Charles Dickens Describes a Ragged School to Angela Burdett-Coutts

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Envelope with Dickens’ signature in the bottom left corner and wave seal at back (Cotsen 44006).

On September 16th, 1843, Charles Dickens wrote a letter to Angela Burdett-Coutts in Broadstairs, Kent. He opens the letter by remarking on his current progress writing Martin Chuzzlewit (which he would publish in monthly installments from January 1843 — July 1844). But the majority of the letter meditates on the condition of a particular Ragged school in London, probably the Field Lane Ragged School. Ragged schools were charitable organizations that offered free education for the destitute children of 19th Century England’s struggling working class. Often run by working class people in their own neighborhoods, the schools offered instruction during the evening, after the children had been working or begging during the day.

In the letter’s second paragraph Dickens describes the school he had visited a few days prior:

“On Thursday night, I went to the Ragged School; and an awful sight it is. I blush to quote Oliver Twist for an authority. . . The school is held in three most wretched rooms on the first floor of a rotten house: every plank, and timber, and brick, and lath, and piece of plaster in which, shakes as you walk.  One room is devoted to the girls: two to the boys. The former are much the better-looking — I cannot say better dressed, for there is no such thing as dress among the seventy pupils; certainly not the elements of a whole suit of clothes, among them all.  I have very seldom seen, in all the strange and dreadful things I have seen in London and elsewhere anything so shocking as the dire neglect of soul and body exhibited in these children.  And although I know; and am as sure as it is possible for one to be of anything which has not happened; that in the prodigious misery and ignorance of the swarming masses of mankind in England, the seeds of its certain ruin are sown, I never saw that Truth so staring out in hopeless characters, as it does from the walls of this place.  The children in the Jails are almost as common sights to me as my own; but these are worse, for they have not arrived there yet, but are as plainly and certainly travelling there, as they are to their Graves…” [pages 1-2]

From this heartwarming opening, Dickens continues to explain the poor physical condition of the school, the struggles of its young inhabitants and teachers, their devotion to prayer and knowledge of God, and its significant lack of funding.

Why mention all this to his dear friend Angela you might ask? Well, for one thing, she happens to be popularly known as “the richest heiress in England”. In 1822 Angela Burdett-Coutts became one of the wealthiest women in England after inheriting £1.8 million pounds sterling from her grandfather, Thomas Coutts, founder of the banking house of Coutts & Co.

Towards the closing of the letter then, its purpose becomes quite clear:

“I need not say, I am sure, that I deem it an experiment most worthy of your charitable hand.” [page 8]

The entreatment would prove fruitful. To show his gratitude, Dickens would dedicate the 1844 monograph of Martin Chuzzlewit to Miss Burdett-Coutts herself. A prodigious philanthropist, Burdett-Coutts would work with Dickens on a number of charitable enterprises untill his death in 1870. Famously, the pair would found the Urania Cottage, a home for young women who had “turned to a life of immorality”, in 1847.

In the last paragraph of the letter Dicken’s explains that he will soon be leaving for a visit to the Manchester Athenaeum. In Edgar Johnson’s exhaustive biography: Charles Dickens: His Tragedy and Triumph, Johnson explains that this visit, and the audience that Dickens would encounter there, would provide the author with his inspiration for perhaps, his most well known work: A Christmas Carol (see Johnson, page 254).

For your enjoyment and perusal (hoping your 19th Century English paleography is up to snuff) the letter is reproduced below:

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Dicken’s signature

 

Marcus French Licks His Algebra Anxiety

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor, January 9, 1927. Marcus as projectionist. He’s chosen a film of a boxing match to show.

Marcus is back, with more letters to his big sister Eleanor this week.  Most days in Amsterdam, New York, were school days, not holidays, and buried in some of his bulletins  (aka the “Pathe newsreels”), were hints that things weren’t going well in algebra.

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A page of equations from an algebra text in use during the 1920s.

The first sign is in his letter of November 22, 1925, when he was eleven.  The pet stories always came before any other news.  His dog Jock had started raiding trashcans for food, while Dixie the cat disgraced himself by leaping on the dining room table at dinner to steal a piece of rabbit off a plate.  After an anecdote about the Sunday school teacher, Marcus announced, “I’m getting on in school pretty good here’s my marks.”  He received a gentleman’s C in English, writing, arithmetic, junior business training, printing, and textiles.   No absences, no tardies, but not exactly a stellar academic record that marking period  (the symbol scrawled down for his grades in spelling, history, science, and music is undecipherable and highly suspicious).

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor dated November 22, 1925.

Nothing much about algebra until January 9th, 1927.  It was a pretty good day, all things considered.  Dixie had been given a dose of catnip after he was caught eating the house plants.  “For an hour and a half,” reports Marcus delightedly, “he was an insane cat.”   catnip-banned-uk

Another hot tidbit was that Father had brought home three new films–two two-reelers “Castor Oil” and “Big Business” starring Our Gang and a one-reeler “Suds” featuring Stan Laurel, making Marcus the proud possessor of ten reels of film.

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Lobby card for the Little Rascals’ short “Big Business.”

Then he drops the bombshell: “Miss Bartley is giving me 3 extra hours every week in algebra.  No more news.”

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor, January 9, 1927. Surely Miss Bartley did not actually whack him over the head to make him do his homework…

By the 30th of January, the increased homework was paying dividends.   After telling Eleanor that Dixie had discovered the catnip’s hiding place in the pantry and sat in front of the cupboard yowling until given a dose, Marcus crowed, “I passed another algebra test 85%.”

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor, January 30, 1927.

Things had really improved by mid-March.  There was a long account of Jock’s returning home covered in blood with a crushed paw (he had probably gotten run over again) before Marcus gleefully announced, “I passed an Algebra test!!” (That made three for the academic year.)

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor March 13, 1927.

On the next page, he drew himself fainting when Miss Bartley handed back another exam marked 85% with the encouraging words, “Good work.”  What is going on in the paper he drew in the upper right hand corner???  It looks as if he got all five questions right…

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor, March 13, 1927. He appears to be wearing sunglasses, which surely can’t be right, and knickerbockers.

We may never know the answer to that question, because the ice floes rushing down the creek behind the barn was a lot more interesting, when it came right down to it.

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Marcus French, letter to Eleanor, March 13, 1927. Marcus has drawn himself on an ice berg saying “Haw, haw, what fun.”