Chapter CXIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　At the beginning of the last week in August Philip entered upon his dutiesin the `district.' They were arduous, for he had to attend on an averagethree confinements a day. The patient had obtained a `card' from thehospital some time before; and when her time came it was taken to theporter by a messenger, generally a little girl, who was then sent acrossthe road to the house in which Philip lodged. At night the porter, who hada latch-key, himself came over and awoke Philip. It was mysterious then toget up in the darkness and walk through the deserted streets of the SouthSide. At those hours it was generally the husband who brought the card. Ifthere had been a number of babies before he took it for the most part withsurly indifference, but if newly married he was nervous and then sometimesstrove to allay his anxiety by getting drunk. Often there was a mile ormore to walk, during which Philip and the messenger discussed theconditions of labour and the cost of living; Philip learnt about thevarious trades which were practised on that side of the river. He inspiredconfidence in the people among whom he was thrown, and during the longhours that he waited in a stuffy room, the woman in labour lying on alarge bed that took up half of it, her mother and the midwife talked tohim as naturally as they talked to one another. The circumstances in whichhe had lived during the last two years had taught him several things aboutthe life of the very poor, which it amused them to find he knew; and theywere impressed because he was not deceived by their little subterfuges. Hewas kind, and he had gentle hands, and he did not lose his temper. Theywere pleased because he was not above drinking a cup of tea with them, andwhen the dawn came and they were still waiting they offered him a slice ofbread and dripping; he was not squeamish and could eat most things nowwith a good appetite. Some of the houses he went to, in filthy courts offa dingy street, huddled against one another without light or air, weremerely squalid; but others, unexpectedly, though dilapidated, withworm-eaten floors and leaking roofs, had the grand air: you found in themoak balusters exquisitely carved, and the walls had still their panelling.These were thickly inhabited. One family lived in each room, and in thedaytime there was the incessant noise of children playing in the court.The old walls were the breeding-place of vermin; the air was so foul thatoften, feeling sick, Philip had to light his pipe. The people who dwelthere lived from hand to mouth. Babies were unwelcome, the man receivedthem with surly anger, the mother with despair; it was one more mouth tofeed, and there was little enough wherewith to feed those already there.Philip often discerned the wish that the child might be born dead or mightdie quickly. He delivered one woman of twins (a source of humour to thefacetious) and when she was told she burst into a long, shrill wail ofmisery. Her mother said outright:"I don't know how they're going to feed 'em.""Maybe the Lord'll see fit to take 'em to 'imself," said the midwife.Philip caught sight of the husband's face as he looked at the tiny pairlying side by side, and there was a ferocious sullenness in it whichstartled him. He felt in the family assembled there a hideous resentmentagainst those poor atoms who had come into the world unwished for; and hehad a suspicion that if he did not speak firmly an `accident' would occur.Accidents occurred often; mothers `overlay' their babies, and perhapserrors of diet were not always the result of carelessness."I shall come every day," he said. "I warn you that if anything happens tothem there'll have to be an inquest."The father made no reply, but he gave Philip a scowl. There was murder inhis soul."Bless their little 'earts," said the grandmother, "what should 'appen tothem?"The great difficulty was to keep the mothers in bed for ten days, whichwas the minimum upon which the hospital practice insisted. It was awkwardto look after the family, no one would see to the children withoutpayment, and the husband tumbled because his tea was not right when hecame home tired from his work and hungry. Philip had heard that the poorhelped one another, but woman after woman complained to him that she couldnot get anyone in to clean up and see to the children's dinner withoutpaying for the service, and she could not afford to pay. By listening tothe women as they talked and by chance remarks from which he could deducemuch that was left unsaid, Philip learned how little there was in commonbetween the poor and the classes above them. They did not envy theirbetters, for the life was too different, and they had an ideal of easewhich made the existence of the middle-classes seem formal and stiff;moreover, they had a certain contempt for them because they were soft anddid not work with their hands. The proud merely wished to be left alone,but the majority looked upon the well-to-do as people to be exploited;they knew what to say in order to get such advantages as the charitableput at their disposal, and they accepted benefits as a right which came tothem from the folly of their superiors and their own astuteness. They borethe curate with contemptuous indifference, but the district visitorexcited their bitter hatred. She came in and opened your windows withoutso much as a by your leave or with your leave, `and me with my bronchitis,enough to give me my death of cold;' she poked her nose into corners, andif she didn't say the place was dirty you saw what she thought rightenough, `an' it's all very well for them as 'as servants, but I'd like tosee what she'd make of 'er room if she 'ad four children, and 'ad to dothe cookin', and mend their clothes, and wash them.'Philip discovered that the greatest tragedy of life to these people wasnot separation or death, that was natural and the grief of it could beassuaged with tears, but loss of work. He saw a man come home oneafternoon, three days after his wife's confinement, and tell her he hadbeen dismissed; he was a builder and at that time work was slack; hestated the fact, and sat down to his tea."Oh, Jim," she said.The man ate stolidly some mess which had been stewing in a sauce-panagainst his coming; he stared at his plate; his wife looked at him two orthree times, with little startled glances, and then quite silently beganto cry. The builder was an uncouth little fellow with a rough,weather-beaten face and a long white scar on his forehead; he had large,stubbly hands. Presently he pushed aside his plate as if he must give upthe effort to force himself to eat, and turned a fixed gaze out of thewindow. The room was at the top of the house, at the back, and one sawnothing but sullen clouds. The silence seemed heavy with despair. Philipfelt that there was nothing to be said, he could only go; and as he walkedaway wearily, for he had been up most of the night, his heart was filledwith rage against the cruelty of the world. He knew the hopelessness ofthe search for work and the desolation which is harder to bear thanhunger. He was thankful not to have to believe in God, for then such acondition of things would be intolerable; one could reconcile oneself toexistence only because it was meaningless.It seemed to Philip that the people who spent their time in helping thepoorer classes erred because they sought to remedy things which wouldharass them if themselves had to endure them without thinking that theydid not in the least disturb those who were used to them. The poor did notwant large airy rooms; they suffered from cold, for their food was notnourishing and their circulation bad; space gave them a feeling ofchilliness, and they wanted to burn as little coal as need be; there wasno hardship for several to sleep in one room, they preferred it; they werenever alone for a moment, from the time they were born to the time theydied, and loneliness oppressed them; they enjoyed the promiscuity in whichthey dwelt, and the constant noise of their surroundings pressed upontheir ears unnoticed. They did not feel the need of taking a bathconstantly, and Philip often heard them speak with indignation of thenecessity to do so with which they were faced on entering the hospital: itwas both an affront and a discomfort. They wanted chiefly to be leftalone; then if the man was in regular work life went easily and was notwithout its pleasures: there was plenty of time for gossip, after theday's work a glass of beer was very good to drink, the streets were aconstant source of entertainment, if you wanted to read there wasReynolds' or The News of the World; `but there, you couldn't make out'ow the time did fly, the truth was and that's a fact, you was a rare onefor reading when you was a girl, but what with one thing and another youdidn't get no time now not even to read the paper.'The usual practice was to pay three visits after a confinement, and oneSunday Philip went to see a patient at the dinner hour. She was up for thefirst time."I couldn't stay in bed no longer, I really couldn't. I'm not one foridling, and it gives me the fidgets to be there and do nothing all daylong, so I said to 'Erb, I'm just going to get up and cook your dinner foryou."'Erb was sitting at table with his knife and fork already in his hands. Hewas a young man, with an open face and blue eyes. He was earning goodmoney, and as things went the couple were in easy circumstances. They hadonly been married a few months, and were both delighted with the rosy boywho lay in the cradle at the foot of the bed. There was a savoury smell ofbeefsteak in the room and Philip's eyes turned to the range."I was just going to dish up this minute," said the woman."Fire away," said Philip. "I'll just have a look at the son and heir andthen I'll take myself off."Husband and wife laughed at Philip's expression, and 'Erb getting up wentover with Philip to the cradle. He looked at his baby proudly."There doesn't seem much wrong with him, does there?" said Philip.He took up his hat, and by this time 'Erb's wife had dished up thebeefsteak and put on the table a plate of green peas."You're going to have a nice dinner," smiled Philip."He's only in of a Sunday and I like to 'ave something special for him, soas he shall miss his 'ome when he's out at work.""I suppose you'd be above sittin' down and 'avin' a bit of dinner withus?" said 'Erb."Oh, 'Erb," said his wife, in a shocked tone."Not if you ask me," answered Philip, with his attractive smile."Well, that's what I call friendly, I knew 'e wouldn't take offence,Polly. Just get another plate, my girl."Polly was flustered, and she thought 'Erb a regular caution, you neverknew what ideas 'e'd get in 'is 'ead next; but she got a plate and wipedit quickly with her apron, then took a new knife and fork from the chestof drawers, where her best cutlery rested among her best clothes. Therewas a jug of stout on the table, and 'Erb poured Philip out a glass. Hewanted to give him the lion's share of the beefsteak, but Philip insistedthat they should share alike. It was a sunny room with two windows thatreached to the floor; it had been the parlour of a house which at one timewas if not fashionable at least respectable: it might have been inhabitedfifty years before by a well-to-do tradesman or an officer on half pay.'Erb had been a football player before he married, and there werephotographs on the wall of various teams in self-conscious attitudes, withneatly plastered hair, the captain seated proudly in the middle holding acup. There were other signs of prosperity: photographs of the relations of'Erb and his wife in Sunday clothes; on the chimney-piece an elaboratearrangement of shells stuck on a miniature rock; and on each side mugs, `Apresent from Southend' in Gothic letters, with pictures of a pier and aparade on them. 'Erb was something of a character; he was a non-union manand expressed himself with indignation at the efforts of the union toforce him to join. The union wasn't no good to him, he never found nodifficulty in getting work, and there was good wages for anyone as 'ad ahead on his shoulders and wasn't above puttin' 'is 'and to anything ascome 'is way. Polly was timorous. If she was 'im she'd join the union, thelast time there was a strike she was expectin' 'im to be brought back inan ambulance every time he went out. She turned to Philip."He's that obstinate, there's no doing anything with 'im.""Well, what I say is, it's a free country, and I won't be dictated to.""It's no good saying it's a free country," said Polly, "that won't prevent'em bashin' your 'ead in if they get the chanst."When they had finished Philip passed his pouch over to 'Erb and they littheir pipes; then he got up, for a `call' might be waiting for him at hisrooms, and shook hands. He saw that it had given them pleasure that heshared their meal, and they saw that he had thoroughly enjoyed it."Well, good-bye, sir," said 'Erb, "and I 'ope we shall 'ave as nice adoctor next time the missus disgraces 'erself.""Go on with you, 'Erb," she retorted." 'Ow d'you know there's going to bea next time?"