Outside apprenticeship
"Well now," said Trevor, as he opened the door of his large corner flat in Sloane Square. "I was kind of expecting you."
"Must be the grape-vine," muttered Jon. "But dont question me too much, old man. I need more time to get myself together before I have a grilling."
Trevor looked at him closely and could see the defensive look in his friends eye. The two men had known each other for many years, and each could equal the other in the number of pints downed in the evening and still remain sober enough to talk rationally. As a professional photographer Trevor was sensitive to expressions, he watched Jons face keenly. "Alright, alright. Come and have some coffee. Or what about a beer ? Where were you last night? Have you fed?"
"There you go," Jon chided. "Questions already, but I know you mean well. You've always been easy-going and undemanding. Thats why I came to you. Quick answers first. Yes, Id like some coffee. No beer at the moment, goes through the system too fast. I was here, there and everywhere last night and I dont need food. Does that give you all the answers?"
"Not giving much away, are you?" replied Trevor. "But your lifes your own, and you must do what you must, but you would have known Id have been upset when I heard that you'd left home. Knew something like that might happen. You've seemed uneasy for a long while. Wait a tick while I put the kettle on." He left the room to make the coffee, and while the kettle was boiling he cut some hefty cheese and pickle sandwiches. Jon looked around the large airey room where electrical equipment was strewn about in a disorderly way. But there was nothing but orderliness and perfection in the work of the tall dark quiet man.
When Trevor returned he found Jon sitting on the sofa fast asleep.
"Here you are, Jon. Here's the coffee." Jon woke up with a start.
"Thats odd," he said. "I dont usually drop off like that. Must watch my step."
"Why have you come to see me?" asked Trevor, he made no mention of the sandwiches, but watched Jon tucking into them fast.
"Its like this," mumbled Jon with his mouth full. "Incidently, touche over the grub. You win. Many thanks. I know you've have heard by now that I've left all my past behind, and I think you know me well enough to understand the reason why. Dont chide me, Trev, dont make me have more guilty feelings than I make for myself. I MUST do what I have to do, and I must travel light in order to do this. What I am going to ask you is this? Could you look after this green rucksack for me and keep it very safe. I've had trouble enough carting the damn thing round looking for jobs. And when..."
"Wish you'd come sooner," interrupted Trevor. "I've been ever so worried, and.."
"Its got all my written work in it. All my poems..." Jons voice faltered. "Suppose theyll be printed some day. But, Trev, until I'm in a position to do everything properly I dont want anybody to read them. You can, if you like, just you. they're a bit scruffy, as I've jotted some down on any old bits of paper I could find. All the written work I have done is there, and over the years that has taken up a lot of my time and thoughts. Crumpled up, some of it, so parts of it you may not decipher. Will you do this for me?"
"Is that all you want? Course I will. Look, I'll put it in the top of that cupboard and keep it locked. Will that relieve your mind?"
"Thanks, that looks fine. That coffee was good. Should you ever see anyone from Weybridge that knows me, tell them I'm safe and well, and please not to try to follow me." Jon paused, for he could not bring himself to mention his family. He looked at Trevor with puzzled eyes.
"O.K.," said Trevor. "I understand what you are saying and what you are not saying. I admire you, but I also think you are slightly peculiar going to such extreme lengths to prove your point."
"Its not just proving a point. I'm trying to change mans pattern of thinking and his values. I'm no angel, bit like yourself. I like my wine, my women, and my creature comforts. But the world scenario is getting too dangerous to let it slide further into chaos. I must try to stop it. In whatever way I can. By whatever means. Understand me, Trev, and dont ask me anything more."
Jon made his way to the door. Trevor held out his hand in a spontaneous gesture of reassurance. "Whatever happens, Jon, remember Im here. Let me be your one link with your old life. You can use this flat as your home whenever you need or want to."
"Ill remember all you've said, and thanks for everything." Jon turned and ran down the stairway surprised to find he had tears in his eyes.
He walked down the street feeling better for the food and drink, but he walked away from his last link of his previous lifestyle. He walked into the unknown, homeless, jobless with no family and current friends. All he had was this dynamic sense of purpose but where it would lead him he did not know.
Must toughen myself up. I'm such a softie inside. Ever since my orphanage days I've had to pretend to be tough. No tears allowed and that sort of thing. I was that soft when those louts robbed the nest of eggs and then catapulted the parent thrush. What a bloody nose they got from me! I dont like seeing people hurt and unhappy. Does me good to give them a leg up. Gave too much away, thats what I did. But my family had everything they needed so I didnt mind. Suppose that could be one reason why I am here. Even my old faithful accountant couldnt rescue the mess Id made of the financial side of Luminaire. My, I enjoyed designing. Getting the lighting effects just right. Wonderful feeling. But marketing the stuff wasnt my line. Too much bum-sucking. Too much climbing over the next man. Too much deviousness.
He felt much freer without the heavier bag as he walked across the Park. His stomach was warm and full with the coffee and sandwiches, and the sun shone on his back. He found an empty bench and waited till it was time to go to Speakers Corner, his mind still dwelling on his visit to Trevor. It was Sunday morning in August in l970. It was four days since he had cut adrift from the pressures of his previous life. In those four days he had looked around for part time work. After he had drawn a blank in restaurants and hotels in the West End he went to pubs in the Knightsbridge area, selecting the ones that he had not been to in his previous life. He looked clean and tidy, and though middle-aged was strong and upstanding which hid the widening beer drinking girth. Fortunately on the fourth day of job hunting he had been taken on at the Fox and Geese for the evening shift to clear the tables and wash up.
Not too many questions were asked and he shrugged off those that were getting tiresome. He was to start at six and finish when the pub closed and his work was done, and he was allowed to help himself to food while working. He had carried the two rucksacks everywhere, the heavier one holding his work, and the smaller one with all his other possessions. His mind had plenty of time to wander. The sun played on his face as he sat and waited.
Now, I've got to get myself in hand. I've got a job. Thats fine, and I've got rid of the heavy rucksack. It made a good pillow those last few nights though. Good job its August. This three quarter jacket wouldnt keep me warm in the winter. But its got good pockets for my glasses. What else is in the pockets? Ah, yes. Pad and pencil, toilet paper, and some coppers. And my driving licence. Well, thatll be proof of my identity. Its the only proof I've got. And my bank book, right from the army days. Glory me, There's all of #300 in there. Will keep that for emergencies. Now where was I? Its good to have plenty of time to myself. No moping around though, missing the family. No regrets at winding up the business. I must must MUST satisfy this daemon that keeps driving me to find change for a better world. I'll call it my social revolution. And I dont want any advantages like affluence, no privileges like security. No, no material assets either.. ...I must find a way to individual integrity. Then I can speak about what I have found, write about what I have found. I want equality of dignity for the poor and rich, not for the poor and downtrodden to have to fight like I've had to fight. I want everyone to have a home, and feel safe in their homes and on the streets.
After mid-day he got up and walked slowly to Speakers Corner. This Sunday there seemed a motley lot of speakers, the one who was attracting the most attention was a minister, clothed in black from head to foot, who was waving his arms, then pointing, then holding his hands heavenwards.
"Wonder what hes asking us to do or believe," Jon muttered to a stranger standing by him.
"God only knows," replied the stranger, a middle aged American who had cameras strung around his neck. "He seems to get worked up each time he comes, and I've been here often. Last Sunday he was blasting away at the flower power movement, the advent of drugs amongst the young people and the splitting up of families. So far its one point I've agreed with him, the social upheaval of the sixties that were all putting up with. Dont see eye to eye with much else he says. Too arrogant for me. His lot always seem to be begging. Personally, can't see what theyve got to beg for, they're all well housed and well fed and goodness knows how much money they get is spent on those actually needing it. Mostly goes on pomp and ceremony and buildings, I think."
Jon was encouraged by these remarks. "I feel like asking some questions. First time I've done this," muttered Jon.
"Go on, have a go," urged his new acquaintance. "Ill wait and listen to you."
"Hi, Minister," called Jon. The minister looked Jons way. "Yes, whats it you want? Are you ready to be called to God? Do you give thanks to Him for His great mercy?"
"Not so fast, sir, not so fast." Jon was prepared to be as polite as he could, taking off his cap and exposing his grey tinged red hair with large balding patch. "Firstly I want nothing. Secondly, I am not ready to be called to God, as you said. And thirdly I do not give thanks to Him for His great mercies in the ways you expect me to." The crowd grew silent, and the minister puffed under his breath.
"Well, young man, its about ..."
Jon chipped in, laughing. "I'm not a young man, and well you can see it. I can probably give you a few years. But among other things what I want to know why is it that under the protection of your black clothes do you and your colleagues continually ask those much poorer than yourselves for funds? Why do you make these good people feel guilty if they havent contributed money that they can ill afford? I would call this a legal form of blackmail. Why can't you all give help and sustenance without expecting something in return?"
"Thats putting it a bit steep, chum" said the American.
The minister paused for a moment, then turned away from Jon and said in a sonorous voice, "Gods will will be done. Now let us close by singing the hymn All creatures that on earth do dwell." He bellowed the first line, obviously proud of his singing ability. Jon moved away disgusted, muttering to the American.
"He never even answered my questions. Suppose I should take it a bit slower and get the crowd involved with question and answer if I'm to hold their interest."
"Best do that," replied the American. "Ill be here to listen if you come again."
"I might speak myself. You never know!" Jon replied with a smile, recovering his good humour.
"Sounds fine. See ya", and the American moved off into the crowd. Jon put his mind to thinking what his subject would be for debate while he strolled back across the Park in the warm afternoon sun. He was in no hurry for he had nowhere special to go. He bought tea in a plastic cup from a vendor and sat on the grass and watched the ducks. The grass was warm and smelt sweetly. There was a family playing football not far away.
Wonderful, wonderful grass. There you go, growing and growing. Nothing daunts you. Drought, gravel, floods. You pop up through them all. Even natures enemy, concrete, doesnt defeat you. I wish the goodness of man was as resilient. Wish I could feel that soul could survive against all the modern distractions like the grass survives.
Watch it, lad. You nearly let in that goal. Good footwork that nippers got. Shea a typical mum, just busy with sorting out the picnic. Makes me a bit sad for they are just like my family. I must cover up the pain I feel when I remember my old life with the pain of uncertainty, with feelings of anticipation. Must live in the moment of NOW, and not look around for things that I havent got. There is so much I used to want but didnt need. Now I must settle for things that I need, sleep, warmth, food. I must think positively, and help other people to do the same. People must feel good about themselves, thats another thing I must try to do, help people to feel good, not guilty or remorseful. God! What a world.
He laughed aloud enjoying some memories, and the nearby footballer gave him a quizzical look.
I must be an odd bastard, laughing to myself. That young lad gave me such a funny look.
The footballer, all of twelve years, called out, "Hi, mister, come and have a kick." Jon was delighted, and for the next hour kicked the ball around with the family. "You sure know some tricks," said the twelve year old. "Where did you learn them?"
"A long time ago," replied Jon. "When the ball was made of leather, and it was very heavy when it was rained. Fair knocked your head about if you didnt time it right. Hard boots we wore too, nothing like the light things you've all got now. Up against a wall, I learnt my tricks, kicking at an exact spot up against a wall." Jons memory flashed back to the days in the Orphanage when he spent hours on his own with the ball making it do just what he wanted to do. The father in the family started to help his wife pack up.
"Must go now," he said. "Perhaps well see you next week. Were usually here."
"Perhaps," replied Jon, but even in his mind he would make no commitment. He didnt want to be tied to a social engagement however trivial. He put the feeling of envy he had for the small family well to the back of his mind.
That night he worked a good shift, chatting freely to the customers as he cleared the tables. There was no time to sit down for his food, so he ate as much as he could while standing doing the washing up. Nobody minded, nobody took much notice of him as long as he kept up with the chores that were expected of him. He drew himself a pint, which he paid for, and had another after closing time which the landlord stood him.
"Been watching you," said the landlord. "You seem to have gift of the the gab, talking to everyone. Let them have the last word sometimes. Makes them feel good. But I like your style. Been around a bit, have you? Been doing better things ? Eh? "
"I'm not here to be quizzed, and I dont like it," Jon muttered crossly. "I'm here to give good service. Too much prying and I'm off."
"Sorry, chum, sorry. Hint taken. Well let things be, shall we?" The landlord looked a bit puzzled. "See you to-morrow," he called after Jon who was putting on his jacket.
"O.K.", said Jon. "Good night all, see you to-morrow," and he stepped out into the night.
Where to now? My blasted bladder. Must learn to control it. Public conveniences are so far apart, but I must use trees and lamp posts as little as possible. But what else is there to do when I'm taken short?
He puzzled about this as he walked towards Paddington station in the hopes of getting a cup of tea from the station restaurant.
Must find the places that are going to be open through the night. Its all right now, but I'll need something hot in the winter months. In spite of the beer I'm needing another cuppa. Will have a try at Paddington. Cor, my legs arent half aching.
He rested on a low wall, half of his journey to the station completed. This was the outer wall of a superior block of flats, which were well lit. The car park was full.
Wonder whats going on in there, who is loving who, and who is pretending to love? Are they having a blazing row over something they feel strongly about? If so, can they apologise or do they have to bluff and pretend that all the time they are right? Are they big enough to say sorry to each other if they have hurt? Do they give each other space to be individuals and do they live able to compromise? Why am I thinking that there should be two people, man and wife? Lonely people, old and sad, could be behind those curtains, or two men as partners, or two women.
Is any one there to help them? Or does their money provide all that is necessary? What do they all think of? Are they fearful of tomorrow dwelling in the past as an escape? Or are they planning the next move up the materialistic ladder? I've never had time to think like this before, I've been too busy with my work and my poetry. Do thought waves help this need for change? I dunno yet. Wonder if I could help people to base their values on truth if their priorities would change. My favourite word, lifemanship, would flourish. Lust wins the battle now.
Jon was far away in the recesses of his own mind when he was rudely brought back to the present moment. "Evening, sir. Must ask you to move on. Been ere some while, avent yer. Watch yer lookin at?"
Jons hackles rose. What harm was he doing sitting on a wall? "Evening, constable." Jon purposely did not refer to the three stripes on the policemans arm. "I'm looking at a brick wall with windows in it. Watch yer think about that?" Jon naughtily copied the policemans accent.
"Dont give me lip." said the policeman tetchily. "Move on now, move along, please."
"Course I'll move on. But Id think you'd have better things to do than bother someone who is minding their own business. Who pays you to look for thieves and robbers who are not minding their own business but poking their noses into other peoples property? I suppose its easier for you to harass people like myself, than picking a fight with a tough un."
As Jon walked off he saw the policeman write something in his pad. It was past midnight when he arrived at Paddington Station. The main restaurant was closed, so he bought some hot chocolate from the vending machine. His feet throbbed and his back ached and he needed sleep, so he walked the length of a side platform and found an empty trailer that was used for carrying the post. He pushed it in the lee of a small hut so that he could not be seen from the main booking office, and sat in a hunched position, head on knees. He woke shortly, rigid from sitting in a curved position, his hands and feet tingling with pins and needles. His bladder was at bursting point. He relieved himself against the hut.
Damn that beer and chocolate. can't last till morning, and I dont want to be seen back at the gents. If its this cold in August, whats going to be like in the winter months? I've already had my first brush with the Law, and blow me, I wasnt doing anything wrong. Suppose Id better watch my step. Better try for some more sleep.
He climbed back on the trolley, and in spite of the cold dropped off to sleep again. The sun was shining on his face when he woke next with the first train clattering into the adjacent platform. He climbed stiffly off the trolley, and walked down the length of the platform, keeping out of sight as much as possible.
"Had a good sleep?". Jon was surprised to hear a voice calling. It was the train driver. "Woke you up, didnt I?", the driver called out laughingly. "Best hop it quick, the watchers start arriving about now."
"Thanks, mate, I'm just off," Jon replied. The driver was an elderly man with a round lined face. "Got any tips for a good place for a night's kip? Dont want to cause any trouble," Jon continued.
"Not really, sir," replied the driver. "But some on the gate are softer than others. Just have to chat em up maybe. Take care of yourself." The driver turned away to fiddle with some knobs.
Why did he call me sir? I suppose I still look quite respectable and dont appear to be homeless. Won't last for long. God, I'm longing for some tea and a smoke. Those are the last things I'm going to do without, tea, smoking, and my beer.
With these thoughts Jon carefully approached the restaurant, making it appear he had come in from a side entrance. Luckily he found he was not the first customer, and he settled down to tea and a cigarette. Soon he was in conversation with the early travellers, and he seemed allowed to stay as long as he liked. But he was soon to find he was not going to have such a smooth passage at the Fox and Geese.