My remarks on this adventure at a subsequent meeting led to enquiry into the state of this lodging-house. It was reported to be "regularly inspected twice a week and nothing wrong with it." All I can say is that either the visits of the inspector must be expected and prepared for, _or_, as I have frequently remarked, inspection leads to purblindness. "Anything is good enough for such inmates" comes to be the official view.[137]
Wishing to satisfy myself that I had not been mistaken, and as I had that time no fellow-workers, I got my son subsequently to enter the male side of the same lodging-house. His account not only confirmed mine, but he found things worse than I had stated. The men's side had the same low half cellar, not properly lighted or ventilated, deficient cooking accommodation, dirty floor and _débris_. In addition, the habit of smoking and spitting rendered the place abominable. The deputy appeared to have no control, indeed, he laughed at extra filthy jests as if they were to be enjoyed. My son said he should have been afraid to specimen the sleeping accommodation. He has visited other lodging-houses--one where a notice is up "Gents are requested not to sleep in their boots"!--a notice often disobeyed. He is acquainted with Rowton Houses. He says this is a particularly bad specimen. So after all my judgment does not appear to have been at fault. A low standard of inspection prevails in many places besides London; but the place itself was unfit for the purpose for which it was used.[138]
Towards six o'clock on a pleasant evening in March, my companion and I found our way to the casual ward of a London workhouse, selected because, on the testimony of Guardians, it was supposed to be well-regulated and ideal. _Real_ beds and _porcelain_ baths, perfect cleanliness and good management would surely afford comfortable conditions. We did not go together, as I was announced to speak publicly and known to take a companion, and it might therefore be difficult to escape detection. But we were, as it happened, the only inmates, save a woman going out in the morning.
The ward was spotlessly clean. The brown bread and gruel, at first glance, not unappetising. Alas! the bread was sour. Food first, and hot bath to follow, wet hair, though more time than usual to dry. Clean nightgown, and actually a bed. So far good.