Rye Castle Museum

In 1870 it was decided to roof the red brick exercise yard  attached to the north side of the Ypres Tower and add a chimney to form a soup kitchen for the distribution of soup and bread to the poor during severe winter weather.  Local archaeologists considered  the resulting structure  an eyesore and they formed a society which provided funds for its demolition and removal to the Rope Walk in 1895.

The following article about  the second  Soup Kitchen is taken from Rye’s Own, December 2006.

The Soup Kitchen is Open

by Kenneth Clark

Pauperism in Rye remained an unresolved social problem at the opening of the twentieth century. Social reform is this country was confined to filling the most glaring gaps in the existing social system. The bed-rock of social provision was to be found in the Poor Law, first enacted in the time of the Tudors, and re-enacted in 1834. Administered locally by Boards of Guardians and financed from the local rates, the Poor Law provided a minimum subsistence under conditions which were deliberately designed to deter all but the utterly desperate from applying for it.

It is little wonder, therefore, that the poor feared the day when, through ill health, misfortune or old age, they would no longer be able to earn their living for, unless they had been extremely thrifty or possessed children who were in a position to help, the workhouse was the only place for them. Once in such a house, the inmates found themselves placed under the jurisdiction of a master and matron. Forced to wear the workhouse uniform, none could leave the premises except on special occasions. Entertainments and treats were provided from time to time by well meaning local men and women, but freedom and liberty–the twin concepts of a full and complete life–were denied. Many of the town’s leading men served on the Board and introduced many reforms,  but these were of necessity limited in scope as the rates would not have borne the cost.

In 1882 Mr. Lord, one of the Guardians, attempted to persuade the Rye Board to allow well-behaved men and women, who had entered the house  through misfortune or no fault of their own, to wear ordinary dress when they were granted leave of absence instead of the workhouse garb, which he described   ‘as a badge of misfortune, or, possibly, disgrace’. The privilege was to be bestowed for obedience to the master or matron. Voices were raised against discriminating between the well-behaved and the others and the proposal was adopted  after much discussion– without the offending rider.

When a crippled man aged 26, who had been in the workhouse for six years, asked for a testimonial to Messrs. Day and Martin in order that he might obtain a box and brushes and earn an honest living as a boot-black, the Board readily granted his request. The world was still, as Disraeli had remarked, for the few– the very few.  Sometimes the proceedings were enlivened by a little humour. In support of an application for increased relief, a well-known Rye character stated that she was 609 years old!

Life outside the workhouse was far from easy for although prices were low, so too were wages. When unemployment or illness struck, there were no welfare services such as exist in the modern  state, to come to the rescue. However there was succour from those who believed they had a responsibility for the welfare of the less fortunate. An outstanding example is provided by John Symonds Vidler whose generosity knew no bounds. The following description of the re-opening of the soup kitchen in 1907 well illustrates the need and the way it was met in adverse times.

On Saturday the Town Crier was busy visiting local districts, and announcing to the crowds that gathered at the tintinabulous call of his bell that tickets for soup and bread would be distributed to deserving causes at the Town Hall in the evening. At six o’clock sharp, on the evening in question, a large and representative party of the fishing and labour fraternity, who had been thrown out of employment and were otherwise afflicted by hard times, assembled at the Town Hall. The cases were heard by officials who made orders for the necessary distribution of bread and soup. No less than 122 tickets were given and it was decided that the soup kitchen, in Cinque Ports Street should be opened twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays during the cold weather. Accordingly, great preparations were made at the Soup Kitchen headquarters, which building, we believe, was formerly used as the Town Water Pumping Station, the pumping power of which was ‘generated’ by a couple of horses harnessed to mechanical contrivances.

The two large coppers, each capable of holding 70 gallons of soup, were cleansed, the fuel was got ready as also were the extensive fireplaces. For four solid hours on Monday a couple of muscular Ryers were kept continually on the go peeling potatoes, carrots, parsnips, turnips and onions. A large quantity of split peas  also to be used in the soup, was soaked in water for the greater part of 24 hours whilst the joints of meat and bones were cut up small.  All night and all morning until eight o’clock, when the kitchen was declared opened, did the two brawny impromptu cooks attend to the roaring and crackling fires and to the steaming cauldrons. Unceasingly did they manipulate the “stirrers” and spoons, some four feet in length.

At the opening time, and perhaps a little before, the soup was bubbling and gently steaming, and was declared by the connoisseurs to be “ready”. On the doors of the building being thrown open the savoury odour of soup permeated the neighbouring streets, from which came, scurrying and running, small boys and girls, carrying such handy receptacles as ewers, water cans, pots, basins, buckets, and other articles. . . .