Snow in Victorian London

 

 

In theory, for much of the nineteenth century, cleaning the London pavements was the responsibility of individual householders. Each homeowner was obliged, under the 1817 Metropolitan Paving Act (aka Michael Angelo Taylor's Act, named after the MP who promoted it) to sweep the pavement outside his property. Previously, local acts had made some provision for this:

‘An early example of this type is the Act obtained for St. Luke's in 1754. In this case the trustees were simply given power to enter into contracts for cleansing the streets, whilst the inhabitants were required to sweep the footpaths before their houses on every Tuesday and Friday either between the hours of seven and ten in the morning or between two and five in the afternoon under a penalty of five shillings for each omission.’ F.H.Spencer, Municipal Origins, 1911 p.202

but the 1817 legislation made pavement-sweeping obligatory across the metropolis ... and was largely ignored.

In particular, servants all but refused to do the work. Polishing the front step was one thing, but cleaning up the mud on the pavement (including copious amounts of horse dung) was too 'low', even for the most common housemaid. The Times, looking back at the legislation, noted in 1894

There are miles upon miles of residential streets the occupants of which either keep only women servants or men servants of a class who would decline to undertake the work of removing snow, even if they were provided with tools suitable for the purpose.

The police, faced with an impossible task of fining virtually every householder on their beat, generally ignored the problem. The exception was when it snowed and pavements became dangerous. Police then paid visits to householders and or leafletted them, to remind them of their obligations. Even in this, however, it seems they were not particularly assiduous:

Accordingly, two or three days after snow has fallen, when there has been abundant time for accidents, a constable goes round to each house, and leaves a printed paper requiring the householder to clear away the snow. If he chooses to disregard the notice, he seldom or never hears any more about it, and as a matter of course very many do choose to disregard it. Pall Mall Gazette 1875

The police were also assumed to be hand-in-glove with those who saw a chance to make a quick profit:

These streets were visited, as soon as snow fell, by bands of men carrying brooms and shovels, and usually far from prepossessing in apperance, or in language, who offered to do the statutory work of a householder for a remuneration perhaps ten times in excess of the proper value of their labour, and who, if their services were declined, would shortly be followed by a policeman whose duty it was to call attention to the penalties incidental to neglect ...

The old system was finally abolished in 1891, under the Public Health (London) Act, derided as 'a grotesque survival of village organization in metropolitan conditions’ - which might be said generally of vestry government in the 19th century metropolis.

For a lovely description of snow in London by arch-diarist Arthur Munby, click here.

As Cold as a Frog

Wednesday, 2 January. Since midnight, snow had silently fallen, to the depth of 6 to 8 inches; by breakfast time it was all over except a slight flaky dropping, & the day was calm & very cold. Nothing could be more beautiful; no change more complete & charming. The trees around the fountain near Garden Court were loaded with snow: an exquisite tracery of white branches, relieved against the dark red housefronts. But in the streets the transformation was greatest. All traffic, except afoot, was stopped; no cabs, no omnibuses, no waggons. The snow lay in heaps in the road; men were scraping & shovelling the footways; & people in thick coats & wrappers stepped noiselessly along. The Strand was as quiet and empty as a village street at nightfall; even the footpassengers were far fewer than usual. Here in the heart of London, & at midday, there was absolute cleanliness & brightness, absolute silence: instead of the roar & rush of wheels, the selfish hurry, the dirt & the cloudy fog, we had the loveliness & utter purity of new- fallen snow. It fell without force or sound; & all things huge & hasty & noisy were paralyzed in a moment. I walked along enjoying the wondrous lovely scene, the long perspective of houses, all grown picturesque & antique; their gable roofs white against a clear sky, & every salient cornice & lintel in their outline picked out in brilliant white; and beneath them, the tumbled & tenantless pavement of snow. It was like the quaint still London of old; one might have been arm in arm with Mr. Pepys, or even Mr. W. Shakespeare. And this state of things lasted all day. There were many crossing sweepers about: I noticed one near S. Clement Danes, a girl of 17 or so, in ragged but warm shawl, & a bit of an old bonnet, whose dark rough hair was covered with snow, & hung in a tangled white mass, like the foam of a waterfall, over her brown bonny face, as she stood with her broom under her arm, stamping & blowing her fingers.

Friday, 4 January. The cold out of doors at ten this forenoon was more intense, to my apprehension, than I ever remember. My beard froze, the nape of the neck, & the heart, seemed paralyzed, headache came on, & at the end of the short walk from here to Whitehall I was almost helpless. At 4, I walked westward, thinking to call on the Thackerays. The Horseguards Parade & the Mall were one sheet of snow, with paths trodden but not swept: a thick brown fog brooded over it, deepening the twilight; muffled spectral figures hurried to & fro across the slippery ground. . . . In Victoria Street a girl begged of me: a ragged tall lusty girl of 19, by name Caroline Randall, by trade an ironer; who has no home; who slept last night on a step in a sheltered corner, & felt 'as cold as a frog', she said.

Arthur Munby, Diary, 2 & 4 January 1867