Chapter I: Part 1

THE
SWIMMING BATHS
OF
LONDON.

BY
R. E. DUDGEON, M.D.

LONDON:
HENRY TURNER AND CO.,
77, FLEET STREET, E.C.

1870.

_Price Sixpence._

PRINTED BY J. E. ADLARD, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.

THE SWIMMING BATHS OF LONDON.

Swimming is an exercise at once healthful, pleasant, and useful. The full hygienic effects of swimming can only be obtained when it is practised in the open air, and in unpolluted water of a natural temperature. In a close, more or less imperfectly ventilated room, and in water artificially heated, from which, consequently, the air has been partially expelled, swimming, while still retaining its characters of pleasantness and utility, ceases to be a hygienic agent of any considerable power. Every town which aspires to be considered at all perfect in its sanitary arrangements should possess ample swimming baths of pure water in the open air. The seaside towns of this seagirt land are provided by nature with a most exquisite description of swimming bath in the ever-changing, ever-fresh sea—ever-fresh, that is, when not polluted by the drainage of the town, as often happens. But our inland towns are not so well off, and unless in the neighbourhood of a lake or a river, they must construct artificial baths or do without them. Even when they have a lake or a river they too often allow it to be so polluted by sewage as to render it unfit for bathing purposes; and when they have neither lake nor river, they too often neglect to provide artificial substitutes, thus depriving themselves of a powerful hygienic agent, a pleasant recreation, and a useful accomplishment.

The healthful effects of swimming in cold water in the open air result from the peculiar exercise, the temperature of the surrounding mediums, and the exhilaration of the spirits it causes. Before entering the water, and each time of leaving it, we enjoy an air-bath, the beneficial effects of which are not solely or chiefly dependent on the temperature, but are mainly owing to the actual impact of the atmospherical gases, and of the light, and possibly the direct rays of the sun upon the skin. In the water, if it be considerably colder than the ordinary summer air, say 50° to 60°, there is a rapid abstraction of heat from the surface, causing contraction of the cutaneous blood-vessels, and expulsion of their blood, which sometimes produces an almost painful sensation. If we then get out of the water at once, there is a rapid reaction and an intense glow, often so intense as to cause tingling over the whole surface, accompanied with visible redness, owing to the sudden reflux of the blood into the cutaneous vessels. If, however, we remain in the water in spite of the painful sensation caused by the first action of the cold, this gradually subsides, and if the water be not very cold, and our reactive powers good, and we keep ourselves always moving, the blood gradually returns towards the cutaneous surface, and we thus become accustomed to the low temperature, and can remain a considerable time in the water that seemed at first too chilly to be borne. When we then come out of the water we do not perceive any sudden reaction, but unless we have remained too long in the water, we only feel refreshed and invigorated.

The exercise in swimming is quite peculiar. The body and limbs being completely supported by the medium in which they are immersed, the muscles are not employed in supporting their weight, consequently their movements have a freedom not enjoyed in any other exercise, and are attended with little or no fatigue. This is, however, only the case with experienced and confident swimmers, swimming deliberately and at their ease. The inexperienced swimmer finds the exercise very fatiguing. This, I believe, is chiefly owing to his unconscious efforts to keep more of his body out of the water than would be effected by its own natural buoyancy. The experienced swimmer lets the water do all the supporting business, and consequently swims deeper than the tyro. Very rapid swimming, of course, will soon exhaust even the most experienced swimmer, just as any other violent exercise will exhaust. The quickest swimmers show very little above the water when swimming a race. Most swimmers when making a spurt throw themselves on one side. If on the right side, they make a downward stroke with their right arm, then a horizontal stroke with their left, and lastly the legs are forcibly extended, during which last movement their right arm is stretched in front as a cutwater, and the nose and mouth brought to the surface for respiration. Swimming on the left side is done in the same way, _mutatis mutandis_. In this kind of swimming the only parts of the body visible above water are a small portion of the face, and that only for a short time, and occasionally the left shoulder and arm to the elbow. It has a very ridiculous appearance, and as the swimmer from his position cannot see in front of him, it often happens that two competitors in the races that take place in our short swimming baths will, when swimming in opposite directions, run their heads full tilt against one another to their mutual discomfiture. But it is not this sort of swimming I mean, when speaking of swimming as a hygienic agent, a pleasant recreation, or a useful art. It so happens that swimming competitions are confined almost entirely to rapidity of swimming, and everything is sacrificed by competitors to quickness. The kind of swimming cultivated by our swimming athletes, whether amateur or professional, is neither graceful nor salubrious, and its utility, except for gaining cups and medals, is very doubtful. The secret of the hygienic effects of swimming in sea, lake, or river, is gentle exercise in a medium whose temperature excites the system to vigorous reaction. I do not attach much importance to swimming in cold water as a means of cleansing the body. There is no doubt that it does wash off the grosser impurities that accumulate about the skin, but it cannot be considered as a substitute for the daily tub with plenty of soap, by means of which only can the skin be kept perfectly clean and wholesome.

The pleasures of natation need not be dwelt on. To feel oneself completely at home in a new element, to lose the sense of ponderosity, to be able to move one’s limbs in any direction through an unresisting medium, is to enjoy, for the moment, the pleasures of existence of a different order of animals. To feel not the weight of the flesh which we often find “too, too solid” on terra firma; to dart hither and thither at will, roll over on side or back, or dive into the depths beneath us, is little short of ecstasy; we are no longer a terrestrial animal, we have entered a new phase of existence, we are a fish, our limbs are fins, and the water is our element. He who passes through life without learning to swim misses one of the purest pleasures life affords, and deserves to be drowned in a six-foot pond.

The uses of swimming are obvious. To be drowned by the upsetting of a pleasure boat within a few yards of the shore—can anything be more pitiful? To see our friend, perhaps our child, perish because we cannot swim a few yards to save him—can anything be more painful? Think of the number of lives that have been lost by inability to swim, of the number of lives that have been saved by the possession of this faculty. He who cannot swim is as far from being perfectly educated as he who cannot walk.[1]

[1] I believe that no arrangements exist for teaching our
soldiers or sailors swimming (except in the training ships,
whence a few of our sailors are derived), the consequence of
which is that a very small proportion of the men in either
service can swim. In some Continental countries, particularly
France, every soldier is taught to swim just as he is taught
his drill, and yet French soldiers are not nearly so much
exposed to “perils of waters” as our own.

But, it will be alleged, there are dangers connected with swimming. And so there are dangers connected with walking, riding, driving, railways, steamboats; but these dangers do not deter us from making use of these means of locomotion. But let us see what these dangers are. In learning to swim you may get out of your depth and be drowned:—Then learn to swim in shallow water. The cold water may give you a chill:—Not much fear of that unless you are very imprudent, but to avoid that insignificant risk you can learn to swim in tepid water. There are plenty of such baths in London and most large towns. There is the risk of cramp overtaking the most practised swimmer and sinking him suddenly to the bottom:—Swimmers do sometimes sink suddenly in deep water and so get drowned, but I doubt if they are often good swimmers, and I doubt if it is cramp that sends them to the bottom. The _Lancet_ lately alluded to this subject, and suggested that it might be a sort of spasm of the respiratory muscles, whereby the air was suddenly expelled from the lungs, and the specific levity of the body being thus lost, the swimmer sank like a stone. That may be partly true, but I am convinced it is not the whole truth, nor does it explain how the catastrophe is caused. I believe the so-called cramp to be a spasm of the heart and respiratory organs, and that it is produced in this way. The swimmer may be accustomed to swimming, but he has never thoroughly mastered the indispensable first step in swimming, of committing the support of his body entirely to the water. He exhausts himself in efforts to elevate his head and shoulders above the water. As he gets into deep water these efforts, which are of the nature of nervousness, are increased; the cold of the water (to which perhaps he is unused from having hitherto practised swimming chiefly in tepid water) sends the blood in upon the heart, he feels choking, throws up his arms with a loud cry, and goes to the bottom at once. The cause of this often fatal seizure I believe to be a compound of nervous exhaustion, anxiety, and cold. It is extraordinary the difference that prevails in regard to the power of resisting cold. I have seen a man shivering and blue after five minutes in one of the tepid swimming baths, while others can remain an hour or longer in the sea and come out warm and comfortable.[2] A dip in cold water, even a cold sponging bath, will cause some men’s extremities to die away and remain apparently devoid of circulation for hours. We can then easily imagine that the cold of the sea, or of a lake or river, may in an individual so sensitive to its effects cause such an accumulation of the blood about the heart and lungs as to produce all the phenomena observed in drowning by so-called cramp. That a certain degree of fear or anxiety is one of the causal elements is, I think, sufficiently proved by the fact, that this so-called cramp never occurs in shallow water. That it is not cramp of the voluntary muscles is, I think, evident from the fact that many people do get cramp in their legs when swimming, and this, though painful, is not dangerous, for we can always throw ourselves on our back or swim in spite of the pain. I have actually plunged into deep water with a slight attack of cramp in one of my legs, but found no difficulty in keeping myself afloat until the cramp subsided. Although, until its nature is precisely understood, there will always remain some risk of accident from so-called cramp, still I believe the risk would be reduced to insignificance if those who chill rapidly, whom swimming fatigues, or who become nervous in deep water, would refrain from venturing beyond their depth until they have conquered these failings, which habit will soon enable them to do.

[2] The power of resisting the cold of the water often depends
very much on the condition of our body at the time of
immersion. If we enter the water feeling cold we soon become
thoroughly chilled, but if we are warm from the heat of the
weather, or still better from previous moderate exercise, we
can much better resist the cold of the sea, lake, or river.

But the slight risks attending swimming in cold water should not deter a community from providing itself with open-air swimming places. The risk from drowning will be entirely obviated by artificial constructions on a lake or river, such as are to be found in many continental towns. English towns are for the most part entirely destitute of open-air swimming baths, and if they have suitable rivers or lakes near them it is rare, indeed, to see any portion of them inclosed for bathing purposes. London itself, with a population of three millions, is now without any regular open-air swimming bath. A noble river runs through it, but in spite of the gigantic works for intercepting and carrying off the sewage, the Thames is still such a polluted stream that no one with all his senses entire—especially those of sight, smell, and taste—would venture to bathe in it below Teddington Lock. It is true that one sees in summer many boys disporting themselves on its grimy bosom between the bridges, and I have even seen some enjoying a douche at the outfall of a sewer, but such feats will be more admired for their temerity than imitated for their propriety; and the Thames from Richmond downwards must still be considered as unsuitable for bathing. London has many lakes of more or less clear water admirably adapted for swimming purposes, but bathing is forbidden in all these with the exception of three, and in these it is only allowed at such inconvenient hours as practically to exclude all but a few from using them. London has many canals, but bathing is forbidden in them, and though it is impossible to keep the boys out of them, they bathe in peril of being seized by some policeman and of being fined by some magistrate for “indecent exposure of the person.”

In the absence or dearth of open-air swimming baths London is pretty well supplied with covered swimming baths, mostly tepid, but some few cold. With only one exception (and that because it was closed) I have inspected, and with six exceptions (four of these because there was no water in them at my visit, two, because they were so repulsively dirty) I have bathed in all these baths, so that I can describe them from personal experience.

I shall begin with the cold baths, these being entitled to the first place by reason of their antiquity. And here let me pay a tribute of regret to the memory of the only open-air swimming bath London ever possessed, specially constructed for that purpose and available at all hours of the day—I mean the ancient _Peerless Pool_ in Baldwin Street, City Road. It measured fifty yards by thirty, was built of stone, and several flights of steps led down to its bottom. It was amply provided with open bathing boxes, and was a secluded spot in a densely populous neighbourhood. Its water was clear and cold, and it was large enough and deep enough for swimming purposes. Its site is going to be built over, the more’s the pity, as London is now absolutely without a real open-air swimming bath.

_Old Roman Bath_, Strand Lane, Strand.—The ancient Roman bath
which gives its name to this bath is not the place used for
bathing. It is where the spring rises. It is in a cellar, is
built of brick, and is about 3 yards long by 1½ wide. It is said
to be near 2000 years old. The water, which rises at the rate of
10 tons per diem, from a spring at one end, is cold and as clear
as crystal; it overflows through a pipe into the more modern
bath, which is in an adjoining cellar, low-roofed, whitewashed,
and obscurely lighted by a dimmed glass window. This bath is said
to have been built by the Earl of Essex in Queen Elizabeth’s
time. It is a basin 4 yards long by 2½ wide; sides and bottom of
marble slabs; steps leading down to it at one corner; depth about
4 feet 6 inches. Flags of sandstone surround the bath. There
are seven boxes for bathers in the passage leading to the bath.
The water is delightfully clear, cool, and refreshing, but the
atmosphere of the apartment is rather musty and cellar-like, and
the size hardly admits of anything in the way of swimming except
mere paddling about.

_Old Royal Bath_, Bath Street, Newgate Street.—This is a very
remarkable bath. It is said to have been built for Charles II,
and it still bears traces of royal magnificence. The floor
of the apartment is of marble, and the bath itself, which is
7 yards long by 3 wide, is made of black and white marble slabs,
forming a pleasing pattern. The depth is 4 feet 6 inches, and in
the middle of the bath floor is a depression or trough, making
the water 5 feet deep there. In the sides of the bath are six
niches faced with Dutch tiles, in which the water agitated by
the bather makes a curious noise. On either side of the bath the
marble floor is raised a few inches. The walls of the bath room
to the height of 9 feet are covered with quaint Dutch tiles,
with 4 niches for statuary on either side, also faced with
tiles. Above the tiles on both sides of the room is a sort of
balcony with a railing, but with no visible access to it. Higher
up is an octagonal cornice, from which springs the dome-shaped
roof, richly ornamented with carved stone or stucco garlands,
whitewashed over and terminating in a round skylight. There is
another window at the lower part of the dome. It is on the whole
rather dimly lighted. The water is clear and cold and is derived
from a spring. At one end of the bath steps cut in the marble
floor lead to the bottom of the water. The boxes for bathers run
along one side of the room, and a quaint little pyramidal mirror
apparently as old as the bath serves for toilet purposes. The
ventilation is good and the bath very refreshing, but not large
enough for vigorous swimming.

_Coldbath_, Coldbath Square, Clerkenwell.—This bath, whence the
name of Coldbath Fields comes, is upwards of 200 years old.
Access is obtained to it by a steep narrow and dark staircase,
that descends to a considerable depth below the level of the
ground. The present bath was originally two baths, one for
ladies, the other for gentlemen. They have been thrown into one,
which is 7 yards square, lined with marble, 4½ feet deep, with a
deeper longitudinal depression in the centre of what was formerly
the men’s bath, making the depth there 5 feet, just as in the old
Royal Bath. Above the marble, for about 3 feet, the wall is faced
with Dutch tiles. Above this, on two sides, rises a whitewashed
wall. On the other two sides runs a platform, with a railing at
the edge next the bath. At the angle formed by the platform the
railing is pierced to allow access down to the bath by means of
marble steps. The ceiling is of wood, whitewashed, and is low.
Two dim windows afford scanty illumination. There are two or
three bathing boxes in the bath room, and there is a dressing
room up a few steps, with benches to lay the clothes on. The
water is very clear and cold, and is said to possess medicinal
qualities from mineral impregnation. It is derived from a spring,
and is constantly running into the bath from a lion’s head in
clay. It is delightfully fresh and cold, but hardly large enough
for swimming comfortably in, and its underground situation is a
great drawback.

_Camden Swimming Bath_, Hampshire Grove, Torriano Avenue.—This
bath is about 20 yards long by 5 wide. It is lined throughout
with plaster, and is accessible only from one end, where there
are wooden steps down to the bottom. The walls, whitewashed,
run sheer up from the bath on either side and at the other end.
The depth is about five feet. At the entrance end is a platform
and six quite open boxes like square church pews. The ceiling
is on the double slope, whitewashed, and pierced by seven small
skylights, which illuminate the bath but dimly.

These are all the cold plunge baths London possesses. The three first are too small for swimming purposes, and the last, though long enough, is very narrow and decidedly mean in appearance. Being all under cover and some of them quite subterranean, the air feels chilly and cellar-like, and the great charm that all swimming in cold water should possess, namely, the accompaniments of pure fresh open air and sunlight, are sadly conspicuous by their absence in them all. All except the Camden bath are open all the year.

I shall now pass on to a description of the tepid swimming baths of London, but, before doing so, I will first make a few remarks on tepid swimming baths in general. If the water be but moderately heated, say not above 70°, and frequently renewed, and if the ventilation of the bath be good, swimming in it would be refreshing and salubrious, and if not possessing all the charm or all the hygienic power of open-air bathing, it may still be a health-giving exercise not altogether despicable. But if, as often happens, the water is too warm, say about 80°, seldom renewed, and the ventilation bad, in all or either of such conditions swimming, in place of being a healthy exercise, becomes just the reverse. On coming out of such a bath we feel no refreshment, but, on the contrary, we feel limp and exhausted from the heat of the sodden water which has lost all its vivifying air, and from the confined atmosphere of the bathing room, tainted with the exhalations from the bodies of the bathers. The temperature in these baths, even of the same bath at different times, is very unequal. Sometimes they are fresh and cool and apparently unmixed with warm water. I found this to be the case in one of the best of these baths one Sunday morning. I asked the attendant how it happened that the bath was so pleasantly cool, and he informed me that it was often so on a Sunday morning, as so many people came there for warm baths that there was no warm water to spare for the swimming bath. However, he added a piece of information not altogether so agreeable, to the effect that when it was deemed necessary to heat the swimming bath under these circumstances, this was often done by letting into it the water that had already been used in the warm baths. If this little manœuvre, so naïvely revealed to me by this bath attendant, often takes place, it will fully account for the flat “wersh” feel of the water of so many of the swimming baths. But, without supposing anything so nasty, the water will readily acquire this unrefreshing character, with a number of persons bathing in it, if it be not frequently renewed. In some of the swimming baths the water is allowed to flow off every night and fresh water admitted in the morning, and in them a certain amount of freshness is always perceptible. But in many baths this excellent plan is not adopted, and the water is either very seldom allowed to flow off entirely, or the dribbling inflow from a meagre jet and a corresponding outflow are considered sufficient. Swimming in baths of this character is neither refreshing nor wholesome. Imperfect ventilation is not such a common occurrence in the metropolitan swimming baths, for they have mostly lofty roofs and plenty of open windows. However, some of them are defective on this point, and all swimming in such a tainted atmosphere must be more prejudicial than beneficial. On the whole, however, a careful examination of the London swimming baths has convinced me that, as a rule, they are highly creditable to the parochial authorities by whom they have mostly been erected. If not equal in hygienic influence to open-air swimming baths, they are, at all events, excellent swimming schools, and, as they are to be found in every quarter of the town, and their price is extremely moderate, it is the fault of the Londoners themselves if they do not learn to swim. The art acquired even in a tepid swimming bath will be serviceable under all other circumstances; and though one accustomed to these artificially warmed shallow pools may at first feel not altogether at his ease in cold deep water, yet the power of swimming will not forsake him under these novel conditions, and familiarity will soon enable him thoroughly to enjoy a swim in river, lake or sea, and lead him to despise the languid joys of the tepid tank.

In the absence of any better classification I shall describe the swimming baths of London in alphabetical order.

_Albany Swimming Bath_, York Road, Lambeth.—Length of bath
17 yards; breadth 12; depth from 3 to 5 feet. 50 boxes with half
doors along 3 sides of the bath. A footway all round the bath;
a rude spring-board at the deeper end. The ceiling is traversed
by great beams; is dark coloured and pierced by few windows. The
water is of a yellowish colour, and so opaque that no part of a
body immersed in it is visible. This peculiar appearance, I was
told, was owing to the quantity of iron it contains. “Highly
recommended by the faculty for its strengthening effects,” I was
informed. It would need to have some great medicinal virtues, for
its appearance is not very inviting.

_Alexandra Swimming Bath_, Bennett Park, Blackheath.—This bath
is 18 yards long by 8 wide. Sides and bottom faced with white
porcelain tiles. Depth from 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft. 6 in. Ceiling
low, whitewashed. The lighting is effected by 4 dimmed windows
in a recess at the shallow end, and 6 windows at one side, 5 of
which open on to large square bathing boxes under a glazed roof
capable of accommodating each three or four bathers. A gallery
runs along the windows projecting over the bath, and opposite
this is another elevated gallery or platform, on which stand 13
other bathing boxes of unequal sizes, with curtains in place
of doors. Few of the boxes are provided with mirrors. There
is a spring-board at the deep end, and “headers” may be taken
from the platform on which stand the bathing boxes. The water
is clear, but the ventilation seemed to me not very perfect,
and the illumination very indifferent, for though the bath has,
apparently, plenty of windows, 5 of these windows do not admit
the direct light of heaven, but only the light reflected from the
walls of the bathing boxes, and the other windows are dimmed and
unfavorably placed for illuminating purposes. Bathing drawers are
required to be worn and are supplied by the establishment.

_Bermondsey Swimming Baths_, Spa Road, Bermondsey.—This bath is
13 yards long by 9 wide. The sides are of white porcelain tiles,
the top row having an ornamental blue pattern. Bottom of white
glazed bricks. Depth from 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft. 6 in. The ceiling,
of tasteful iron work, nicely painted, forms a double slope, in
which there is plenty of glass to illuminate the bath well. The
bathing boxes, 34 in number, are at both ends of the bath, 18
at the deep end, in two tiers, 14 at the shallow end similarly
arranged. They are roomy, neatly painted, and are provided with
mirrors and curtains in place of doors. There is a broad footway
in front of the boxes, and a gangway across the water at one
side, leading from one end to the other, and which, being about
5 feet above the water, may be used as a spring-board. Walls
painted in oil colour rise from the water on both sides. The
water is quite clear. There is a second class bath precisely the
same in dimensions, the only difference being that the boxes are
not painted nor furnished with mirrors or curtains, and that
there is no ornamental border round the top of the bath.

_City of London Swimming Baths_, Golden Lane, Barbican.—These
baths are situated in a squalid district, the teeming population
of which seem not to avail themselves to any great extent of the
facilities for ablution the establishment affords. The first
class swimming bath is underground, dimly lighted by grimy
windows at both ends and one side, which derive their light at
second hand from other windows rising from the level of the
pavement. It is about 30 yards long by 11 wide; is deepest (5 ft.
6 in.) in the centre, and shallow (3 ft. 6 in.) at either end.
The sides and a few feet of the bottom at one end are paved with
white porcelain tiles, the rest of the bottom with reddish tiles.
The water is clear. There is no visible out-and-in flow. The
bathing boxes, 20 in number, are sufficiently roomy. They seem
originally to have had half doors, but only two or three of these
remain. These boxes stand upon a sort of platform overhanging the
bath on one side. On the opposite side is a spring-board, and
another at one end. At the other end a sort of Chinese bridge
without a parapet crosses the water. The ceiling is of moderate
height, and consists of boards, through which project clusters
of iron pipes, evidently connected with the bath and laundry
arrangements above. The sides of the walls are painted over with
pious texts, with which the language of the bathers at my visit
did not correspond. There was a close smell about the place,
which must be much intensified when the bath is full. Although
the size of the bath is great, and the water clear, and at my
visit not too warm, this bath is not very inviting, it being
dark, ugly, and ill-ventilated. There is a second class bath here
of somewhat smaller dimensions.

_Greenwich Swimming Baths_.—The first class bath is 17 yards
long by 6 wide. Depth from 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft. 6 in. Sides and
bottom covered with a sort of asphalte painted white. Fourteen
open bathing boxes painted light blue, with curtains and mirrors,
along one side of the bath. Footway in front of the boxes of
slate. A narrow stone ledge at deep end, and in front of it
a plank across the bath for a spring-board. Walls of brick,
whitewashed, rise directly from the bath at the shallow end and
the side opposite the boxes. Ceiling, of iron work, double slope,
with glass let in at the top. Ventilation and lighting good. The
second class bath is almost precisely the same, differing only in
the colour of the boxes, and there being no curtains to them.

_Hammersmith Swimming Bath_, Bridge street, Hammersmith.—This
bath is 20 yards long by 7 wide. The sides are of white porcelain
tiles with round black spots at the angles, the top row having a
blue flower pattern. The bottom of white and black glazed bricks
forming a pattern. Depth from 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft. 6 in.; 22
bathing boxes, painted drab and blue, with small mirrors and half
doors, run along one side and the shallow end. The footway in
front of the boxes and at the deep end is of wood, and projects
over the water. A narrow stone ledge runs along the opposite
side. The walls are sized stone colour. The ceiling is moderately
lofty, arched, and whitewashed. Gaseliers depend from it.
Daylight is admitted by two large windows in the side wall, and
three semicircular windows at each end. Panes of thick unpolished
glass are let into the roof all down the side where the boxes
are. The illumination is good. There is a spring board at the
deep end. The warm water is admitted at the surface of the water
at one corner of the bath, whereby the heat is very unequally
distributed. At my visit the top of the water in many parts was
quite warm, while the depths of the bath were very cold. The
water is clear. This bath is first class on Mondays, Wednesdays
and Fridays, and second class on the other days of the week. It
is an excellent bath, of good size, well lighted and ventilated,
and very clean—perhaps because it is new, and the only fault to
be found with it is in regard to the heating of the water, which
would be better if the warm water were admitted at the bottom
of the bath about its middle, in place of at the surface of the
water at one end.

_Kensington Swimming Bath_, High Street, Kensington.—This little
bath is about 10 yards long by 7 wide. It is lined, sides and
bottom, with cement painted white. Depth from 3 to 5 feet. The
walls, which rise straight up from the bath on three sides, are
painted in imitation of stone, and are festooned all round with
chains for the bathers to lay hold of. The ceiling, not very
lofty, is of wood, whitewashed, pierced by six windows, which
admit a good quantity of light. Four chains hang from the ceiling
to near the surface of the water. The water is very clear and
fresh. There are 8 boxes for bathers, entered at the back by
doors, and with half doors facing the water. Stone steps lead
down to the bottom of the water from these boxes, which occupy
the whole of the shallow end of the bath, are rather narrow, but
clean and neat, with mirrors. At one side of the bath is a short
footway projecting about 10 feet over the water. A spring-board
in the middle of the deep end, and at the corners ladders for
diving from. This bath, though small, is clean, well ventilated,
and select.

_Lambeth Swimming Baths_, Westminster Bridge Road.—The first
class bath is 41 yards by 15. Depth from 3 to 5 feet. The sides
of the bath have a row of white porcelain tiles above, the rest
of the sides and the bottom are lined with dusky tiles. The water
tolerably clear. An elegant fountain in the centre admits the
warm water. An aquarium at the shallow end. A lofty spring-board
at the deep end, a lower one at one side. Eighty roomy boxes for
bathers with half doors, running along each side of the bath.
Above these, on each side, is a gallery supported on light iron
pillars, with 16 superior rooms for bathers. Ceiling lofty,
double slope, pierced with numerous windows, which light the bath
well. A broad paved space between the boxes and the water. This
is the largest first class bath in London, and is much used for
swimming matches. It is well lighted and ventilated. There is a
second class bath nearly as large, 38 yards by 17.

_Marylebone Swimming Baths_, Marylebone Road.—The first class
bath is 15 yards by 8. Depth from 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft. 6 in.
It is paved with blue and white porcelain tiles arranged in a
pattern. The sides are of slate slabs, with an elegant border
at the top, of blue and white pattern, in porcelain tiles. The
boxes, 10 in number, and provided with a complete door that
closes with a spring lock, which can be opened on the inside by a
handle, but on the outside only by a key, are roomy, clean, and
provided with mirrors. They run along one side of the bath only,
and in front of them is a footway of slate. The walls rise from
the water on the other sides, and are painted imitation stone.
A spring-board passes across the deep end of the bath. At the
shallow end is a shell fountain of white marble, whence fresh
water is always flowing into the bath with a pleasant sound. The
ceiling is lofty, ridge and furrow, with many lights. This is a
little gem of a bath, the water is generally fresh and clear, the
lighting and ventilation excellent. It is open on Wednesdays till
2 o’clock for ladies. There are also a second and a third class
bath below the level of the street, each 23 yards long, lined
with blue and white porcelain tiles, well lighted by glass roofs,
clean and tasteful. Accommodating respectively 30 and 40 bathers
in neat, open, varnished wooden boxes.

_Metropolitan Swimming Baths_, Ashley Crescent, City Road.—The
principal bath is 33 yards long by 11 wide. Depth from 3 ft.
10 in. to 5 ft. There is also a smaller bath 16 yards long by 9
wide, of a uniform depth of 5 feet. The large bath is lined with
reddish bricks, and a row of white porcelain tiles runs round
the top. The boxes, 47 in number, run down both sides and along
the shallow end. They are placed two and two between pillars
supporting arches. They are roomy, and are entered by a door
leading from a corridor at the back. A half door opens on to the
water, down to which there are wooden steps in front of each box.
The boxes have no mirrors. The corridor extends all round the
boxes, which are between it and the bath, so that the bath can
only be entered through the boxes or at the deep end of the bath,
where there is a platform and spring-board, beneath which the
water is admitted, when required, in a large cascade. Ornamental
colouring is applied to the pillars and arches supporting the
ceiling, which is moderately lofty, flat, and whitewashed, with
two circular skylights. The bath is further lighted by 22 windows
looking into the corridor, placed just below the ceiling. The
lighting is not so good as might be expected from the number of
windows, as they are unfortunately placed. The water is clear,
and the ventilation good.

The smaller bath is lined with cement painted. It is surrounded
by 48 boxes with half doors placed against the wall, and there is
a broad footway betwixt the boxes and the bath. Some of the boxes
are in a recess at the head of the bath. There is a spring-board
at one end. The water is clear, and apparently kept somewhat
cooler than that in the large bath.

_The Wenlock Swimming Bath_, Wenlock Road, is the second class
bath to the Metropolitan. It is 60 yards long and 10 wide. It can
accommodate a vast number of bathers in boxes with half doors on
either side and at the top, and an unlimited number of spectators
in galleries above the boxes. This bath being the longest in
London is much used for swimming matches. The water is very far
from clear, and the arrangements are altogether very second class.

_North London Swimming Baths_, Pentonville Road.—The first class
bath is 18 yards by 7. Depth from 3 to 4 feet; deepest in the
middle. The sides are lined with white porcelain tiles with
ornamented top row, the bottom paved with red tiles. There are 24
roomy bathing boxes, with mirrors, running along one side and
one end. Above these is a gallery which will accommodate bathers
or spectators. A flagged footway runs in front of the boxes.
At the end and side not occupied by the boxes, a spring-board
runs along the whole length, and there is another spring-board
near the middle of the opposite side. Three trapezes hang from
the ceiling for the daring flights of amphibious Leotards. The
ceiling is lofty, of dark stained wood, and glass in sufficient
quantity to light the bath well. The side walls are of bare
yellow brick. The water is clear, the lighting and ventilation
good, but the depth of the bath is quite insufficient, and in
plunging from the spring-board one must take care of one’s head
against the bottom. There is a second class bath somewhat smaller.

_Poplar Swimming Baths_, East India Dock Road.—There are two
baths, first and second class, of similar dimensions, 15 yards
by 9. I was unable to inspect them, as the baths close at the
end of September, and my visit was made during the first days
of October, when the baths were locked up, and the man who had
the key was absent. They were described to me by an intelligent
policeman as very nice baths—I presume of the usual character of
parochial baths, of which I have examined and described so many.

_Royal York Swimming Baths_, York Terrace, Regent’s Park.—There
are two swimming baths, one for gentlemen, the other for ladies.

The gentlemen’s bath is of an irregular shape, about 22 yards
long by 7 wide. Depth from 3 to 5 feet. A spring-board at each
end. The bath is floored with tiles of a dusky reddish-brown
colour, the sides of white bricks. The bathing boxes, 20 in
number, very narrow, with half doors, run along the top and down
a part of one side. The walls, whitewashed, support a low ridge
and furrow ceiling, with dimmed panes of glass let into it. A
narrow ledge runs along one side of the bath. Small jets of water
run in at one end. At my visit the plaster was peeling off the
walls in patches, and green mould was creeping up the walls.
This, with the low ceiling, the dim illumination, and the dismal
colour of the material of which the bath is constructed, gave a
gloomy and uninviting aspect to the place. Still, I am bound to
say, the water was clear and pleasant.

The ladies’ bath is smaller, 10 yards by 7. Depth 4 ft. 6 in.
Lined with white porcelain tiles. Platform and 6 boxes with
curtains at one end. The walls, whitewashed, rise up from the
bath at the other three sides, and support a not very lofty
ridge and furrow ceiling pierced with a few windows. This bath,
which is the only one I know of in London exclusively devoted to
ladies, deserves attention on that account. It is far from being
everything that is desirable, but the water is clear, and there
is just room enough to learn swimming.

_St. George’s Swimming Bath_, Davies Street, Berkeley
Square.—This bath is 14 yards by 8. Depth 3 ft. 6 in. to 5 ft.
6 in. Sides paved with white porcelain tiles with black spots at
angles; a top row with Greek pattern in blue, bottom of white
glazed bricks. Open boxes with mirrors and half curtains, 42 in
number, all round the bath. A sloppy, slippery wooden footway in
front of boxes. Spring-board at deep end. Wooden steps down to
the bath at the middle of one side and at one corner. Ceiling,
supported on iron pillars, of painted iron work. The light comes
from a large skylight at the top of a high narrow funnel with
painted iron sides, and from 7 small windows over the top of
the boxes on one side. The water is clear, but the lighting is
very indifferent, and the ventilation decidedly defective. The
wringing machine belonging to the laundry keeps up an almost
incessant and very lugubrious noise. This bath is first class on
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and second class on the other
days of the week. It is under the same management as the

_St. George’s Swimming Bath_, Buckingham Palace Road.—This bath
is 20 yards by 8. Depth from 3 ft. 4 in. to 5 ft. 4 in. Sides of
white porcelain tiles with black spots at angles, and a Greek
pattern in blue along the top row. Bottom of white glazed bricks.
Forty-six open boxes, with half curtains and mirrors, on three
sides of the bath. Wooden footway all round. Ceiling, of iron
work, lofty, supported on painted iron pillars all round the
bath. Lighted by a large glass roof. Spring-board at deep end.
This bath is much superior in size, lighting, and ventilation, to
the establishment in Davies Street. Like the latter, it is first
class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and second class on
other days. It closes the end of October, but the bath in Davies
Street is open all the year.

_St. Giles’ and St. George’s, Bloomsbury, Swimming Baths_, Endell
Street.—The first class bath has an oblong shape, broader at one
end than the other. Its length is 12 yards by 10 at the deep end,
tapering off to 8 at the shallow end. Depth from 4 ft. to 6 ft.
Sides lined with white porcelain tiles with round black spots
at angles, a blue pattern on top row. Bottom of white glazed
bricks. Twenty-three open boxes, with mirrors and curtains, on
one side and along the shallow end. A wide footway of slate on
three sides of the bath. A spring-board at deep end. Pillars,
of painted iron, round three sides of the bath, supporting the
roof. A painted screen about 12 feet high separates this from the
second class bath, which is in all respects the same as the first
class, except that the boxes are not painted and have neither
mirrors nor curtains. The two baths have a common roof of glass,
very lofty, and with elegant iron-work supports. The water is
clear and fresh, the ventilation and lighting excellent. This
and the Tower Hamlets bath are the only ones in London where a
middle-sized man can get out of his depth, which is a great charm
to the practised swimmer.

_St. James’ Swimming Bath_, Marshall Street, Golden Square.—You
mount up a flight of steps to get to this bath. It is about
13 yards by 9. Depth from 3 to 5 feet. Sides of bath slate,
bottom plaster. Eighteen open boxes. A lofty ceiling, well
lighted. The water is dirty looking, and the whole arrangements
very inferior, and altogether second class.

_St. Margaret’s and St. John’s Swimming Baths_, Great Smith
Street, Westminster.—The first class bath is 12 yards by 10. It
is lined throughout, and for 3 feet above the water, with white
glazed bricks. Depth from 3 ft. to 5 ft. 6 in. Boxes 16, open,
with mirrors, in two tiers at the shallow end. A footway 6 feet
broad in front of boxes, about 3 feet above the water, to which
two flights of wooden steps lead down. A narrow gangway, about
6 feet above the water, leads to a door opening on to the second
class bath, which is very similar to this, only 3 feet longer,
and with double the number of boxes arranged similarly at either
end. The walls, whitewashed, rise from the water on three sides.
They support a lofty double sloped ceiling of painted wood, with
glass let in along each slope. The water is clear, and the bath
is tolerably well lighted and ventilated, but as it is deficient
in everything ornamental, it has rather a mean appearance.

_St. Pancras Swimming Baths_, King Street, Camden Town.—The
first class bath is 19 yards by 8. The corners of the bath
are rounded. The sides of white porcelain tiles, the top row
ornamented with blue dolphins. The bottom is of glazed black and
white bricks arranged in a pattern. Depth from 3 ft. 4 in. to
5 ft. 5 in. A spring-board at deep end. The boxes, 25 in number,
with mirrors and half doors, run down one side and along deep
end. At the shallow end, and in front of the boxes, a footway of
stone flags. At the other side runs a screen about 10 feet high,
separating it from the second class bath, which is identical with
it in all respects save the mirrors and dolphins. The two baths
are covered, to the extent of one half, by a very lofty glass
dome. The other half of the bath is overhung by a not very lofty
ceiling of plaster and ironwork, with sundry round holes in it,
displaying intricate conglomerations of iron pipes. The water is
beautifully clear, and the lighting and ventilation good. It is
one of the most recent of the parochial baths, and does great
credit to the much-reviled St. Pancras Board of Guardians.

_Tower Hamlets Swimming Baths_, Church Street, Mile End New
Town.—First class bath 23 yards by 10. Depth from 5 to 6 feet.
The sides and bottom of bath of cement painted white. Forty-two
unnumbered boxes, with doors which do not lock, and are cut
away slightly at top to admit light, run along the two ends
and one side of the bath. Above them is a gallery with seats,
where more bathers or spectators can be accommodated. On the
opposite side runs a gangway over the water, which can be used
as a spring-board. The footway in front of the boxes is of stone
flags. The walls, of brick, are whitewashed on the three sides
where the boxes are, with some attempt at colour near the top,
and a gorgeous Royal Arms at one end. The other side is of wood
painted, forming the partition between this and the second class
bath. The roof is on the double slope, of wood, dark and grimy.
Glass is let in at the top on both sides. The illumination is
indifferent, the boxes rather rickety, and, on the whole, the
bath, though extent and depth of water are satisfactory, is
decidedly shabby. The second class bath is the same as the first,
except that the boxes are open, 26 in number, and so much larger,
that each box will accommodate on an emergency ten bathers. The
proprietor informed me that he has seen 1200 bathers together
in this bath, 500 or 600 in the water at one time. There is no
attempt at colouring on the whitewashed walls, and the water is
not so deep as that in the first class bath by half a foot.

Some of the above tepid swimming baths are open all the year round. Some, where there are first and second class baths, close one of these during the winter and strike an average of the prices of admission. Some close at the end of September, others at the end of October, to reopen in April. The prices of the swimming baths connected with the parochial baths and washhouses are usually 4d. for the 1st class and 2d. for the 2nd class. A few charge 6d. 1st class, some 3d. 2nd class, and one, the Marylebone, charges 8d. 1st, 4d. 2nd, and 2d. 3rd class. The non-parochial swimming baths, Kensington and Blackheath, are 1s. each.

Almost all the swimming baths are the head quarters of one or more swimming clubs, which generally have one night a week for their meetings and practisings. With few exceptions they have all attached to them a professional swimmer, in most cases one of the bath attendants, who teaches swimming to beginners and coaches aspirants after prizes in that extraordinary mode of rapid swimming adopted by the London aquatic athletes, in plunging, in picking up eggs from the bottom of the bath, and other equally useless feats. The shallowness of the baths prevents all practice of the really useful accomplishment of diving deep in water from a height or while swimming; and I am not aware of any instruction being given in the very difficult art of rescuing a drowning person. I need not say that this is a dangerous and difficult operation as long as the person to be rescued is able to struggle and clutch at his rescuer. It too often happens that the desperate efforts of a drowning person drag both himself and his would-be preserver to the bottom. In some books it is recommended not to attempt the rescue of a drowning man until he has ceased to struggle, when it may be too late. There is a method of grasping and supporting a drowning person, however lively, that should be taught to swimmers, which will enable them to save life without much peril to themselves; and this could be taught in our swimming baths, but no prizes are awarded for it, and professionals, for the most part, think only of teaching what will win prizes at the swimming competitions. By the way, either Shakspeare understood little about swimming or he intended to represent Cassius as a vain boaster, which, however, is hardly consistent with his character in the play, when he makes him talk about rescuing the drowning Cæsar by taking him on his shoulders as Æneas did Anchises.