Silent Witness

Considering the impact he had on this country, it is surprising that the name of architect George Wilkinson is not better known here. Born in Witney, Oxfordshire in 1814, and the eldest of six children, Wilkinson’s background was modest: his father was a carpenter and builder. There is little known of his education or training but he soon began to win contracts for work and in 1839 – when still not yet 25 – was appointed architect to the Irish Poor Law Commission, of which more below. Wilkinson thereafter spent the greater part of his life in Ireland, only returning to England a few years before his death in 1890. While living here, aside from his work for the commission, he was responsible for designing many other buildings, not least railway stations, perhaps the most celebrated of these being that on Harcourt Street in Dublin, as well those in Cavan and Sligo towns, Bray, County Wicklow, Athlone, County Westmeath, and Carrick-on-Shannon, County Leitrim, among many others. He designed the fine redbrick offices for the Guinness brewery at St James’s Gate in Dublin, and district lunatic asylums in Castlebar, County Mayo, Letterkenny, County Donegal, and both Carlow and Limerick. His practice in Ireland was extremely and consistently busy but it began with a large number of buildings which continue to have a notoriety here: workhouses.

In Ireland, workhouses are today associated with the catastrophe of the Great Famine and its aftermath. However, as institutions they neither originated in this country, nor were they intended to deal with such a disaster. The workhouse was essentially an English construct, arising out of successive Poor Law Acts and specifically dating back to the 1720s when legislation was passed allowing a local parish either to purchase or rent a property ‘for the Lodging, Keeping and Employing of poor Persons.’ Here in Ireland, and some twenty years earlier, a ‘House of Industry’ was established by act of Parliament in St James’s parish, Dublin ‘for the employment and maintaining of the poor thereof’: in 1729, it also became a Foundling Hospital. Operational costs were covered by, among other things, a tax on sedan chairs and hackney coaches. In 1773 a similar House of Industry was set up across the other side of the Liffey, on what is now North Brunswick Street. Others followed in a number of Irish cities and towns including Cork, Belfast, Limerick, Waterford and so forth. Like their English equivalents, these buildings were never supposed to be an attractive option: they were intended to be places of last resort for those who were destitute and prepared to suffer what could be a harsh regime (in England the running of many workhouses was contracted out to third parties: shades of direct provision centres in this country at present). Circumstances, both in England and here, began to change in 1832 when the Westminster Parliament established a Royal Commission, chaired by the Bishop of London, to look at the administration of existing Poor Laws, some of them going back to 1601, and see how these might be improved. A report delivered two years later led to the 1834 Poor Law Amendment Act, which created a new administrative framework for providing relief to the poor, operated by a Poor Law Commission. One of the latter’s first tasks was to disband the old parish-level system of support and replace it with a nationwide series of organisations called Poor Law Unions, each run by a locally elected Board of Governors. Each union was to have its own workhouse, funded by a local poor rate. Workhouses were deeply unpopular in England and Wales, where they were first constructed, and often subject to attacks; some were even threatened with arson. Nevertheless, a similar system was proposed for Ireland by the government and in 1833 another commission, this one chaired by the Archbishop of Dublin, was set up to look into the matter. The commission’s report, delivered in 1836, did not recommend that the English system be replicated in Ireland: the problem here being lack of work rather than any unwillingness on the part of the local population to take up employment (which was thought to be one of the primary causes of poverty in England). More jobs, better housing, the drainage of bogs and improvements in agriculture: these were among the Irish commission’s recommendations. Unhappy with these proposals, the government in London sent over one of the English Poor Law Commissioners, George Nicholls, to investigate. Nicholls, who had never been here before, spent a mere six weeks traveling through the country, after which he returned home and declared that the English workhouse system was the best remedy for Ireland’s distinct issues. Despite violent opposition to the idea, the government proceeded with a Bill ‘for the more effectual Relief of the Destitute Poor in Ireland’ which passed into law in July 1838. Under this legislation, the country was divided into 130 Unions, each of which was to have its own workhouse (during the years 1848-50 some of these unions were split, with the creation of a further 33, thereby increasing the final figure). In early 1839 George Wilkinson, who had already designed a number of workhouses in England and Wales, arrived in Ireland with the brief of producing plans for all of them here.

Employed on an annual salary of £500, Wilkinson was instructed by the Poor Law Commissioners to visit and inspect all proposed sites before coming up with a proposal for workhouses ‘intended to be of the cheapest description compatible with durability; an effect is aimed at by harmony of proportion and simplicity of arrangement, all mere decoration being studiously excluded.’ Within a couple of months, Wilkinson had come up with a design model which was almost universally applied in the construction of Irish workhouses. Built of stone in a suitably unadorned Tudoresque style and capable of holding on average up to 800-1,000 persons, each site was entered through a relatively small porters’ block, where prospective inmates were admitted and where the local guardians would hold their meetings. Behind and to either side of this were separate recreation yards for boys and girls, divided by a small central garden. Then came the main accommodation block, separated into dormitories for men and for women (and for boys and girls above), behind which were two further recreation yards, once more divided by gender and kept apart by a long building running down the spine which held the chapel and dining room. Finally, the top of the workhouse site would be occupied by the kitchens, a laundry, a mortuary and what was usually described as a ‘ward for idiots.’  Because they all followed the same model, workhouses soon began to spring up across the country: as early as April 1843, Wilkinson was able to report that 112 of them were finished, and another 18 nearing completion. But they remained deeply unpopular, among all classes. Those who had to pay for them resented doing so: in Westport, County Mayo, for example, although the workhouse was ready for use in November 1842, it took three years – and a change of Board of Guardians – for the necessary operating funds to be collected through poor rates. Meanwhile, nobody wanted to be admitted to places known for their harsh regime, poor diet and miserable living conditions: even in the summer of 1846, many workhouses were only half-full. Then came the worst years of the Great Famine when suddenly there was no alternative. Buildings never intended to meet such demand struggled to accommodate many more inmates than had been planned, disease, such as typhus, became rife, and large numbers of Unions sank into debt as they struggled to provide any kind of assistance to the starving local community. No wonder that the image of the Irish workhouse is forever tainted. And quite a few of them survive to the present day, either in part or whole, and often pressed into service for other uses, not least as hospital complexes: Wilkinson, it appears, met his brief to make them durable. The workhouse shown here, in Bawnboy, County Cavan, is one of those established in the post-Famine period. Simpler in style than the earlier models, it was built at a cost of £4,900 (plus £945 for fixtures and fittings) and opened in November 1853 when 52 inmates from its equivalent in Cavan town were transferred here. Designed to hold 500 residents, it never seems to have reached that figure: in 1855, 172 persons lived here and by 1901 there were just 70. Following the workhouse’s closure in 1921, the buildings were used for various purposes, some of them serving as a vocational school, while another section became a dancehall. Services were held in a Roman Catholic chapel as late as 1979. Then no new function could be found them, and a long, slow decline appears to have begun, despite local recognition of the site’s significance and efforts to save the buildings. This is how they are today, derelict and empty, silent witnesses to a particularly grim period of Irish history.

10 comments on “Silent Witness

  1. Brendan says:

    Great piece, an interesting departure from the grand mansions. I was shocked when I realised how many simply gradually became hospitals. There’s something hard to express about it. Such austere places and a repository of so much sadness. Not a place of hearing.

  2. Dorothy says:

    Normally I am very much in favor of preserving the architectural heritage of Ireland… but I wouldn’t regret it if every last one of these were torn down.

  3. Finola Finlay says:

    Bantry was another that was finished and ready but could not be put into operation because the guardians would or could not provide funding. Asenath Nicholson comments on this in 1845.

  4. Tim Guilbride says:

    Excellent article, really informative – thank you.

  5. Mairead Byrne says:

    Great research, really interesting but so sad…

  6. Richard Synge says:

    Thank you Robert for this really important bit of work, so excellently expressed and summarised. Can you recommend any particular article or book devoted to this whole subject?

  7. Barbara Morrow says:

    Extremely interesting: thank you.

  8. Turbarius says:

    “With regard to the class of Visitors, it is to be observed that the inmates of public institutions have been placed under that head in Tables for 1851, whilst in 1841 they were included in the general population. These insitutions have greatly increased in number since 1841, by the erection of Union Workhouses, Prisons, Lunatic Asylums, etc., it has been considered necessary to enumerate their inmates separately; and in order to prevent any error in comparing the proportionate number of visitors in 1841 with that class in 1851, the inmates of public establishments have been excluded from the calculations. The number and proportion per cent, to the population of their inmates are given in Table XI., page xxi, from which it will be seen that, in all Ireland, 4.8 per cent of the population were maintained in them in 1851. In the provinces, Munster had 7.8 per cent, Connaught 4.3 per cent, Leinster 3.8 per cent, and Ulster 1.4 per cent of their inhabitants in these institutions. In the city of Kilkenny and town of Galway the proportion per cent was unduly large, owing to the Workhouses and other public establishments being built within the boundaries of these towns. The county of Kerry showed the largest proportion of inmates of these institutions, so many as 11.6 per cent of the population being within them when the enumeration was made in March, 1851. In Clare there was 9.4 per cent, in Limerick city 8.7 per cent, and in Tipperary 8.0 per cent. The county of Down had the least proportion of any of the counties, being only equal to 0.6 per cent. Antrim had but 1, and Donegal 1.1 per cent.”
    Census of Ireland 1851, General Report, Part VI, (1856), page xxii.

    Nearly 5% of the Irish population was still interned within these abominations in 1851, and nearly 12% of the population of Kerry, after the end of the Famine proper. The child death rate in the North Dublin Workhouse between May 1840 and May 1841 (and this was well before the Famine) was 63%. One is almost (I say almost) tempted to doubt the good faith and intentions of a people who could make the workhouse system an integral part of famine relief.

    The closest analogue in British history to the ‘workhouses’ set up by the British government to provide ‘relief’ to the Irish in the Famine is to be seen in the concentration camps of the Boer War. The workhouses were death camps in the British fashion, with murder laundered into manslaughter and passed under the great seal of that illustrious trinity of British economists Thomas Malthus, Adam Smith and ‘Almighty Providence’.

    Where Anglo-Saxons settle, peoples, even whole continents of them, tend to disappear. Ireland is the only country in the world to my knowledge with a lower population now than in 1840. Whatever else about the Conquistadors, the natives of Hispanicised America are apparently still around and a sizable contributor to the stock of Latin American nations. Northern America and Australia are another story. Ireland is as different a story as they could get away with in Europe.

  9. Emma Richey says:

    I would say that the paragraph about the Anglo Saxons is inaccurate. They were a mainly content and good natured people whose fighting was mostly about defending England’s shores from invaders. When the Normans invaded in 1066 they swept away all the old orders and displaced the Anglo Saxon people and their rulers in much the same way as Oliver Cromwell did in Ireland in the 1600’s. Properties of any merit were seized and whole areas ‘given’ to Norman overlords. The Anglo Saxons had no standing any more and the old ‘royal’ families became nothing more than serfs. The Normans were renowned for being incredibly cruel. Not even the Romans had treated the Angles and Saxons in such a way.

    As for the Poor Houses – in England they were also unpopular as would be expected and were always a place of last resort. They did at least provide a roof over one’s head and some food. In England they also provided a basic education for the children and some were often trained for domestic service or other work. The problem in Ireland seems to be that there was no work because of the lack of industry(not Ireland’s fault) and also the decline of the large estates which employed many people. After the Famine the population continued to decline because the young were still leaving and seeking a better life elsewhere and this trend was still evident right up to the 1960’s and 70’s. It was the advent of the Celtic Tiger which really changed Ireland’s fortunes because there was at last money for investment and growth.

  10. […] the appearance of workhouses around Ireland in the 19th century has been discussed here before (see Silent Witness « The Irish Aesthete). In total, 163 such institutions were constructed, one of them on a six-acre site to the immediate […]

Leave a Reply