The worst job in the world

By Kate Wiseman

“The Sewer Hunter or Tosher,” London Labour and the London Poor, Henry Mayhew, 1851 (Tufts Digital Library).

To those familiar with the word, “mudlark” usually conjures up a mental image of a modern treasure hunter in wellies and waterproof clothing, trusty trowel in hand. Or perhaps of a nineteenth-century child, barefoot, undernourished and clad in rags, scouring the shore of the River Thames for scraps to sell. But did you know there were other nineteenth-century treasure hunters with a specialty so dangerous they were regarded as mudlarking elite?

These were the “toshers,” mudlarks whose workplace made the filthy Thames seem like a flower-strewn meadow on a spring day. Toshers worked in the hundreds of miles of sewers beneath the streets of London, searching the rivers of waste for coins and valuables that had fallen from careless fingers or poorly protected wallets. Rain would wash these treasures into the sewers, and armed with little more than a bucket, a sieve, and a hoe, the toshers would set out to recover them.

Side sewer in River Fleet, London, 2015 (Matt Brown). Victorian sewer hatch in River Fleet, London, 2015 (Matt Brown).

Victorian social commentator, Henry Mayhew, estimated that there were about 200 toshers at work beneath London, each with their own colorful nickname, such as Short-Armed Jack and One-Eyed George. They brought in goods worth “no less than £20,000 per annum,” according to a calculation Mayhew made in the 1840s. That’s £3,374,134 or $4,273,814 today. In a society with next to no social care or help for the poor, such an amount would surely have been worth risking your life for.

“Flushing the Sewers,” London Labour and the London Poor, Henry Mayhew, 1851 (Tufts Digital Library).

As well as having to work in an extremely unpleasant environment (and that’s putting it lightly), toshers faced many daily perils: lethal diseases, vicious rats, quickly rising tides, pockets of poisonous gas, and unpredictable sluice gates that could open at any moment, releasing torrents of filthy water that could knock a man off his feet.

To minimize these dangers, toshers worked in teams, with the man in the front carrying a long pole with a hoe at one end. The pole would be used to poke and prod at the ground hidden by the river of effluent, checking for holes that a man could fall into, or obstacles over which he might stumble. If a tosher fell into the river of sewage, the hoe could be used to rescue him. It was also very effective for delving into piles of waste, in the hunt for lost valuables.

In 1840, it was declared illegal for anyone to enter the sewers without express permission, and a £5 reward was offered for information about those who infringed the new law. This forced toshers into a secretive existence, silently entering the sewers at night with a lantern strapped to their chests. Like other forms of mudlarking, successful toshing depended on someone who knew the most likely places for treasure to accumulate. Mayhew reported that “sometimes, they dive their arm down to the elbow in the mud and filth and bring up shillings, sixpences, half-crowns, and occasionally half-sovereigns and sovereigns…they always find these coins standing edge uppermost between the bricks in the bottom, where the mortar has been worn away.” That’s knowledge you can only gain from experience.

Even though Short-Armed Jack and One-Eyed George and their dangerous occupation have been largely forgotten, it’s pleasing to know that toshers have left their mark on the English language. The British slang phrase “a load of old tosh” means a lot of rubbish, nonsense, or baloney. I think that those nineteenth-century treasure seekers would be delighted to know that every time someone mentions “a load of old tosh,” they are unwittingly paying homage to their filthy, dangerous but potentially lucrative way of life.

Kate is a mudlark and author of The Mudlark Mysteries, a series of adventures set in Victorian London for readers age nine and up. “When I learned about toshing, my imagination was well and truly caught. I wanted to bring this dangerous world to life,” she says. “To ramp up the danger, my toshers are children sent into the sewers to work.”

It was while researching toshing that Kate came across the legend of the “devil swine of Hampstead,” a herd of huge, carnivorous pigs who were believed by many to lurk in the sewers beneath leafy Hampstead. “The idea of combining the perils of toshing with the devil swine was irresistible, and The Hampstead Terror was born.” This book, due for release in December 2024, follows Joe, Edie, Jack, Ottilie, and Flea beneath London and into a web of danger, where they face a criminal gang, stolen treasure, and helpful mudlarks.

Learn more about mudlarking

Learn more about the experiences of mudlarks, who search the shores of rivers, bays, and seas for historical finds and other objects. Articles ›

Mudlarking on the Thames Foreshore requires a permit. Learn about rules for mudlarking in London ›

This article appeared in Beachcombing Magazine Volume 45 November/December 2024