's name. She might not even be able to recognize him
if she met him outside. Even if she did, who would believe her? A woman who has
lost her chastity is always a discredited witness. The fact of her being in a
house of ill fame would possibly be held to be evidence of her consent. The
keeper of the house and all the servants would swear she was a consenting
party; they would swear that she had never screamed, and the woman would be
condemned as an adventuress who wished to levy black mail." "And this
is going on to-day?" "Certainly it is, and it will go on, and you
cannot help it, as long as men have money, procuresses are skilful, and women
are weak and inexperienced."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>VIRGINS WILLING AND UNWILLING</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So startling a declaration by so eminent an authority led me
to turn my investigations in this direction. On discussing the matter with a
well-known member of Parliament, he laughed and said : "I doubt the
unwillingness of these virgins. That you can contract for maids at so much a
head is true enough. I myself am quite ready to supply you with 100 maids at
£25 each, but they will all know very well what they are about. There are plenty
of people among us entirely devoid of moral scruples on the score of chastity,
whose daughters are kept straight until they are sixteen or seventeen, not
because they love virtue, but solely because their virginity is a realizable
asset, with which they are taught they should never part except for value
received. These are the girls who can be had at so much a head ; but it is
nonsense to say it is rape ; it is merely the delivery as per contract of the
asset virginity in return for cash down. Of course there may be some cases in
which the girl is really unwilling, but the regular supply comes from those who
take a strictly businesslike view of the saleable value of their
maidenhead."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My interlocutor referred me to a friend whom he described as
the first expert on the subject, an evergreen old gentleman to whom the
brothels of Europe were as familiar as Notre Dame and St. Paul's. This
specialist, however, entirely denied that there was such a thing as the
procuring of virgins, willing or unwilling, either here or on the Continent.
Maidenheads, he maintained, were not assets that could be realized in the
market, but he admitted that there were some few men whose taste led them to
buy little girls from their mothers in order to abuse them. My respect for this
"eminent authority " diminished, however, on receiving his assurance
that all Parisian and Belgian brothels were managed so admirably that no minors
could be harboured, and that no English girls were ever sent to the Continent
for immoral purposes. Still even he admitted that little girls were bought and
sold for vicious purposes, and this unnatural combination of slave trade, rape,
and unnatural crime seemed to justify further inquiry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I then put myself into direct and confidential communication
with brothel-keepers in the West and East of London and in the provinces. Some
of these were still carrying on their business, others had abandoned their
profession in disgust, and were now living a better life. The information which
I received from them was, of course, confidential. I am not a detective, and
much of the information which I received was given only after the most solemn
pledge that I would not violate their confidence, so as to involve them in a
criminal prosecution. It was somewhat unfortunate that this inquiry was only
set on foot after the prosecution of Mrs. Jefferies. The fine inflicted on her
has struck momentary awe into the heart of the thriving community of
"introducers." They could accommodate no one but their old customers.
A new face, suggested Mr. Minahan, and an inquiry for virgins or little girls
by one who had not given his proofs, excited suspicion and alarm. But, aided by
some trustworthy and experienced friends, I succeeded after a time in
overcoming the preliminary obstacle so as to obtain sufficient evidence as to
the reality of the crime.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE CONFESSIONS OF A BROTHEL-KEEPER</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here, for instance, is a statement made to me by a brothel
keeper, who formerly kept a noted House in the Mile-end road, but who is now
endeavouring to start life afresh as an honest man. I saw both him and his
wife, herself a notorious prostitute whom he had married off the streets, where
she had earned her living since she was fourteen:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maids, as you call them–fresh girls as we know them in the
trade–are constantly in request, and a keeper who knows his business has his
eyes open in all directions, his stock of girls is constantly getting used up,
and needs replenishing, and he has to be on the alert for likely
"marks" to keep up the reputation of his house. I have been in my
time a good deal about the country on these errands. The getting of fresh girls
takes time, but it is simple and easy enough when, once you are in it. I have
gone and courted girls in the country under all kinds of disguises, occasionally
assuming the dress of a parson, and made them believe that I intended to marry
them, and so got them in my power to please a good customer. How is it done?
Why, after courting my girl for a time, I propose to bring her to London to see
the sights. I bring her up, take her here and there, giving her plenty to eat
and drink–especially drink. I take her to the theatre, and then I contrive it
so that she loses her last train. By this time she is very tired, a little
dazed with the drink and excitement, and very frightened at being left in town
with no friends. I offer her nice lodgings for the night: she goes to bed in my
house, and then the affair is managed. My client gets his maid, I get my £10 or
£20 commission, and in the morning the girl, who has lost her character, and
dare not go home, in all probability will do as the others do, and become one
of my "marks"–that is, she will make her living in the streets, to
the advantage of my house. The brothel keeper's profit is, first, the
commission down for the price of a maid, and secondly, the continuous profit of
the addition of a newly seduced, attractive girl to his establishment. That is
a fair sample case of the way in which we recruit. Another very simple mode of
supplying maids is by breeding them. Many women who are on the streets have
female children. They are worth keeping. When they get to be twelve or thirteen
they become merchantable. For a very likely "mark" of this kind you
may get as much as £20 or £40. I sent my own daughter out on the streets from
my own brothel. I know a couple of very fine little girls now who will be sold
before very long. They are bred and trained for the life. They must take the
first step some time, and it is bad business not to make as much out of that as
possible. Drunken parents often sell their children to brothel keepers. In the
East-end, you can always pick up as many fresh girls as you want. In one street
in Dalston you might buy a dozen. Sometimes the supply is in excess of the
demand, and you have to seduce your maid yourself, or to employ some one else
to do it, which is bad business in a double sense. There is a man called S––
whom a famous house used to employ to seduce young girls and make them fit for
service when there was no demand for maids and there was a demand for girls who
had been seduced. But as a rule the number seduced ready to hand is ample,
especially among very young children. Did I ever do anything else in the way of
recruiting? Yes. I remember one case very well. The girl, a likely "mark,"
was a simple country lass living at Horsham. I had heard of her, and I went
down to Horsham to see what I could do. Her parents believed that I was in
regular business in London, and they were very glad when I proposed to engage
their daughter. I brought her to town and made her a servant in our house. We
petted her and made a good deal of her, gradually initiated her into the kind
of life it was; and then I sold her to a young gentleman for £l5. When I say
that I sold her, I mean that he gave me the gold and I gave him the girl, to do
what he liked with. He took her away and seduced her. I believe he treated her
rather well afterwards, but that was not my affair. She was his after he paid
for her and took her away. If her parents had inquired, I would have said that
she had been a bad girl and run away with a young man. How could I help that? I
once sold a girl twelve years old for £20 to a clergyman, who used to come to
my house professedly to distribute tracts. The East is the great market for the
children who are imported into West-end houses, or taken abroad wholesale when
trade is brisk. I know of no West-end houses, having always lived at Dalston or
thereabouts, but agents pass to and fro in the course of business. They receive
the goods, depart, and no questions are asked. Mrs. S., a famous procuress, has
a mansion at ––––, which is one of the worst centres of the trade, with four
other houses in other districts, one at St. John's-wood. This lady, when she
discovers ability, cultivates it–that is, if a comely young girl of fifteen
falls into her net, with some intelligence, she is taught to read and write,
and to play the piano. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>THE LONDON SLAVE MARKET</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This brothel-keeper was a smart fellow, and had been a
commercial traveller once, but drink had brought him down. Anxious to test the
truth of his statement, I asked him, through a trusty agent, if he would
undertake to supply me in three days with a couple of fresh girls, maids, whose
virginity would be attested by a doctor's certificate. At first he said that it
would require a longer time. But on being pressed, and assured that money was
no object, he said that he would make inquiries, and see what could be done. In
two days I received from the same confidential source an intimation that for
£10 commission he would undertake to deliver to my chambers, or to any other
spot which I might choose to select, two young girls, each with a doctor's
certificate of the fact that she was a virgo intacta. Hesitating to close with
this offer, my agent received the following telegram:– "I think all right.
I am with parties. Will tell you all to-morrow about twelve o'clock." On
calling H– said:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will undertake to deliver at your rooms within two days
two children at your chambers. Both are the daughters of brothel keepers whom I
have known and dealt with, and the parents are willing to sell in both cases. I
represented that they were intended for a rich old gentleman who had led a life
of debauchery for years. I was suspected of baby-farming–that is, peaching, at
first, and it required all my knowledge of the tricks of the trade to effect my
purpose. However, after champagne and liquors, my old friend G––, M––lane, Hackney,
agreed to hand over her own child, a pretty girl of eleven, for £5. if she
could get no more. The child was virgo intacta, so far as her mother knew. I
then went to Mrs. N––, of B––street, Dalston, (B–– street is a street of
brothels from end to end). Mrs. N–– required little persuasion, but her price
was higher. She would not part with her daughter under £5 or £10, as she was
pretty and attractive, and a virgin, aged thirteen, who would probably fetch
more in the open market. These two children I could deliver up within two days
if the money was right. I would, on the same conditions, undertake to deliver
half a dozen girls, ages varying from ten to thirteen, within a week or ten
days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not deem it wise to carry the negotiations any
further. The purchase price was to be paid on delivery, but it was to be
returned if the girls were found to have been tampered with.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was fairly confirmatory evidence of the existence of
the traffic to which official authority has pointed; but I was not content. Making
inquiries at the other end of the town, by good fortune I was brought into
intimate and confidential communication with an ex-brothel keeper. When a mere
girl she had been seduced by Colonel S––, when a maidservant at Petersfield,
and had been thrown upon the streets by that officer at Manchester. She had
subsequently kept a house of ill fame at a seaport town, and from thence had
gravitated to the congenial neighbourhood of Regent's Park. There she had kept
a brothel for several years. About a year ago, however, she was picked up, when
in a drunken fit, by some earnest workers, and after a hard struggle was
brought back to a decent and moral life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was a woman who bore traces of the rigorous mill through
which she had passed. Her health was impaired; she looked ten years older than
her actual age, and it was with the greatest reluctance she could be prevailed
upon to speak of the incidents of her previous life, the horror of which seemed
to cling to her like a nightmare. By dint of patient questioning, however, and
the assurance that I would not criminate either herself or any of her old
companions, she became more communicative, and answered my inquiries. Her
narrative was straightforward; and I am fully convinced it was entirely
genuine. I have since made strict inquiries among those who see her daily and
know her most intimately, and I am satisfied that the woman was speaking the
truth. She had no motive to deceive, and she felt very deeply the shame of her
awful confession, which was only wrung from her by the conviction that it might
help to secure the prevention of similar crimes in the future.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW GIRLS ARE BOUGHT AND RUINED</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her story, or rather so much of it as is germane to the
present inquiry, was somewhat as follows:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a regular thing, the landlady of a bad house lets her
rooms to gay women and lives on their rent and the profits on the drink which
they compel their customers to buy for the good of the house. She may go out
herself or she may not. If business is very heavy, she will have to do her own
share, but us a rule she contents herself with keeping her girls up to the
mark, and seeing that they at least earn enough to pay their rent, and bring
home sufficient customers to consume liquor enough to make it pay. Girls often
shrink from going out, and need almost to be driven into the streets. If it was
not for gin and the landlady they could never carry it on. Some girls I used to
have would come and sit and cry in my kitchen and declare that they could not
go out, they could not stand the life. I had to give them a dram and take them
out myself, and set them agoing again, for if they did not seek gentlemen where
was I to get my rent? Did they begin willingly? Some; others had no choice. How
had they no choice? Because they never knew anything about it till the
gentleman was in their bedroom, and then it was too late. I or my girls would
entice fresh girls in, and persuade them to stay out too late till they were
locked out, and then a pinch of snuff in their beer would keep them snug until
the gentleman had his way. Has that happened often? Lots of times. It is one of
the ways by which you keep your house up. Every woman who has an eye to
business is constantly on the lookout for likely girls. Pretty girls who are
poor, and who have either no parents or are away from home, are easiest picked
up, How is it done? You or your decoy find a likely girl, and then you track
her down. I remember I once went a hundred, miles and more to pick up a girl. I
took a lodging close to the board school, where I could see the girls go
backwards and forwards every day. I soon saw one that suited my fancy. She was
a girl of about thirteen, tall and forward for her age, pretty, and likely to
bring business. I found out she lived with her mother. I engaged her to be my
little maid at the lodgings where I was staying. The very next day I took her
off with me to London and her mother never saw her again. What became of her? A
gentleman paid me £13 for the first of her, soon after she came to town. She
was asleep when he did it–sound asleep. To tell the truth, she was drugged. It
is often done. I gave her a drowse. It is a mixture of laudanum and something
else. Sometimes chloroform is used, but I always used either snuff or laudanum.
We call it drowse or black draught, and they lie almost as if dead, and the
girl never knows what has happened till morning. And then? Oh! then she cries a
great deal from pain, but she is 'mazed, and hardly knows what has happened
except that she can hardly move from pain. Of course we tell her it is all
right; all girls have to go through it some time, that she is through it now
without knowing it, and that it is no use crying. It will never be undone for
all the crying in the world. She must now do as the others do. She can live like
a lady, do as she pleases, have the best of all that is going, and enjoy
herself all day. If she objects, I scold her and tell her she has lost her
character, no one will take her in; I will have to turn her out on the streets
as a bad and ungrateful girl. The result is that in nine cases out of ten, or
ninety-nine out of a hundred, the child, who is usually usually under fifteen,
frightened and friendless, her head aching with the effect of the drowse and
full of pain and horror, gives up all hope, and in a week she is one of the
attractions of the house. Yon say that some men say this is never done. Don't
believe them; if these people spoke the truth, it might be found that they had
done it themselves. Landladies who wish to thrive must humour their customers.
If they want a maid we must get them one, or they will go elsewhere. We cannot
afford to lose their custom; besides, after the maid is seduced, she fills up
vacancies caused by disease or drink. There are very few brothels which are not
occasionally recruited in that way. That case which I mentioned was by no means
exceptional; in about seven years I remember selling two maids for £20 each,
one at £16, one at £15, one at £13 and others for less. Of course, where I
bought I paid less than that. The difference represented my profit, commission,
and payment for risk in procuring, drugging, &c.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>BUYING GIRLS AT THE EAST-END</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This experienced ex-procuress assured me that if she were to
return to her old trade she would have no difficulty in laying her hands,
through the agency of friends and relatives still in the trade, upon as many
young girls as she needed. No house begins altogether with maids, but steps are
at once taken to supply one or two young girls to train in. She did not think
the alarm of the Jefferies trial had penetrated into the strata where she used
to work. But said I, "Will these children be really maids, or will it
merely be a plant to get off damaged articles under that guise? " Her
reply was significant. "You do not know how it is done. Do you think I
would buy a maid on her word? You can soon find out, if you are in the
business, whether a child is really fresh or not. You have to trust the person
who sells, no doubt, to some extent, but if you are in the trade they would not
deceive you in a matter in which fraud can be so easily detected. If one house
supplied another with girls who had been seduced, at the price of maids, it
would get out, and their reputation would suffer. Besides you do not trust them
very far. Half the commission is paid down on delivery, the other half is held
over until the truth is proved."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How is that done?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"By a doctor or an experienced midwife. If you are
dealing with a house you trust, you take their doctor's certificate. If they
trust you they will accept the verdict of your doctor." "Does the
girl know why you are taking her away?" "Very seldom. She thinks she
is going to a situation. When she finds out, it is too late. If she knew what
it meant she either would not come or her readiness would give rise to a
suspicion that she was not the article you wanted– that, in fact, she was no
better than she should be." "Who are these girls?"
"Orphans, daughters of drunken parents, children of prostitutes, girls
whose friends are far away." "And their price?" "In the
trade from £3 to £5 is, I should think, a fair thing. But if you doubt it I
will make inquiries, if you like, in my old haunts and tell you what can be
done next week."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As there is nothing like inquiry on the spot, I commissioned
her to inquire as to the maids then in stock or procurable at short notice by a
single bad house in the East of London, whose keeper she knew. The reply was
businesslike and direct. If she wanted a couple of maids for a house in the
country three would be brought to Waterloo railway station next Saturday at
three, from whom two could be selected at £5 per head. One girl, not very
pretty, about thirteen, could be had at only at £3. Offer to be accepted or
confirmed by letter–which of course never arrived.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A GIRL ESCAPES AFTER BEING SOLD</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being anxious to satisfy myself as to the reality of these
transactions, I instructed a thoroughly trustworthy woman to proceed with this
ex-keeper to the house in question, and see if she could see any of the
children whose price was quoted like that of lambs at so much a head. The woman
of the house was somewhat suspicious, owing to the presence of a stranger, but
after some conversation she said that she had one fresh girl within reach, whom
she would make over at once if they could come to terms. The girl was sent for,
and duly appeared. She was told that she was to have a good situation in the
country within a few miles of London. She said that she had been brought up at
a home at Streatham, had been in service, but had been out of a place for three
weeks. She was a pleasant, bright-looking girl, who seemed somewhat nervous
when she heard so many inquiries and the talk about taking her into the
country. The bargain, however, was struck. The keeper had to receive £2 down,
and another sovereign when the girl was proved a maid. The money was paid, the
girl handed over, but something said had alarmed her, and she solved the
difficulty of disposing of her by making her escape. My friend who witnessed
the whole transaction, and whose presence probably contributed something to the
difficulty of the bargain, assures me that there was no doubt as to the sale
and transfer of the girl. "Her escape," said the ex-keeper, "is
one of the risks of the trade. If I had been really in for square business, I
should never have agreed to take the girl from the house, partly in order to
avoid such escape and partly for safety. It is almost invariably the rule that
the seller must deliver the girl at some railway station. She is brought to
you, placed in your cab or your railway carriage, and it is then your business,
and an easy one, to see that she does not escape you. But the risks of delivery
at a safe place are always taken by the seller."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A DREADFUL PROFESSION</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was prosecuting these inquiries at the East-end, I
was startled by a discovery made by a confidential agent at the other end of
the town. This was nothing less than the unearthing of a house, kept apparently
by a highly respectable midwife, where children were taken by procurers to be
certified as virgins before violation, and where, after violation, they were
taken to be "patched up," and where, if necessary, abortion could be
procured. The existence of the house was no secret. It was well known in the
trade, and my agent was directed thither without much ado by a gay woman with
whom he had made a casual acquaintance. No doubt the respectable old lady has
other business of a less doubtful character, but in the trade her repute is
unrivalled, first as a certificator of virginity, and secondly for the
adroitness and skill with which she can repair the laceration caused by the
subsequent outrage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That surely was sufficiently horrible. Yet there stood the
house, imperturbably respectable in its outward appearance, apparently an
indispensable adjunct of modern civilization, its experienced proprietress
maintaining confidential relations with the "best houses" in the
West-end. This repairer of damaged virgins is not a procuress. Her mission is remedial.
Her premises are not used for purposes of violation. She knows where it is
done, but she cannot prevent that. What she does is to minimize pain and repair
as effectively as possible the ravages of the lust which she did not create,
and which she cannot control. But she is a wise woman, whom great experience
has taught many secrets, and if she would but speak! Not that she is above
giving a hint to those who seek her advice as to where little children can best
be procured. A short time ago, she says, there was no difficulty. "Any of
these houses," mentioning several of the best known foreign and English
houses in the West and North-west, "would, supply children, but at present
they are timid. You need to be an old customer to be served. But, after all, it
is expensive getting young girls for them. If you really have a fancy that way,
why do you not do as Mr. ––– does ? It is cheaper, simpler, and safer."
"And how does Mr. ––– do, and who is Mr. ––– ?" "Oh, Mr. ––– is
a gentleman who has a great penchant for little girls. I do not know how many I
have had to repair after him. He goes down to the East-end and the City, and
watches when the girls come out of shops and factories for lunch or at the end
of the day. He sees his fancy and marks her down. It takes a little time, but
he wins the child's confidence. One day he proposes a little excursion to the
West. She consents. Next day I have another subject, and Mr. ––– is off with
another girl." "And what becomes of the subjects on which you display
your skill?" "Some go home, others go back to their situations,
others again are passed on to those who have a taste for second-hand
articles," and the good lady intimated that if my agent had such a taste,
she was not without hopes that she might be able to do a little trade.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>WHY THE CRIES OF THE VICTIMS ARE NOT HEARD</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point in the inquiry, the difficulty again occurred
to me how was it possible for these outrages to take place without detection.
The midwife, when questioned, said there was no danger. Some of the houses had
an underground room, from which no sound could be heard, and that, as a matter
of fact, no one ever had been detected. The truth about the underground
chambers is difficult to ascertain. Padded rooms for the purpose of stifling
the cries of tortured victims of lust and brutality are familiar enough on the
Continent. "In my house," said a most respectable lady, who keeps a
villa in the west of London, "you can enjoy the screams of the girl with
the certainty that no one else hears them but yourself." But to enjoy to
the full the exclusive luxury of revelling in the cries of the immature child,
it is not necessary to have a padded room, a double chamber, or an underground
room. "Here," said the keeper of a fashionable villa, where in days
bygone a prince of the blood is said to have kept for some months one of his
innumerable sultanas, as she showed her visitor over the well-appointed rooms,
"Here is a room where you can be perfectly secure. The house stands in its
own grounds. The walls are thick, there is a double carpet on the floor. The
only window which fronts upon the back garden is doubly secured, first with
shutters and then with heavy curtains. You lock the door and then you can do as
you please. The girl may scream blue murder, but not a sound will be heard. The
servants will be far away in the other end of the house. I only will be about
seeing that all is snug." "But," remarked her visitor, "if
you hear the cries of the child, you may yourself interfere, especially if, as
may easily happen, I badly hurt and in fact all but kill the girl"
"You will not kill her," she answered, "you have too much sense
to kill the girl. Anything short of that, you can do as you please. As for me
interfering, do you think I do not know my business?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flogging, both of men and women, goes on regularly in
ordinary rooms, but the cry of the bleeding subject never attracts attention
from the outside world. What chance is there, then, of the feeble, timid cry of
the betrayed child penetrating the shuttered and curtained windows, or of
moving the heart of the wily watcher–the woman whose business it is to secure
absolute safety for her client. When means of stifling a cry–a pillow, a sheet,
or even a pocket handkerchief–lie all around, there is practically no danger. To
some men, however, the shriek of torture is the essence of their delight, and
they would not silence by a single note the cry of agony over which they gloat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>NO ROOM FOR REPENTANCE</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whether the maids thus violated in the secret chambers of
accommodation houses are willing or unwilling is a question on which a keeper
shed a flood of light by a very pertinent and obvious remark : "I have
never had a maid seduced in my house," he said, "unless she was
willing. They are willing enough to come to my house to be seduced, but when
the man comes they are never willing." And she proceeded to illustrate
what she meant by descriptions of scenes which had taken place in her house
when girls, who according to her story had implored her to allow them to be
seduced in her rooms, had when the supreme moment arrived repented their
willingness, and fought tooth and nail, when too late, for the protection of
their chastity. To use her familiar phrase, they made "the devil's own
row," and on at least one occasion it was evident that the girl's
resistance had only been overcome after a prolonged and desperate fight, in
which, what with screaming and violence, she was too exhausted to continue the
struggle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was in the case of a full-grown woman. Children of
twelve and thirteen cannot offer any serious resistance. They only dimly
comprehend what it all means. Their mothers sometimes consent to their
seduction for the sake of the price paid by their seducer. The child goes to
the introducing house as a sheep to the shambles. Once there, she is compelled
to go through with it. No matter how brutal the man may be, she cannot escape.
"If she wanted to be seduced, and came here to be seduced," says the
keeper, "I shall see that she does not play the fool. The gentleman has
paid for her, and he can do with her what he likes." Neither Rhadamanthus
nor Lord Bramwell could more sternly exact the rigorous fulfilment of the
stipulations of the contract. "Once she is in my house," said a
worthy landlady, "she does not go out till the job is done. She comes in
willingly, but no matter how willing she may be to go out, she stays here till
my gentleman has done with her. She repents too late when she repents after
crossing my threshold."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>STRAPPING GIRLS DOWN</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the course of my investigations I heard some strange
tales concerning the precautions taken to render escape impossible for the girl
whose ruin, with or without her consent, has been resolved upon. One fact,
which is of quite recent occurrence in a fashionable London suburb, the accuracy
of which I was able to verify, is an illustration of the extent to which those
engaged in this traffic are willing to go to supply the caprices of their
customers. To oblige a wealthy customer who by riot and excess had impaired his
vitality to such an extent that nothing could minister to his jaded senses but
very young maidens, an eminently respectable lady undertook that whenever the
girl was fourteen or fifteen years of age she should be strapped down hand and
foot to the four posts of the bedstead, so that all resistance save that of
unavailing screaming would be impossible. Before the strapping down was finally
agreed upon the lady of the house, a stalwart woman and experienced in the
trade, had volunteered her services to hold the virgin down by force while her
wealthy patron effected his purpose. That was too much even for him, and the
alternative of fastening with straps padded on the under side was then agreed
upon. Strapping down for violation used to be a common occurrence in
Hall-moon-street and in Anna Rosenberg's brothel at Liverpool. Anything can be
done for money, if you only know where to take it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>HOW THE LAW ABETS THE CRIMINAL</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The system of procuration, as I have already explained, is
reduced to a science. The poorer brothel-keeper hunts up recruits herself,
while the richer are supported by their agents. No prudent keeper of an
introducing house will receive girls brought by other than her accredited and
trusted agents. The devices of these agents are innumerable. They have been
known to profess penitence in order to gain access to a home for fallen women,
where they thought some Magdalens repenting of their penitence might be secured
for their house. They go into workhouses, to see what likely girls are to be
had. They use servants' registries. They haunt the doors of gaols when girls in
for their first offence are turned adrift on the expiry of their sentences.
There are no subterfuges too cunning or too daring for them to resort to in the
pursuit of their game. Against their wiles the law offers the child over
thirteen next to no protection. If a child of fourteen is cajoled or
frightened, or overborne by anything short of direct force or the threat of
immediate bodily harm, into however an unwilling acquiescence in an act the
nature of which she most imperfectly apprehends, the law steps in to shield her
violator. If permission is given, says "Stephen's Digest of the Criminal
Law," " the fact that it was obtained by fraud, or that the woman did
not understand the nature of the act is immaterial."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A CHILD OF THIRTEEN BOUGHT FOR £5</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me conclude the chapter of horrors by one incident, and
only one of those which are constantly occurring in those dread regions of
subterranean vice in which sexual crime flourishes almost unchecked. I can
personally vouch for the absolute accuracy of every fact in the narrative.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the beginning of this Derby week, a woman, an old hand in
the work of procuration, entered a brothel in ––– st. M–––, kept by an old
acquaintance, and opened negotiations for the purchase of a maid. One of the
women who lodged in the house had a sister as yet untouched. Her mother was far
away, her father was dead. The child was living in the house, and in all
probability would be seduced and follow the profession of her elder sister. The
child was between thirteen and fourteen, and after some bargaining it was
agreed that she should be handed over to the procuress for the sum of £5. The
maid was wanted, it was said, to start a house with, and there was no disguise
on either side that the sale was to be effected for immoral purposes. While the
negotiations were going on, a drunken neighbour came into the house, and so
little concealment was then used, that she speedily became aware of the nature
of the transaction. So far from being horrified at the proposed sale of the
girl, she whispered eagerly to the seller, "Don't you think she would take
our Lily? I think she would suit." Lily was her own daughter, a bright,
fresh-looking little girl, who was thirteen years old last Christmas. The
bargain, however, was made for the other child, and Lily's mother felt she had
lost her market.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, Derby Day as it happened, was fixed for the delivery
of this human chattel. But as luck would have it, another sister of the child
who was to be made over to the procuress heard of the proposed sale. She was
living respectably in a situation, and on hearing of the fate reserved for the
little one she lost no time in persuading her dissolute sister to break off the
bargain. When the woman came for her prey the bird had flown. Then came the
chance of Lily's mother. The brothel-keeper sent for her, and offered her a
sovereign for her daughter. The woman was poor, dissolute, and indifferent to
everything but drink. The father, who was also a drunken man, was told his
daughter was going to a situation. He received the news with indifference,
without even inquiring where she was going to. The brothel-keeper having thus
secured possession of the child, then sold her to the procuress in place of the
child whose sister had rescued her from her destined doom for £5–£3 paid down
and the remaining £2 after her virginity had been professionally certified. The
little girl, all unsuspecting the purpose for which she was destined, was told
that she must go with this strange woman to a situation. The procuress, who was
well up to her work, took her away, washed her, dressed her up neatly, and sent
her to bid her parents good-bye. The mother was so drunk she hardly recognized
her daughter. The father was hardly less indifferent. The child left her home,
and was taken to the woman's lodging in A––street.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first step had thus been taken. But it was necessary to
procure the certification of her virginity–a somewhat difficult task, as the
child was absolutely ignorant of the nature of the transaction which had
transferred her from home to the keeping of this strange, but apparently
kind-hearted woman. Lily was a little cockney child, one of those who by the
thousand annually develop into the servants of the poorer middle-class. She had
been at school, could read and write, and although her spelling was
extraordinary, she was able to express herself with much force and decision.
Her experience of the world was limited to the London quarter in which she had
been born. With the exception of two school trips to Richmond and one to Epping
Forest, she had never been in the country in her life, nor had she ever even
seen the Thames excepting at Richmond. She was an industrious, warm-hearted
little thing, a hardy English child, slightly coarse in texture, with dark
black eyes, and short, sturdy figure. Her education was slight. She spelled
write "right," for instance, and her grammar was very shaky. But she
was a loving, affectionate child, whose kindly feeling for the drunken mother
who sold her into nameless infamy was very touching to behold. In a little
letter of hers which I once saw, plentifully garlanded with kisses, there was the
following ill-spelled childish verse:–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was in bed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some little forths gave in my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I forth of one, I forth of two;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But first of all I forth of you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The poor child was full of delight at going to her new
situation, and clung affectionately to the keeper who was taking her
away–where, she knew not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first thing to be done after the child was fairly
severed from home was to secure the certificate of virginity without which the
rest of the purchase-money would not be forthcoming. In order to avoid trouble
she was taken in a cab to the house of a midwife, whose skill in pronouncing
upon the physical evidences of virginity is generally recognized in the
profession. The examination was very brief and completely satisfactory. But the
youth, the complete innocence of the girl, extorted pity even from the hardened
heart of the old abortionist. "The poor little thing," she exclaimed.
"She is so small, her pain will be extreme. I hope you will not be too
cruel with her"–as if to lust when fully roused the very acme of agony on
the part of the victim has not a fierce delight. To quiet the old lady the
agent of the purchaser asked if she could supply anything to dull the pain. She
produced a small phial of chloroform. "This," she said, "is the
best. My clients find this much the most effective." The keeper took the
bottle, but unaccustomed to anything but drugging by the administration of
sleeping potions, she would infallibly have poisoned the child had she not
discovered by experiment that the liquid burned the mouth when an attempt was
made to swallow it. £1 1s. was paid for the certificate of virginity–which was
verbal and not written–while £1 10s. more was charged for the chloroform, the
net value of which was probably less than a shilling. An arrangement was made
that if the child was badly injured Madame would patch it up to the best of her
ability, and then the party left the house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the midwife's the innocent girl was taken to a house of
ill fame, No. –, P––– street, Regent-street, where, notwithstanding her extreme
youth, she was admitted without question. She was taken up stairs, undressed,
and put to bed, the woman who bought her putting her to sleep. She was rather
restless, but under the influence of chloroform she soon went over. Then the woman
withdrew. All was quiet and still. A few moments later the door opened, and the
purchaser entered the bedroom. He closed and locked the door. There was a brief
silence. And then there rose a wild and piteous cry–not a loud shriek, but a
helpless, startled scream like the bleat of a frightened lamb. And the child's
voice was heard crying, in accents of terror, "There's a man in the room!
Take me home; oh, take me home!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then all once more was still.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was but one case among many, and by no means the worst.
It only differs from the rest because I have been able to verify the facts.
Many a similar cry will be raised this very night in the brothels of London,
unheeded by man, but not unheard by the pitying ear of Heaven–</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the child's sob in the darkness curseth deeper</div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Than the strong man in his wrath.</span>Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-40188089165891791182013-12-23T03:38:00.000-08:002013-12-23T03:38:02.428-08:00We Bid You Be Of Hope<div class="MsoNormal">
(<b><i>We Bid You Be Of Hope</i></b> was first published by W.T. Stead in the <i>Pall Mall Gazette </i>of July 6, 1885. It was the precursor to his great 'Maiden Tribute' articles I reference in my novel <b><i>The Eighth Circle of Hell</i></b>.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Report of our Secret Commission will be read to-day with
a shuddering horror that will thrill throughout the world. After this awful
picture of the crimes at present committed as it were under the very aegis of
the law has been fully unfolded before the eyes of the public, we need not
doubt that the House of Commons will find time to raise the age during which
English girls are protected from inexpiable wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The evidence which we shall publish this week leaves no room
for doubt–first, as to the reality of the crimes against which the Amendment
Bill is directed, and, secondly, as to the efficacy of the protection extended
by raising the age of consent. When the report is published, the case for the
bill will be complete, and we do not believe that members on the eve of a
general election will refuse to consider the bill protecting the daughters of
the poor, which even the House of Lords has in three consecutive years declared
to be imperatively necessary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This, however, is but one, and that one of the smallest, of
the considerations which justify the publication of the Report. The good it
will do is manifest. These revelations, which we begin to publish to-day,
cannot fail to touch the heart and rouse the conscience of the English people.
Terrible as is the exposure, the very horror of it is an inspiration. It speaks
not of leaden despair, but with a joyful promise of better things to come. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wir heissen euch hoffen! "We bid you be of hope!"
Carlyle's last message to his country, the rhythmic with which Goethe closes
his modern psalm–that is what we have to repeat today, for assuredly these
horrors, like others against which the conscience of mankind has revolted, are
not eternal. "Am I my sister's keeper?" that paraphrase of the excuse
of Cain, will not dull the fierce smart of pain which will be felt by every
decent man who learns the kind of atrocities which are being perpetrated in
cool blood in the very shadow of our churches and within a stone's throw of our
courts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is a veritable slave trade that is going on around us;
but as it takes place in the heart of London, it is a scandal–an outrage on
public morality–even to allude to it. We have kept silence far too long. There
are a few devoted workers who have been labouring for years endeavouring to
save those who might well address Gordon's homely reproach to the majority of
us : "While you are eating and drinking and resting on good beds, we, and
those with me, are watching by night and by day"–working against this
great wrong–happy, indeed, if they escaped obloquy and abuse for endeavouring
to remind us of our duty. No longer will good men be able with easy conscience
to join in that indignant "Hush!" by which the evil-doers have
hitherto silenced every attempt to make articulate the smothered wail that
rises unceasing from the woeful under-world. There is now an end to that
conspiracy of silence by which, after every inquiry, "the door was each
time quickly closed upon the question, as the stone lid used to be shut down,
in the Campo Santo of Naples, upon the mass of human corpses that lay festering
beneath." That "stone lid " is raised now, never again, we may
hope, to be closed until something has been done. Under the ruthless compulsion
of publicity even those but indifferent honest will do more good than many of
the most virtuous when the evil could be hidden out of sight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That much may be done, we have good ground for hoping, if
only because so little has hitherto been attempted. A dull despair has unnerved
the hearts of those who face this monstrous evil, and good men have sorrowfully
turned to other fields where their exertions might expect a better return. But
the magnitude of this misery ought to lead to the redoubling, not to the
benumbing of our exertions. No one can say how much Suffering and wrong is
irremediable until the whole of the moral and religious forces of the country
are brought to bear upon it. Yet, in dealing with this subject, the forces upon
which we rely in dealing with other evils are almost all paralysed. The Home,
the School, the Church, the Press are silent. The law is actually accessory to
crime. Parents culpably neglect even to warn their children of the existence of
dangers of which many learn the first time when they have become their prey.
The Press, which reports verbatim all the scabrous details of the police
courts, recoils in pious horror from the duty of shedding a flood of light upon
these dark places, which indeed are full of the habitations of cruelty. But the
failure of the Churches is, perhaps, the most conspicuous and the most
complete. Christ's mission was to restore man to a semblance of the divine. The
Child-Prostitute of our day is the image into which, with the tacit
acquiescence of those who call themselves by His name, men have moulded the
form once fashioned in the likeness of God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If Chivalry is extinct and Christianity is effete, there is
still another, great enthusiasm to which we may with confidence appeal. The
future belongs to the combined forces of Democracy and Socialism, which when
united are irresistible. Divided on many points they will combine in protesting
against the continued immolation of the daughters of the people as a sacrifice
to the vices of the rich. Of the two, it is Socialism which will find the most
powerful stimulus in this revelation of the extent to which under our present
social system the wealthy are able to exercise all the worst abuses of power
which disgraced the feudalism of the Middle Ages. Wealth is power, Poverty is
weakness. The abuse of power leads directly to its destruction, and in all the
annals of crime can there be found a more shameful abuse of the power of wealth
than that by which in this nineteenth century of Christian civilization princes
and dukes, and ministers and judges, and the rich of all classes, are
purchasing for damnation, temporal if not eternal, the as yet uncorrupted
daughters of the poor? It will be said they assent to their corruption. So did
the female serfs from whom the seigneur exacted the jus primæ noctis. And do
our wealthy think that the assent wrung by wealth from poverty to its own
undoing will avert the vengeance and the doom?</div>
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<br /></div>
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If people can only be got to think seriously about this
matter progress will be made in the right direction. Evils once as universal
and apparently inevitable as prostitution have disappeared. Vices almost
universal are now regarded with shuddering horror by the least moral of men.
Slavery has gone. A slave trader is treated as hostis humani generis. Piracy
has disappeared. Intestine war is now almost unknown. Torture has been
abolished. May we not hope, therefore, that if we try to do our duty to our
sisters and to ourselves, we may greatly reduce, even although we never
entirely extirpate, the plague of prostitution? For let us remember that–</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every hope which
rises and grows broad</div>
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In the world's
heart, by ordered impulse streams</div>
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From the great
heart of God. </div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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And if that ideal seems too blinding bright for human eyes,
we can at least do much to save the innocent victims who unwillingly are swept
into the maelstrom of vice. And who is there among us bearing the name of man
who will dare to sit down any longer with folded hands in the presence of so
great a wrong?</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-51463163129596120542013-12-22T11:18:00.000-08:002013-12-22T11:18:23.783-08:00The Infernal Narrative (Reprise) and a warning to my own readers.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<br />
Some two years ago, I published by first post on this blog. It concerned one of the greatest scandals of Victorian-era Britain and its sensational exposure by the great pioneering journalist WT Stead. This was<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> the so-called <i><b>Defloration Mania</b></i></span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">This was my post:</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In 1885, as editor of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Stead wrote a series of sensational articles entitled, ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon'. These exposed the widespread trade in very young, virgin girls who were procured for rape and prostitution. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Stead's, ‘Infernal Narrative,’ as he called it, revealed to a respectable and prudish Victorian readership a seedy underworld of brothels, procuresses and padded chambers where upper-class gentlemen could revel, ‘in the cries of an immature child'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Under such sensational headers as, ‘Virgins, Willing and Unwilling,’ ‘The London Slave Market,’ and, ‘Strapping Girls Down,’ the articles threw society into a state of near panic and achieved as a consequence, the implementation of the Criminal Law Amendment Act, whereby the age of consent for girls was raised from thirteen to sixteen years.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To demonstrate how easy it was to procure a young girl for prostitution, Stead arranged for the purchase of Eliza Armstrong, the thirteen year-old daughter of a chimney sweep for £5. As a result of what were subsequently considered to be illegal investigative methods, he was convicted of the, ‘unlawful kidnapping of a minor’, and sentenced to three months in prison.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Thereafter, every November 10<sup>th</sup>, (the anniversary of his conviction), Stead would dress in his prison uniform as a reminder of his, ‘triumph.’</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My debut novel, <em>The Eighth Circle of Hell, </em>published October 2012 by Thames River Press<em> </em>explores the so-called Victorian Defloration Mania through the experiences of a young, orphan-girl who falls into the hands of a group of powerful, predatory men. Decades after she flees from the horrors of her time with them, advancing senile dementia forces her to once again relive her years of hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">WT Stead <span style="color: black;">was unbowed on his release from prison and remained convinced of his probity in attempting to break what he considered to be the, ‘conspiracy of silence,’ surrounding the subject. Today, over 125 years after the articles were published, the latest research by the NSPCC suggests that some one in nine children have been contact-abused sexually at some point in their lives. The Maiden Tribute is still being paid today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i>End of original post.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;">Since that first first post there have been numerous arrests and convictions of celebrities and notables for child sex offences. Over the next few days, I intend to publish Stead's original articles in full, making no apology for the season. Please find below, Stead's warning to readers of the Pall Mall Gazette. The articles were later to spark the Northumberland Street riots.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Notice To Our Readers: A Frank Warning</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Published in the Pall Mall Gazette. July 4<sup>th</sup>,
1885)</div>
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<br /></div>
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The Criminal law Amendment Bill, it is said, will be
abandoned owing to the late period of the session and the difficulty of finding
time to carry it through the Commons. That measure deals with a subject the
importance of which has been admitted by both parties, and is based upon the
urgent recommendation of a House of Lords Committee of which the Marquis of
Salisbury was a prominent member.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has thrice been passed through the House of Lords, and
now for the third time it is threatened with extinction in the House of
Commons. The public, it is said, is not interested in the subject, and the
bill, therefore, may safety be abandoned. That we are told is the calculation
in high quarters. But if Ministers think of allowing the bill to drop because
the public is not keenly alive to its importance, it is necessary to open the
eyes of the public, in order that a measure the urgency of which has been
repeatedly admitted may pass into law this session. We have, therefore,
determined, with a full sense of the responsibility attaching to such a
decision, to publish the report of a Special and Secret Commission of Inquiry
which we appointed to examine into the whole subject. It is a long, detailed
report, dealing with those phases of sexual criminality which the Criminal Law
Amendment Bill was framed to repress. Nothing but the most imperious sense of
public duty would justify its publication. But as we are assured on every hand,
on the best authority, that without its publication the bill will be abandoned
for the third time, we dare not face the responsibility of its suppression. We
shall, therefore, begin its publication on Monday, and continue to publish de
die in diem until the whole infernal narrative is complete. But although we are
thus compelled, in the public interest, to publish the case for the bill, or rather
for those portions of it which are universally admitted to be necessary, we
have no desire to inflict upon unwilling eyes the ghastly story of the criminal
developments of modern vice. Therefore we say quite frankly to-day that all
those who are squeamish, and all those who are prudish, and all those who
prefer to live in a fool's paradise of imaginary innocence and purity,
selfishly oblivious to the horrible realities which torment those whose lives
are passed in the London Inferno, will do well not to read the Pall Mall
Gazette of Monday and the three following days. The story of an actual
pilgrimage into a real hell is not pleasant reading, and is not meant to be. It
is, however, an authentic record of unimpeachable facts, "abominable,
unutterable, and worse than fables yet have feigned or fear conceived."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it is true, and its publication is necessary.</div>
</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-3787809014733999132013-12-20T03:57:00.000-08:002013-12-20T03:57:45.036-08:00King Arthur: Garters, Vaults and Watery TartsThis is a re-blog of a guest piece I first wrote for Susie Douglas' excellent blog at www.bordersancestry.co.uk Do take opportunity to have a look, especially if you are of Scottish border blood.<br />
<br />
When I was a very young boy growing up on South Tyneside in the 1960s, I have a distinct recollection of being able to look out of my bedroom window, over the lights of Gateshead and the Team Valley to the rising hills in the west. I can also recall my father pointing out of my window many, many times and telling me that ‘over that hill’ lay Camelot. Back then of course, it was firmly accepted that if King Arthur had existed at all, he would most certainly have been a Welsh king; associated with the South West of the country, to Cornwall perhaps or to Hampshire or Gwent.<br />
<br />
It was over forty years later, when my father was in the late stages of Alzheimer’s Disease and I was grasping for something to stimulate conversation with him that I happened to mention it back to him. He grinned and said, ‘aye,’ and it would seem now that he might well have been right.<br />
<br />
There is a legend, which has persisted for centuries, centred on that part of Hadrian’s Wall country called Sewingshields. Here, where the Great Whin Sill drops away steeply into spectacular, north-facing cliffs is an area known as the Fogy Moss.<br />
<br />
The legend runs something like this:<br />
Good King Arthur and his queen Lady Guinevere together with several of the Knights of the Round Table lie in an enchanted sleep in a vast underground vault somewhere near to the site of Sewingshields Castle. They are destined to slumber there until, ‘The End of Days,’ which is a time when there will be a great need for them and the British nation will call upon them to rise again. Then will they be awoken. They sleep with a knight’s garter, a sword and a bugle-horn. To break the enchantment, one need only to draw the sword, cut the garter and sound a note on the bugle.<br />
<br />
It is said that one day, many years ago, a shepherd sat knitting as he tended his flock on the common land close by Sewingshields. By chance, his ball of wool rolled away from him and fell down into a deep cleft in the rocks. Clambering down in order to search for it, he discovered a hidden cavern. The floor was thick with toads and newts and suchlike creatures and there were bats flickering around in the air, so he made sure he was quick to retrieve his wool and be gone. But then, just as he was about to climb back out, he noticed the light of a bright blue, magical fire flickering far away in the depths of the cave. Summoning all his courage, he followed it and eventually came across a great, cavernous vault where King Arthur and Lady Guinevere, together with their knights and hounds lay, just as the prophesy had said, in a deep, enchanted sleep. Sure enough; with them were the sword, the garter, and the bugle-horn.<br />
<br />
Remembering the legend, the shepherd drew the sword and used it to cut the garter. As he did so, Arthur, Guinevere and the knights all began to stir and awaken and the poor, simple shepherd took fright. He thrust the sword back into its scabbard and fled the vault without blowing the horn which would have woken them all fully. Guinevere and the knights immediately fell back into their slumbers and only Arthur remained awake.<br />
<br />
Guessing what had happened King Arthur bellowed these words after the shepherd:<br />
<br />
‘Oh, woe betide that evil day,<br />
On which this witless wight was born.<br />
Who drew the sword, the garter cut,<br />
But never blew the bugle-horn.’<br />
<br />
Recovering his wits, the shepherd searched again for the vault but alas, it was in vain; the entrance was nowhere to be found.<br />
<br />
There was indeed a real Sewingshields Castle. It was built on an island rising out of the boggy lands of the Fogy Moss and owned by one Sir Robert Ogle in the early 15th Century. However it was probably no more than a single tower, defended by a ditch to the west and certainly not the ‘many-towered Camelot’ of Romantic legend. In the 1541 View of the Castles, Towers, Barmekyns, and Fortresses of the Frontier of the East and Middle Marches, Sewingshields (Sewyngeshealles) Castle was noted as ‘an old towre of thinherytaunce of John Heron of Chypchase esquier in great decaye in the rooffe & flores & lyeth waste & unplenyshed.’ By 1847, it had been reduced by decay and pilferage of the stone to a ruin of 1.5 metres or so in height and by the end of the 19th Century all traces of it had gone barring the by-then rather ploughed-out ditch, stagnant fishponds and a smattering of rubble.<br />
<br />
‘No towers are seen,<br />
On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds.<br />
And save a fosse that tracks the moor with green,<br />
Is naught remains to tell of what may there have been.’<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Harold the Dauntless, Sir Walter Scott<br />
-on the Castle of the Seven Shields (Sewingshields).<br />
<br />
Another example of local Arthurian folklore tells how Cummin (Comyn, Cumin), a great chieftain of the ‘Old North’ came to Sewingshields Castle in order to visit King Arthur. When he departed to go back to his own country, he took with him a gold cup which Arthur, as a token of friendship, had given to him. However, a number of Arthur’s sons (or retainers depending on which version of the tale you read) coveted the cup for themselves. They duly followed Cummin, caught up with his entourage and put him to death at a place called Haughton Common. King Arthur, on hearing of the crime and the grave affront to his hospitality, caused a cross to be erected at the place as a penance and a memorial. That memorial is called Cumming's Cross to this day.<br />
<br />
Some way to the east of the site of Sewingshields Castle is the Broomlee Lough. This is one of a number of small lakes which populate the area and one very much steeped in legend and folklore.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoxfakgUOnKPrVsI4chO8916e56woGALir7oIE5VTp-CoZNaMrnZxrAxJMmMj08bmFtjXRBjz9o9eLqISGXN1APItOZC7eoZdSVZ6ENy4WpKEcEGWxPwJZ8YFy3Pk60BQO3-mUkiUD98/s1600/Broomlee_Lough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoxfakgUOnKPrVsI4chO8916e56woGALir7oIE5VTp-CoZNaMrnZxrAxJMmMj08bmFtjXRBjz9o9eLqISGXN1APItOZC7eoZdSVZ6ENy4WpKEcEGWxPwJZ8YFy3Pk60BQO3-mUkiUD98/s320/Broomlee_Lough.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
By local tradition, this is the very lake where Arthur received the sword Excalibur from the ‘Lady of the Lake,’ (or, as the Monty Python team would have it, the ‘Watery Tart’), and where it was hurled back over the waters by the knight Sir Bedivere of the Sinews. Certainly anyone who has ever down looked over Broomlee Lough from the high ridge of the Whin Sill won’t help but to feel the magic of the place.<br />
<br />
There is, again by local tradition, a vast treasure hidden beneath the waters of the Broomlee Lough. The story goes that long ago, the then lord of Sewingshields Castle was compelled to flee the country for fear of his life. Being unable to carry away with him his great hoard of gold, he resolved to sink it into the deepest part of the lough. Once he had done so, he wove an enchantment over the treasure that it should never be recovered except by the use of ‘Twa twin yauds, twa twin oxen, twa twin lads, and a chain forged by a smith of kind’. (In other words, two twin horses, two twin oxen, two twin lads and a chain forged by a seventh-generation blacksmith – seven souls in total). Finding the location of the treasure is supposedly quite easy for it is said that the surface of the lough where the gold was sunk is disturbed by neither wind nor gale. The tricky part lies in finding the yauds, oxen, lads, and chain necessary to satisfy the enchantment.<br />
<br />
North of Sewingshields lie two great outcrops of sandstone. These are called the King’s and the Queen’s crags, the king here being Arthur and the queen Guinevere. The origin of the names is this:<br />
<br />
King Arthur, being seated on one of the rocks was talking with his queen who herself was engaged in dressing her, 'back hair’. Something the queen happened to say offended Arthur. He seized a rock which lay near him, and heaved it at her – a distance of about a quarter of a mile. The queen, with great skill and no little strength herself caught it upon her comb and deflected the blow. The rock fell between them where it lies to this very day. As proof of the tale, one may see the marks of the comb still upon it. The stone probably weighs around twenty tons.<br />
<br />
Finally, near the farm-house of Sewingshields, several whinstone columns rise up rather curiously in front of the high cliffs. One of these in particular is called by some, King Arthur’s, (and by others King Ethel's) Chair. It was apparently ‘a single, many-sided shaft, about ten feet high, and had a natural seat on its top, like a chair with a back.’ However it, ‘was most wantonly overturned a few years since by a mischievous lad, well known in the neighbourhood, but unworthy of punishment by the mention of his name. Vulgar malignity loves to torment the orderly and ingenuous by destroying works, which time has sanctified and rendered objects of their veneration.’ (Hodgson’s Northd Part III Vol II.)<br />
<br />
Although I have focussed here on the legend and lore associated with the country around Sewingshields Castle, (since this is where I set my novel Red Dragon-White Dragon,) rather similar folklore occurs widely across Northumberland, Cumbria and the Borders Region and indeed throughout the north. In particular the legends associated with the Eildon Hills near Melrose are very much akin to those of the hidden vault at Sewingshields. In fact such is the power and romance of Arthurian legend that association has been claimed by a very large number of places right throughout Britain.<br />
<br />
Increasingly however, scholarly opinion seems to be that Arthur was a real, historical figure of the early medieval period and that he held power across several fortified sites in the North of England and the Borders. (A court known specifically as ‘Camelot’ was not actually mentioned until the late 12th Century when it appeared in the Chrétien de Troyes' poem Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart.)<br />
<br />
As to the veracity of Arthurian Legend itself, no less a person than Sir Winston Churchill once said: “It is all true, or it ought to be; and more and better besides.”<br />
<br />
As to the question of whether or not King Arthur once commanded the moorlands of Sewingshields, I know of one person at least, now sadly passed away, who would have said, ‘aye,’ to that.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-11716306903139713012013-11-01T01:18:00.000-07:002013-11-01T01:18:15.261-07:00The 2013 Titles Launch, Thames River Press.Monday, October 28th saw the official launch of many of the titles published in 2013 by Thames River Press.<br />
<br />
It was a truly memorable evening, not least for Storm St Jude, which swept across southern and eastern England that morning and unfortunately kept several of the authors from attending. St Jude - the patron saint of desperate causes - thankfully kept well away from the Masons' Arms in Mayfair however, and the event was a huge success.<br />
<br />
A writer's life can often be a virtual and lonely one and it was fabulous to meet and chat with one's fellow stable of authors and indeed the staff of Thames River Press itself.<br />
<br />
Thanks also to Mr Darin Jewell, the literary agent, who organised and hosted the evening.<br />
<br />
Here is my slide show of the evening:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-20112097661918755132013-10-21T07:34:00.000-07:002013-10-21T07:34:06.614-07:00This Means You!As regular readers of my novels and my blogs will know, I have a deep interest in mental health, and especially in the attitudes and stigmas which surround it.<br />
<br />
Earlier this month was World Mental Health Day and I was delighted to volunteer to help out with my local county council's display at the city library where I live. We had four people to man the stand; three professionals and me, prominent signage and a table brimming with questionnaires and leaflets. And over the course of the day, we had pretty much no interest at all from the general public!<br />
<br />
By contrast, around the same time, the UK's two biggest supermarkets; Tesco and Asda, were forced to remove Halloween costumes from their stores depicting 'mental patients'. One of the biggest newspapers, <i>The Sun</i> had a drooling front page headline (incorrectly) claiming that 1,200 persons in the UK had been killed by 'mental patients.'<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVj8b7AlYYIh_TEPkWvsucwnOT44P6J6qbeD2yRA4wysbcqxgiA_wC78WwN3bkvizuBcskWZkHlEDdDh7Aj3oC7XnF8oXWvGLgopkvcN8TZAorcuWXPXvf3_pkfCE7S-1EMXBtRb6BxI/s1600/The_Sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVj8b7AlYYIh_TEPkWvsucwnOT44P6J6qbeD2yRA4wysbcqxgiA_wC78WwN3bkvizuBcskWZkHlEDdDh7Aj3oC7XnF8oXWvGLgopkvcN8TZAorcuWXPXvf3_pkfCE7S-1EMXBtRb6BxI/s200/The_Sun.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
In this 21st Century, it seems that many of us have precisely the same fears, stigmas and prejudices as our Victorian forbears did and that these are fed, naively or cynically, by our media and peers. Yet ironically, some 1-in-4 of us will experience mental health issues which will require medical intervention, no matter how 'mentally strong' we might consider ourselves to be. I have required such intervention personally and may well require it again in the future, as may you!<br />
<br />
I have produced two novels to date, published by <a href="http://www.thamesriverpress.com/en/Contributor/7170/Gary-Dolman.html" target="_blank">Thames River Press</a> and featuring the Victorian husband and wife investigative partnership Atticus & Lucie Fox. Atticus I have shown to be highly logical and methodical and Lucie, insightful, aware and sensitive, (as might well befit a retired nurse). In my current work-in-progress, I am now describing Atticus' time as a medium-term 'inmate' of the West Riding of Yorkshire Pauper Lunatic Asylum in the 1870s and how he was nursed back to health by his nurse Lucie.<br />
<br />
Many of you might know Atticus Fox by now:<br />
Intelligent? Yes.<br />
Determined? Absolutely.<br />
Resilient? Certainly.<br />
<br />
A murderous, swivel-eyed, drooling cleaver-wielding monster? Of course not. No more than you or I.Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-61619509288617020132013-09-10T04:14:00.000-07:002013-09-10T04:14:09.720-07:00Humbled.Voting for The Peoples' Book Prize closed on 31st August, and thank you, thank you, to all those who were kind enough to vote, and to try to vote for <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell.</i>Several people left comments in addition to their vote and I was truly humbled when I read them. I'm not the most confident of writers and it can take me a day or two even to pluck up the courage to read a review. Comments like these, and like a good review, are a real boost for me especially.<br /><br />
These were the comments reproduced in full:<br />
<h4 class="bookComments" style="background-color: white; border: 0px none; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.25em; font-weight: normal; margin: 20px 0px 10px; padding: 0px;">
Reader Comments</h4>
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A fantasticly moving portrayal of terrible acts. This is a book which has never left my thoughts since reading it almost a year ago.</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
The title of Gary's book, The Eighth Circle of Hell, definitely describes what this story entails. A very difficult subject to read but the author portrays how and why this type of abuse happens. Heartbreaking non-stop read.</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
Go for it!</div>
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Best of luck.</div>
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it is a very good read</div>
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All the best, Gary!</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
This is very powerful writing. Although the subject matter isn't comfortable to read, Gary draws you in so that you are attracted at the same time as being repulsed. I love the split time frame which racks up the tension - what will happen when they reach Elizabeth's former home.</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
A painful subject matter too often glamorised, Gary Dolman’s novel strips this away to reveal the truth in all its darkness. Intelligent, sensitive writing, Dolman draws his characters beautifully - a deeply moving, often disturbing story expertly told!</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
Amazing book. Dark, but incredibly well researched</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
This book was heart wrenching and compelling! It was an emotional and captivating story to which I found myself caught in the tidal waves! I loved this book it is a well written story about a dark and disturbing time!</div>
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Well done ! Great news :)</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
A thoroughly riveting read.</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
This was a fantastic, memorable read, very dark, but wonderfully written. Absolutely the best book I have read this year.</div>
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Compelling read</div>
<div class="bookComment bookCommentSep" style="border-style: dashed none none; border-top-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-width: 2px 0px 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative;">
A beautifully written book with a story woven in historical fact. Atticus Fox is the detective who tries to solve the mystery of Elizabeth Wilson, a woman who was horribly sexually abused as a young girl in Victorian England. The characters are engaging and the story is heart-rending with a satisfying conclusion. Gary Dolman has dealt with this harrowing subject in a sensitive but compelling manner.</div>
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Brilliant and dark. A deserving winner.</div>
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loved it!</div>
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A difficult topic, written well in a sensitive manner. Applause to Gary Dolman! - Annie Acorn</div>
</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-5800843176673583692013-08-20T03:38:00.000-07:002013-08-20T03:38:01.932-07:00A Special Request!<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">My debut novel, </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">The Eighth Circle of Hell </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">is up for the People’s
Book Prize at present.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As you may well have read in previous posts, this is a special novel for me personally as it got me literally from one day to the next
during a very difficult time in my life. But more importantly, it also tells the
story of some of the forgotten victims of the dark side of the Victorian era.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">It wasn't written for profit, or even for publication when I began, but just for the story.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I would be really, really grateful if you would lend your support and
vote for the book at:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.peoplesbookprize.com/book.php?id=919"><span style="color: windowtext;">http://www.peoplesbookprize.com/book.php?id=919</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Many, many thanks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-9687871657680727342013-07-31T01:24:00.000-07:002013-07-31T01:24:54.970-07:00Livin' the Dream<div class="MsoNormal">
They say the two greatest moments in an author’s career are
when they have their first manuscript accepted for publication and when they
get the first copy of their book land on their doormat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first happened to me the day – in fact the very minute –
my father died, and I will admit to cringing at the second – in the same way as
I cringe when I hear myself on a recording or see my image in a photograph.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But boy, I'm making up for it now! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week, completely out of the blue, I got a phone call at
home. It was an actor, now a producer/director, with some pretty hefty credits
to his name. We talked, and he requested a synopsis of <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell, </i>suggesting that we meet up in a few
days. And we did – at the famous Betty’s Tea Rooms of Agatha Cristie fame. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it happens, he liked it - very much. He liked it so much that he is going to work with me
to transpose the novel into a screenplay and hopefully...hopefully...HOPEFULLY,
turn the whole thing into a 5- or 6-part television series. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
AND, not only did I finally get to go to Betty’s (despite
living in Harrogate for most of my life) but I got to meet a thoroughly decent
bloke with a social conscience who wants to make a difference.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Third time lucky, eh?</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-91846218115465769912013-06-06T05:09:00.000-07:002013-06-06T05:09:20.279-07:00Kindling “The Eighth Circle of Hell”.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ever
since my debut novel </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Eighth Circle of
Hell</i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> was published in October 2012, I’ve been continually asked how I came
to write about such a grim subject matter as 19</span><sup style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Century child
sexual abuse. It’s an interesting story so I thought I’d write a blog post
about it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Around
six years or so ago, there were a number of difficult elements in my personal
life; severe illness of close family members, hardship and death. I began
creative writing purely as a catharsis to these and as a form of escapism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">One
day, I was visiting my father in the care home where he lived when one of the
other residents, an elderly lady who was also in the end-stages of Alzheimer’s
Disease, suddenly cried out, begging some uncle to stop, screaming that he was
hurting her. This particular lady was in her early eighties and it made me
begin to imagine what sort of horrors she must be reliving. That very soon sparked
the idea behind <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Another
conversation which fed into the storyline was one I had with the senior nurse
at the time. He explained that my father (who was by then incontinent) was violently
resisting intervention by the nurses to bath him. That was hardly surprising,
he told me, since my father couldn’t remember who the nurses were from one hour
to the next. To his mind, several burly men were suddenly grabbing him and
forcibly removing his clothes. No wonder he fought back!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
plot for the novel that began to form in my mind needed to predate dementia drugs
or even modern mental health services, and living in Harrogate – essentially a
Victorian town – I decided to set it in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Which
is when I happened to stumble across the Defloration Mania.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
Defloration Mania was a period during the Victorian age when adolescent, mainly
virgin girls were bought, duped, kidnapped, or otherwise procured for rich,
so-called gentlemen to rape. It was a time of soundproofed rooms, illicit sedatives
and straps and the rape was carried out on an almost industrial scale. The
pioneering journalist WT Stead eventually exposed it in 1885 in a series of
shocking articles entitled <i>The Maiden
Tribute of Modern Babylon.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
articles outraged a Victorian public and it outraged me, especially as I
remembered the terror in the old lady’s screams. It was this anger that seemed
to crystallise onto my laptop screen as the manuscript for <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Everything I describe in the
plot, from the horrific baby farming to the Annexe, from the procuresses to the
Gentlemen’s entertainment was real and typical to the Mania.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The most amazing thing about the
period was that despite the 1885 scandal and the riots that Stead’s articles
ignited, virtually no one these days, even in England, has heard of it. The government
of the day hurriedly raised the age of consent for girls from 13 to 16 years
and the whole thing died away – in the public’s consciousness at least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The ongoing scandal over
celebrity child abuse in Britain today demonstrates clearly that outside that
consciousness, it continues even today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-77409628577924396412013-04-25T10:22:00.000-07:002013-04-25T10:22:45.601-07:00Adult – Young Adult: What’s the Difference?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have
written a novel for Young Adults. Well, strictly speaking <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon </i>(May, 2013, Thames River Press), is an
historical crime novel for adults, but it was written to appeal to the next
generation too. <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell
</i>with its emotionally dark and brutal writing is, to my mind, strictly for adults
only.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The body
count in <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon </i>is
over double that of <i>The Eighth Circle of
Hell,</i> the writing much more graphic and the protagonist savage and remorseless.
So why do I consider it suitable material for younger readers? What are the
differences between adult and young adult novels?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well,
this is how I see it:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
theory goes that young adults have a rather limited attention span and are far
too impatient and impulsive to read through an adult length novel of 80,000
words plus. I don’t necessarily believe that, (or rather believe it to be an
over-simplification, as long as the story is engaging.) Most of the Harry
Potter series exceed the suggested 60,000 maximum by some margin and <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon</i> is just over
80,000 words long. I have however deliberately used shorter sentences and
paragraphs to make the writing seem less daunting and easier to comprehend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is
greater freedom in young adult writing for the use of hyperbole. Everything,
from the characterisation, to the narrative voice and the dialogue can be
larger than life since that is how young people see things. The characters can
almost be spoofs of a purely adult offering. Conversely, in a crime or mystery
novel such as <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon</i>,
young adults (reared on a diet of television) need to have the details of the
reveal laid out in more detail than would be required for a seasoned adult
reader. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another suggestion for YA writing is to relax the grammar, thereby creating a more 'youthful' quality to the work. I'm afraid I couldn't quite bring myself to do that; <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon </i>is historical and therefore not wholly suited to relaxed grammar except in idiomatic speech. Besides, it's not really in my nature.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So far as content is concerned, young adults can take a great deal of straightforward violence completely in their stride and even rather glory in it. (Psychological, emotional and especially sexual violence is another matter entirely.) I have duly obliged the former; <i>Red Dragon-White Dragon </i>is a veritable blood fest!</div>
<div class="first-para" style="line-height: 12.6pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-53061690707652504582013-03-13T10:28:00.000-07:002013-03-13T10:38:32.751-07:00Unaccustomed as I am...<br />
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">A
little (ahem) while ago I was honoured to be nominated for a Liebster Award by<span class="apple-converted-space"> Mr </span></span><a href="http://strangerdesigns.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Martin Cosby</a><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">This is
what I have to do<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">List 11 random facts about me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Answer the 11 questions posed by the person who
nominated me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Nominate 11 other people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Come up with 11 new questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">5)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Paste the award logo onto my blog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Here therefore,
are 11 very random facts indeed about me:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I am a qualified horticulturist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I eat raw oats for breakfast every morning and
have done for years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I almost failed my English Literature ‘O’ Level
examination at school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">(</span></span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Like most people I suppose,)
I support Newcastle United Football Club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">5)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I used to play Rugby football as a
wing-threequarter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">6)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I rather enjoy having bonfires.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">7)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">As a small child I was afraid of leaves,
although I don’t mind them in the least now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">8)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’m pretty much immune to cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">9)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I once saw an adder in my parents’ back garden in Gateshead
when I was very little</span></span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">. They didn’t believe me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">10)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I am apparently in Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts
School.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">11)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I would quite like to be an accountant some day.<span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">My 11
nominees<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(and I'm very sorry if
you’ve already been nominated before, or if you are irritated by this nomination,):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://juliebrough.blogspot.co.uk/">Juliet Brough</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://grahamsmithwriter.blogspot.co.uk/">Graham Smith</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://robertmaclean.blogspot.co.uk/">Robert MacLean</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://kswarbrick.blogspot.co.uk/">Kevin Swarbrick</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">5)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://lindastaylor.wordpress.com/">Linda S. Taylor</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">6)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://marycavanagh.co.uk/">Mary Cavanagh</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">7)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://johndolanwriter.blogspot.co.uk/">John Dolan</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">8)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://scifimagpie.blogspot.co.uk/">Michelle Browne</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">9)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://reginapuckettsbooks.weebly.com/blog.html">Regina
Puckett</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">10)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://rebeccasutherland.blogspot.co.uk/">Rebecca
Sutherland</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">11)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="http://deeweaver.blogspot.co.uk/">Dee Weaver</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">1.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you write your first drafts by hand?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">By hand? Goodness me, no. Everything is done on a laptop
computer, from research to planning to drafts. I think I’ve forgotten how to
write by hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">2.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you follow more than 10 blogs?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">At the last count, I follow around 30.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">3.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you play a musical instrument?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I used to play the Trumpet quite seriously in my younger
years. Unfortunately I smashed my lip up playing rugby and that rather put an
end to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">4.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Given the choice, which opera would you attend?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Probably ‘The Magic Flute’ by Mozart. The Queen of the Night
arias are magnificent. Having said that, I’ve always wanted to see Handel’s Rinaldo.
It was a very early ‘English’ baroque opera.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">5.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">e-book or paper book?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Paper book every time. There’s something about the feel and
smell of a book that really can’t be replaced by a screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">6.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you use an electric blanket?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve never used one. I am pretty much immune to cold. It’s
probably something to do with coming from North East England. Apparently
‘Geordies’ and Scots have biologically thicker skins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">7.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you write in cafes?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I have on occasion, but rarely. I find them too distracting
and I get nothing worthwhile done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">8.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Is there a film that has influenced you greatly?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Good question. I’ve enjoyed plenty of films without them
influencing me especially. Books have influenced me much more. I suppose one
film that has had a big influence on me in hindsight is ‘The Lord of the Flies,’
(the 1963 version), which was an adaptation of a novel of course. It brought
home to me just how close we all are to the beast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">9.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you keep a diary?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I’ve quite often started to keep one, especially when I was
younger but it rarely lasted more than a day or two. That reminds me, I must
start to keep a diary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">10.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Which foodstuff do you like the least?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I really, really hate Twiglets. I’ve tried them loads of
times but alas, each time is always as bad as the last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<b><span style="background: white;">11.</span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span style="background: white;">Do you listen to music while you work? If so, what?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I do quite often listen to music whilst I write or research.
Usually it is classical and usually it is baroque – typically Vivaldi or JS
Bach.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">And finally, my questions to my own 11 nominees
are:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">When you start a new piece of writing, do you
prepare a plan first? Be honest now!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">At what time of day or night do you write most effectively?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Have you ever found yourself secretly trying to
use ‘The Force’? (Perhaps to open automatic doors or suchlike.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Which Hogwarts House could you see yourself
being sorted into?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">5)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">What was your favourite subject at school?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">6)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">If you could spend a day as someone else, who
would it be and why? (Please keep it clean, except for John Dolan who has a
disclaimer on his blogsite already.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">7)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Who is your favourite living actor and why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">8)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Which creature are you the most afraid of?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">9)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Whom would you give this year’s Nobel Peace
Prize to, and why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">10)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">What is the first word that comes into your
mind...NOW? Please write it down. (I guess you’ll be okay again, John.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 54pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;">11)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Which part of your body are you most happy
with?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
Thank
you very much indeed.</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-63830839227228614402013-03-06T11:46:00.000-08:002013-03-06T11:46:07.297-08:00The New Paupers and the Rise of the Sub-Human.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They’re just like us!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was an observation commonly made by those coming into
contact with enemy combatants during and after the World Wars.</div>
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We smile wryly at comments such as those and wonder how naive
those generations must have been, but before we do, we must remember this: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like many animals, human beings have deep and instinctive
aversion to killing our fellow kind. To make the ‘necessity’ of doing so in
time of war a little easier, we might begin to think of those on the other side
as being somehow different – perhaps wholly evil. We might think of derogatory
names for our enemy, perhaps based on racial or cultural stereotypes that make
them seem a little less human, a little less like us. It is a regrettable part
of human nature. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even in peacetime the same phenomenon occurs. Those we rail
against for whatever reason, we might regard as different – as somehow inferior
or less noble than ourselves. Racism is an obvious example of that sort of
aberrant thinking. Another is social or socio-economic prejudice, because yes,
it is raw prejudice that we are talking about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the 19<sup>th</sup> Century, the very poor were generally
referred to paupers. Especially after the inauguration of the Poor Law in 1834
they were increasingly regarded as idle, indolent and feckless and indeed
wholly responsible for their own situation. In my recent novel; <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell, </i>a wealthy,
supposed philanthropist makes this observation:</div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“Those
creatures are paupers...from the poor-law workhouse. They have come to clear
that tree for firewood.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“I want you to look hard and pay heed to their misfortune.
Workhouse paupers are the most miserable wretches in Christendom. They are
naturally idle, indolent and feckless.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
He
goes on to describe how attempts are made to drive “the more godlike qualities
of industriousness, abstinence and humility” into them by means of austerity
and forced labour. </div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
Victorian Britain was a
society of great opposites, of the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ and its rapid industrialisation
meant that great swathes of society were regarded as nothing more than resources
to feed the demands of industry. Worse; some of the most vulnerable – young virgin
children became victims of the horrific Defloration Mania, which I have
described in detail in previous blogs.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Modern Britain, by and large, is a society tolerant of
religious and racial diversity. That is exactly as it should be, of course. However
two great prejudices remain: The first is against those with mental health
disorders, the second is against those claiming welfare benefits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Outrageously, it is the government itself that seems to be
stoking the fire of the second of these. It talks in broad terms of ‘shirkers,’
of ‘skivers’ and of ‘scroungers’, making them seem somehow sub-human and
introducing an us-and-them divide. How easy then for them to slash benefits and
throw them into deeper hardship, perhaps in an attempt to drive more godlike
qualities into them maybe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know a great number of people who claim welfare benefits
and almost all of them are strivers – either striving to get off
welfare-dependence or striving against severe emotional and psychological
issues. Guess what; far from being idle, indolent and feckless, they are just
like everyone else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-19716941389804458742013-02-06T02:36:00.000-08:002013-02-06T02:36:44.194-08:00WHAT'S IN A NAME, or, Angst and ‘Andles.<br />
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">They say that an
author and a publisher will never agree on two things: One is the choice of
cover image and the other is the title of a novel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I imagine that is
very often true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">If, like me, you are
a traditionally-published author, this may, (or may not), be the case, but
either way, you will certainly benefit from the editorial, publicity, marketing
and sales experience of the publishing house. If you are self-published, then,
fellow writer, it is all down to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So what makes a good
title for a work of fiction?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">It should link to
some extent to the contents or theme of the book – quite obviously. But more
than that, it should, in conjunction with the cover image, play a major role in
actually selling the book. That is perhaps where a publisher’s experience will
usually trump the author’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Unless your book is
a classic, at the point-of-purchase, where the majority of decisions to buy are
made, your book has a very limited time in which to grab the consumer’s
attention. By limited, I mean a few seconds at most. This is particularly the
case when the consumer is browsing online. Few people will study your title to
analyse how clever it might be so, together with your cover image, it needs to
create an immediate emotional reaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">That reaction can </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">be curiosity or puzzlement,
intrigue, enchantment or even outrage, but in every case the prospective book
buyer should be induced to want to know more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">For example:</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraph" style="text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Childtaker</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">, (Conrad Jones). This is an
exceptionally powerful title, which together with a simple but dreadful image
of an empty playground swing generates strong emotions of anger and outrage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="MsoListParagraph" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 13.5pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Other Boleyn Girl,</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> (Philippa Gregory).</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> This is more curiosity and
intrigue. Most of us know a little about Anne already, but the other one?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Authors
can often be too close to the detail of the plot to see this bigger picture. My
novel <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell </i>had
the working title of <i>Victorian Maiden </i>for
a while. That may have been quite effective for a Nineteenth Century romance,
but a powerful tragedy needed something more direct and forceful, yet
intriguing. Similarly the working title for my second novel, <i>Seven Gifts of Madness </i>was rejected by
Thames River Press in favour of the stronger, <i>Red Dragon – White Dragon.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> For those without the benefit of a publishing
house committee, book stores are also good sounding-boards for potential title–image
combinations. Even more so than the blurb or arguably even the contents, the
title of a book is probably its most important selling tool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-91270355393702015912012-12-16T02:39:00.000-08:002012-12-16T02:39:09.447-08:00A Tragedy on Too Many Levels<div class="MsoNormal">
The appalling news from Connecticut, USA has sent a huge wave
of shock and disbelief around the globe. No fewer than 28 victims died in a gun
attack, 27 of them at Sandy Hook Elementary School and 20 of those, little children
who had barely had chance to live yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course there is necessarily a great deal of speculation
and supposition in these early news reports as people try to comprehend what
might have driven a human being to commit such an atrocity. What could his
motive possibly have been?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t (as part of my own speculation and supposition)
believe there was one as such, in the rational and logical sense of the word
anyway. That is because there have been several (early and anonymous) reports
that the alleged killer, Adam Lanza, had been diagnosed with a personality
disorder. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Personality disorders are psychological disorders of the
mind, often arising from prolonged trauma during childhood and adolescence. The
most commonly diagnosed of these disorders used to be called Borderline
Personality Disorder (BPD). It was called ‘borderline’ not because it is
borderline as to whether or not it is a disorder at all, but because it sits on
the border between being neurological and psychological in nature. In other words, it is partly 'wired' into the brain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We all have an ancient response to perceived danger, commonly
called ‘fight or flee.’ To this day, we will either run from threats, or fight
them. Sometimes we might ‘freeze’ too. In people who are unfortunate enough to
suffer from personality disorders, this response is often exaggerated. They
also have a particular ‘black-and-white’ perception whereby people or events
seem either ‘all good’ or ‘all bad’ – a rather dangerous combination. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what might turn a dangerous combination into a
catastrophic one is the phenomenon of ‘dissociation.’ This is where reality
switches off for a while and the individual drops back into instinctive and
impulsive behaviour, sometimes with high-level thinking and perception. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When they flee, especially if they dissociate, they might
literally run, putting themselves into dangerous or difficult situations. Or
they may run to alcohol or drugs or the pain of self-harm, or they may commit
suicide. When they are dissociated and fight...well, we are just watching on
the news reports what might happen then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is why I noted above that there were 28 victims in
total. Of course that is no comfort to the parents and friends of the dead and
injured, or, of course, to the injured themselves. Theirs is a pain beyond
comprehension. Nor is it an excuse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is not to say that those who have disordered
personalities are likely to be dangerous. They are much more likely to hurt or
kill themselves than others. But there are people with emotionally unstable
personality disorders of the impulsive type, who under certain circumstances
can be very dangerous indeed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unfortunately, mental health service providers around the
world often neglect the treatment of personality disorders. They are seen as
persistent and difficult or expensive to treat despite the fact that they cause
misery for millions. In the UK, many believe that psychiatrists deliberately do
not diagnose personality disorders because that will then lead to the right of
patients to access treatments (Dialectical Behaviour Therapies, or DBT) which
are expensive to provide. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It really is an outrage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In THE EIGHTH CIRCLE OF HELL, the main character
is tormented by personality disorders arising from adolescent sexual abuse. It
happened to hundreds of thousands like her during the Defloration Mania of
Victorian times. But then there was little psychiatry and no DBT.</span>Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-75150074733606275962012-11-20T12:14:00.001-08:002012-11-20T12:14:29.842-08:00Phew, What a Stinker. (A Cautionary Tale)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many years (and a good many pounds) ago, I used to play
rugby-football. In those days, I was quite a sprinter too, even though I say it
myself. However, I must confess that there was a time when my supposed speed
went completely to my head. In fact, in the warm-up before one particular match,
I actually kept running repeatedly into the ground because I absolutely
believed that I was faster than I actually was. How’s that for arrogance?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a novel published last month by Thames River Press. It
is called <i>The Eighth Circle of Hell </i>and,
even though I say it myself, it is quite literary. Under the guidance of the
editors at Thames River Press, I have written something worth reading on a
number of levels.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But... (Yes, you’ve guessed it)...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a second manuscript under submission with the working
title: <i>Seven Gifts of Madness</i>. I had actually
written an early draft of it before <i>The
Eighth Circle of Hell, </i>and agents and editors who had looked at it then had,
in the main, quite liked it although there were certainly issues to be
addressed in the dialogue and plot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I came to revise <i>Seven
Gifts of Madness</i> after having finished <i>The
Eighth Circle of Hell</i>, I brought all my supposed newly-discovered talents
to bear. I embellished it and complicated it, and embellished it again and yes
I admit now, it became an absolute stinker, which in the words of the
publisher’s reader, ‘disappeared up its own fundament.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ouch!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I have to agree. I’m now left with several layers of
pomposity and arrogance to peel away from both my manuscript and also I fear my
good self. Then, suitably chastened, I hope I will have a manuscript worth
publishing again. In retrospect I could have saved both myself and Thames River
Press a lot of time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I recall my old rugby coach saying many years ago: ‘What
a plonker!’ You’re only as good as your current manuscript.</div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3885876511623150791.post-24744959213842451542012-11-13T13:36:00.000-08:002012-11-13T13:36:05.602-08:00It’s Not What I Do, It’s The Way That I Do It.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">It seems that
there is a storm raging in the U.K. once again. It concerns another of our,
‘national treasures,’ and this time it is, 'Dear Old Auntie,' the BBC.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">It appears that
senior news editors within the BBC allowed false accusations of child abuse to be directed at
an innocent, though prominent individual. That followed the non-screening of a
documentary investigating the seemingly real abuse perpetrated by another
prominent show-business personality; Sir Jimmy Savile.</span><span style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">It all
culminated in the resignation of the Director-General of the BBC.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">What however
seems to have been largely forgotten in all of this is the child abuse at the centre of
it all. Boys (in this case) were abused by a person or persons un-named and
their lives debased and destroyed into adulthood. Their tragedies have
been all but obscured by the arguments over the propriety or impropriety of the investigations themselves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">It puts me in
mind of the first great exposure of widespread child abuse in Great Britain; that of
the pioneering journalist WT Stead in the Pall Mall Gazette of July 1885 – the infamous Defloration Mania.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">Stead exposed
the almost industrial-scale trade in adolescent girls who were procured for
rape by 'gentlemen' of the wealthy classes. To demonstrate how easy it was to procure a young
girl, Stead arranged for the purchase of a certain Eliza Armstrong, the thirteen year-old
daughter of a chimney sweep for £5.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">However, as a
result of what were subsequently considered to be illegal investigative methods (where Stead allegedly failed to secure the girl’s father’s permission to take her), he was tried
and convicted of the, ‘unlawful kidnapping of a minor’, and sentenced to three
months in prison.<span class="apple-converted-space"> Never mind that he had
uncovered perhaps the greatest scandal in recent British history and forced the
government of the day to change the law by raising the age of consent for girls from 13 to 16
years.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">Thereafter,
every November 10<sup>th</sup>, (the anniversary of his conviction), Stead
would dress in his prison uniform as a reminder of his, ‘triumph.’ He at least
could keep a sense of proportion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FFF9EE; color: #222222;">In my
recently published novel, THE EIGHTH CIRCLE OF HELL, I show through the
experiences of a single victim how a misplaced sense of propriety can keep
horrific abuse almost entirely hidden from view. No one of course should be wrongly accused, but
celebrity or not, national treasure or not, those guilty of perpetrating abuse should be dragged fearlessly into the glare of investigation.</span></div>
Gary Dolmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14931387795720795649noreply@blogger.com0