I have been trying to get my hands on this book for about eighteen months, since reading about it in Benita Cullingford's
British Chimney Sweeps
. It's the only memoir of a 'climbing boy', a boy who was employed to climb up chimneys to clean them. It was a hard book to get. It was published in two editions, in 1900 and 1902. In about 1927 it was microfiched by Harvard as part of a social history series. Much later a company scanned it from the British Museum's copy of the 1900 edition,
A Rare Book
I have been trying to get my hands on this book for about eighteen months, since reading about it in Benita Cullingford's
British Chimney Sweeps
. It's the only memoir of a 'climbing boy', a boy who was employed to climb up chimneys to clean them. It was a hard book to get. It was published in two editions, in 1900 and 1902. In about 1927 it was microfiched by Harvard as part of a social history series. Much later a company scanned it from the British Museum's copy of the 1900 edition, and made it available to libraries as part of a package available on a $10,000 per year subscription. Even after I found out about this database, could I find a library through which I could find a copy to read at leisure? Not very easily. Finally a few weeks ago I searched for it again, and discovered I could obtain a copy through the National Library of Australia.
(This, by the way, is a really excellent library. They make a staggering number of archival newspapers available for free, when newspaper archives in other countries -- United Kingdom I'm looking at you -- charge a fee. They also have a neat wiki which allows visitors to manually fix the OCR'd text of publications.)
During the time I was searching for it, a single copy was made available for sale through the millions of booksellers who use ABEBooks: price $450. It was signed by the author, with a note for a giftee who, if I recall correctly, was the author of the preface. Even at that price it was soon purchased. But not by me.
Anyway, I still couldn't download it without being a member of the National Library of Australia, so I joined up and they posted me a library card. It's a little absurd that commercial operations have locked down so many public domain texts, and although you can still download them for free, you need to have a piece of plastic sent through the snail mail, then when it arrives a week later return to the web site and enter the number from the card before you can download it. These old words want to be free!
Naturally, six days after I finally acquired it, I discovered -- on this very site -- that it has been published for the Kindle by Lee Jackson, who runs the victorianlondon.org web site. I have also since discovered that it's included in an anthology of working class Victorian autobiographies which I could have bought for a mere $35. Oh well.
Not many books could live up to eighteen months of anticipation and hunting. This one doesn't, but it was still very interesting and worth a read as an account of a unique life. If you're interested in nineteenth-century chimney-sweeping, it's an essential text.
Precis
The author was born in 1833. His parents were travelling drapers and haberdashers. They were successful enough that the author and his siblings were educated, and the author learned to read and developed a lifelong love of books and magazines.
Disaster struck when his father died and the family became desperately poor. Soon the author and a brother became wandering beggars. Found on the road by a sly chimney sweep, they were soon inducted into his business as 'climbing boys'. They quickly left their first master but, having learned his awful trade, they persisted in it out of necessity, as the only way they could earn an honest living.
The author and various of his brothers continued in this line of work for many years. At times they worked for master sweeps, including such colourful characters as the fighting sweep Tom Bale, a hard drinker and famous bare-knuckle fighter. When his pony was locked up in a village pound, which would only release it for an exorbitant fine, Bale would liberate it either by wrenching the gate off its hinges or by lifting the pony over the fence. One of the highlights of the book is a Christmas dinner in the Bale household, which ends with all the guests drunk and brawling. Bale literally throws them out the door, and his wife and employee (the author) enjoy the rest of the feast alone.
At other times he and one or other of his brothers travelled the countryside offering sweeping services at the villages they passed through. During the off-season (i.e. the warmer months, when few chimneys need to be swept) they would take whatever work was available, or return home to their mother and her new husband and work with them.
Eventually the author stopped climbing chimneys, learned to use a chimney-sweeping machine and established his own sweeping businesses, first in London and then in several other towns. When he became unfit to sweep chimneys, probably as a result of injuries he received when he was severely beaten by three burglars he pursued from a client's house, he changed professions several times, becoming a haberdasher, map-seller, swimming teacher and shampooer in a Turkish bath, and finally a masseur to the gentry. During this time he profitably self-published a pamphlet about the benefits of Turkish baths (a work now seemingly lost, according to Google).
Meanwhile Elson pursued several enthusiasms to which he gives an airing in his memoir, though never enough to irk the reader: temperance (i.e. abstaining from alcoholic beverages); and the taking of cold baths, which supposedly cured him of the grievous injuries inflicted by the burglars. He was also a 'joiner', and delighted in joining organisations related to his enthusiasms.
He describes a few well-known historical incidents at which he was present, such as Garibaldi's visit to London, and the Hyde Park Riots of 1866, in which he participated as a rioter.
Books
Elson is a highly literate, literary sweep. This is to be expected: as the only sweep who wrote a book, he's a self-selecting sample. I've always been fascinated by the idea that books, of which I am fond, were a major form of entertainment in the nineteenth century, and there's some good evidence for their importance here. In various towns, the child Elson would read aloud books for the entertainment of other children and adults. In later life he and his wife entertained each other in the evenings by reading short stories from magazines.
There's a good bit where Elson and his brother, also a book lover, quit their masters and hit the road with money in their pockets and their book collections on their backs. They enjoy an idyllic few weeks of wandering from village to village, reading all day. The idyll is marred only slightly by the suspicion of passers-by who imagine these filthy barefoot boys could only have stolen the books, so the boys must find remoter places to stop and read. When they run out of books and money they sell the books and return to work.
The Best of the Chimney Sweeping Books
No-one has as much useful detail as Elson regarding what it was like to climb a chimney, and the exact technique a boy would use to traverse a chimney up and down. Cullingford quotes him at length on this topic, so she has this much detail too. But it's good to see it in the original context and know I'm not missing anything.
Much of what you read about sweeps is unremitting horror: a lot of contemporary documentation comes from coroners' inquests and parliamentary inquiries into the deaths of boys in chimneys, or from pamphlets published by campaigners against climbing boys. Elson has a cheerful disposition, and even talks of amusing incidents that occurred up chimneys. But throughout his generally upbeat account there are moments of quietly described horror, such as when he lost his grip high up a poorly-designed chimney, only saving himself by scraping his bare feet against the bricks all the way down, literally wearing them to the bone. Many lesser men would have been traumatised for life by living in the homes of abusive, drunken masters, but Elson always managed to escape them seemingly unscathed.
One of the most affecting passages is about his distaste for removing birds' nests from inside chimneys, a task he was sometimes required to perform as a child. As a kind-hearted boy it grieved him to harm the baby birds. He had to remove the nest to show he had performed his duty, but first he would remove the chicks and place them on a ledge to give them a chance to live -- it must have been very difficult and distressing in the pitch dark, with a calico bag pulled over his head to protect his lungs, and the adult birds flying about him, screaming.
Show, Don't Tell
Stylistically, the book has shortcomings, and this is no doubt why so interesting and unusual a life has been almost forgotten. Elson's story often lacks specifics.
He never names any other members of his family, no doubt to protect their privacy. With more than one brother joining him on the road, without names it's hard to keep track of who's who and form an idea of their relationships. When the brothers disappear from the story you wonder what happened to them, and never find out.
Elson faithfully records all his youthful travels. Although this provides an interesting historical insight into the lifestyle of an itinerant sweep, it doesn't always make for fascinating reading, as there are many cases of journeys to some town, where no incidents occurred on the way, and nothing much happened when he got there.
Overall, most of his life is 'told' or described, rather than 'shown'. When the author really has a good story to tell, like Christmas at the Bales' and the fight with the burglars, he tells it very well. If he'd had a good ghost writer or editor who could help him strike a better balance between showing and telling, and make this a more consistently immersive autobiography, this life might have found lasting fame.
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