The 1870s The Victorian Slum

150 years ago,

Victorian Britain became the world's first industrial superpower and as

the country thrived, London, the beating heart of empire,

became the world's richest city.

But this was a city divided.

For the first time,

geographical lines were drawn between those enjoying

the nation's wealth in the west...

..and those who weren't, in the east.

This is the story of one poor community living in London's East End.

In the heart of modern Stratford,

a Victorian slum has been recreated,

and a group of 21st-century people are moving in.

Oh!

Absolutely awful.

I'm just a bit dumbstruck.

To survive,

they'll have to work to keep a roof over their heads...

It's absolutely shattering.

..and put food on the table.

I'm starving. This is all making me a bit emotional, to be honest.

And they'll learn first-hand what life was like...

You will call me ma'am.

..for those at the bottom of the social pile.

If they were disabled, they couldn't do it, they didn't eat.

They didn't eat, they died.

They'll live through five decades of turbulent history...

Look at the newspaper!

..and seismic social change.

I am proud to be an East End suffragette.

Power to the people.

This is the story of how a quarter of a million slum dwellers

in the East End changed our attitude to poverty forever.

Yes!

This is The Slum.

-Last time...

-Oh.

It looks like a dungeon.

The residents experienced the 1860s.

-Bleak,

-isn't it? Yes.

Very bleak.

And Victorian living conditions...

That is... It's disgusting.

..proved almost too much to bear.

How many people have to live like this all their lives?

We're going to do all the caps first and then we'll start working on the

-trousers.

-They joined the East End workforce...

Yes, boss.

..and endured relentless and backbreaking labour.

I've got to stand up, I'm sorry.

Learning to live on credit, just to make ends meet.

I don't want to get into too much debt.

So it's making me a bit emotional, to be honest.

For some, it was precarious, but possible.

Yes!

Rent's paid.

While others struggled...

We were looking for £8.16 today.

-..to pay their way.

-I can pay £2.

£2?

It's just really grinding me down now.

I couldn't imagine living like this forever.

It's unliveable.

Rock, paper, scissors.

Yes!

Kids, back up now.

It's the second week and the slum dwellers have moved into a new decade, the 1870s.

Ah! That's nice.

That is nice.

-Morning, Mr Bird.

-Morning, how are you today?

-All right, how you doing?

-Good.

After a week of hunger, dosshouse keeper Andy...

Oh, what have we got here?

-Eggs!

-..is taking advantage of some free food.

Thank you, fellas.

Oh, sorry, ladies!

Breakfast, lunch, dinner,

which means that today's food will cost me the sum total

of one slice of bread.

Yeah, today's a good day.

In the 1860s, Britain was still

riding high on the Industrial Revolution.

But by the 1870s, things were changing.

Abroad, the Americans and the Germans were competing in markets

we had once dominated, like iron, steel and coal.

At home, new and better enforced

factory regulations meant the manufacturers

were sending out more work than ever to the cheaper labour of the slums.

Tailoring family the Howarths,

paid for their two rooms in the 1860s by working in the rag trade,

repairing and re-purposing old clothes.

So what you think's going to happen next in the 1870s?

It'll be ever so slightly more machinery.

Instead of hand stitching everything,

you might get a little sewing machine.

If you're lucky. In the 1860s,

it was quite liberating to make stuff and repair stuff just with

the sewing skills that I've got.

But by machine, we can maybe make more money doing more work quicker.

It'll be really nice, having a sewing machine.

-That will speed it up, no?

-About five times.

-Five times?

-Yeah.

By the 1870s, East End tailors were moving into mass production.

Alongside the small-scale recycling of the rag trade,

rags were being processed on an industrial scale.

Mashed in machines to create a cheap material called shoddy.

-OK, what have we got?

-'It was sent from factories in batches to tailors

'like Russell to be made into clothing for the poor.

'The Howarths have received a typical order for a family of four

'workers. 12 pairs of trousers and 50 shirt collars.'

So, how do you do these collars? Do you just, like, sew them...

'The fabric would have arrived pre-cut, to be stitched together and returned.'

Whoever cut these out, cut them with a knife and fork.

'People like Russell were known as sweated tailors,

'as they'd have to work at breakneck speed to keep up

'with their employer's demands.'

The last time we were working for ourselves which was lovely,

cos you could do what you wanted to do when you wanted to do it,

decide what you wanted. This time around, that's not the case.

But that's life, that's what you have to do.

We've got some work, that's better than not having anything to do at all.

The money they earn and spend is based on Victorian wages and prices,

converted to their modern equivalents.

Paid per completed garments, it's in their interest to finish fast.

The key to our success is going as

fast as we can and making as many as we can.

'At 77p each, they need to make at least 23 pairs of trousers to pay their rent.'

-We're making ten a day, we'll try and do more.

-We will do more.

Families like the Howarths would at least have had new technology on their side.

APPLAUSE

-So, when you put it in...

-Yeah, you've got to push it that way.

-Push it down.

-Yeah.

-You just go...

I've used an electric machine,

but I've always wanted to use one of these machines,

so I've done some research on them. So that's how I know how to use it.

It feels so good to use one finally.

A domestic sewing machine would have

cost the equivalent of five months rent in the slums.

So companies like Singer also offered them for hire purchase.

Tailors like Russell would have paid fees equivalent to £13 a week,

almost 2/3 of what they have to pay for their rooms.

It's a big expense,

but worth the risk for the potential increase in productivity.

-How's it going, Russ?

-Getting there.

-Yeah?

-Getting used to this machine.

That one took quite a long time and I made a lot of mistakes,

but gradually got there in the end. First pair done.

Yay!

Now I'm getting the others more involved,

they can all do little jobs and hopefully,

we'll streamline it a little bit.

Then we'll get quicker and quicker, hopefully.

It's not just the Howarths moving into mass production.

-Hello.

-Hello, good morning.

Morning.

In the 1870s, factories faced increased competition

and farmed out more work than ever to the cheaper labour in the slums.

There was more work, but also lower wages, so you had to work harder.

Churning out quantity was the only way to make piecework pay.

People often worked together, forming mini production lines.

Last week, Graham injured his back.

Still unable to work,

the Potters have joined forces with single mum Shazeda and her children,

Sadie and Saudi.

The families have an order for 1,440 artificial flowers.

-I think we'll do it.

-I think it's doable.

-Yeah, I think it's doable.

-It's all about teamwork.

They'll have to split the £23 they'll earn between them.

It won't be enough to cover their weekly costs.

What are you thinking, Shaz? Are you thinking of making one up and seeing

-what it looks like?

-Yeah. But this glue apparently needs heating up.

We need glue, actually.

Yeah, the tools have to be heated up to use as well.

We can't do anything until we've got a fire.

In the 1870s, artificial flowers were a common fashion accessory.

Like today, where much clothing is produced using cheap labour abroad,

the Victorian ladies who wore flowers on the hats and dresses

most likely had no idea where or how they were made.

We are making something that is pretty,

which we haven't got in our room, so it just brightens up the room...

..and that's amazing.

They look good?

Yeah, that's good enough. It'll pass quality control, hopefully.

It's really nice working as a team and it's nice to be able to talk to

other people and to encourage each other, motivate each other.

Rather than sit in a room, on my own, with the children.

-Nice, isn't it? Look.

-I think they're beautiful, yeah, I do.

I think they're lovely.

If I had to make flowers, if I was in Victorian times,

I'd do different things every day.

So, like, one day, I do the petals and the other day I'd probably make it.

Cos just dampening the petals all day is really boring.

Children like Olivia and Heather Potter would have been

an integral part of the East End workforce.

The idea that childhood is a time when you should be cherished and

indulged is a relatively modern one.

If you were a Victorian child living in a slum,

then your money was badly needed.

By the 1870s,

there were regulations to protect children from the harsh conditions

and beatings often meted out by overseers in factories.

They were banned from employing anyone under eight and older

children could only work half days.

But the rules didn't apply to work done at home.

Parents often had no choice but to put their children to work for up to

80 hours a week.

It's a big adjustment for 21st-century kids like Heather.

If I was at home, I'd probably be sat down watching YouTube on my TV,

on my big massive TV in the front room.

But we don't have that.

Usually, it's Mum that makes the tea, it's Mum that gets us drinks,

it's Mum that looks after us.

So it's just, like,

from doing absolutely nothing to doing absolutely everything.

The children are struggling, because

in our times, children don't work.

Children don't work,

so we set our children a task to do that a Victorian child would sit

from 8am in the morning until 8pm at night,

our children, they're bored after half an hour.

And then they're getting under your feet, so,

to be fair, we've not really got the help of the children for much of the

time, so it's a tall order.

It all got done a little bit early,

so we can get some more work as well. Another order.

Really hard by candlelight.

-What do you need?

-I can't see, I can't see. It's too dark now.

It's late. While Shazeda leaves to put her children to bed,

the Potters are keeping up production.

We want to succeed. We don't want to fail, because we can't make enough flowers.

It means working, it means working hard.

And we are prepared to do that.

We've always worked hard throughout our lives and this is no exception.

It's almost hot. Almost.

The Howarths are up early and already hard at work.

It is relentless. Very, very hot. Very, very sweaty.

So the word sweatshop is now coming to fruition, I now get it.

But we have to get it done.

-Get one of those...

-So to are the Potters.

We've got 400 roses to make today,

so we need to get on with it, really.

To complete their bulk flower order, they need all hands on deck.

But Shazeda and the twins have yet to appear.

Here you go, Saudi. Get up.

Yay, breakfast.

Come on, then, get up.

This is all we eat.

Bread. Just bread.

You know, seriously, a single mum in a slum would have had to work hard.

-Harder than us.

-Yeah.

-Because she's the only one earning the money.

-Yeah.

-The kids would have to work hard.

-Yeah.

-That's the only way

-they're going to get money, isn't it, to work?

-Yeah.

-There's no other

-way that we can get money.

-Yeah.

So it makes no difference whether you're single, a single mum,

or five people.

You've got to work. That's what you've got to do.

-Morning.

-Oh, I can't find my shawl.

Dad! You're sitting on the bloody thing.

-How's it going?

-Yeah, all right.

These have come on nicely, haven't they?

Yeah. Where are the kids at the minute?

-Are the kids...?

-Oh, they're in their room.

Oh, right.

Although the economy had been slowing for some time, in 1873

there was a global financial crisis.

Foreign investment dried up, growth halved and unemployment soared.

The effects of what would come to be known as the Long Depression would

be felt for more than 20 years.

This truly was the end of Britain's Industrial Golden Age.

In the East End, this economic downturn would have had a direct

impact on shopkeepers, like the Birds. Morning!

Essentially, we are in a period of recession, depression, deflation.

Your customers are now poorer, wages are coming down,

people can no longer afford what they did before.

So as they've become poorer, you become poorer.

And at the same time,

what's happening is the cost of imported goods is also coming down,

which means your prices are going to have to come down by about 30%.

-And the rents?

-The rent is going to stay pretty much the same.

Landlords are not generous in this age.

So if they can maintain it, they will maintain it.

So, essentially, you're going to be living in straitened times.

30% reduction in prices is a big bombshell.

In the 1860s, they only just managed to pay their rent.

Now they'll need to sell a third more stock to earn the same amount.

Bread... That's now 97p.

-Uh?

-Mmm.

I was thinking, well, 1870s, let's see what that brings.

You have an idea in your head that as time moves on, things improve.

That's clearly not the case.

-Margarine?

-Was £2.72, it's now £2.09.

I think what's harder is that we won't have the luxury of extending

tick, at least as much as we have been.

You know, we do need to look after ourselves now.

I don't know how we can do this.

Not good, is it?

As bad as things were, the economic crisis didn't deter people from

flooding into Britain's cities.

During the 1870s, the population of London grew by over 800,000.

The largest group of immigrants arriving into British cities were

the Irish.

Common lodging house.

Here we go.

Siblings John and Maria Barker are from rural Cork.

Excuse me. We're just looking for a place to stay, to spend the night.

Oh, right. You'll need to speak to Andy.

If you just want to wait here, I'll see if I can find him for you.

-Yeah, thank you.

-OK.

-Thanks a mill.

At home in Ireland, 23-year-old John works in a cafe.

My ancestors went to London,

they had nothing, they started with nothing.

They experienced the slum conditions,

and it's something that I want to go back and see and find out how

difficult it was for them.

His sister, 21-year-old Maria works in a clothes shop.

I want to know what the Irish people went through, how they survived,

what was their motivation to, you know, get them through their days

all the time? What did they live off? How did they live?

It's the difficulties and the hardships that make you who you are

and the slum is going to be that challenge.

In the mid-19th century,

a succession of potato famines decimated the Irish rural economy

and failed harvests continued into the 1870s.

People fled to Liverpool, Manchester, London,

cities with established Irish communities, in search of work.

By the 1870s, the Irish were Britain's

largest immigrant population, with 91,000 in London alone.

But like many immigrants today, they faced hardship and hostility.

They were accused of taking jobs,

treated appallingly and even depicted as the missing link

between humans and chimpanzees.

In you come.

Most of them didn't find the better life they were hoping for.

A little bit of a shock for you?

-You're joking.

-Just little bit.

Their first port of call would have been a common lodging house.

OK, well, there's two options in here. These are called coffin beds.

-Mm-hm.

-OK?

They'll cost you four old pence for one night.

Four old pence? Yeah?

Each. Or you have what's called the hangover bench.

If you're very clever, you would sleep...

You're having a laugh. This isn't a right, is it?

No, this is the common boarding house.

I presume you've come over and you've got some money at the moment?

No, we have no money.

You have nothing? So you don't even

have the money to be able to afford...

-The bed.

-..to sleep in the dosshouse?

-We have nothing.

Many immigrants spent everything they had travelling to the cities.

Right now, John and Maria can't even afford the hangover bench,

so their first priority is finding work.

Graham Potter's bad back means he's been unable to do manual labour for

over a week.

I feel like a right idiot making flowers.

It's women's work. I should be out working,

earning decent money to be able to put food on the table.

It's embarrassing...

..and degrading.

Graham is like the hunter provider, and always has been,

looked after me and the children and gets very frustrated and very angry

with himself if he can't do that.

-Right?

-Right, I'll see what I can get.

I need to get out and start earning.

What we're doing at the moment, making flowers,

is not going to bring in enough money to pay the rent or go anywhere

near it. See you later, then.

See you later!

So, yeah, I'm forcing my body, really,

to be doing something that in my normal life, I wouldn't be doing.

As the depression deepened,

the industry on which the East End workforce depended, suffered.

Across the country by the middle of the decade,

a million people were out of work.

Which means increased competition for the few jobs there were.

John and Graham are trying their luck at the building and timber yards of the East End.

-Got any work today?

-No, we haven't, at the moment, no.

-We'll do anything.

-No, we haven't got...

-Nothing at all?

-Nothing at all.

-OK, thanks.

-Thanks very much.

-Thanks for your help.

Wood was ubiquitous in Victorian times.

Used for everything from furniture

to paving and timber yards were a good bet for casual work.

This one's been in business in Bethnal Green for generations.

Hey, there.

-Got any work today?

-It's very hard work.

-Is it?

-Very heavy work.

-Yeah, I could do it.

-I don't know if you'll be up to it.

The young fellow, I can take him. It's too heavy for you.

-Oh, OK. All right.

-OK. Sorry, pal.

-All right.

-All right.

I think even in the 21st century, it's exactly the same.

People are looked over for a job because of their age.

It's wrong, there's laws in place now to stop it, but it's still done,

because somebody is of their age,

they'll be looked over for a younger person.

It feels absolutely horrific that

they could do it just because of that.

-Terrible.

-Whoops!

-Toes, sorry!

-It's all right.

Every day, thousands of men like Graham were forced to walk

the streets in search of work, known as tramping.

During the Long Depression,

the number of tramps tripled and the issue was raised in Parliament.

But, the prevailing Victorian attitude was these men were

essentially beggars and nothing was done to help.

They were described by one MP as a race who has the very genius of not

working in its bones.

It's terrible news for me, because there's just nothing for me to do.

I've been tramping the streets just to see if somebody would give me a

couple of hour's work. No food, nothing to eat.

It's frightening to think they used to live like that.

It's terrible.

Hello, grandad!

-Hi, you all right?

-Yeah.

-How was work?

-I haven't been to work, there wasn't any work.

-Wasn't there?

-Wasn't there?

-No. None for an old man like me, they said.

My dad's feeling demoralised, humiliated,

because he was turned away for work.

I think he's feeling as though he's let the family down.

OK. Never mind.

-Well...

-How you doing?

Onwards and upwards. You can join in with the production line.

Heather's forebears were unskilled workers who lived in the East End

during the Long Depression.

I wanted to come here,

because I wanted to experience what my ancestors went through.

I'm certainly starting to get a

picture of how hard their struggle must have been. They must have had

enormous strength, enormous strength

to be able to survive through this.

Heather's great-grandparents are buried a few miles away in

Manor Park Cemetery.

She and Allison are with historian

Carl Chinn to find out more about their family history.

So we have James, your great-grandfather, dock labourer.

-Yeah.

-And his wife, your great granny, who was the matchbox maker.

We obviously know they were the parents of your grandad.

Do you know much more about how many children they had?

I think it might have been about seven.

It's actually... Would you hold that please, Sally.

Here it is, we found them.

She had eight. James, your grandad, was the oldest.

-Yeah.

-Then there was a Walter.

-Yeah.

-A Sophia, a William,

an Ann Caroline, a John, a Sarah and a Rose.

But why these two are in bold is

because sadly, both of them died very, very young.

Look, Sophia.

21 months old, pneumonia.

A disease of the poor.

Bad housing. Damp.

-Yeah.

-Cold.

Sophia died on the 12th of March.

Her little brother, William, he dies on the 28th of March.

She loses two of her kids, her precious children in the same month,

-in the same year.

-And how old was William?

William...

was seven months.

How must she have coped?

That would be awful, wouldn't it?

-Imagine losing two of your babies...

-Yeah.

-..in the same month and then

-have to get up the next day and work.

-Yeah.

In the 1870s, the average life expectancy was 43.

In the worst districts of the poorer cities, it was as low as 28.

But in some slums, people were lucky to reach adulthood at all.

Heather's ancestors lived on the worst streets of Bethnal Green,

where fathers struggled to find work,

mothers and children slaved for a pitiful wage and one in every four children died.

Rich or poor, Victorians placed

great importance on respectable burials.

Funerals became increasingly elaborate for those who could afford them.

Even destitute parents put away a penny a week for burial insurance,

in case they lost a child.

For those who couldn't pay for even a basic internment,

the only choice was a pauper's funeral.

The ultimate source of shame for a poor Victorian.

Sophia and William, very sadly...

..they are buried over their, somewhere by those trees

in a public grave,

as a pauper's burial.

I don't think I quite understood "poor" until my experience of the

last few days. I hadn't even considered having to save for your burial.

For my great-grandmother,

to have not been able to bury her children with dignity must have been

just terrible. Absolutely terrible.

Somewhere in this graveyard lie the remains of infants Sophia and William,

Heather's great-aunt and uncle.

Here you are, look, have pink one for Sophia.

And a blue one for William.

Sophia, God bless you.

Here you go.

And William.

God bless you.

You poor little things.

I needed to be here.

I needed to come here, I need to find these people.

I need to...

..know them, I need to walk beside them.

Well, they look lovely, don't they?

-Shall we go back?

-Yeah.

In the slums, everyone's fortunes were tied together.

I want to pay £2 off our tick, please...

-OK.

-..if that's all right?

Let me find you. Here we go, you are at £4.04 at the moment.

OK, so can I almost halve it?

-Yes, absolutely.

-£2.

With many surviving on credit or tick until payday,

shopkeepers were part grocer, part moneylender.

I've come for some food. Have you got any tea going?

A difficult balance to strike.

What's your income potential looking like this next couple of days?

Well, we're working with the Potters, making artificial flowers.

And we've got an order of 1,400 flowers to do.

-It is very slow?

-Yeah.

Are you guaranteed a salary from it?

If we complete the order, then, yeah.

We have people who have paid off consistently and are still...

still have money on tick.

And we have people who haven't paid consistently and also have tick,

so those obviously are more risky.

Shaz has £4.77 still on tick, so her situation is

the most precarious.

She depends the most on the flower production to be completed

and get paid.

In desperate times,

shopkeepers like the Birds found inventive ways

to squeeze profit from cheap food.

Take half a pound of butter from here,

then half a pint of milk and mix it in gradually and we should stretch

the butter for us a long way.

We're actually saving 38p a pound by doing this.

But some adulteration was less palatable.

Milk diluted with chalk and water,

sugar mixed with sand and tea leaves bulked out with wax and ash.

Much of what the East End poor ate would have been tampered with.

We're getting there. We have nearly doubled the amount of butter we've got.

So... But, it's two hours labour of my time and I'm still thinking we

should just give them less butter on their bread.

-Hiya!

-Hiya, how are you doing?

-Good, how are you?

-All right, thank you. Welcome.

-Thank you. How is it?

-It's all right, it's all right.

What are you working on, what are you doing?

-We're tailoring.

-Oh, nice.

-And I've got a massive deadline though.

-We have.

-Under pressure.

-So the kids are in there doing it as well.

In desperate need of money,

new arrival Maria has been given a task by the Birds.

This is vile.

Adrian has offered me to pluck two chickens.

That doesn't get me money, but it gives me feathers to try and sell,

so that's what I'm going to try and do.

I've never plucked a chicken before,

and I hope I'll never have to really do that again.

Oh, my God, I just saw the other end of it.

Sick. But I'm going to have to do it, because I have no money.

Despite the economic downturn,

there was still some work to be found in the slums,

especially before the London season, between Easter and July.

While the upper classes attended social events like Ascot,

Henley Regatta and private balls,

the women of the slums worked 18 hours or more a day making feathers

and flowers to adorn their hats.

Because it's so strong, the fumes

from the powder they used to dye them,

it does give you a little bit of a headache and stuff doing it.

These guys are safe, but in a time before Health & Safety regulations,

they often contained arsenic or

aniline, now known to be carcinogenic.

You get used to it. I'm getting used to it already.

John is back after his first day of work.

Maria's not going to believe that I was lifting timber on a site and

then to be able to let her know that she's, you know,

safe and she can sleep in the coffin bed and not have to take the hangover bench.

Look, there's £4.34.

I was thinking that if you take a bed and I take the bench...

Why? When we have enough money to take two beds?

But that... Well, we need money for food.

And then I only got work in that place today,

so I don't know if I'll work tomorrow.

And if I don't get work tomorrow, then I'll have nothing.

And back to square one.

-Good evening, how are we?

-Good, how are we doing?

Not too bad. Did you get some work today?

-We did.

-I did.

-One did, one did.

-You didn't today, but...?

-No.

-You did?

-Yes.

-OK.

-I've got some money.

-Thank you very much.

-Running the dosshouse is Andy's only source of

income. Paying customers means he can settle his tick at the shop.

So that means I am a 100% debt free, clean, clear.

Yeah, it's a good day.

I've found this order by the main entrance.

Oh, my word. Thank you.

Sweated slum tailors, working for a factory,

could expect orders any time, day or night.

22 pairs of trousers.

-Oh, my God.

-I think we'll be working late tonight.

-Oh, my God!

There'd be no way we'd be able to complete that many trousers in the

space of two days. We've been able to do 12 in two, fine no problem.

And 36 collars, we're well on our way, but 22?

-It's just ridiculous.

-Oh, my God. How are we going to do this?

The Howaths need more hands.

And in the slums, that meant picking

on people prepared to work for little pay.

Hello. I've come because we are really, really busy

and we've got loads of work.

-Right.

-So, I wondered if you would

be willing to let me have one

of your daughters for a couple of hours.

We are willing to pay her a penny in old money, which is 60p in new money.

Yeah, I don't see any reason why not.

-No.

-Do you?

-And I don't know if you wanted to...

I'm happy for Sadie as well, if you wanted to come?

-Mmm.

-They'll lose some flower-making manpower,

but they can't turn down the chance of slightly better paid work.

We can't pay you until we get paid.

-No, OK.

-Our delivery's due on

-Monday, then we'll absolutely pay you, if that's all right?

-OK.

But I need to take them now.

Give us a kiss. Work hard.

-Love you.

-Bye-bye.

-Hello! I've brought help, I've bought Sadie and Olivia.

-Hi, girls.

So, it sounds really simple, but it's a really important job.

I think my mum will be pleased, because I can pay...

Well, it'll help pay the rent.

So that we're not short.

I've learned something, and I really, really like it.

I'm actually quite good at it as well. So...

Child labour doesn't sit right with me.

I don't believe children should be working.

But the most astounding thing to me, out of all of this, was

that they were so grateful, genuinely grateful

for a few pennies. They worked as well as the parents.

Obviously, there was no chance of them going to school,

there was no chance of an education, they were stuck.

They're stuck in the environment they were born in and that is tragic.

It's really, really tragic.

And to see the two little girls that are my neighbours at the moment,

sitting on my floor, working, and happily working for a pittance,

because they know it's going to help towards their family's paying rent

this week, is heartbreaking.

That's the one.

CHURCH BELL TOLLS

In the dosshouse...

..John and Maria are settling in for the night.

Well, the first day's down.

I know.

Thank God. Ready for a nice sleep in the bed.

I just don't know what to expect in these kind of beds, John,

because they're all hay and straw and whatnot.

Um...

Yeah. We'll see how it goes.

It's scary. It's frightening.

You feel alone. You're...

..missing home and all those home comforts, and you've got nothing.

You came with nothing and you still have nothing.

Only that you've survived another

day and when you have to take

survival as something that you are grateful for, yeah,

that's really upsetting to think that, you know,

suddenly their dreams of making a lot of money became dreams of making

enough money to see them through another day.

During the Victorian era, they wouldn't have had the place to themselves.

London had almost 5,000 dosshouses.

Some crammed with dozens of beds, rented out in eight-hour shifts.

It's exciting to be here in a new world, new town, new city.

But my first night's sleep, I'm dreading it.

Despite an uncomfortable night's sleep...

..Maria and John are up early and working.

And one more time, and then we're done.

John's persuaded the Birds to let him do some odd jobs for a few pence.

I've got the utmost respect for John for sleeping on that hangover bench

and even though it's my dosshouse, I wouldn't sleep on that bench.

I did actually look at the coffin beds this morning and there was only

one that had any depression in it, so he didn't...

He spent the whole night on that bench.

Coming over as siblings and being the older sibling,

gives you this real sense of responsibility that I feel that I

could endure the two penny hangover,

but I don't want to see my sister going through that and I was cold,

I was shivering, I was uncomfortable,

I was moving all night.

I had to get up and walk around, because it was so uncomfortable,

several times during the night.

I don't want her to have to do that.

And all the time I could see that she was at least kind of still and

peaceful. Whether she was asleep or not, I don't know.

Maria's doing what many women in the slums did, decorating cheap hats

with feathers to sell on for a small profit.

Oh, wow!

-What do you think of these?

-They look absolutely cracking!

-Don't they?

-Great job, yeah.

-Like this one?

-It's nice.

-Twirl?

-Yeah.

With no dependents to take care of,

young, healthy people like the Barkers could get by in the slums.

Come on then, time to get up.

Time to make the bed.

But someone like Shazeda, with children to look after,

would have had far less earning potential.

I don't have a penny to my name.

I feel under immense pressure.

The rent is £8.16.

We also have a food bill of £4.70.

It's just constantly thinking about whether I'm going to have a roof

over our head, where my next meal is going to come from.

It's just really stressful and it makes me really anxious as well.

It's making me anxious.

I think we ought to really look at how we are going to split the money

for this project again.

Because I don't think dividing it by eight is particularly fair

any more, because I feel that

we've done a lot more work than you have, Shaz.

Last week, Shazeda failed to pay the £8 for her room.

This week, rent collector Andy is

keeping a closer eye on her finances.

I think that Shaz is being quite

protected from what would have actually happened, because we used

our modern mind to go, "Well, I can't put a single lady and two children into the dosshouse."

KNOCK AT THE DOOR

Hi, have you seen...? Ah! There you are, Shaz.

Hello, Andy.

Morning, morning. How are we all?

Well, thanks.

How are we doing? Have we got the rent or are we near the rent?

Um, one of the children went out to work for the Howarths...

-Oh, OK.

-They owe me 60p, but we don't know yet...

I don't know how much I'll get for my contribution

-towards making flowers.

-Flowers?

-Yeah. In total, I've got 23p.

-23p?

-Yeah.

OK.

-I'll come and see you tomorrow.

-Mm-hm.

See what the scenario is then. Cheerio, Potters!

-Good to see you.

-See you, Andy.

-See you later, Andy.

I'm feeling anxious, but I want to pay the rent.

You know, I want to be on top of everything.

But I'm in a bit of a financial crisis at the moment.

I feel as if they are blaming me, because I'm not working hard enough.

And that's why I'm poor. You know, being the only breadwinner,

I've got work twice as hard to earn money and still, I have nothing.

Nothing.

And I'm running out of options.

KNOCK AT THE DOOR

-Come in.

-Have you got the money for the work that Sadie did?

I don't have all the money, because we have been paid ourselves yet.

Right. It's just that I'm in a bit of a predicament.

I could give you, like, 5p or 10p. But that would be it.

-Right, OK.

-There's no more than that that I could give you.

-All right, I'll take that then, whatever you...

-5p?

-Yeah.

Yeah? OK. Let me get the money.

-There you go.

-OK. Great stuff. Thank you.

-All right, OK.

-All right then. Thanks a lot.

-Thank you.

-Bye.

I mean, I'd have given her maybe half.

No, I wasn't going to give her... We can't afford half.

I'm not taking the food out of their mouths to feed her children.

-My children come first.

-No, I understand totally.

When the money was tight,

many in the slums resorted to pawning their possessions.

For some, it was part of a weekly

routine to try and raise cash for rent or food.

I don't want to give their clothes away, because obviously,

I don't want them to go cold, I don't want them to lose their shoes,

because I don't want them walking barefoot.

As for pawning...

I suppose probably that teapot, because we don't use it.

Pawnbrokers had to be licensed, but slum shops,

like the one run by the Birds, would often offer an illicit,

under-the-counter service.

How much do you want?

Um, a pound?

-75.

-90p.

-OK.

I think as a shopkeeper you probably have to make unpopular choices,

but needs must.

You know, you want to be as nice to the customers as you can,

but when push comes to shove, we've got to pay our rent as well,

so we've got to call in our debts.

You've got £4.10 now, on your tick.

-OK.

-All right?

-All right.

-And when is payday for you guys?

-When are you done?

-I think it's tomorrow.

-Tomorrow.

-So, 90p.

-We'll put that on Shaz's page then

and then I'll offset some of your ticks.

Pawning her possessions has reduced Shazeda's food debts,

but she's still no closer to having her rent.

I feel as if I've hit rock bottom.

There's no light at the end of the tunnel and I can't see a way out.

I can't escape this cycle of poverty that I'm in, you know?

It's either rent or food bill or food bill or rent.

It is just one thing or another, it is just relentless.

When all else failed, the very poorest could appeal to the local

board of guardians for assistance.

The help offered by Victorian authorities was known as poor relief

and it came in two forms. There was outdoor relief,

which was the temporary hand-outs of food and clothing and then there was

indoor relief, admission to the workhouse.

No-one was sent to the workhouse.

Instead, they had to plead their

case in front of a group of middle-class men.

The board of guardians asked probing questions about moral character

as they divided the poor into the deserving and the undeserving.

They would not have looked favourably on a

single mother with two children.

Though many Victorians felt a Christian duty to aid those in need,

it was believed the poor needed incentives to help themselves.

The workhouse was designed as a deterrent.

Unmarried women were separated from their children and sometimes,

forced to wear a yellow dress as a mark of shame.

Hundreds of charitable donations were centralised in the 1870s under

the Charity Organisation Society or COS,

to ensure donations only went to the deserving poor.

The belief that the poor have only themselves to blame was so

strongly and widely held

that during the 1870s, a campaign was mounted to cut poor relief.

Led by the COS,

the campaign was so successful that in some areas of the East End,

out relief was discontinued altogether.

Just at a time when they needed it most,

the help available to the poor was being dramatically reduced.

THUNDER RUMBLES

Even if I do get paid, if I'm making these artificial flowers,

I've got to share the wage with the Potters.

I wouldn't actually have enough to even cover the rent.

I don't think I would.

Situations like this were all too common in the slums,

where most were so poor they weren't able to help desperate neighbours.

It's not like nowadays, where you get evicted or something happens,

you've got housing associations, councils,

you've got emergency housing.

And we moan so much about now.

I mean, this puts it into perspective.

I thought I'd be able to, you know, yeah, struggle, face hardship,

but I thought I'd be able to survive, you know?

I never anticipated that I'd be in debt and that's one thing I

don't like, being in debt.

In the position that Shaz is in, being a single parent...

Frowned upon.

Very much frowned upon.

And she would have been told to go into the workhouse,

that that was the only thing available for her.

Obviously, I've got the children to consider and I wouldn't want them in

the workhouse and I haven't got a plan B.

I'm in a bit of a predicament here.

With rent day round the corner,

Andy faces the fact he may have to evict Shazeda

and the twins from their room.

That actually makes me feel shocking,

that I could put them into a position like that,

where the long and short of it is they would be split up.

And what if they didn't get into the workhouse?

Which sounds horrific. What if they didn't get in?

-What's after that?

-They'd go on the streets.

Begging on the streets.

-Yeah.

-I mean, almost anything is better than that.

Someone in Shazeda's situation would have had one more option.

Shh! We are packing.

Put these in between so they don't make a racket.

We are going to have to leave here.

-We haven't paid!

-I know, that's...

Because we're struggling to pay the rent and he's coming tomorrow.

A moonlit flit meant moving to another poor area of the city,

-where no-one would have known you.

-Shh! Keep it down.

Escaping unpaid debts,

only to begin the cycle of tick and rent day again.

I don't know how these people did it. I mean, hats off to them.

If I was a Victorian woman,

I would rather take my chances elsewhere and start afresh.

Find alternative accommodation, rather than go into the workhouse.

Unbelievable.

Well, to me, it looks like she's just gone.

To me, it looks like she's done a flit.

I mean, it does feel like she's escaped, because she's not also run out on me,

but she's also run out on who I consider my friends now,

which is the shopkeepers, the Birds.

So...

Yeah, I think that just shows the worst of our slum society,

to be honest, and I thought she was made of stronger stuff.

I really did. Disappointing.

Andy's lost potential dosshouse customers and now it's his

responsibility to re-let Shazeda's room.

Shaz is meant to be helping us out.

-Shaz and the children are supposed to be here.

-Yeah.

With flowers still to finish, the Potter family have another early start.

Because if we've got another pair of hands, you know,

if each can make 50 in a day, if Shaz is here, that's 200.

Shaz?

Shaz?

Oh.

-She's gone.

-What do you mean she's gone?

The room's empty. At the end of the day, it is not our problem, is it?

We've just got to work faster.

That means we are under more pressure now to get this done on our own.

What it does mean, of course, is all the money that we do make on the...

-..will be ours.

-Yeah.

-So...

-Yeah?

-Guess.

-What?

Who's gone?

Not just gone, but done a runner.

Oh, I've got a rough idea who's done a runner!

But, done a runner, they think in the middle of the night.

-Yeah?

-Right. Didn't pay any of her rent.

-No?

-No. And, didn't pay the Birds.

Really?

-How bad's that?

-Terrible!

Shazeda's departure is having a knock-on effect on the other

residents of the slum.

Shaz is at £4.10, so we're going to have to swallow that.

Already having to cope with falling prices,

the Birds will have to write off Shazeda's debt.

Balancing their books will be even more difficult.

It's really brought home to me that interconnectedness.

You know, you come in and you think, "Oh, we're at the top of the heap."

You know, things must be somewhat easier for us than for other people,

because we have more in our room and that sort of thing.

But actually, every single penny counts,

even from the poorest of the poor.

I mean, I think we're getting it right, but anything could happen.

Our biggest worry was Shaz being able to pay off her tick.

If she had paid it off, we would be fine.

We wouldn't have to worry about it,

that would have covered the rest that we needed to pay the rent.

She hasn't, so going forward...

Yeah. It's a learning experience.

If we do come across someone who we don't know who is asking for credit,

we are going to be more cautious.

The Howarths have almost completed their second order.

Don't get a tea break do we, Ross?

-No. How many pairs you done?

-Three.

I'll do you four.

He treats us like employees, not family, when we're working.

It'll just about pass.

-What you mean, "just about"?

-It's not level.

My hands are all calloused and everything, like...

-Look at my hands. Look, they're all wrinkly.

-Yeah, I know.

It's really tiring. And it's like, you can't even think straight.

-What do you think?

-I've forgotten what the question was.

Oh, Bubba, you're so tired. He's so tired!

While Shazeda's departure has caused problems for some, for others,

it presents an opportunity.

-John!

-Come on in, how're you doing?

John is taking Sadie's job.

Come on. Not bad. Right, what stitches do you know? Hand stitches?

-Oof! It's basic. It is basic.

-A backstitch?

-I can do a backstitch.

-A backstitch, yeah? That's the most important one.

-Yes. Excellent.

But I can learn anything.

I can learn anything and fast, so...

Push it. Push it with your thimble, through.

And pull out with that... That's it. The thread needle is always in the

-hand that you pull out, yeah?

-Oh, OK. Then just in behind there?

That's it, just in behind it. A little bit out in front.

Things are looking up for the Barkers.

Well, the news in the slum is that a room has become available.

It is something that we have to consider seriously.

It means that one of us, myself or Maria, will have to get regular work.

But it will be lovely to get out of

the dosshouse and to get into our own little place.

Right, come on in, guys.

-Lovely.

-This will be your room.

-Thanks a million, Andy.

All right, take care, work hard and I'll see you in a few days.

Home sweet home. Thank you.

-All right. Cheerio.

-See you later.

-See you later.

-Ta-ta.

I'm just going to lie... fall straight into bed.

Oh, God!

We actually have a bed, finally.

-We are winning.

-It's great. The Irish are moving up.

So we've got 202 roses,

432 violets,

600 forget-me-nots.

The Potters have had to complete the order without the help of their

neighbours. But they finished all 1,440 flowers.

I think there's been more lows than highs, but I am just so pleased.

It's such a relief that we have made some money out of the flowers after

working so hard.

Such a relief.

And now they don't need to share the pay, it more than covers their week's costs.

£19.23.

-Yes.

-Yes!

Well done. Well done!

-Well done, well done, well done, well done.

-We have food!

The 1870s have brought new levels of hardship to the slums.

In five years, the number of people in the workhouse rose by 30%.

Yet somehow, the urban poor were

still clinging on and Victorian Britain would soon have to start

paying attention to their plight.

-How you doing? Good day?

-Yeah, it was all right.

-Good.

-I thought, you know, the 1860s

were bad enough, but the 1870s got a lot worse.

You are so close to not just poverty, but abject poverty.

It's not even funny. It's so close you can taste the workhouse.

I'm going to come up and see you tomorrow,

-because I've got Olivia's money.

-Oh, lovely.

-Oh, wonderful.

I'll bring it up in the morning for you, thank you.

-We got the order done as well. All the flowers.

-Fantastic.

-All there.

-I'm very relieved that we've made the money that we have

and we can pay our tick off and hopefully put some money towards the rent.

-There you go, ladies.

-Thank you.

The situation with Shaz, she felt the need to have to leave the slum

with her children and part of me can't blame her for that decision, to be honest.

We're really living in luxury tonight, yeah!

For us in the slum to finally be in

our own room is a massive deal and in spite of everything that was

against them, it gives us hope that, you know,

the Irish, they could rise up.

-It's been a great day, I think.

-He's thrilled with our news.

We are your best customers.

And the most up-to-date, as well!

Exactly, of course you are.

Get out the way and we're bound to be up-to-date.

There's no let-up to this. Whilst I'm feeling happily tired right now,

I know that when my eyes open tomorrow,

it's going to start all over again.

But actually, this time I'm going to allow myself to enjoy the little bit

of happiness and a little bit of quietness that I've got tonight,

because I know, come tomorrow,

it's going to start all over again and so it goes on

and it goes on and it goes on.

-Next time.

-Look at the newspaper!

The 1880s see tensions rise.

I've got to work quickly. They need to make us money.

They're not my friends.

My mum, I've never seen her like that before.

-Morning, chaps.

-The slum dwellers endure humiliation...

Maybe we should get a photo here.

Er, excuse me. No!

..and political struggle...

-I strike.

-..as they find their voice...

They have no right to take our living away from us.

..and fight their corner.

The poor will not be trodden on.

Power to the people.