Walking hesitantly through the dark and gloomy streets, I tripped over the occasional vermin. I remembered that on a past similar dark evening I had saw a rotten corpse covered in maggots feasting off the flesh of the body. Many people including some of my friends had caught the main killer disease, cholera. As I was the only one left in my family apart from my mum who was very weak from lack of food, I had to go and work in the workhouses to keep us both alive.
The workhouse was a cruel place; even entering into it was mentally painful. I was at first questioned in front of the superiors of the workhouse which lowered my self esteem and then I was bathed in cold water and stripped of all my possessions and my clothes, which were replaced by a uniform made of coarse fabric. I was then put into a separate class from the adults, which was for the boys under thirteen but above seven years of age group. We were sent to different places in the work house and we were punished if we decided to try and talk to each other.
The daily routine was to arise from bed each morning when the bell was rung at six o'clock and then wait for the roll call. Afterwards it was time for work. I and some other boys had to work in the tailors shop for long hours helping our superiors. After hours and hours of work the bell rang again signalling that it was dinner time. Prayer was said and then we were given our dinner which consisted of meat and a glass of milk. Although monotonous, the food was regular and reasonably wholesome. After dinner and many gruelling hours of work we were finally done for the day and allowed to rest our aching bodies.
Stepping out of line was not a wise thing to do. Quarrelling was not allowed and if anyone did squabble they could have their meals restricted. The worst punishment that I had heard of was being locked up in the refractory cell. This was a tiny cell in the cellar of the workhouse and the confined space sent people crazy because of the claustrophobic conditions. There were some good things about the workhouse. There was an infirmary in it so health care was available and over time, being in the workhouse began to become a more tolerable way of life.
I had been in the workhouse for many years and there was one incident that terrified me. This was an incident concerning a death. It was a day that started normally but during working hours a boy in my section had started to act strangely. After a while he started to shiver and then he gradually became worse and worse. He started to vomit and looked in pain. All of the colour had drained from his face. The superiors were informed and some time later the whole workhouse was evacuated. The superiors told us the next day that the boy had been affected by cholera and had died. He had no family so the workhouse buried him in a nearby church.
A couple of years after this incident I decided to leave the workhouse. After spending many years in the workhouse, I was much older and living conditions outside the workhouse had improved considerably. I had to give my superiors three days notice before I could leave. At long last I had finally obtained my freedom and I was glad to be out.
Aaron Tecey 9A
