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.
