Chapter II: Part 2

The above, as far as I can ascertain, are all the places expressly constructed for swimming purposes at present existing in London,[3] and if they fully answered the ends for which they were designed, and enabled their frequenters to obtain the full benefit of the hygienic exercise of swimming, one could scarcely say that they were too few for even such an immense town. But they are of little use in a hygienic point of view. I must remind the reader that in order to derive the full health-giving advantages from swimming, it must be performed in cool and deep water, with plenty of room, and surrounded by the wholesome accessaries of fresh air and sunlight. Moreover, the mind of the swimmer should not be harassed and anxious. Now, the London swimming baths satisfy none of these requirements. They are, with one exception (for we cannot count the three ancient plunge baths among swimming baths, on account of their puny dimensions), all tepid. This is no fixed temperature, but varies in every bath, and in the same bath at different times. It may mean any temperature from 65° to 80°, or upwards. The lower temperature would not be objectionable in the point of view of salubrity, but it would not be relished by the swimmers, who would insist on more warm water being added, or otherwise the most of them would forsake the bath. When the water approaches the higher temperature indicated, swimming in it is followed by languor and prostration, more prejudicial to health than otherwise. To me the water in this state feels sodden and lifeless, and though one can stay in it a long time without shivering, the longer one stays in the more prostrated does one feel afterwards, and a good cold douche or shower-bath would be required to restore anything like tone to the system.

[3] There are, I believe, several additional tepid swimming baths
in the course of construction in London and suburbs, and one
has been recently opened at Stratford, but that town can
scarcely be considered as part of London, though within the
postal district, and as Mr. Sweedlepipe says, “we must draw
the line somewhere.” Some may think I have not drawn the line
narrowly enough, when I have included in my survey Hampstead,
Hammersmith, Greenwich, and Blackheath, but I preferred to
make it possibly too wide than to incur the reproach of having
made it too narrow.

The London swimming baths are all shallow, with two exceptions, and these are only six feet deep at their deepest part. There is consequently no opportunity for diving deep and experiencing the powerful influence of the pressure of a considerable column of water on the organs of respiration and circulation.

With few exceptions the London swimming baths are too small. When any considerable number of bathers are in the water, then there is hardly room for the swimmers, who are consequently continually butting against, or kicking, or even scratching one another in a manner anything but favorable for the preservation of good temper—a most essential requisite in a hygienic point of view.

None of the London baths have the advantage of pure fresh air. Some of them are close, stuffy and fœtid. The best of them can only be said to be well ventilated, but no amount of ventilation in a covered building is an equivalent for the caller air with its fresh breezes, that play around and about the exposed body of the open air bather.

Few of the London baths have a sufficiency of light. Some are mere gloomy cellars. In the very best of them the body does not receive the direct rays of the sun, the light being transmitted through glass of greater or less thickness, often artificially dimmed, in case it should impinge too strongly on the exposed body. The powerful hygienic effects of light on the body have recently received much attention, and it is no doubt a chief agent in the salubrious influence of open-air bathing. To construct a swimming bath where the light is nearly excluded is to forego one of the greatest advantages of the bath.

Lastly, how can the mind remain free from anxiety, when, according to the arrangement in every bath in London, with one exception, the bather’s clothes and valuables have to be left in open boxes, to which any person can enter, while in most baths a notice is stuck up to the effect that the bath proprietor is not responsible for clothes or valuables, but that each bather must look after his own. In some of the baths the ticket givers will take charge of watches, jewellery, and money, but in many others they refuse to do so, and one is forced to leave everything exposed. With this alarming notice staring one in the face, what must be the state of mind of a timid bather under such circumstances, when the bath is tolerably full of the extremely mixed company which frequents these baths, I shall leave the reader to imagine. Certainly if the conditions were otherwise hygienically good, the moral state thus induced would suffice to neutralize them.

Besides the above swimming baths, cold and tepid, under cover, and not to be enjoyed without payment, London has, or had, two large open-air gratuitous swimming baths, fulfilling in many respects the requirements of hygienic swimming baths, but objectionable in several important particulars; I allude to the great bathing lake in Hyde Park—the Serpentine, and the two smaller lakes in Victoria Park.

_The Serpentine_, before the “levelling-up” operations commenced,
was in very bad repute. Its depth was supposed to be very great
in some places; a delusion its drainage has dispelled, for it
appears to be nowhere above 12 or 14 feet deep. Its bottom was
supposed to be foul with the accumulated sediment from the
sewers which discharged themselves into it for many years; its
drainage has shown it to be foul beyond all conception, and the
wonder is that its water was not more impure than we know it to
have been, resting on such a thick stratum of abominations. The
water was impure,[4] there is no denying it, and its impurity
was often as obvious to the nose as to the eye. And yet a swim
in the old Serpentine on a cool spring or autumn morning was not
a bad thing—_experto credite_. It was a fine expanse of water,
with beautiful surroundings. The eye rested with pleasure on the
green sward of the park, the stately old elms, the picturesque
bridge, the pretty little Swiss boathouse, and the monstrous
black Duke prancing over the trees. Then if you did not examine
too minutely the green confervæ that rendered the water almost
opaque, if you kept your eyes more skyward, if you became used
to the faint ditch-water smell around you, and “made believe
a good deal,” you might almost fancy yourself disporting in a
retired lake far away in the country. The company was not so bad
as was usually supposed. The roughs don’t like getting up early
even to wash themselves, so there were few of them; they mostly
deferred their bathing till the evening. Most of the bathers
seemed quiet, steady, respectable people. The regular bathers
would generally bring along with them a bit of carpet, or hire a
rug from the Humane Society’s boatmen to lay their clothes on,
and thus save them getting wet by the dew. There was room and to
spare for all on the broad bosom of London’s great lake, and when
you could forget the stories about the horrors below you, and
refrain from looking too curiously at the green abominations that
thickened the water, a long swim in the deep placid Serpentine,
with the sun shining down on you, and the gentle breeze fanning
you, was infinitely preferable to any cold or tepid swimming
bath in London. If the lover of the swimming bath is to gain
nothing by the works now going on in the Serpentine besides clear
water in a shallow bed, he will, perhaps, rather regret the
loss of his deep but dirty lake. Bathing was permitted in the
Serpentine from 5 to 8 a.m., and again after sunset for an hour
or so; but no provision at all was made for the accommodation of
bathers, beyond a couple of boats belonging to the Humane Society
stationed near where most bathers resorted.

[4] I suppose it was this impurity of the water which
produced a remarkable disease among the young sticklebacks
and minnows, many of which I have found with deposits,
apparently of pus, on various parts of their bodies,
rendering their movements languid and awkward, and in some
cases, especially where these deposits were on the head,
causing hideous disfiguration.

_Victoria Park Bathing Lakes_.—There are two of these lakes. The
more easterly one is nearly 300 yards long, and is surrounded by
a gravel walk, beyond which are shrubs. The more westerly one
is nearly as large, and is more hemmed in by trees and shrubs,
and has several islands in it. Both have a depth of 6 feet in
their deepest part, becoming gradually shallow towards the
shore. The eastern lake is much the clearest. There is a raft on
one, and a small shabby bathing house on the other. A swimming
master resides at one end of the eastern lake, who apparently
adds to the profits of his profession by selling ginger-beer
and sugar-plums. The time when bathing is allowed is from 4 to
8 a.m. The remainder of the day the best of the lakes is much
resorted to by the owners of miniature yachts, in order to test
the sailing powers of their tiny craft. There is, of course, here
also no arrangement for the safe bestowal of one’s clothes while
one is in the water, so that, as in the Serpentine, you bathe at
your own proper peril.

The lakes in these two parks are the only places in which the inhabitants of London are permitted to indulge in open-air bathing.[5] To be sure there is the river, and there are numerous canals in which the gamins plunge in summer, but they do so at the risk of being seized by the police and brought before a magistrate charged with the heinous offence of indecency, so that all who have any respect for the law are practically debarred from making use of these waters. Besides, in spite of the recent drainage works, the Thames is still little better than an open sewer, and it will be long before it is anything else;[6] and the canals are, with few exceptions, so dirty, that there is little inducement to the respectable swimmer to brave the terrors of the law, and defy the threats against trespassers, in order to indulge in his favorite exercise in either river or canal. So, practically, he is limited to the Serpentine and Victoria lakes, and to these only at the inconvenient hours, and under the uncomfortable circumstances I have described.

[5] I do not forget the lower ponds of Hampstead, which were once
magnificent sheets of water, but then they were the property
of the New River Company, and bathing was strictly prohibited
in them. Now they seem to be abandoned by the Water Company,
but they have been allowed to drain away or evaporate, until
they are little better than muddy pools with a broad margin
of sticky clay which would deter any one except a London
street Arab from attempting to bathe in them. It would be
possible to convert one or more of them into excellent
swimming baths of any required depth.

[6] Were the Thames once more the “crystal stream” that poets
used to call it, I fear its tidal character would offer some
difficulties to placing on it, between the bridges, floating
baths, such as we see on the Seine; for these, if placed near
the side, would be left high and dry at every ebb, and, if
stationed in mid-stream, would seriously interfere with
navigation.

While almost every second-rate continental town has ample provision for open-air bathing, it is disgraceful that a large and wealthy metropolis like London should virtually have nothing of the sort. How much pleasure do its citizens consequently lose! what a powerful hygienic agent are they not deprived of! And yet London offers more facilities than almost any other town I know of for the construction of open-air swimming baths of the best kind, and that without infringing on the comfort or privileges of any one. In the Serpentine, when the levelling operations are completed, the finest swimming baths the world can show might be constructed for a very small sum of money, and I venture to say that while the convenience and wishes of thousands who delight in swimming, and to whom an open-air bath is a source of health and pleasure, would be gratified, no person would be inconvenienced, nor would anything unpleasant be presented to the eye.

The arrangements heretofore in force pleased no one; the bathing public were put to every sort of inconvenience, and the non-bathing public were disgusted that for certain hours in the day the banks of the Serpentine should be handed over to a horde of naked savages, rendering it impossible for any decent female to venture near them. It is surely the duty of the authorities who permit bathing in the Park to provide that it may be done with safety and comfort, and without outraging decency.

I would suggest that a first and second class swimming bath be built at the south side of the Serpentine when its depth has been equalised, as proposed, to 5 ft. 6 in., shelving into shallow water towards the shore. These ought, I think, to be, not floating baths, but permanent constructions of light and elegant appearance. Each bath should be at least 150 yards long by 50 or 60 wide. Round the bath should run a platform flagged with slates, with steps down to the water, and spring-boards. There should be boxes for bathers round the whole bath, to the number of 200 or 300. These boxes should be numbered, and have complete doors, with a pane of glass let in, and closing with a spring lock, to be opened by the attendant to the bather having a corresponding ticket. This for the security of the bather’s clothes and valuables. For what right, I may ask, has any one to invite me into his bathing establishment, induce me to divest myself of my clothes and valuables, and plunge beneath the water, while he offers me no security for my property, which he directs me hang up in a perfectly open box, and cautions me to look after myself? How I am to look after it when I am swimming in or under the water he does not inform me. Even if, when so engaged, I were to perceive a thief occupied in rifling my pockets or appropriating my garments, it would avail little that _de profundis clamavi_, “stop thief!” By the time I could get out of the water and make towards him, he would probably have got clear off with his booty. Therefore, the simple plan adopted in the Marylebone first class swimming bath, of full doors closing with a spring-lock, is indispensable for the security and comfort of the bather.[7] To make the security absolute, it would only be requisite to provide each bather with a ticket of bone or metal, the number of which would correspond with his box; and this by a simple contrivance might be fastened to his bathing drawers (without which no one should be allowed to bathe), and the attendant would only open the door corresponding to this number. I have dwelt, in what some may think too much detail, on this apparently trivial matter, but from experience I can testify that much of the comfort of a bath depends on one being assured that one’s clothes are in a place of safety. The boxes should be closed in at top with a glazed roof, as in the Hammersmith bath, and the roof, either glazed or of corrugated iron, should extend over the platform, as in a railway station, to afford shelter from sun or rain when not in the bath. The water should be quite open to sun and air. The prices of admission need not be greater—might indeed be less—than those of the generality of the parochial baths, viz. fourpence, first class, twopence, second class. For this the bather should be supplied with one or two towels, and bathing drawers, unless he prefer to wear his own. And here I would hint that the towels should always be washed after being used, and not merely dried, as seems to be the case in some of the baths, if I may be allowed to infer from their sickening smell. It would surely not be too much to expect a refreshment room or buffet in connexion with these baths, as is often to be found on the continent; such an addition would be highly desirable, if practicable.

[7] The proprietor of a swimming bath which has full doors
inveighed against them to me as affording facilities for
thieves, but then his doors have neither locks nor numbers.

These baths should be open from an early hour until dusk, so as to suit the convenience of all. Many persons cannot take an open-air bath in the morning without injury, but can derive benefit from, and enjoy, a swim in the middle of the day. Again, their occupations make it more convenient for some to bathe at one time, for others at another time, and the tastes and convenience of all would be consulted by having the bath open all day.

When such swimming baths are built, bathing, except in these, should be altogether forbidden in the Serpentine. Thus the non-bathing public would gain greatly by being spared the indecent scenes that have hitherto rendered that part of Hyde Park impassable for women in the morning and evening, and swimmers would have everything they could wish for. It might be a question whether bathers might not be permitted to swim from the bath in the Serpentine outside of it early in the morning. In the competitions of swimming clubs, greater space is often desirable than could be obtained in any bath.

A similar construction might be made on the eastern lake in Victoria park, which is in size, depth, and form, quite adapted for it. If the Lilliputian yachters should think their vested rights thereby interfered with, the other bathing lake might be abandoned to them entirely.

Excellent swimming baths might also be made on one of the arms at the east end of the lake in St. James’s Park, without interfering with any one’s rights or comfort. The water is already of the required depth, and the part indicated is but little frequented except by a few water-fowl.

The lake in Regent Park is also well adapted for a swimming bath. There is a portion of the water, midway between the two suspension bridges, nearly hidden from every habitation by an island covered with trees, where the bath might be built so as to be in nobody’s way. However, as it is quite easy to make the structure pretty, I don’t see why any person should object to a full view of it.

Battersea Park possesses a large expanse of water, and a few hundred yards of it might be very well spared by the gardeners and aquatic birds, to whom it is at present dedicated, for the purpose of a large swimming bath, which would complement the gymnasia in which the park at present abounds. The water, being only about 3 feet in depth, would not be suitable for a swimming bath without further deepening, but that is an operation which, I presume, would present no difficulty. It would be a great advantage to have a continuous and steady influx and outflow of water in all these lakes; this would insure constant freshness of the swimming baths. I am not conversant with engineering matters, but I should think that this might easily be effected by means of artesian wells in suitable situations, if the flow of water cannot be obtained from the water companies.

I have thus shown how the great want of London, in the matter of open-air swimming baths, might be supplied by utilizing a portion of the water in five of the existing parks.[8] As there are other parks projected, or in course of formation in other parts of London, it would, of course, be easy to apply the same principle to the lakes that might be formed in them.

[8] I have purposely said nothing about the extra-urban parks of
Greenwich, Wimbledon, Richmond, and Wanstead, all of which
offer great facilities for the construction of swimming baths,
all having fine sheets of water. I confine myself to the more
pressing wants of the teeming millions of London proper.

These baths would not interfere in any way with the existing swimming baths, for there would still remain a sufficiency of bathers who prefer tepid to cold water, and as a vastly greater number of persons would take to bathing than do now, they would, undoubtedly, first resort to the covered baths, in order to learn to swim, before frequenting the open-air baths. The covered swimming baths would also still be resorted to by those who prefer to swim in the evening, and by those who like to continue their bathing during the winter months.

And here I should say a few words respecting the prejudice in favour of sea-bathing, which is almost universal with us. It is believed that there is something in the sea water that renders it far more salutary than fresh water. This is undoubtedly true with respect to certain morbid states of the body—such as scrofula; but it is far from being universally true. To many persons the seaside and sea water are little else than poisonous, and bathing in the sea, or mere residence near the sea, produces very prejudicial effects. To most healthy persons it is not the contents of the water that do good, but the exercise and the reactions caused by the temperature and the other elements I have indicated above. By many swimming in the sea is preferred to swimming in fresh water for various reasons, independent of any medicinal action of its salts. They like the charm of bathing in the boundless ocean with all its romantic accompaniments; they swim with greater facility and confidence, as the greater specific gravity of salt water floats them higher. It may be urged that medical men invariably send people to the sea for bathing. That is nearly true; but then medical men are not altogether free from sharing the national prejudice in favour of the superior salubrity of sea water. Moreover, it is for patients their advice is sought, not healthy persons, and the maladies these patients are suffering from may seem to them to require the medicinal effect of sea water. But undoubtedly the chief reason for their recommendation is, that they know that there are facilities for bathing in the sea, but they would be much at a loss to name any place where their clients could obtain comfortable freshwater open-air bathing. For my own part, though I love the sea in all its moods, and in part because it has so many moods, I dislike the sticky hair and generally dirty feeling it causes, and its nasty taste when one gets a mouthful; and I would much prefer that its waters were as soft, sweet, and cleansing as those of a Scotch or Swiss lake. To my mind the finest swimming bath in the world is the Lake of Geneva. There you have the changing moods of the ocean, while the water is fresh and sweet, and of such a lovely blue, that your body when immersed in it seems as white as marble, and, like Narcissus, you are ready to fall in love with your beautified person. Give us freshwater baths in the open air, and a removal to the seaside will not be desired or needed by many who are now attracted thither.

When speaking of the advantages of swimming in the open air, I have not meant that these advantages were limited to the male sex. On the contrary, I am strongly of opinion that swimming is an exercise equally, if not more, adapted to women as to men. Men have their hundreds of games and occupations that keep their muscles in constant and varied play. From these women are practically debarred, and the exigencies of society limit their exercises to but few, and some of these can only be enjoyed by the wealthier classes. The tyranny of fashion, too, compels them to dress themselves in a manner specially unfavorable to healthy exercise, and the consequence is that thousands fall into ill health which might be averted if their muscular system and circulation had only a fair chance. Swimming, which must be performed without the restraints of fashionable garments, is of all others the kind of exercise from which most advantage may be reaped. To most women, also, swimming comes easier than to men. Their bodies are generally of less specific gravity, and so float more easily in water, whether fresh or salt. This being so they sooner acquire the confidence necessary to make good swimmers. Then, as the water sustains the whole weight of the body, and as they are no longer restrained by the bands, bones and laces of their dress, they are free to bring into full play, without fatigue, all those muscles which have hitherto been kept in thrall by the milliner’s devices.

As a means of maintaining and even restoring health, then, swimming in the open air is of still greater importance to women than to men. But I have shown that even in the matter of tepid swimming baths the wants of the other sex have been almost totally ignored, for with the exception of the little bath in York Terrace and the Wednesday morning’s use of the smallest of the Marylebone baths, there is actually no provision in London for women’s swimming. As far as regards open-air swimming they have been left out of consideration altogether. Now, if open-air swimming baths are to be established in London, the interests of the softer sex should be considered as much as those of the rougher gender. With this view I would give up the Regent’s Park lake to the ladies, for which it is already adapted by its inferior depth—4 feet, I believe. For the same reason it may perhaps be thought best to make the proposed bath in St. James’s Park one for ladies only, and if the bath in the Serpentine be only made large enough, there is ample space there for all the wants of the male sex at that end of the town.[9] The water in Victoria Park in its present condition is, of course, better adapted for a men’s bath, but in the event of a women’s bath being required there, which I doubt not will be the case, one of the other lakes might be given up for the purpose, or a new lake altogether constructed, for which there is room enough in the park.

[9] If it is considered desirable to limit the construction of
swimming baths at first to the Serpentine, a ladies’ swimming
bath might be made in the portion of it contained in
Kensington Gardens.

When women take to swimming, as I have no doubt they will eagerly when opportunity offers, they will, of course, have to abandon their useless and inconvenient bathing gowns and adopt the dress universally worn by their sisters on the continent, or something equally well adapted to allow free play to the limbs.

When London sets the example, our provincial towns will soon follow its lead, and when once open-air swimming baths become general throughout the land, we may hope one day to cease to deserve the reproach—that though we live in a sea-surrounded and lake and river-abounding country, a much smaller proportion of its inhabitants can swim well than is to be found in many continental countries which have none of our aquatic advantages.

Transcriber’s Note

Apart from one instance of punctuation normalisation, the text is presented as printed in the original, including inconsistent hyphenation (ironwork/iron-work/iron work, open-air/open air, spring-board/spring board, spring-lock/spring lock), period spelling (accessaries, asphalte, gaselier, Shakspeare) and northern dialect words (wersh, caller).