Thursday, April 7, 2016

The Living Rough of London


Vagrant. Almsperson. Pauper. Transient. Beggar. Bum. Derelict. Vagabond. Panhandler. Drifter. Bag lady. Hobo. Wino. Destitute. Homeless. Pick one, they all represent names used to describe someone living on the streets. In London, the term living/sleeping rough is used. As my daughter and I were visiting the old city for the first time, I began to notice them scattered here and there.

When first arriving in London we’d decided instead of storing luggage in a locker at Victoria Station, we’d find the hotel and see our sights from there. On our way home that evening we began to notice, not only pub and restaurant goers spilling out onto the streets, but the homeless, or as they say in the United Kingdom, those who are sleeping or living rough.

The same people are in the same spots every day. Only a few blocks from Victoria, huddled in an alcove, crouched a woman wrapped in a blanket. Although she shivers, I’m not entirely certain it’s due to the cold. I fear she may be newly without a home. Her eyes show a fear of something unknown. While her blanket is tattered, the jacket she wears is still fairly new.

Not far from this woman was a man who seemed to have become more accustom to living on the streets. He sat not far from the Sainsbury we’d come to think of as our local grocery. He sat cross legged on a wool blanket which covered a stack of newspapers. His clothes and bomber jacket he wore were worn and thread bare in places. He greeted passersby with a smile and a “Good evening.” Our stay was only a week, but his presence was so pleasant and strong, I know I will never forget him. Mid-week he was missing and I found myself missing his cheerful greeting. I’d hoped he’d found some place permanent, however he was back within a couple days.

In keeping with our “getting lost” theme, we’d made our way to the East End for our Jack the Ripper tour. Believing we were in the proper spot for the tour, my daughter and I noticed a gathering crowd across the street. We had begun to think we were in the wrong spot. A scruffy looking man sat at the top of the underground entrance. He waved, said hello, and tipped his hat to commuters entering or exiting on their way home or to the pub. Who better to ask? He told my daughter he’d noticed us standing here and knew right away we were waiting for the tour. It wasn’t much, I know, but she gave him a pound for his help. While on our tour, story for another time, I literally trip on a poor man stretched out along the side of a building. Deeper into our tour, an entire family was sleeping rough on the street.
 
When we were on Charing Cross Road in search of bookstores, we passed the Wyndhams Theatre. Sitting on the sidewalk between posters, was an amputee in his wheelchair. Next to him was his traveling “home,” a pup tent.

According to a Guardian article, in 2014/2015, there were approximately 7500 souls sleeping rough in the streets of London. As everywhere, housing cuts, downsizing, and out sourcing to name a few, are the reason for the rise in street people. I see it daily and have myself been there.

On one of our final rides on the tube, we sat across from a man with his hair and beard matted and smelling of mold and mildew. He was in layers of clothing, clutching bags with his belongings, and sleeping to the swaying car’s rhymed movements. He brought the reality of the plight of those without a place to rest their heads at the end of the day. As bad as we thought our hotel was, it was clean and we had our place to rest.