Learn more about the London locations
Dickens wrote about
Dickens' genius was thrust upon the
world stage at a time of intense change in London and probably none more
dramatic than that of the coming of the railroad. This change can be seen
in the progress of Dickens' novels.
The quaint coaching inns of Pickwick Papers
gave way, in later novels, to reports of railway travel, particularly in
Dombey and Son (serialized Oct 1846 to
April 1848) where the intrusion of the railroad, and its effects on the
city, are described in some detail.
Starting in the late 1830s, competing railway companies burrowed into London
as far as possible, displacing the poor, and then building a terminus. The
result was a ring of railway stations such as London Bridge Station (1836),
Euston Station (1837), and Paddington Station (1838) with no central connection.
This increased congestion in the city, as connections had to be made by
coach.
Railway Stations were considered "Modern Day Cathedrals" and contained elegant
hotels. As railway travel became more affordable, and traffic increased,
cheaper and seedier hotels grew up around the stations and the elegant hotels
lost business.
Dickens lamented the changes wrought by the railroads but, like most Victorians,
accepted the change as a necessity in his travels. His faith in the railways
was severely shaken when he was involved in a serious
accident at Staplehurst in 1865.
Throughout his work Dickens relishes
in the description of food and drink in such a way as to make the most meager
meal seem a feast. From Pip and Joe comparing slices of bread in Great
Expectations to the Ghost of Christmas Present's magnificent spread,
Dickens celebrates the culinary delights of his day. There is much roast
fowl and joint of mutton, plum pudding and boiled beef.
Drinking is ubiquitous in Dickens. From the peasants in Paris soaking up
the spilled wine in the street in A Tale of Two Cities
to Mr. Micawber's famous punch, everyone seems to have a drink in their
hand. This partly reflects the fact that, in Dickens' London, alcohol was
safer to drink than the water.
Dickens, by all indications, was a moderate drinker himself. While diligently
pointing out the evils of overindulgence, he also had no patience with the
Temperance
Movement, which he lampooned in Pickwick Papers.
Indeed Dickens had a falling out with his friend and illustrator George
Cruikshank when Cruikshank, formerly a heavy drinker, became a zealous
supporter of abstinence.
In reply to a letter from an irate advocate of abstinence in 1847 Dickens
answered:
"I have no doubt whatever that the warm stuff in the jug at Bob Cratchit's Christmas dinner, had a very pleasant effect on the simple party. I am certain that if I had been at Mr. Fezziwig's ball, I should have taken a little negus -- and possibly not a little beer -- and been none the worse for it, in heart or head. I am very sure that the working people of this country have not too many household enjoyments, and I could not, in my fancy or in actual deed, deprive them of this one when it is so innocently shared."
Dickens applied his unique power
of observation to the city in which he spent most of his life. He
routinely walked the city streets, 10 or 20 miles at a time, and his
descriptions of nineteenth century London allow readers to experience
the sights, sounds, and smells of the old city. This ability to immerse
the reader into time and place sets the perfect stage for Dickens
to weave his fiction.
Victorian London was the largest, most spectacular city in the world.
While Britain was experiencing the Industrial Revolution, its capital
was both reaping the benefits and suffering the consequences. In 1800
the population of London was around a million souls. That number would
swell to 4.5 million by 1880. While fashionable areas like Regent
and Oxford streets
were growing in the west, new docks supporting the city's place as
the world's trade center were being built in the east. Perhaps the
biggest impact on the growth of London was the coming of the railroad
in the 1830s which displaced thousands and accelerated the expansion
of the city.
The price of this explosive growth and domination of world trade was untold squalor
and filth. In his excellent biography, Dickens, Peter
Ackroyd notes that "If a late twentieth-century
person were suddenly to find himself in a tavern or house of the period,
he would be literally sick - sick with the smells, sick with the food,
sick with the atmosphere around him".
Imagine yourself in the London of the early 19th century. The homes
of the upper and middle class exist in close proximity to areas of
unbelievable poverty and filth. Rich and poor alike are thrown together
in the crowded city streets. Street sweepers attempt to keep the streets
clean of manure, the result of thousands of horse-drawn vehicles.
The
city's thousands of chimney pots are belching coal smoke, resulting
in soot which seems to settle everywhere. In many parts of the city
raw sewage flows in gutters that empty into the Thames. Street vendors
hawking their wares add to the cacophony of street noises. Pick-pockets,
prostitutes, drunks, beggars, and vagabonds of every description add
to the colorful multitude.
Personal cleanliness is not a big priority, nor is clean laundry.
In close, crowded rooms the smell of unwashed bodies is stifling.
It is unbearably hot by the fire, numbingly cold away from it.
At night the major streets are lit with feeble gas lamps. Side and
secondary streets may not be lit at all and link bearers are hired
to guide the traveler to his destination. Inside, a candle or oil
lamp struggles against the darkness and blacken the ceilings.
In Little Dorrit Dickens describes
a London rain storm:
In the country, the rain would have developed
a thousand fresh scents, and every drop would have had its bright
association with some beautiful form of growth or life. In the city,
it developed only foul stale smells, and was a sickly, lukewarm, dirt-
stained, wretched addition to the gutters.
Sanitation
and Disease Until the second half of the 19th
century London residents were still drinking water from the very same
portions of the Thames that the open sewers were discharging into.
Several
outbreaks of Cholera in the mid 19th century, along with The Great
Stink of 1858, when the stench of the Thames caused Parliament to
recess, brought a cry for action. The link between drinking water
tainted with sewage and the incidence of disease slowly dawned on
the Victorians. Dr
John Snow proved that all victims in a Soho area cholera outbreak
drew water from the same Broad
Street pump.
Sir
Joseph Bazalgette, chief engineer of the new Metropolitan Board
of Works (1855), put into effect a plan, completed in 1875, which
finally provided adequate sewers to serve the city. In addition, laws
were put in effect which prevented companies supplying drinking water
from drawing water from the most heavily tainted parts of the Thames
and required them to provide some type of filtration.
In the Streets After the Stage Carriages Act of
1832 the hackney cab was gradually replaced by the omnibus as a means
of moving about the city. By 1900 3000 horse-drawn buses were carrying
500 million passengers a year. A traffic count in Cheapside
and London Bridge
in 1850 showed a thousand vehicles an hour passing through these areas
during the day. All of this added up to an incredible amount of manure
which had to be removed from the streets. In wet weather straw was
scattered in walkways, storefronts, and in carriages to try to soak
up the mud and wet.
Cattle were driven through the streets until the mid 19th century.
In an article for Household
Words in March 1851 Dickens, with characteristic sarcasm,
describes the environmental impact of having live cattle markets and
slaughterhouses in the city:
What was it like to ride in a London
Omnibus during Dickens' time? Read this hilarious short sketch,
Omnibuses, written by Dickens for
the Morning
Chronicle on September 26, 1834. It was later included
in Sketches by Boz.
"In half a quarter of a mile`s length of Whitechapel, at one
time, there shall be six hundred newly slaughtered oxen hanging up,
and seven hundred sheep but, the more the merrier proof of prosperity.
Hard by Snow Hill and Warwick Lane, you shall see the little children,
inured to sights of brutality from their birth, trotting along the
alleys, mingled with troops of horribly busy pigs, up to their ankles
in blood but it makes the young rascals hardy. Into the imperfect
sewers of this overgrown city, you shall have the immense mass of
corruption, engendered by these practices, lazily thrown out of sight,
to rise, in poisonous gases, into your house at night, when your sleeping
children will most readily absorb them, and to find its languid way,
at last, into the river that you drink".
It was market-morning. The ground was covered,
nearly ankle-deep, with filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually
rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle, and mingling with the
fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, hung heavily above.
All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as many temporary
pens as could be crowded into the vacant space, were filled with sheep;
tied up to posts by the gutter side were long
lines of beasts and oxen, three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers,
drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds of every low
grade, were mingled together in a mass; the whistling of drovers,
the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleating
of sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers,
the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells
and roar of voices, that issued from every public-house; the crowding,
pushing, driving, beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and discordant
dim that resounded from every corner of the market; and the unwashed,
unshaven, squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and fro,
and bursting in and out of the throng; rendered it a stunning and
bewildering scene, which quite confounded the senses.
The Smithfield live-cattle market was finally moved out of the city
to slaughterhouses in Islington in 1855.
The Law The Metropolitan Police, London's first police force, was created by Home Secretary Sir Robert Peel
(hence the name Peelers and, eventually, Bobbies) in 1829 with headquarters in what would become known
as Scotland Yard. The old London watch system, in effect since Elizabethan times, was eventually abolished.
The Poor The Victorian answer to dealing with
the poor and indigent was the New Poor Law, enacted in 1834. Previously
it had been the burden of the parishes to take care of the poor.
The new law required parishes to band together and create regional
workhouses where aid could be applied for. The workhouse was little
more than a prison for the poor. Civil liberties were denied, families
were separated, and human dignity was destroyed. The true poor often
went to great lengths to avoid this relief.
Dickens, because of the childhood trauma caused by his father's imprisonment
for debt and his consignment to the blacking
factory to help support his family, was a true champion to the
poor. He repeatedly pointed out the atrocities of the system through
his novels.
With the turn of the century and Queen Victoria's death in 1901 the
Victorian period came to a close. Many of the ills of the 19th century
were remedied through education, technology and social reform... and
by the social consciousness raised by the immensely popular novels
of Dickens.
Hold
That Pose!
Ever wonder why the subjects of all those portraits taken in the early days of photography sport such grim expressions? It had more to do with the limits of the technology than of the somber nature of the subject. Smiles are more spontaneous, and harder to hold naturally for the long exposure times required by the photographic equipment of the day.