Leaving Victoria Station behind him, Jon pottered down Warwick Street and into Birdcage Walk and so into St Jamess Park. He turned into the small hut serving as the public toilet at the end of the lake. Ablutions performed he felt more ready to face the task ahead. It was already rising 7.30am, and Jon knew he would be late for work.
Damn good thing too. That stupid twerp of a superintendent will get all worked up. I'll just tell him I'll work to-day, then he can give me my money, and I'm off. Its sad about Kate, maybe upset her a bit. Shes happier now, so I dont mind so much. Think she'll understand.
He walked up Shaftesbury avenue, and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor in the Lyons building, so putting off his encounter for a few extra minutes. The storm soon broke. Before Jon had taken off his coat and hung up his cap, the superintendent swept into the cloakroom.
"Youre fired," he said. "Youre fired. An hour late and looking like a scarecrow. What will all the youngsters think? You've been trouble since you arrived. First you suck up, then you become familiar with the junior staff. Too clever by half, you think you are. Never been able to pin anything on you. And now I have. Thank goodness for that. Here's your wages for the morning, and I dont want to see you again." Jon said nothing, but looked the angry man straight in the eye. This seemed to aggravate the superintendent even further. He started on another spiel, holding the envelope with the money in his hand.
"I'll take my money." Jon interrupted, and in a very quiet voice he continued, "I've done nothing wrong until to-day. Remember that. I have never caused these people one moments unease. We have all laughed together and enjoyed each other. I have always tried to make people feel good about themselves. I have never once made them feel threatened or provoked. Can you say the same about yourself?" The superintendent flinched. Jon took the envelope, turned on his heel, and with cap in his hand and coat on his arm he walked off down the stairs. Back in St Jamess Park he took stock of his situation.
I've got two pounds and some coppers, adequate clothing for a while, fifteen fags, and no more money coming in as things stand. Its getting colder and colder, and the days are shorter and shorter. I must get another job. Its Monday to-day, and I must speak again next Sunday. Got to go on meeting people, and trying to convince them of the dangers around. Hyde Park is the best place for that. I hope to God I'm doing enough. There's often a glimmer of hope in some peoples eyes when I've had a chat with them. Now... must think about work, and where I can go.
Beginning to look real scruffy, I am, though I'm pretty clean. Clothes could do with an iron, and my shoes are down at heel. sppose thats one sign of a vagrant. Must try my hand at the hospitals. Somewhere where they're not too fussy about asking for an address. Could always give Trevors flat, but thats giving me an advantage others havent got.
Its getting more and more difficult to get work without an address, same as you can't get Social Security at all without a base. Funny place, this park, I'm feeling it belongs to me. Its lovely here when the sun shines. Feel happy just sitting here. Not so much movement as there is in Hyde Park. I shall think of this place as my private garden. The pubs are my night time sitting room, and the rolling stock by bedroom. Perhaps soon it will be boxes, and boxes and boxes, cardboard, plastic, anything. I'm really getting to be one of them, but a thief, NEVER. Ill try my hand at one of the hospitals on the south bank. Nothing venture, nothing win, and its a new area. Havent been around there much, and maybe the cops Won't know me. Its a beautiful walk, anyway, over the bridge.
He walked slowly down to Horseferry Road and came to Lambeth Bridge. Here he stayed awhile on the bridge, watching the tugs pushing their long barges up and down stream. He saw the passenger boats, and the pleasure boats, and as it was high tide there were two little sailing boats having a race with each other.
Every man to himself, hope they have fun. I'm a landlubber myself.
It all looks so busy, yet so tranquil. Water seems to slow people down to the pace of nature, cept for the damned competitive speed boats. Again money buying power. Whats the point of just going fast from A to B when There's nothing to do at B when you arrive there? Still Im wasting my time letting my mind potter around like this. Wish I could have a vacuum in my head for a moment to let bits of poetry come popping in. Just surviving takes such a lot of effort.
He lit another cigarette, but with the chill air blowing off the river he felt he could dawdle no longer and he got himself started on the last bit of the journey .
Jon arrived at the hospital, and looked up at the large building, some of it still shrouded in tarpaulins. The place seemed to be having a face lift and an added extention. He waited in the street outside the gate to watch those going in and out. A sprinkling of nurses walked hurriedly by, cloaks wrapped well around, all talking together animatedly as if oblivious to the traumas going on inside. The old walked by slowly, resignation written across their faces, and the young mothers dragged reluctant children towards the entrance. He noticed a white faced small boy tugging at his mothers hand.
"Come on, Mum, its got to be done. I'll be better when its over." Jon looked closely at the determined small figure, and the harassed and fearful expression of his mother. Under his pom-pom hat the little chap was bald. Jon knew what he was going to have done to him, more treatment for a cancer. The mother looked fleetingly at Jon as if appealing for help.
"You've a fine lad there," said Jon to the woman. "Wish there were more about like him." When the woman smiled her face lit up. "What do you want to be when you grow up? Bet you've thought all about that?" he asked the boy, hoping a chat would give the woman time to collect herself.
"I'm going to be a footballer. Play in goal for England. But I've got to get better. Mums scared. I'm not. Its quite fun in there with all the others. Come on, Mum, dont be scared."
"Make sure you get tickets when he gets his first cap, Won't you?" The woman laughed at Jons remark.
"Hes a tough little nut," she said. "I'm the stupid one, get all bothered and frightened. Spose its because I'm his mum. Bit special he is to me."
"Hes a bit special to everyone, dont you think? Bit special to the doctors and nurses? Theyll look after him." Jon saw the boy pulling at his mothers arm. Then Jon added, looking directly at the mother, "Now you go first and take him in. Show him how brave YOU are, thatll make things easier for him."
"Bye now, and thanks. I'll be O.K," the women said and turned for the hospital, holding the boys hand she led him quickly to the door. After a few moments Jon followed them in, and went up to the Reception desk. He was starting to feel tired, so he cracked no jokes, simply asked to be directed to the Personnel Department explaining that he was looking for part time employment. He was given directions, and found himself walking down a long high corridor.
Dont really fit in here. Everyone seems to know what they want and where they are going, they're all in such a hurry. Spect most people have what they want and are getting where they want to go. Couldnt half do with a sit-down and a pint. My feet are killing me, burning and throbbing. Dont think this is the right place for me.
He soon found the sign saying "Administration." He knocked at the door, and heard a voice calling him in. He stood at the first desk. A young girl was typing, and took no notice of him.
"Excuse me, a voice told me to come in. Here I am. What do you expect me to do?" Jon was getting ruffled.
Without looking from her machine, the young girl called, "Audrey, customer. Can you come, please." Still standing Jon waited a few more moments till an elderly lady well loaded with bosom came from behind a partition.
"What can I do for you? What is it that you want?" she asked sharply.
"What I dont want is to have to stand up much longer." Jon said cheekily. The woman looked Jon up and down. "I came looking for a part time job. I've always given good service, but somehow I dont think Im being made to feel welcome."
"We dont take people just off the streets," said the woman coldly. "We only take applicants with references, or from the Unemployment Exchange. I have work available, but I'm sure you're not suited to it. Good-day."
"Good-day to you madam. And I'm sure I dont wish to be in a place where appearances are first priority, and rudeness is the order of the day. Perhaps youll come to find out that people are valuable, and that it is possible to work well even in an old coat. Good-bye, madam, and when you mirror your thoughts I hope you're pleased with the result." He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the stout woman looking dumbfounded.
Stupid old bitch, she looked as if she never laughed in her life. I knew Id cooked my goose when I started to be cheeky.
It was well passed midday and Jon knew from experience that he would not find work easily in the afternoon. He walked slowly towards Waterloo Station, hunger pains making his stomach rumble and tiredness waving through his limbs. His back ached, and his head swam. His right foot was very cold. He bent to look at his shoe, and saw that he had walked right through the sole and his sock was wet.
No wonder my feet are cold. Top priority a pair of boots. Next priority something to drink, hot if possible. Then somewhere warm for the night. Dont know about food. Dont even feel like a drink. Im just bloody exhausted.
He walked on slowly, and came to lower Marsh Street, and a small group of shops. He saw the oldest second hand junk shop he had seen for a long time, and looked into the window. He opened the door and a bell jangled in the back premises, a bell that was attached to the door by a string. He smelt stale leather, dust, old books and rust.
Not likely to find boots here. But some odd feeling told me to come in, so I must just chance it. can't see much the lights so poor. Windows are so dirty, and cobwebs all over the place. Ah ha. Someones coming. Goodness me, I've not seen such a shrivelled old man for ages. He seems like a living Methuselah. How does he make a living out of a place like this?
"Afternoon, sir, what can I do for you?" The old man spoke in a cracked high-pitched voice. He kept on adjusting his tiny round gold rimmed spectacles. His hair stood out in tufts all over his head and badly needed a brush.
"Afternoon. Thats a better welcome than the one I've just had from the staff in the hospital. I came for some boots, but I dont see any." Jon looked all around. "Good thick boots like the ones I had in the army. I dont expect you've any tucked away?"
"Bin in the army, have you? I remember the first war. Right old time that was. Lucky to come out with my wits and my limbs. Too old for second war." While the quaint little man was talking he was rummaging in a box behind an old table that served as a counter. "Just got these two pairs. Size 9 and 10. Not quite new, but therere strong. Better than the rubbish about nowadays."
"I've only got a pound," said Jon, taking the larger size of boots. "May I try them on?" He sat on a wobbly chair, and tried on the boots and they fitted well. The junk man sat on a box opposite. He accepted the pound without comment. He seemed in no hurry, and anxious to talk. Jon kept the boots on. He offered the old man a cigarette, and they started to talk. Jon watched the evening light creep into darkness, and still the old man talked, and Jon was fascinated, and he listened quietly, his hunger and tiredness forgotten. The moon was high in the sky when the old man let Jon out into the street.
"That was real nice. My names Herbert, and you're welcome to come whenever you like. Dont get the chance of a good talk. Young uns, and the not so young, are all in a rush. can't be bothered with an old un. Come again, come again." They shook hands and Jon walked on towards Waterloo station.
Life deals good cards at unexpected moments, must leave yourself open. Dont put limits on life. Must follow inner consciousness and all will be well. Old Herberts a good man, he is: had a positive way of thinking in spite of all his hard times. May be I'll visit him again, but I dont want to get beholden. And now for a cuppa, a well earned cuppa.
He turned into Waterloo station and headed for the tea wagon where everything was cheaper than in the main restaurant. With his remaining pound he bought tea and two sandwiches, and sat on a bench to eat them, making them last as long as possible. After an hours rest he felt better, and knew it was time to move on. He had already seen the station police walk by twice and they looked at him with unsmiling eyes.
He spent time in the toilets, making use of the hot water. He was even able to wash his feet and managed a splash around his groin when there was nobody there. He walked away from the entrance along the length of the platform where a uniformed body was piling up the mail bags.
"Evening mate," said Jon, trying to sum the fellow up.
"Hi," came the reply. "Wanting something?"
Jon put his cards on the table. "I'm desperate for a sleep. Got any friends in Victoria who tip me the wink where I can get a kip. Any ideas?"
"I've heard about you. Anything unusual travels fast amongst us. They seem to think you're a good guy, with lots to say." The worker looked all round him. There was no one about.
"Waiting to be cleaned, platform 12. But dont say I said." The man got on with stacking the mail bags.
Jon was on platform 6. That meant he had six platforms to cross. "Thanks mate. Good of you to understand," and he disappeared into the shadows to make his plan. Suddenly memories flooded his mind.
Hell, being on a station like this evading authority is bringing back bad memories. Good Old Chalky. He was a good mate to have as a p.o.w. Those four nights and days we spent on the top of a goods van hiding under a tarpaulin when we had slipped camp. Glad that didnt happen again. Chocolate and rainwater wasnt much to keep us going all that time. Fancy not knowing where we were going. Train was heading west, and thats all we could gather. No names on the stations didnt help. And what a huge railway station we ended up in, twice as big as this. Dense fog too, but Chalky was determined to jump and run. Bloody stupid, we couldnt see our hands in front of our faces the fog was so bad. The tracks were like a spiders web, and we couldnt tell if we were between the tracks and safe, or in the path of the trains which had no lights. Just rumbled at us they did. One of the worst times of my life. Terrible to feel so helpless. No wonder we were caught, stumbling about like drunkards. At least I am not in a foreign country, though sometimes I feel this one is just as alien. At least I'm not between the tracks with the trains rumbling by, and I'm not frightened or helpless. I've only got myself to fend for. I think I'll cross the line on this curve, no one should see me. Darned noise these new boots make. Off they come. Now I really look like a crook.
He chuckled to himself. Without misadventure he reached Platform 12, found the train, and a first class carriage. He put his boots on again in case he had to make a quick get away, and lay down for his longed for sleep. The train was not heated so he was cold and shivery, but he closed his eyes and was soon in dreamland. He was woken by a sloshing noise outside and realised that the windows were being cleaned. He lay low and still, knowing that he could not be seen from ground level.
Well, I'm really a lucky old bugger. I've got two allies for my hotel on wheels. Just got to dodge the uniformed dosser catchers. Must get off these premises as quickly as possible, and start this soul destroying job hunting. Thats most urgent. And I must toe the line for a while. Too much hassle and too many changes of jobs will stop me from speaking in the Park and meeting people.
After some difficulty Jon found more work in another pub in a small street off the Strand. He ate that evening for the first time that day, and received the balance of his pay that night. This pub did not provide free meals, but he was allowed a much reduced rate. When Jon arrived in the Park on the following Sunday, he found a larger crowd than usual waiting around in spite of the cold wind and wintry conditions. He was glad of his strong boots, and thick coat. He chatted as usual to several of the crowd, a motley lot, with a few tourists and the more affluent. Then he found his box, stood on it and started to speak.
"To-day I'm going to speak just as an individual, speaking to and for you, or anyone, as an individual. Its difficult just to be an individual, with your own thoughts, your own opinions, your own way of doing things."
"eard this all before. Yer sed this before."
"I've said something on these lines," Jon replied to the voice. Then he turned his head to address the larger numbers. " Its so much easier to move with the mob, think as a mob, do nothing to challenge authority or convention. Is that how some of you feel?" There were a few nods from the crowd.
"Sure, and why not? Why bring notice to yourself?" a younger voice asked.
Jon continued not wanting his flow of thought to be diverted. "Anyone who stands out against authority is marked by that authority. Anyone who speaks out for the individual is on hostile ground anywhere in the world. What about the individual who is poor? Who speaks out for them? Or for groups of poor people, or for whole countries of poor people? No political party anywhere wants poor people. They present too much of a problem just because of numbers, the numbers of the poor are so great."
"Go on wiv yer," shouted another irate man. "We've eard all this before. Thought yer were goin to give us somethin diffrent. Thats the kind of crap the Christians give us, or the Buddhists, or the Communists. What bout em Conservatives? Sitting on their backsides all day, loaded in em pockets, tellin us ow to live. Its wot religionists and all politicians ave told us since we got out of em caves." Jon let the man rant on. Finally the mans anger died down, and he finished by saying in a quieter tone, "Give us ope, man, give us ope. Somethin that each one of these systems dont give us. ope, thats what we want."
"Words are too cheap for that remark," replied Jon.
"Then why do you use words?" asked the same irate man.
"Ill tell you why. I use words to tell you that you are not alone in societies rejection of the likes of us, the so-called poor. It may appear contradictory to say you can share aloneness. But it is true in our circumstances and can be done. In this truth we can build bridges to one another by acts, not acts of violence which are shown as the bonfires of war burn throughout the world, but by loving person to person acts, moment by moment. The only qualification for this is to see the need in each individual that we meet, and act to try and fill that need. The more we fill these needs by deeds the stronger we will become through each experience, and with discipline and respect of the other person we will find a growth of love." Jon saw the irate man starting to grumble again. "Oh, I know that you are going to say that there is nothing new in all that, as our friend over there has just said," he pointed to the man, "All I have said is covered by the philosophies wilting under the strain as our planet lurches towards the twenty-first century. But I would like to make you aware of a hope that cannot be touched by man made manipulations. You all have life, this you know, your own senses tell you that. We all have life, an inner life, that no one from the outside can touch."
"Inner life, outer life. Dont accept that crap." Leading his woman by the arm a middle-aged spectator pushed his way from the front of the crowd.
"Pity he didnt stay," Jon commented. "He just might have picked up some good feelings. I'll finish soon... I want you all to feel stronger for having heard my words....When we have met other peoples need by deed, then our senses are able to strengthen our grip on our inner lives. Dont forget about this inner part of yourself. When that inner part of you starts to feel strong you will have hope."
"Sorry mate, its all a bit too much... and with this comment the crowd, showing their boredom started to drift away.
Pity. All they seem to want is fire and brimstone that they can go on grumbling against. Anything resembling the truth about themselves they shy away from. I'm not going to betray my principles just to hold their attention. I must say what I feel is right. Thats why I'm here.
There was one person left. She was a young American girl, red lipped and red nailed, wearing a warm furry coat with real leather boots and bag. She waited till everyone had gone.
"I liked what you said. Id like to be able to help." She looked embarrassed as she put her hand into her bag and pulled out a wallet stuffed with notes. "Can you accept this? It may be able to help you help others. Go on keeping your concern for others in the forefront of your mind and deeds."
Are you trying to buy me? What do you want of me? Hell, I mustnt think things like that till I have proof. You dont look devious to me, just desperately anxious that I have the money. Dont think you've an ulterior motive. I can't accept the money. Id be in her debt and she might manipulate me. Oh dear, suspicious still. I must be a fool to refuse it. Think of all the pints and cups of tea it would buy and still leave plenty for other people. Fraid she must find some other way to help people.
"Believe me," said Jon gently, "I'm truly sorry, but I cannot accept the money." He gave no reason, and was sad to see the girl flush. He would have liked to asked her why she wanted to part with what appeared a large amount, but she turned and walked away, her head bowed. Jon walked to the restaurant on the lake and had two teas and toast. He moved to a quiet corner on the balcony under a light, thankful that he did not have to work on the Sunday night shift at the pub. The wintry sun shone defiantly through the bare trees making a tracery of twigs and branches against the sky. Jon felt at peace with himself again, yet concerned at the apparent inability of the man in the crowd to understand what he was saying. He took his pad and pen, and this is what he wrote,
Laugh not except at the skimming surface of my hopes. I would seek to offer no insult to your imagination. If for any reason I cannot be understood, then accept my sincerity, try to find a meeting point of reciprocated tolerance. Just out of curiosity do not plumb the depths of reason. If there is a residue of good in whatever I seek for others, emerge encouraged, follow the goodness, guarding progress and enjoy each precious improvememnt. Support those who seek this most radical of changes ever demanded. Without fear bring the impossible into the more understandable areas of the improbable so that hope continues to emerge. Let all movements forward be accompanied with poise and calm and in doing so part of humanities great great need will be met. True power, sometimes hidden, does not oppose beauty and joy, nor does it wish to shorten the journey of life. But beware! Watch unless the sense of haste should misjudge expedience and in so doing make stagnant violence, eruption prone, end in destructions devastating force.
He sighed, and put the pad back into his pocket. The shutters were going up in the cafe so Jon knew he should be moving on. As he was already in the Park he decided to doss amongst the trees or bushes, anywhere where he could not be seen. He rummaged in the bins surrounding the cafe, and found several bags of assorted sizes which he needed for warmth and to keep him dry. Then he crossed the main path, taking care there was no one about, and disappeared into the shrubs. He relieved himself again, and then began to bed down, one bag for each foot and the rest underneath his body. It was very cold, first one leg cramped, then the foot on the other side, and pain screeched the length of his lower limbs. His fingers started to numb: he was too cold to shiver. The night passed very slowly.