Matilda James, actively employed as a prostitute during the 1870s in Portsmouth, would have experienced the stigma attached to sex work first hand throughout her lifetime. James’ experience would have been affected by acts such as the CDAs and the Vagrancy Act, 1824, which criminalised and stigmatised her work. James’ experience does, however, demonstrate the way in which prostitution was viewed by newspapers and the general public as the Portsmouth Evening News, for example, termed her as ‘Naughty Matilda’ implying that prostitution was not viewed as a criminal problem, but as a bad habit by the public.[1] Although there is no lasting record of James being held under the CDAs, it is possible to see the experiences of her peers through records held by the Royal Portsmouth, Portsea and Gosport Hospital and the Portsmouth Home for Fallen Women. These sources demonstrate the generalised experiences of women in Portsmouth, but there is no intimate personal record of individual experiences of treatment under the CDAs, meaning that while James cannot demonstrate the individual experience of the CDAs in any ostensible form, she does demonstrate the experience many women and prostitutes would have had.
The sexual experiences of prostitutes such as James, and other sex workers, would have been vastly different to that of Anne Lister. Not only were members of the lower classes often a consumable element of the sex industry, but they also often lacked the funds to be consumers of purchasable sex. While Simon Joyce argues that sexual liaisons between classes, including the use of pornographic imagery depicting someone of a differing class, was often frowned upon, there is overwhelming evidence that cross class sexual liaisons were conducted, and even condoned in pornographic imagery, as well in some legislation such as the CDAs, 1864, 1866 and 1869.[2] Furthermore James’ experience gives a direct insight into the treatment of prostitutes under the CDAs, as well as the realities of the police treatments of prostitution and sex work. By tracing the legislative changes to the sex industry during the nineteenth century from the perspective of the traders, rather than those who implemented such legislation as the CDAs, and the Obscene Publications Act 1857, it is possible to see the direct impact of this legislation as well as the motivations behind it.
The most dominant piece of legislation, related to the sex industry, during the nineteenth century was undoubtedly the CDAs. While these acts were neither the first nor the last piece of legislation to regulate the sex industry the response to these acts brings them to the forefront of nineteenth century legislation, particularly as a result of the work of Josephine Butler and the LNA. It might be argued that, in some respects, the CDAs simply nationalised localised attempts to reduce the impact of venereal diseases, Royal Portsmouth, for example, appeared to have a Lock Ward from around 1856.[3] The idea may be supported as each of the CDAs extended the towns the acts applied to, this extension might further suggest that the extension of the CDAs were an effective means to reduce venereal disease during the mid-nineteenth century.[4] The effectiveness of treatment provided under the CDAs may be demonstrated by the numbers of patients discharged from the Royal Portsmouth, Figure 5. demonstrates that there was almost a one hundred per cent success rate for those admitted with a venereal disease.[5] Therefore, the treatment provided under the CDAs, was considered, by contemporary medical standards to be effective throughout the mid-nineteenth century.
Despite the supposed effectiveness that the Royal Portsmouth’s treatment of venereal disease, a number of those who were admitted each year were readmitted.[6] This suggests a number of things, firstly that the medical treatment of venereal disease was not necessarily as effective as the annual reports suggest; this view is particularly supported by the treatment Lister received during the 1830s as this did not the trichomoniasis she suffered from.[7] Secondly, and perhaps a more appealing outcome for those implementing the CDAs, it could be suggested that those who were treated venereal diseases continued to be involved in prostitution after they were released, it could be suggested that this view of prostitutes was what enabled the inclusion of clauses which allowed women to be detained under the CDAs.[8] Under the CDAs women, in towns where there was a strong military presence, who were believed to be a prostitute, could be detained in a lock ward six months treatment.[9] This was neither voluntary, nor the whole extent of a prostitute’s experience during the 1860s, as women could be held for an extra three months for treatment if it was believed necessary.[10] Furthermore, details about each patients treatment was required, by law, to be passed to the police in order to monitor the woman for later periodical examinations.[11]
While this treatment seems in itself restrictive, attempts to repeal the CDAs actually proposed more restrictive measures for prostitution, such as proposals by Henry Austin Bruce in 1872, which included the idea that prostitutes should serve a prison sentence for solicitation, before then being moved to a lock hospital for treatment.[12] This experience of the CDAs could well be the experience that James had during the 1870s after being charged with being an ‘incorrigible rogue’ in 1878.[13] In James’ case this is unlikely as Portsmouth Evening News reported her arrest, almost immediately, suggesting that James was not suspected of having a venereal disease.[14] Had she been admitted to the Lock Ward at the Royal Portsmouth James might have discovered that Lock Wards were arranged by disease, rather than by gender, although this was not a universal design.[15] While James may not have been suspected of having a venereal disease in 1878, the admission figures for the Lock Ward at the Royal Portsmouth demonstrate that many people, mostly women, were admitted.[16] Furthermore, when compared to the number of patients admitted to the general hospital, it becomes clear that the CDAs were effective in providing treatment for those with venereal diseases, albeit by force, as there were almost twice as many patients admitted to the Lock Ward during 1874 and 1875 than to the general hospital.[17] This therefore demonstrates that, while being controversial, the CDAs could be seen as an effective piece of legislation.
It is, however, the controversy surrounding the CDAs which really brings them to the forefront of legislation controlling sex and sexuality during the nineteenth century. Fern Riddell argues that the CDAs were initially welcomed as a policy as they were regarded as a social improvement to deal with the issue of prostitution.[18] The marked change in the attitudes towards the CDAs came in 1869, as the Acts were extended towards civil parishes, and affected women who were not necessarily believed to be prostitutes.[19] This alongside stories of ‘instrumental rape, false entrapment and pitiful suicides’ resulting from the treatment women received under the CDAs prompted attempts to repeal the CDAs.[20] The extent to which campaigners such as the LNA were effective in inciting the repeal of the CDAs is most easily demonstrated by two key events; firstly Bruce’s proposed bill to repeal the CDAs and replace them with more efficient methods of dealing with prostitution was voted down as it was opposed by those who both supported and opposed the CDAs. Secondly, the suspension of the CDAs in 1883, following the 1882 Parliamentary Enquiry, was not viewed as a general success by the LNA, further perpetuating the idea that the CDAs needed to be repealed, rather than just suspended, in order to protect women.[21]
A desire to protect women clearly increased the public discussion of sex and sexuality during the mid-nineteenth century, although it must be noted that, particularly in the case of the repeal campaign, this was largely protection of middle- and upper-class women. Discussion of working-class women involved in the sex industry were often less protective of women, particularly those working as prostitutes, but focussed more on the protection of those who paid for sex. The tendency of philanthropists and social commentators to refer to prostitutes as ‘fallen women’ demonstrates a growing tendency to talk about prostitutes as women who have sinned rather than criminals, as demonstrated by the change in name from ‘The Penitentiary’ to ‘Portsmouth Home for Fallen Women’ in 1863.[22] While this seems to highlight the vulnerable position prostitution placed women in, particularly highlighted in ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon’, it also demonstrates the extent to which male prostitutes were ignored within the majority of discussions about prostitution.[23]
It is, however, the perceived vulnerability of prostitutes which enabled the belief that prostitutes could be redeemed, as commentators such as W. T. Stead believed women had been deceived or kidnapped in order to reduce themselves to prostitution.[24] As a result, reformatories such as the Portsmouth Home for Fallen Women ran businesses and taught skills such as laundering clothes to inmates, which in turn would teach the women to be morally and spiritually fit to be restored to society.[25] However, Paula Bartley argues that reformatories such as the Portsmouth Home had selection procedures which favoured the young and impressionable suggesting that career prostitutes could not be redeemed, but also perpetuating the idea that prostitution could not be a choice.[26] This view is supported by the account that Elizabeth Turner gave the police as to why she was running a brothel in 1885, as she claimed her agent ‘advised [her] to take in the women… as lodgers’ as the rent was particularly high, demonstrating that brothel keepers, as well as prostitutes, sometimes had no choice about working in the sex industry.[27]
While this was certainly one experience of prostitution, this was not the only experience, the vast numbers of prostitutes recorded in cities such as London and Liverpool demonstrate that prostitution was a lucrative business which could be a viable career path.[28] There is, however little direct evidence to support this claim, while women such as James and Emma James appear to have been working as prostitutes for a considerable period of time, as there are a considerable number of court documents charging them with prostitution, but there are no personal accounts explaining why they chose this career path.[29] R.C. Riley claims that prostitutes were often listed on census returns as dress makers or corset makers, which he claims reflects more on the attitudes of census enumerators rather than the women themselves.[30] By slight contrast, Frank Mort claims that prostitution was often used to supplement the income of dressmakers, suggesting that prostitution was not an active choice but a necessity.[31] It is, therefore difficult to understand the exact motivations behind prostitution, particularly as a result of the clear social bias against prostitution.
The apparent social bias towards prostitution does not appear to link to the police until the mid-nineteenth century, after the CDAs, in fact Bartley argues that there was no effective policing of prostitution until after 1887.[32] Prior to this details of brothels were passed to local parishes who could then take action, the parish of St George Hanover Square, for example, would issue a notice to those suspected of running a brothel stating that they would begin proceedings under the 1885 Criminal Law Amendment Act.[33] Bartley implies that St George Hanover Square is, in fact, an exception to the rule as she argues that parishes generally only cautioned brothels, and argues that this led to accusations of police complicity in prostitution.[34] Donald Thomas supports this idea as he suggests that brothel keepers paid police to avoid brothels, however Bartley argues that, certainly in London, the police were not interested in policing prostitution, and would rather keep brothels contained to one particular area.[35] Despite this apparent unwillingness to police prostitution, it was not left uncontrolled, not only did James face six months hard labour as a result of prostitution, but upwards of 4000 prostitutes were arrested each year in London between 1872 and 1881.[36] However, the conviction rate for prostitution in London was as low as 1000 in the same period, suggesting that the high arrest rate may have been prompted by outside influences, such as purity campaigners and social commentators such as Charles Dickens who wanted prostitution ended and prostitutes sent abroad.[37]
Policing of the sex industry dramatically increased between the 1850s and the 1880s, legislation such as the Obscene Publications Act, 1857, and the Post Office Act, 1884, attempted to curb the spread of pornographic imagery and erotic literature, as well as limiting the access to these materials. Lisa Sigel implies that the restriction in the trafficking of pornography was largely to prevent cross-class liaisons, as a middle-class man looking at an image of a working-class woman was perceived as this.[38] There is a further evidence that legislation to restrict pornography was about class as Jamie Stoops argues that pornography was a ‘well-established source of income among the lower classes’, suggesting that working in the porn industry, as a model for example, was an immoral line of work.[39] However, Stoops goes on to argue that women were rarely prosecuted for their role in the porn industry suggesting that legislation came about as result increased consumption rather than increased production of pornography.[40] Therefore it might be suggested that during the nineteenth century the distribution of pornographic imagery became more obvious, thus leading to increased consumption.
This idea is further supported by the specific wording of the Obscene Publications Act 1857, as this act specifically targeted the selling and distribution of materials, particularly in areas such as the shops in Hollywell Street, London.[41] The Obscene Publications Act did not target the purchaser of materials, meaning that those of the upper classes who consumed this material would not be subject to this legislation.[42] Stoops, however, argues that pornographic material became more accessible to the lower classes during the nineteenth century, suggesting that there were exceptions to the class basis of the Obscene Publications Act.[43] Sigel argues that the lower classes would have largely had access to pornographic images, as opposed to erotic literature, thus making it necessary to discover what images the majority of people with low literacy levels would have had access to.[44] It goes without saying that those with low literacy would have had greater access to images, Danny Moynihan’s collection demonstrates what imagery was most commonly accessed. Firstly, in order to gauge who was consuming pornographic imagery it is necessary to understand which sexual acts were consumed the most; Figure 4. demonstrates that female/female sexual acts were the most frequently consumed, perhaps suggesting that pornographic imagery enabled women to discover their sexual identity although there is little evidence as to how porn was consumed.[45]
It could however be argued that there is an element of fetishization involved in the use of pornographic imagery, this is particularly demonstrated by Figure 2. and Figure 3. Figure 3. demonstrates that specific fetishes such as bestiality and the use of urine were distributed among nineteenth century pornographic imagery, while Figure 2. shows that images displaying sexual violence were being distributed.[46] These images are not a noticeable number in comparison to the numbers of images of nude images which do not focus on any particular element of, mostly female, bodies.[47] Stoops suggests that this is because the main focus for consumers of pornographic imagery was the facial expression of the model rather than their genitals.[48] There could be several explanations for this, firstly a nude portrait is the easiest, and least expensive, pornographic imagery to produce, secondly simple portraits enable the viewer to use their imagination rather than following the prescribed image.
The use and distribution of pornographic imagery during the nineteenth century certainly demonstrates an increase in consumption and legislation against obscene material, particularly during the mid-century. There was also a maintained level of pornographic literature produced and distributed during the nineteenth century, however, this literature, such as My Secret Life were regarded as elitist and unlikely to be confiscated.[49] This demonstrates a level of elitism which permeated the sex industry during the nineteenth century, an elitism which only criminalised sex and sex work for those who were lower class, and legislation which was designed to protect the elite.[50] The elite were not, however, safe from repercussions as a result of sexual liaisons, particularly where these were of a cross class nature, Sigel argues that this was what caused the Cleveland Street Scandal to bring such disrepute to sex and pornography during the later nineteenth century.[51] The differentiation between lower and upper class pornography is a significant one, which became significantly more noticeable during the later nineteenth century. It is possible to have split the realities of the sex industry in this way as the response to the CDAs, after the 1869 extension to civilian cities demonstrates that there was a class divide over which elements of sexuality were acceptable. This is further supported by the ways in which legislation surrounding pornography was written, thus demonstrating that sex and sexuality during the nineteenth century was particularly controlled and regulated along class lines.
[1] Portsmouth Evening News, 1st January 1878, BNA
[2] Simon Joyce, ‘Past, Present and Pornography’, Victorian Studies, Vol 59, No 3, (2017), p. 470 & Jamie Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics of the Pornography Trade in Late Nineteenth-Century Britain’, The Historical Journal, Vol 58, No 1, (2015), p. 152
[3] Annual Report of the Royal Portsmouth Hospital, 1867, p. 22
[4] ‘Amendment to Contagious Diseases Act 1866, 1869’, 11th August 1869, 3ams/b/05/01, Venereal Diseases 1879-1926 Folder 1 of 2, LSE Women’s Library
[5] Figure 5.
[6] Annual Report of the Royal Portsmouth Hospital, 1867, p. 12
[7] Steidele, Gentleman Jack, p. 127
[8] ‘Amendment to Contagious Diseases Act 1866, 1869’ LSE Women’s Library
[9] ‘Amendment to Contagious Diseases Act 1866, 1869’ LSE Women’s Library
[10] ‘Amendment to Contagious Diseases Act 1866, 1869’ LSE Women’s Library
[11] ‘Amendment to Contagious Diseases Act 1866, 1869’ LSE Women’s Library
[12] ‘Memorandum on the Method of Dealing with Venereal Disease’, 3ams/b/05/01, Venereal Diseases 1879-1926, Folder 1 of 2, LSE Women’s Library
[13] Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, January 1878, Calendar of the Prisoners 1871 to Jan 1882, S7, PHC
[14] Portsmouth Evening News, 1st January 1878, BNA
[15] ‘Plan of Treatment Block for Venereal Diseases’ in Report of the Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis for the Year 1881, Present to Both Houses for Parliament by Command of Her Majesty, (London, 1882), 3ams/b/05/2158, LSE Women’s Library
[16] Figure 6.
[17] Figure 7.
[18] Fern Riddell, The Victorian Guide to Sex: Desire and Deviance in the 19th Century, (Barnsley, 2014), p. 15
[19] Riddell, The Victorian Guide to Sex, p. 15 & Judith R. Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class and the State, (Cambridge, 1980), p. 90
[20] Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society, p. 110
[21] Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society, p. 112
[22] Home for Fallen Women 31st Annual Report, 1894, 11A/M/2/4, PHC, p. 11
[23] R. C. Riley, ‘Old Portsmouth: A Garrison Town in the Mid-Nineteenth Century’, The Portsmouth Papers, 76, (2010), p. 21, ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon – I’, Pall Mall Gazette, 6th July 1885, 3ams/b/01/3, LSE Women’s Library, ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon – II’, Pall Mall Gazette, 7th July 1885, 3ams/b/01/3, LSE Women’s Library & Paula Bartley, Prostitution: Prevention and Reform in England 1860-1914, (London, 2000), p. 30
[24] ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon – I’ & ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon – II’
[25] 31st Annual Report, 1894, p. 5 & Bartley, Prostitution, p. 63
[26] Bartley, Prostitution, p. 36
[27] ‘Police action with regard to brothels’, MEPO21/8833, TNA: PRO, Kew
[28] Riddell, The Victorian Guide to Sex, p. 128 & Figure 7.
[29] Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, January 1878, Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, October 1875, Calendar of the Prisoners 1871 to Jan 1882, S7, PHC, Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, October 1876, Calendar of the Prisoners 1871 to Jan 1882, S7, PHC & Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, April 1878, Calendar of the Prisoners 1871 to Jan 1882, S7, PHC
[30] Riley, ‘Old Portsmouth’, pp. 20-21
[31] Frank Mort, Dangerous Sexualities: Medico-Moral Politics in England Since 1830, (London, 2000), p. 143
[32] Bartley, Prostitution, p. 161
[33] ‘Police action with regard to brothels’, MEPO21/8833, TNA: PRO, Kew
[34] Bartley, Prostitution¸ p. 161
[35] Donald Thomas, The Victorian Underworld, (London, 1998), p. 23 & Bartley, Prostitution, pp. 161-162
[36] Borough of Portsmouth Calendar of Prisoners, January 1878 & Figure 7.
[37] Holly Furneaux, Queer Dickens: Erotics, Families & Masculinities, (Oxford, 2009), p. 151
[38] Lisa Z. Sigel, Governing Pleasure: Pornography and Social Change in England 1815-1914, (London, 2002), p. 26
[39] Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics’, p. 144
[40] Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics’, pp. 149 & 138
[41] Frederickson, ‘Victorian Pornography’, p. 308
[42] Frederickson, ‘Victorian Pornography’, p. 308
[43] Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics’, p. 137
[44] Sigel, Governing Pleasure, p. 24
[45] Figure 4. & Sigel, Governing Pleasure, p. 7
[46] Figure 2. & Figure 3.
[47] Figure 1., Figure 2., Figure 3. & Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics,’ p. 150
[48] Stoops, ‘Class and Gender Dynamics,’ p. 150
[49] Frederickson, ‘Victorian Pornography’, p. 309
[50] Frederickson, ‘Victorian Pornography’, p. 309
[51] Sigel, Governing Pleasure, p. 115
The Colourful Historian 