O’Neill’s book covers more than murder, however. Some crimes were barely criminal. ‘Taking up the pavement’ was the horror of working-class youths who refused to give way to their social superiors — although some might say that ‘not knowing one’s place’ was the Victorian crime. Other crimes are, happily, far distant — garrottings were a not uncommon form of mugging, in which the victim was half-strangled from behind; baby-farming was a semi-licensed form of child abandonment, in which those too poor and too overworked to look after their children gave them to a baby-farmer for a small fee. The farmer would ostensibly put them up for adoption, caring for them in the meantime. In actuality, he pocketed the money and most of the children died of disease, neglect or malnutrition within days.
Then there is a range of subjects that are clearly dear to O’Neill’s heart, but a more ruthless editor would have removed, as fitting neither the ‘crime’, ‘murder’ nor ‘mayhem’ remit — freak shows, street betting, or the unionisation of workers. There is an entire chapter on ‘substance abuse’, but since there were no controls on drugs throughout the century, this was not criminal either. A more rigorous approach, too, would have ensured that dates were more firmly pinned down: the author tends to dash about from mid-century to the 1900s and back again, often in one breathless page. Notes would have been welcome, and, even more so, an index.
But these are quibbles. O’Neill is a broad-brush artist, and in The Good Old Days she has drawn a splendidly vivid picture of life at the extremes in the 19th century.
Judith Flanders’ latest book is Consuming Passions: Leisure and Pleasure in Victor- ian Britain (HarperCollins, £20).
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