Illustration: THE VICTORIANIST
Engraving of The Foundling Hospital, Holborn, London, circa 1750.
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“Applicants For Admission To A Casual Ward”.
Artist: Luke Fildes.
Date: 1874.
Illustration from THE VICTORIANIST
“SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN
TO COME UNTO ME”.
From: Matthew 18:1-6
Then were there brought unto Him little children,
That He should put His Hands on them, and Pray.
And The Disciples rebuked them.
But Jesus said:
Suffer little children,
And forbid them not to come unto Me.
For of such is The Kingdom of Heaven.
Text is taken from THE VICTORIANIST and from WIKIPEDIA,
unless stated otherwise.
The Foundling Hospital, in London, England was Founded in 1741 by the philanthropic Sea Captain, Thomas Coram. It was a Children’s Home established for the “education and maintenance of exposed and deserted young children”. The word “Hospital” was used in a more general sense than it is today, simply indicating the Institution's “Hospitality” to those less fortunate.
The first children were admitted to The Foundling Hospital on 25 March 1741, into a Temporary House located in Hatton Garden. At first, no questions were asked about child or parent, but a distinguishing token was put on each child by the parent. These were often marked coins, trinkets, pieces of cotton or ribbon, Verses written on scraps of paper.
Clothes, if any, were carefully recorded. One entry in the record reads: "Paper on the breast, clout on the head." The applications became too numerous, and a system of balloting with red, white and black balls was adopted. Children were seldom taken after they were twelve months old.
On Reception, children were sent to Wet Nurses in the Countryside, where they stayed until they were about four or five years old. At sixteen years, girls were generally Apprenticed as Servants for four years; at fourteen years, boys were Apprenticed into a variety of occupations, typically for seven years. There was a small Benevolent Fund for adults.
In September 1742, the Foundation Stone of the new Hospital was laid in the area known as Bloomsbury, North of Great Ormond Street and West of Gray's Inn Lane. The Hospital was designed by Theodore Jacobsen as a plain brick building with two Wings and a Chapel, built around an open Courtyard. The Western Wing was finished in October 1745.
An Eastern Wing was added in 1752 “in order that the girls might be kept separate from the boys”. The new Hospital was described as “the most imposing single monument erected by 18th-Century benevolence” and became London's most popular Charity.
In 1756, The House of Commons resolved that all children offered should be received, that local Receiving Places should be appointed all over the Country, and that the funds should be publicly guaranteed.
A Basket was accordingly hung outside The Hospital; the maximum age for admission was raised from two months to twelve months, and a flood of children poured in from Country Workhouses.
In less than four years, 14,934 children were presented, and a vile trade grew up among Vagrants, who sometimes became known as "Coram Men", of promising to carry children from the countryside to The Hospital, an undertaking which they often did not perform or performed with great cruelty. Of these 15,000 children, only 4,400 survived to be Apprenticed. The total expense was about £500,000, which alarmed The House of Commons.
“London Street Scene”.
Artist: Gustave Dore.
Date: Circa 1868-1872.
Illustration from THE VICTORIANIST
After throwing out a Bill which proposed to raise the necessary funds by fees from a general system of Parochial registration, they came to the conclusion that the indiscriminate admission should be discontinued. The hospital, being thus thrown on its own resources, adopted a system of receiving children only with considerable sums (e.g., £100), which sometimes led to the children being reclaimed by the parent. This practice was finally stopped in 1801; and it henceforth became a fundamental rule that no money was to be received.
The Committee of Inquiry had to be satisfied of the previous good character and present necessity of the mother, and that the father of the child had deserted both mother and child, and that the reception of the child would probably replace the mother in the course of virtue and in the way of an honest livelihood.
At that time, illegitimacy carried deep stigma, especially for the mother but also for the child. All the children at The Foundling Hospital were those of unmarried women, and they were all first children of their mothers. The principle was in fact that laid down by Henry Fielding in The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling: “Too true, I am afraid it is, that many women have become abandoned and have sunk to the last degree of Vice [i.e. prostitution] by being unable to retrieve the first slip”.
There were some unfortunate incidents, such as the case of Elizabeth Brownrigg (1720–1767), a severely abusive Fetters Lane Midwife, who mercilessly whipped and otherwise maltreated her adolescent female Apprenticed domestic servants, leading to the death of one, Mary Clifford, from her injuries, neglect and infected wounds.
After The Foundling Hospital authorities investigated, Brownrigg was convicted of murder and sentenced to hang at Tyburn. Thereafter, The Foundling Hospital instituted more thorough investigation of its prospective Apprentice Masters and Apprentice Mistresses.
The Musical Service, which was originally sung by The Blind Children only, was made fashionable by the generosity of George Frideric Handel, who frequently had his composition “Messiah” performed there, and who bequeathed to The Hospital a “Fair Copy” (Full Score) of his greatest Oratorio. Handel’s involvement had begun on 1 May 1750, when he directed a performance of “Messiah” to mark the presentation of the Organ to The Chapel.
That first performance was a great success, and Handel was elected a Governor of The Hospital on the following day, a position he accepted. In 1774, Dr Charles Burney and a “Signor Giardini” made an unsuccessful attempt to form, in connection with The Hospital, a Public Music School, in imitation of The Pio Ospedale della Pietà, in Venice, Italy.
In 1847, however, a successful Juvenile Band was started. The educational effects of Music were found to be excellent, and The Hospital supplied many Musicians to the best Army and Navy Bands.
The early connection between The Hospital and the eminent Painters of the Reign of King George II is of interest. The exhibitions of pictures at The Foundling Hospital, which were organised by The Dilettante Society, led to the formation of The Royal Academy in 1768.
William Hogarth, who was childless, had a long association with The Hospital and was a Founding Governor. He designed the children's uniforms and The Coat-of-Arms, and he and his wife, Jane, fostered Foundling Children.
Hogarth also decided to set up a permanent Art Exhibition in the new buildings, encouraging other Artists to produce work for The Hospital. Indeed, several contemporary English Artists decorated the walls of The Hospital with their works, including Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough, Richard Wilson and Francis Hayman.
Hogarth painted a portrait of Thomas Coram for The Hospital. He also donated his “Moses, Brought Before Pharaoh's Daughter”. His painting “March Of The Guards To Finchley” was also obtained by The Hospital after Hogarth donated lottery tickets for a sale of his works, and The Hospital won it.
Another noteworthy piece is Roubiliac's bust of Handel. The Chapel's Altarpiece was originally “Adoration Of The Magi”, by Casali, but it was deemed to look “Too Catholic” by The Hospital’s Anglican Governors.
It was replaced by Benjamin West’s picture of Christ presenting a little child. The Hospital also owns several paintings, illustrating life in The Institution, by Emma Brownlow, daughter of The Hospital’s Administrator. The Foundling Hospital Art Collection can today be seen at The Foundling Museum.
In the 1920s, The Hospital decided to move to a healthier location in the Countryside. A proposal to turn the buildings over for University use fell through, and they were eventually sold to a Property Developer, called James White, in 1926. He hoped to transfer Covent Garden Market to the site, but the local residents successfully opposed that plan. In the end, the original Hospital building was demolished.
The children were moved to Redhill, Surrey, where an old Convent was used to lodge them, and then, in 1935, to the new purpose-built Foundling Hospital in Berkhamsted, Hertfordshire. When, in the 1950s, British Law moved away from Institutionalisation of children toward more family-oriented solutions, such as Adoption and Foster Care, The Foundling Hospital ceased most of its operations.
The Berkhamsted buildings were sold to Hertfordshire County Council for use as a School[1] and The Foundling Hospital changed its name to The Thomas Coram Foundation For Children and currently uses the working name “Coram”.
The Foundling Hospital still has a legacy on the original site. Seven acres (28,000 m²) of it were purchased for use as a Playground for children, with financial support from the Newspaper Proprietor, Lord Rothermere. This area is now called Coram’s Fields and is owned by an independent Charity, “Coram’s Fields and The Harmsworth Memorial Playground”.
The Foundling Hospital bought back 2.5 acres (10,000 m²) of land in 1937 and built a new Headquarters and a Children’s Centre on the site. Although smaller, the building is in a similar style to the original Foundling Hospital and important aspects of the interior architecture were recreated there. It now houses The Foundling Museum, an independent Charity, where The Art Collection can be seen. The original Charity still exists as “Coram”, registered under the name “Thomas Coram Foundation For Children”, and is one of London's largest Children's Charities, operating in adjacent buildings constructed in the 1950s.
The “Coram” Web-Site is available HERE
The “Foundling Museum” Web-Site is available HERE
The Foundling Hospital is the setting for Jamila Gavin's novel “Coram Boy”. It also appears in three books by Jacqueline Wilson.
Artist: William Logsdail.
Title: Saint Martin-in-the-Fields.
Date: 1888.
Illustration from THE VICTORIANIST
The following Article is taken from THE VICTORIANIST
“A Story of Human Wrong, of Human Suffering; of Evil, of Good; of Sorrow, of Succour . . . The Weakness and Trust of Woman, and the Treachery and Infidelity of Man.” Or: The Unwanted Children of the 19th Century.
The Victorian era gave birth to many Institutions, many of which were hugely beneficial to Society’s neediest lives, such as Great Ormond Street Hospital, The Ragged Schools, and Battersea Dogs’ and Cats’ home. Such gestures, however, were not confined to the period of The Victorians, and, whilst The Foundling Hospital may conjure up images of Oliver Twist-esque waifs and strays being educated by strict Victorian Schoolmasters, The Hospital (not actually a Hospital, but a place that offered hospitality) was established in 1741, but ran from then, all the way through the 19th-Century, and well into the second decade of the 20th-Century.
Its purpose was to act as a home for destitute children, and to care for and educate them until they were old enough to seek work and look after themselves, thus removing them from the streets.
The children who occupied the Hospital would be the offspring of mothers who were unable to care for them. However, a woman could not simply turn up with a child born out of wedlock and turn it over to prevent a scandal; she had to prove her good character, and demonstrate that the father had walked out on the family, leaving her unable to cope, and with no option but give up the infant for its own benefit and hers.
The following Article from “Strand Magazine” explores the history of The Foundling Hospital, and reveals that, despite being generally a good thing for children, when it came time for them to step out into the real World, they – in particular the girls – could often struggle to adapt.
Here follows an account of an Article in “The Strand Magazine” of 1891.
The Foundling Hospital is not an institution for the reception of Foundlings. This will be news to five-sixths of our Readers, and it is easy to imagine some of them exclaiming: “But do you mean to tell us that, if we discover a human mite abandoned on someone’s doorstep, and take it to The Foundling Hospital, it will not be admitted ?”
“We do”.
“Why, then, call the place a Foundling Hospital ?”
Thereby hangs a deeply interesting story – a story of human wrong, of human suffering; of evil, of good; of sorrow, of succour – a veritable World’s story, focusing the Large-Souled sympathy of mankind, the weakness and trust of woman, and the treachery and infidelity of man.
The Institution owes its origin to one of Nature’s noblemen; it is a monument equally to the head and the heart of Captain Thomas Coram. Captain Coram, in no ordinary sense of the word, went about doing good.
His life was made up of attempts to improve something or somebody. Early in the 18th-Century, he used, in his walks between the City, where he had business, and Rotherhithe, where he lived, to constantly come across young children left by the wayside, “sometimes alive, sometimes dead, and sometimes dying.” In other Countries, such children would be taken up by The State, and cared for; in England, nothing of the sort had ever been attempted, or, even, perhaps dreamed of.
Captain Coram’s heart was touched by surely the most pitiable sight in creation, and to touch Captain Coram’s heart was to set the machinery of his resourceful brain in motion. He rightly considered such exposure of infant humanity a disgrace to civilisation, and proceeded to enlist the services of the high-placed and the large-hearted in the cause.
For seventeen long years, he laboured against adverse circumstances, until, in 1739, his efforts were rewarded by a Charter authorising the Founding of an Institution “for the maintenance and education of exposed and deserted young children”.
A fine statue of Captain Coram, by W. C. Marshall, R.A., and a Stone Tablet to his memory, placed on the wall of the Arcade in front of the building, are the first things to catch the visitor’s eye. Coram lived, we are told, to be eighty-four, and died “poor in Worldly estate, rich in Good Works.”
To help the New-Born Infant, he took his grey hairs, if not in sorrow, at least in poverty, to the grave. Like so many other benefactors of mankind, in striving to alleviate distress, this “indefatigable schemist” forgot himself, and had he, in his devotion, not had friends who gave more regard to his material needs than he gave himself, he might have closed his eyes to mundane affairs in want by the wayside, even as the objects of his solicitude opened theirs.
It is not necessary to go here at great length into the early mistakes made, or to describe how The Institution failed of the purpose which the Founder had in view. It was intended by him to meet the necessities of deserted motherhood; it came, in the middle of the last Century, to be a receptacle for all the Babes whom worthless parents did not care to keep.
A basket was hung outside the gates of The Hospital. On the first day, 117 children were left in it, and a lucrative trade sprung up among tramps who, for a consideration, carried The Little Ones from all parts of England to The Hospital. In less than four years, 14,934 infants were thus disposed of.
These “Regiments of Infantry,” as a waggish commentator called them, overwhelmed the resources of The Institution, and it is not surprising to learn that, from various causes, not more than 4,000 of the 14,934 survived, the indiscriminate admission of children had to be abolished.
Later, it was decided to receive children for money, but this step resulted in other abuses, and we have the authority of the admirable account of The Hospital, compiled by a former Secretary, and revised by the present Secretary, Mr. W. S. Wintle – a work which may be purchased for Half-a-Crown [Editor: Twelve-and-a-Half Pence], and is well worth attentive study – for stating that, since January 1801, no child has been received into The Hospital, either directly or indirectly, with any sum of money, large or small.
Today, the practice is for the mother to take the Babe, before it is twelve months old, to The Hospital, to make her statement before the authorities, and to leave the child to their care, absolutely. She must be Poor, she must be anxious to regain her good name, and no woman who petitions that her child may be admitted to The Hospital stands a chance of relief if she cannot prove that she has led a life of propriety previous to her misfortune. This point cannot be too strongly borne in mind. As the Reverend Sydney Smith, one of the Preachers of The Foundling Chapel puts it:-
“No child drinks of our cup, or eats of our bread, whose reception, upon the whole, is not certain to be more conducive than pernicious to the interests of Religion and good morals. We hear no mother whom it would not be merciless and shocking to turn away; we exercise the trust reposed in us with a trembling and sensitive conscience; we do not think it enough to say: ‘This woman is wretched, and betrayed, and forsaken’; but we calmly reflect if it be expedient that her tears should be dried up, her loneliness sheltered, and all her wants receive the ministration of Charity.”
No instance of a mother going to the bad after she has been relieved by the Governors of The Foundling Hospital has, we believe, ever come to notice !
The General Public knows most of The Foundling Hospital from a visit to The Chapel on a Sunday morning. Anyone who is prepared to drop a Silver Coin into The Plate at the door is admitted. The spectacle is impressive. In the galleries, at The West End of The Chapel, on either side of the Organ, are seated some five hundred boys and girls, better behaved probably than any other considerable number of young people who appear in Church regularly every Sunday.
Their happy faces are perhaps a greater pleasure to gaze upon than their healthy voices are to listen to. Divine Service over, at one o’clock they march into their respective Dining-Rooms, the boys being in one Wing of the building and the girls in the other Wing. “Grace”, in the former, is sung to the accompaniment of a Cornet, which one of the boys plays.
When they take their places at Table, the spectator will find none lacking in appetite for the simple honest “repast”. On the opposite side of the building, the girls are doing not less justice to themselves and those who have provided and prepared the Dinner.
The scene on any Sunday morning in the year 1891 is precisely that which Charles Dickens described in “No Thoroughfare”, a quarter of a Century ago:
“There are numerous lookers-on at the Dinner, as the custom is. There are two or three Governors, whole families from the Congregation, smaller groups of both sexes, individual stragglers of various degrees.
The bright Autumnal Sun strikes freshly into the Wards, and the heavy-framed windows through which it shines, and the panelled walls on which it strikes, are such windows and such walls as pervade Hogarth’s pictures. The girls’ Refectory (including that of the younger children) is the principal attraction.
Neat attendants silently glide about the orderly and silent Tables; the lookers-on move or stop as the fancy takes them; comments in whispers on face “such a number, from such a window” are not infrequent; many of the faces are of a character to fix attention.
Some of the visitors from the Outside Public are accustomed visitors. They have established a speaking acquaintance with the occupants of particular seats at the Tables, and halt at these points to bend down and say a word or two. It is no disparagement to their kindness that those points are generally points where personal attractions are. The monotony of the long spacious rooms and the double lines of faces is agreeably relieved by these incidents, although so slight”.
There is not much to see in the Classrooms, which will not be fully conveyed in our illustrations. As we enter the boys’ room, we are momentarily startled by the shuffle of feet as every boy rises respectfully in his place. Not being professional School Inspectors, such honours are not often accorded us. Resuming their seats, the Class-Work goes on as at any ordinary School. So, with the girls.
The most interesting of the Classes is that of the Infants. On the day on which we visit The Foundling Hospital, for the especial purpose of this Paper, they are turned out of their Ordinary Room, and are squatted on the floor of another, in sections, before Blackboards, and with slates in their laps.
They are the veriest, chubbiest urchins imaginable, and, as we approach, three or four of them turn their smiling faces up to ours. They evidently expect to be spoken to, and we ask them what they are doing ?
“Writin’,” answers a Babe of very few Summers.
“Writing what ?” we ask.
“Good,” is the reply, as a little finger points to the Blackboard on which the word is written in bold characters.
“And are you good ?”
“Es,” and, with a “That’s Right !”, we pat the baby cheek, and think many things. Poor little mites, and yet happy withal ! Motherless, fatherless, friendless, and yet inmates of an Institution which is not such a bad substitute for father, mother, and friends.
What would they be but for it ? Recruits, perchance, in the ranks of shame into which their mothers might have drifted. And their mothers ? Who knows but that somewhere out in the World, women are living, and working, and sleeping; dreaming, wondering how fares the helpless mortal for whose existence they are responsible, for whom they still bear a love which no barrier of separation can obliterate ?
From the School-Rooms, let us go to the Museum, where are stored some valuable and many curiosities. Pictures by Hogarth, and others, line the walls, and it is an interesting item of information that The Royal Academy of Arts, to which the fashionable World flocks today, was suggested to the Founders by the crowds of people who, in the last Century, went to see pictures exhibited at The Foundling Hospital.
Artists rallied strongly to the support of the Institution, which also enlisted the services of Handel, who devoted his “Messiah” to its benefit, and presented the Organ which is still in use. Lovers of Art History and Art Treasures will find much on the walls and in the Show-Cases of The Foundling Hospital to gratify them.
What will attract the majority of people more, however, than Handel’s gifts, or Hogarth’s, or Sir Joshua Reynolds’ canvases, are the Tokens, which it early became necessary to stipulate should be left with the child for the purpose, if need be, of identification.
All sorts of things were left, from a coin, or a key, to a trinket, or piece of ribbon. Hearts and Wedding Rings are numerous, the former, no doubt, emblems more often than not of broken hearts, the latter eloquent of disappointed hopes. In some instances, the Token took the shape of a Verse.
What becomes of the inmates of The Hospital when the time arrives to turn them out into the World to gain a living ? The boys, at the age of fourteen, are usually Apprenticed to some Trade. A great many of them, however, who have formed part of the Juvenile Band at The Hospital, join the Bands of The Army and The Navy.
In this position they seem to do especially well. Testimonials of gratitude from lads brought up at The Hospital are not wanting. One is a handsome Chinese Vase, bearing the inscription:
“Presented to The Foundling Hospital by George Ross, Corporal, Band, 74th Highlanders, as a small token of gratitude for the years of childhood spent in the Institution. Hong Kong, 15 February, 1879”.
Another is an Ink-Stand, made of Irish Bog-Oak, and was: “Presented to the Governors of The Foundling Hospital by Corporal Samuel Reid, a Foundling, of Her Majesty’s Regiment Military Train, as a token of deep gratitude. 26 April 1868”.
The girls go into Domestic Service, and, with initial care, make excellent Servants. In these days, when good Domestics are so difficult to get, the demand for Foundling Girls is much greater than the supply.
Whatever the deprivations of the children may be on account of the want of individual motherly love, the real hardships of the lives of the girls begin when they leave The Hospital. They are educated in everything save Worldly Knowledge.
Where an ordinary girl runs errands for her parents, and becomes a little woman by the time she reaches her teens, the Foundling Girls remain in absolute ignorance of how to purchase any single article, or transact the simplest affairs outside the home. This is one drawback.
Another drawback, and sadder, is when, standing on the threshold of the great World, they realise that they are not as the majority of other girls are. They go into Service, and they have not a friend of any kind to see, or to talk about.
Do what it will, The Hospital cannot supply the place of relatives, and, however much her origin may be screened from her fellow Servants, in all probability the time comes when the latter say: “How strange we never hear you speak of your father, or your mother, or your sister, or your brother”.
Then, the lonely maiden invents little stories and tells fibs, which the most truthful among us may pardon, respecting the father and mother who are dead, or whatever other explanation may occur to her. If the inquisitive World only knew what pain its thoughtless enquiries may cause !
A visit to The Foundling Hospital will afford food for many an hour’s reflection. We are often urged to recognise woman’s equality with man. The Foundling Hospital is a pathetic reminder of her eternal inequality.
The Strand Magazine, 1891.
The Foundling Hospital is no longer there, but Captain Coram’s name still lives on in Coram’s Fields, a Children’s Park (into which adults are only allowed if accompanied by a child under sixteen) situated between Regent’s Park and Clerkenwell, where The Hospital stood for 187 years before it was moved outside London in the 1920s.
A Plaque at the entrance to the Park commemorates the history of the area with these words:
“THESE GROUNDS”.
The site of The Foundling Hospital, established in 1739 by Captain Thomas Coram, were offered for sale as Building Land in 1926, when, owing to changing Social Conditions, the old Hospital was sold and demolished.
After eight years of anxiety as to its fate, the site was eventually preserved for the use and welfare of the children of Central London by the generosity and vision of Harold Viscount Rothermere, by the efforts of The Foundling Site Appeal Council, by the co-operation of the Governors of The Foundling Hospital, and of the Education Committee of The London County Council, and by the enthusiasm of many thousands of donors, large and small, who contributed their money, or their toil, to the saving of these nine acres, henceforth to be known as “CORAM’S FIELDS”.
The Foundling Hospital is not an institution for the reception of Foundlings. This will be news to five-sixths of our Readers, and it is easy to imagine some of them exclaiming: “But do you mean to tell us that, if we discover a human mite abandoned on someone’s doorstep, and take it to The Foundling Hospital, it will not be admitted ?”
“We do”.
“Why, then, call the place a Foundling Hospital ?”
Thereby hangs a deeply interesting story – a story of human wrong, of human suffering; of evil, of good; of sorrow, of succour – a veritable World’s story, focusing the Large-Souled sympathy of mankind, the weakness and trust of woman, and the treachery and infidelity of man.
“The Strand” Magazine.
Volume VII. January - June, 1894.
“The Strand” Magazine carried an Article on
The Foundling Hospital, London, in 1891.
Photo: 2 December 2007.
Source: Own work.
Author: MichaelMaggs
Original Artist unknown.
(Wikimedia Commons)
The Institution owes its origin to one of Nature’s noblemen; it is a monument equally to the head and the heart of Captain Thomas Coram. Captain Coram, in no ordinary sense of the word, went about doing good.
His life was made up of attempts to improve something or somebody. Early in the 18th-Century, he used, in his walks between the City, where he had business, and Rotherhithe, where he lived, to constantly come across young children left by the wayside, “sometimes alive, sometimes dead, and sometimes dying.” In other Countries, such children would be taken up by The State, and cared for; in England, nothing of the sort had ever been attempted, or, even, perhaps dreamed of.
Captain Coram’s heart was touched by surely the most pitiable sight in creation, and to touch Captain Coram’s heart was to set the machinery of his resourceful brain in motion. He rightly considered such exposure of infant humanity a disgrace to civilisation, and proceeded to enlist the services of the high-placed and the large-hearted in the cause.
For seventeen long years, he laboured against adverse circumstances, until, in 1739, his efforts were rewarded by a Charter authorising the Founding of an Institution “for the maintenance and education of exposed and deserted young children”.
A fine statue of Captain Coram, by W. C. Marshall, R.A., and a Stone Tablet to his memory, placed on the wall of the Arcade in front of the building, are the first things to catch the visitor’s eye. Coram lived, we are told, to be eighty-four, and died “poor in Worldly estate, rich in Good Works.”
To help the New-Born Infant, he took his grey hairs, if not in sorrow, at least in poverty, to the grave. Like so many other benefactors of mankind, in striving to alleviate distress, this “indefatigable schemist” forgot himself, and had he, in his devotion, not had friends who gave more regard to his material needs than he gave himself, he might have closed his eyes to mundane affairs in want by the wayside, even as the objects of his solicitude opened theirs.
Foundling Girls.
It is not necessary to go here at great length into the early mistakes made, or to describe how The Institution failed of the purpose which the Founder had in view. It was intended by him to meet the necessities of deserted motherhood; it came, in the middle of the last Century, to be a receptacle for all the Babes whom worthless parents did not care to keep.
A basket was hung outside the gates of The Hospital. On the first day, 117 children were left in it, and a lucrative trade sprung up among tramps who, for a consideration, carried The Little Ones from all parts of England to The Hospital. In less than four years, 14,934 infants were thus disposed of.
These “Regiments of Infantry,” as a waggish commentator called them, overwhelmed the resources of The Institution, and it is not surprising to learn that, from various causes, not more than 4,000 of the 14,934 survived, the indiscriminate admission of children had to be abolished.
Later, it was decided to receive children for money, but this step resulted in other abuses, and we have the authority of the admirable account of The Hospital, compiled by a former Secretary, and revised by the present Secretary, Mr. W. S. Wintle – a work which may be purchased for Half-a-Crown [Editor: Twelve-and-a-Half Pence], and is well worth attentive study – for stating that, since January 1801, no child has been received into The Hospital, either directly or indirectly, with any sum of money, large or small.
Today, the practice is for the mother to take the Babe, before it is twelve months old, to The Hospital, to make her statement before the authorities, and to leave the child to their care, absolutely. She must be Poor, she must be anxious to regain her good name, and no woman who petitions that her child may be admitted to The Hospital stands a chance of relief if she cannot prove that she has led a life of propriety previous to her misfortune. This point cannot be too strongly borne in mind. As the Reverend Sydney Smith, one of the Preachers of The Foundling Chapel puts it:-
“No child drinks of our cup, or eats of our bread, whose reception, upon the whole, is not certain to be more conducive than pernicious to the interests of Religion and good morals. We hear no mother whom it would not be merciless and shocking to turn away; we exercise the trust reposed in us with a trembling and sensitive conscience; we do not think it enough to say: ‘This woman is wretched, and betrayed, and forsaken’; but we calmly reflect if it be expedient that her tears should be dried up, her loneliness sheltered, and all her wants receive the ministration of Charity.”
Foundling Boys.
No instance of a mother going to the bad after she has been relieved by the Governors of The Foundling Hospital has, we believe, ever come to notice !
The General Public knows most of The Foundling Hospital from a visit to The Chapel on a Sunday morning. Anyone who is prepared to drop a Silver Coin into The Plate at the door is admitted. The spectacle is impressive. In the galleries, at The West End of The Chapel, on either side of the Organ, are seated some five hundred boys and girls, better behaved probably than any other considerable number of young people who appear in Church regularly every Sunday.
Their happy faces are perhaps a greater pleasure to gaze upon than their healthy voices are to listen to. Divine Service over, at one o’clock they march into their respective Dining-Rooms, the boys being in one Wing of the building and the girls in the other Wing. “Grace”, in the former, is sung to the accompaniment of a Cornet, which one of the boys plays.
When they take their places at Table, the spectator will find none lacking in appetite for the simple honest “repast”. On the opposite side of the building, the girls are doing not less justice to themselves and those who have provided and prepared the Dinner.
The Chapel.
The scene on any Sunday morning in the year 1891 is precisely that which Charles Dickens described in “No Thoroughfare”, a quarter of a Century ago:
“There are numerous lookers-on at the Dinner, as the custom is. There are two or three Governors, whole families from the Congregation, smaller groups of both sexes, individual stragglers of various degrees.
The bright Autumnal Sun strikes freshly into the Wards, and the heavy-framed windows through which it shines, and the panelled walls on which it strikes, are such windows and such walls as pervade Hogarth’s pictures. The girls’ Refectory (including that of the younger children) is the principal attraction.
Title: “Waif Boy”.
Date: 1890.
Location: Bristol.
Author: Unknown.
Rights: © The Children's Society.
Used with permission.
Neat attendants silently glide about the orderly and silent Tables; the lookers-on move or stop as the fancy takes them; comments in whispers on face “such a number, from such a window” are not infrequent; many of the faces are of a character to fix attention.
Some of the visitors from the Outside Public are accustomed visitors. They have established a speaking acquaintance with the occupants of particular seats at the Tables, and halt at these points to bend down and say a word or two. It is no disparagement to their kindness that those points are generally points where personal attractions are. The monotony of the long spacious rooms and the double lines of faces is agreeably relieved by these incidents, although so slight”.
There is not much to see in the Classrooms, which will not be fully conveyed in our illustrations. As we enter the boys’ room, we are momentarily startled by the shuffle of feet as every boy rises respectfully in his place. Not being professional School Inspectors, such honours are not often accorded us. Resuming their seats, the Class-Work goes on as at any ordinary School. So, with the girls.
The most interesting of the Classes is that of the Infants. On the day on which we visit The Foundling Hospital, for the especial purpose of this Paper, they are turned out of their Ordinary Room, and are squatted on the floor of another, in sections, before Blackboards, and with slates in their laps.
They are the veriest, chubbiest urchins imaginable, and, as we approach, three or four of them turn their smiling faces up to ours. They evidently expect to be spoken to, and we ask them what they are doing ?
“Writin’,” answers a Babe of very few Summers.
“Writing what ?” we ask.
“Good,” is the reply, as a little finger points to the Blackboard on which the word is written in bold characters.
“And are you good ?”
“Es,” and, with a “That’s Right !”, we pat the baby cheek, and think many things. Poor little mites, and yet happy withal ! Motherless, fatherless, friendless, and yet inmates of an Institution which is not such a bad substitute for father, mother, and friends.
What would they be but for it ? Recruits, perchance, in the ranks of shame into which their mothers might have drifted. And their mothers ? Who knows but that somewhere out in the World, women are living, and working, and sleeping; dreaming, wondering how fares the helpless mortal for whose existence they are responsible, for whom they still bear a love which no barrier of separation can obliterate ?
Foundling Infants.
From the School-Rooms, let us go to the Museum, where are stored some valuable and many curiosities. Pictures by Hogarth, and others, line the walls, and it is an interesting item of information that The Royal Academy of Arts, to which the fashionable World flocks today, was suggested to the Founders by the crowds of people who, in the last Century, went to see pictures exhibited at The Foundling Hospital.
Artists rallied strongly to the support of the Institution, which also enlisted the services of Handel, who devoted his “Messiah” to its benefit, and presented the Organ which is still in use. Lovers of Art History and Art Treasures will find much on the walls and in the Show-Cases of The Foundling Hospital to gratify them.
What will attract the majority of people more, however, than Handel’s gifts, or Hogarth’s, or Sir Joshua Reynolds’ canvases, are the Tokens, which it early became necessary to stipulate should be left with the child for the purpose, if need be, of identification.
All sorts of things were left, from a coin, or a key, to a trinket, or piece of ribbon. Hearts and Wedding Rings are numerous, the former, no doubt, emblems more often than not of broken hearts, the latter eloquent of disappointed hopes. In some instances, the Token took the shape of a Verse.
The Museum.
What becomes of the inmates of The Hospital when the time arrives to turn them out into the World to gain a living ? The boys, at the age of fourteen, are usually Apprenticed to some Trade. A great many of them, however, who have formed part of the Juvenile Band at The Hospital, join the Bands of The Army and The Navy.
In this position they seem to do especially well. Testimonials of gratitude from lads brought up at The Hospital are not wanting. One is a handsome Chinese Vase, bearing the inscription:
“Presented to The Foundling Hospital by George Ross, Corporal, Band, 74th Highlanders, as a small token of gratitude for the years of childhood spent in the Institution. Hong Kong, 15 February, 1879”.
Title: “Waif Girl”.
Date: 1890.
Location: Bristol.
Author: Unknown.
Rights: © The Children's Society.
Used with permission.
Another is an Ink-Stand, made of Irish Bog-Oak, and was: “Presented to the Governors of The Foundling Hospital by Corporal Samuel Reid, a Foundling, of Her Majesty’s Regiment Military Train, as a token of deep gratitude. 26 April 1868”.
The girls go into Domestic Service, and, with initial care, make excellent Servants. In these days, when good Domestics are so difficult to get, the demand for Foundling Girls is much greater than the supply.
Whatever the deprivations of the children may be on account of the want of individual motherly love, the real hardships of the lives of the girls begin when they leave The Hospital. They are educated in everything save Worldly Knowledge.
Where an ordinary girl runs errands for her parents, and becomes a little woman by the time she reaches her teens, the Foundling Girls remain in absolute ignorance of how to purchase any single article, or transact the simplest affairs outside the home. This is one drawback.
Girls in Class.
Another drawback, and sadder, is when, standing on the threshold of the great World, they realise that they are not as the majority of other girls are. They go into Service, and they have not a friend of any kind to see, or to talk about.
Do what it will, The Hospital cannot supply the place of relatives, and, however much her origin may be screened from her fellow Servants, in all probability the time comes when the latter say: “How strange we never hear you speak of your father, or your mother, or your sister, or your brother”.
Then, the lonely maiden invents little stories and tells fibs, which the most truthful among us may pardon, respecting the father and mother who are dead, or whatever other explanation may occur to her. If the inquisitive World only knew what pain its thoughtless enquiries may cause !
A visit to The Foundling Hospital will afford food for many an hour’s reflection. We are often urged to recognise woman’s equality with man. The Foundling Hospital is a pathetic reminder of her eternal inequality.
The Strand Magazine, 1891.
The Foundling Hospital is no longer there, but Captain Coram’s name still lives on in Coram’s Fields, a Children’s Park (into which adults are only allowed if accompanied by a child under sixteen) situated between Regent’s Park and Clerkenwell, where The Hospital stood for 187 years before it was moved outside London in the 1920s.
A Plaque at the entrance to the Park commemorates the history of the area with these words:
“THESE GROUNDS”.
The site of The Foundling Hospital, established in 1739 by Captain Thomas Coram, were offered for sale as Building Land in 1926, when, owing to changing Social Conditions, the old Hospital was sold and demolished.
After eight years of anxiety as to its fate, the site was eventually preserved for the use and welfare of the children of Central London by the generosity and vision of Harold Viscount Rothermere, by the efforts of The Foundling Site Appeal Council, by the co-operation of the Governors of The Foundling Hospital, and of the Education Committee of The London County Council, and by the enthusiasm of many thousands of donors, large and small, who contributed their money, or their toil, to the saving of these nine acres, henceforth to be known as “CORAM’S FIELDS”.
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