Thomas Corum (1668-1751)
The problem was
twofold: first the Elizabethan Poor Law, set up to relieve poverty at parish
level, was woefully inadequate to deal with a city of over a million
inhabitants. Second, contemporary social attitudes saw poverty as a sign of
moral weakness and helping abandoned babies as encouraging immorality.
In order to set
up a Foundling Hospital, Coram needed a Royal Charter, as well as enough money
to build, equip, and run it. It took him seventeen years of dogged persistence
to get it.
Coram’s story
deserves a post of its own, but, as a novelist, I found myself thinking about
the abandoned infants, how did they fare? What exactly happened to a baby whose
mother couldn’t support it?
Under the
Foundling Hospital’s early 19th century guidelines, the foundling
had to be illegitimate, under two months old, and healthy. The mother must be
Protestant and to have been of good character before her fall. It was felt that
‘in addition to the protection of the
Child, they had an opportunity of saving the Mother from shame, and of enabling
her to return to her proper Situation in life, which the acknowledgment of an
illegitimate Child would prevent her from doing…’
The mother left
a token, often a swatch of material, but sometimes, a coin, a bracelet, or
even, in one case, a hazelnut, to identify her child if she were ever in a
position to take her child back.
Two of the tokens
The Hospital
billet book noted each baby’s possessions and any distinguishing features. For
example, (I have italicised the hand-written notes beside the typed clothes
list) Mary Lamas, baby No. 10,125, admitted in 1758, had a ‘white sarsen ribbon’, a cap
‘with a muslin border’, a plain
biggin (a child’s cap), a forehead cloth, a gown ‘blue and white checke’ (sic), a blanket ‘bound with white ferret’ (narrow woollen tape), a neck cloth, a
roller (a bandage), a waistcoat ‘diaper’ (linen cloth woven with flowers), shirt ‘Irish trimmed’ (linen), and two clouts
(nappies – also ‘Irish’.) It noted
that the baby was female and had been christened. Interestingly, what the
billet book didn’t note that she was black.
Female Orphans by Emma Brownlow, 1860s
Every baby was
given an identity disk which they wore at all times, and a new name to signify
a fresh start. Some of the names chosen were questionable, to say the least;
for example, Perkin Warbeck and Lambert Simnel. The real life Warbeck and
Simnel pretended to be the ill-fated Princes in the Tower. Both were caught; Simnel
was pardoned and made a scullion in Henry VII’s kitchen and Warbeck was hanged
- hardly role models for the unfortunate boys given their names.
Two other
foundlings were named Tom Jones and Sophia Western after the hero and heroine
of Henry Fielding’s picaresque novel, Tom
Jones. There was also an Oliver Cromwell and a Julius Caesar. It seems as
if the authorities had no objection to a little levity at the foundlings’
expense.
The Foundling Museum today. It
incorporates the original Court Room, Picture Gallery and the Boys’ Staircase.
So, the child
was renamed. What happened then? The babies were sent to respectable foster
parents in the country and had a wet nurse until they were weaned. A lot of
care was taken over this and a local reputable person kept an eye on them. In most
cases, this was the nearest the child ever got to having a proper home.
When they were
five, they returned to the Foundling Hospital and sent to either the boys’ wing
or the girls’ wing. They were also inoculated against smallpox – very forward-thinking
at the time, but practical, too. A child who had been vaccinated would be valued
more when he or she went out into the world.
The Boys’ Staircase
Their education
was far in advance of what most working-class children received. Both boys and
girls were taught to read and write and they learnt practical skills too, like
needlework. They were expected to contribute towards the running of the
Hospital – their work was on sale to visitors, for example, and older children
helped to dress the little ones, did the cleaning, drew water, and tended the
vegetable garden.
Their diet,
comprising meat, potatoes, dairy products and bread was certainly adequate, if
monotonous. Fruit and vegetables were not, at that date, considered important, so scurvy, poor
eye-sight and rickets were common.
Handel by Louis François Roubiliac, 1739
But it was the
inclusion of music that made the Foundling Hospital’s education special. One of
the Hospital’s first patrons was the composer Handel whose annual benefit performance
of The Messiah was a Society
highlight. And, from the 1760s on, all musically gifted children were taught
choral singing. The standard was extremely high and they gave successful benefit
concerts in the chapel. Musical boys also had the opportunity to learn a brass
instrument; later, many of them went into the army via regimental bands.
Subscriber’s ticket to a concert at the Foundling
Hospital
The creation of
the Picture Gallery became an important and elegant venue for the Hospital to
entertain the aristocracy – their potential patrons. The first artist to donate
a painting was William Hogarth, who gave his magnificent portrait of Thomas
Coram. He also persuaded other eminent artists to donate their own paintings;
and the spectacular rococo plasterwork in the Court Room was donated by the
plasterer, William Wilton.
The Picture Gallery
The musical and
artistic life of the Foundling Hospital ensured that it swiftly became the place to see and be seen in.
Aristocratic ladies and gentlemen of the 18th century prided
themselves on their Sensibility. Supporting Thomas Coram’s Foundling Hospital
meant that they could express their finer feelings, and, at the same time,
enjoy Mr Handel’s music or admire the latest works of art in the Court Room and
Picture Gallery.
Court room. Note the appropriate picture,
‘Suffer Little Children’, and the plasterwork
But what about
the children? They left the Hospital at fourteen. Boys either joined the army
or navy, or became apprentices. The girls mainly went into carefully vetted domestic
service – no bachelor households! - though a few were apprenticed as calico
printers. Foundling children had the reputation of being humble and
hard-working, and were welcomed by prospective masters or employers, and inspectors
followed their progress to ensure that they were treated properly. It is
pleasing to note that the Hospital looked after disabled children throughout
their lives.
‘Leaving for Work’ by Emma Brownlow,
1860s
However, in
spite of the undoubted excellence of the Foundling Hospital’s charitable work, one
cannot help feeling sorry for the children. By modern standards, their
emotional needs went unrecognized. They were not encouraged to value themselves
and they must have become institutionalized; they always wore the regulation
uniform, for example. Still, I like to think that a spirited child could find some way to emerge with a sense of their own worth.
Nowadays, The
Coram Foundation continues to work with and for children in need. To find out
more, go to www.coram.org.uk
Elizabeth
Hawksley
