The Close, Union Road, Bridge

Halfway along Union Road is a complex called The Close. As you go under the
archway, you find yourself in a quadrangle. The four sides are formed by continuous
terraced houses which appear to be Victorian in date and are built with a warm, mellow
brick. Along two sides, at first floor level, there is a wooden balcony with a thin metal
railing. Each house has a front garden and most have a back garden. All the houses face
onto a lawned area with trees and attractive flower borders. A small building is in the
centre of the lawn. There is an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity. A very pleasing
place to live, but, The Close has a tragic history.

In 1834 The Poor Law Amendment Act was passed. All people unable to support
themselves, were forced to enter work houses, so, in 1835, The Union Workhouse was
built in Bridge. Many of the Workhouses, including the one for Bridge, were built to the
same plan, a quadrangle of buildings to house the inmates, together with a chapel,
laundry, cookhouse and mortuary. Husbands, wives and children were separated, only to
see each other occasionally in the chapel.

Eventually, as laws, conditions and attitudes changed, The Union Workhouse became
an old people’s home. In the nineteen eighties, the workhouse was closed and the elderly
residents moved into a new building. The workhouse was then converted and transformed
into dream homes.

Pamela Hall g 241 words.


Extract From The 1841 Census,

Bridge Union Workhouse, Kent:

Murphy Thomas Aged 35 "’ 3“ " ”' 5'
Hannah Aged 35
George Aged 10
Thomas Aged 8
Henry Aged 6
Jane Aged 5
Edwin Aged 3
Sarah Aged 10 months

Hannah’s Lament

Her hair. They have cut her hair. How have we come to this terrible state? My Thomas, such a
good man, such a gentle, kind man, out in the rain, wind, sun and snow to provide for us. They
treated the horses better than my Thomas, although he was their best worker. I see him striding
along behind the horses, guiding the plough, no one could cut a straighter furrow. In the summer,
scything the ripened wheat, setting the pace. But, last winter, so hard, so cruel, his cough came.
He tried to work, his whole body shaken with coughing. They said he was useless, they did not
want him and we had to leave the cottage. It has broken him. His pride has gone, he hangs his
head and cannot look at us. The clothes issued to him are so thin. I fear for his life. There is one
of Jane’s curls, her father’s golden delight. They have taken him, my rock, my support. How will
I survive without? My arms are empty. I held Sarah so tightly, Edwin clung to my dress, but they
tore her away from me and dragged Edwin screaming. Who will kiss and cuddle my Sarah and
comfort Edwin in his nightmares‘? Jane, Henry and Thomas are with the other children. When
they dressed Jane, I could feel her poor little body try to escape from the harsh material. She is so
delicate, so fragile. How will she survive? Chimney sweeps. They take them from here. Henry is
six and small, the right size. I have heard such dreadful stories. How their skin is grazed, cut,
infected by the soot. How the boys become stuck in the chimney. Fires lit to force them out. The
darkness. He is terrified of the dark. If I pick up one of the curls perhaps I can hide it in my
pocket. The hair is so fine, so soft It wraps around my finger. My little man, George, quiet,
thoughtfulflecanread, write, addhismnnbergdaekeverend \Vhitehodsuchhopesforhim.I
munh1vesomedI'ead,Ineedittotiethectrl. Whnfivom?Itwill fall topieceswithoutit.
Thomnlowstehewitlrhisi‘atl1er,moutdamsboy.Heknowsallthebirds,wheretheynest,
hiny&ediylidegsfixmemwokThKe\umdIHtelusdnwnwnuekindmss.Heuied
tomdmaIIereomge,spaketoIheMasta',|:u_aonosvn'l. Tlreywouddnotlistentoldm. The
ldrishlewingnunud|efieer,som|rehfimIsI[d1I:mallg'rl. Tlaeyluvetalrennrybltiedress.
Wewmkedwhndmfmidhh&ae,MIyudlwwing,thenMnduu'enheidnringitwflh



wallrndluundinhtludtoolrwedfing I1Iehourfi’ost,air'craekin¢wiflacold,catd\irIgourbreafl1,
brilliant blue sky sparkling the silver plum md trees. In our room, in the gentle, moving firelight,
Thomas held me. His lips brushed my hair, lingered, kissed, said how much he loved me, how he
would always care for and look after me. As we lay at peace, curled into each other, listening to
the wood crackling, I thought that our love would survive all difficulties. What are we to do?
Who will help us? I have lost my love, my husband, my children. The hair has been swept away.

Pamela Hall Word count 613