In Darkest England and The Way Out [109]
real home for such--a house to which any girl can fly at any hour of the day or night, and be taken in, cared for, shielded from the enemy, and helped into circumstances of safety.
The Refuge we propose will be very much on the same principle as the Homes for the Destitute already described. We should accept any girls, say from fourteen years of age, who were without visible means of support, but who were willing to work, and to conform to discipline. There would be various forms of labour provided, such as laundry work, sewing, knitting by machines, &c. Every beneficial influence within our power would be brought to bear on the rectification and formation of character. Continued efforts would be made to secure situations according to the adaptation of the girls, to restore wanderers to their homes, and otherwise provide for all. From this, as with the other Homes, there will be a way made to the Farm and to the Colony over the sea. The institutions would be multiplied as we had means and found them to be necessary, and made self-supporting as far as possible.
SECTION 7.--ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE.
Perhaps nothing more vividly suggests the varied forms of broken-hearted misery in the great City than the statement that 18,000 people are lost in it every year, of whom 9,000 are never heard of any more, anyway in this world. What is true about London is, we suppose, true in about the same proportion of the rest of the country. Husbands, sons, daughters, and mothers are continually disappearing, and leaving no trace behind.
In such cases, where the relations are of some importance in the world, they may interest the police authorities sufficiently to make some enquiries in this country, which, however, are not often successful; or where they can afford to spend large sums of money, they can fall back upon the private detective, who will continue these enquiries, not only at home but abroad.
But where the relations of the missing individual are in humble circumstances, they are absolutely powerless, in nine cases out of ten, to effectually prosecute any search at all that is likely to be successful.
Take, for instance, a cottager in a village, whose daughter leaves for service in a big town or city. Shortly afterwards a letter arrives informing her parents of the satisfactory character of her place. The mistress is kind, the work easy, and she likes her fellow servants. She is going to chapel or church, and the family are pleased. Letters continue to arrive of the same purport, but, at length, they suddenly cease. Full of concern, the mother writes to know the reason, but no answer comes back, and after a time the letters are returned with "gone, no address," written on the envelope. The mother writes to the mistress, or the father journeys to the city, but no further information can be obtained beyond the fact that "the girl has conducted herself somewhat mysteriously of late; had ceased to be as careful at her work; had been noticed to be keeping company with some young man; had given notice and disappeared altogether."
Now, what can these poor people do? They apply to the police, but they can do nothing. Perhaps they ask the clergyman of the parish, who is equally helpless, and there is nothing for them but for the father to hang his head and the mother to cry her self to sleep--to long, and wait, and pray for information that perhaps never comes, and to fear the worst.
Now, our Enquiry Department supplies a remedy for this state of things. In such a case application would simply have to be made to the nearest Salvation Army Officer--probably in her own village, any way, in the nearest town--who would instruct the parents to write to the Chief Office in London, sending portraits and all particulars. Enquiries would at once be set on foot, which would very possibly end in the restoration of the girl.
The achievements of this Department, which has only been in operation for a short time, and that on a limited scale, as a branch of Rescue Work, have been marvellous. No more romantic
The Refuge we propose will be very much on the same principle as the Homes for the Destitute already described. We should accept any girls, say from fourteen years of age, who were without visible means of support, but who were willing to work, and to conform to discipline. There would be various forms of labour provided, such as laundry work, sewing, knitting by machines, &c. Every beneficial influence within our power would be brought to bear on the rectification and formation of character. Continued efforts would be made to secure situations according to the adaptation of the girls, to restore wanderers to their homes, and otherwise provide for all. From this, as with the other Homes, there will be a way made to the Farm and to the Colony over the sea. The institutions would be multiplied as we had means and found them to be necessary, and made self-supporting as far as possible.
SECTION 7.--ENQUIRY OFFICE FOR LOST PEOPLE.
Perhaps nothing more vividly suggests the varied forms of broken-hearted misery in the great City than the statement that 18,000 people are lost in it every year, of whom 9,000 are never heard of any more, anyway in this world. What is true about London is, we suppose, true in about the same proportion of the rest of the country. Husbands, sons, daughters, and mothers are continually disappearing, and leaving no trace behind.
In such cases, where the relations are of some importance in the world, they may interest the police authorities sufficiently to make some enquiries in this country, which, however, are not often successful; or where they can afford to spend large sums of money, they can fall back upon the private detective, who will continue these enquiries, not only at home but abroad.
But where the relations of the missing individual are in humble circumstances, they are absolutely powerless, in nine cases out of ten, to effectually prosecute any search at all that is likely to be successful.
Take, for instance, a cottager in a village, whose daughter leaves for service in a big town or city. Shortly afterwards a letter arrives informing her parents of the satisfactory character of her place. The mistress is kind, the work easy, and she likes her fellow servants. She is going to chapel or church, and the family are pleased. Letters continue to arrive of the same purport, but, at length, they suddenly cease. Full of concern, the mother writes to know the reason, but no answer comes back, and after a time the letters are returned with "gone, no address," written on the envelope. The mother writes to the mistress, or the father journeys to the city, but no further information can be obtained beyond the fact that "the girl has conducted herself somewhat mysteriously of late; had ceased to be as careful at her work; had been noticed to be keeping company with some young man; had given notice and disappeared altogether."
Now, what can these poor people do? They apply to the police, but they can do nothing. Perhaps they ask the clergyman of the parish, who is equally helpless, and there is nothing for them but for the father to hang his head and the mother to cry her self to sleep--to long, and wait, and pray for information that perhaps never comes, and to fear the worst.
Now, our Enquiry Department supplies a remedy for this state of things. In such a case application would simply have to be made to the nearest Salvation Army Officer--probably in her own village, any way, in the nearest town--who would instruct the parents to write to the Chief Office in London, sending portraits and all particulars. Enquiries would at once be set on foot, which would very possibly end in the restoration of the girl.
The achievements of this Department, which has only been in operation for a short time, and that on a limited scale, as a branch of Rescue Work, have been marvellous. No more romantic