Jon woke when the birds began their dawn chorus after a disturbed night. He lay still, too cold to move his stiff and painful limbs. The frost had made crystals on his beard and eyebrows.
God, I'm cold. Cold right through to the marrow. Ow, that pain. When I move my legs its terrible. But its not as bad as when I was on the run in Poland, so I know I can cope. Just got to get the circulation going, got to get moving. can't let myself freeze up like this. The taste in my mouth. Ugh. Clear up these bags, then I'm off. Twice round the Park then a cuppa. Must think about smoking. Got to stop it. Waste of money, and doing my lungs no good.
He walked round the Park once, and then at the beginning of the second round, near Rotten Row, he saw a familiar figure.
Ill be damned if that isnt old Rod. Used the same commuter train as I did. Wonder if hell see me, and if he sees me wonder if hell want to recognise me. Beards grown a bit, and havent got a collar and tie. Bet the old bastard has recognised me. Not going to let him get away with it this time.
The two men walked towards each other. Rodney, well dressed in camel hair coat and trilby, looked at Jon, and quickly looked away again.
"Hi, Rodney, 7.55 still the same as ever?"
"Well, well," Rodney feigned surprise. "Fancy meeting you here. Didnt recognise you."
"Fib number one," Jon chided. "You didnt want to recognise me. Right?"
Rodney nodded. As if to make up for his double-think he said, "I've got half an hour, come and have a cuppa and tell me about everything."
"Suits me," said Jon, and they went to the lakeside restaurant which had just opened for breakfasts. Two teas were ordered, and Jon, hungry as he was, did not ask for toast or anything else to eat.
When tea was brought, Rodney offered Jon a cigarette. "No thanks," said Jon. "Must give it up. Bad for the blood and bad for the circulation. I've promised myself I'll stop it, and I'm damn well going to. Its mighty tempting though, seeing you puff away."
"My, you have changed. Whats it all about? Where are you living? What are you doing? can't say you look good. In fact you look awful." Rodney looked around at the incoming visitors.
"Ashamed to be seen with me?" challenged Jon. "A few clothes dont change whats inside. You've known me for years. But its like so many people I meet. They look away. My old friends dont seem to be able to accept me like this. They put it down to my eccentricity, which after all is a polite way of saying I am mad."
"What has made this difference to you? Why are you taxing yourself like this, you're no longer a young man? You look as if you could do with a jolly good scrub."
Jon didnt answer the questions, but he shot a severe look at Rodney.
"Privacy and its invasion is something to be studied." Then in a gentler voice he continued, "it appears that the social stigma against being a dosser makes even a burglar look respectable. The thief catcher, either in or out of uniform, dislikes the physical appearance of the dosser, but the only crime a dosser commits is against himself, being a down and out. The thief can live, either in the Ritz or at Wormwood Scrubs, but he rarely has no fixed abode. A high proportion of the antagonism against the Wineo dosser tramp is based on his physical appearance and his non-conformity, and this gives the harassment factor fuller licence and opportunity."
"You havent changed much, Jon. Always been on the side of the under-dog, havent you? But I must admit I feel embarrassed when I pass a dosser. Feel I should give him some cash, yet then I feel I might hurt his feelings."
Jon replied obliquely, "the reason for the beggar being there is not an elegant affair, but it helps to see that other men are made aware of what one yardstick of failure can mean in a material worshipping world."
"Still dabbling in the poetical world?" queried Rodney who then steered the conversation to more mundane matters, he was ill at ease with his situation. Soon,looking at his watch he said, "Must off now," and he stretched for his hat and coat. "Any messages?" and he looked at Jon with questioning eyes.
"No specific messages," replied Jon understanding the unspoken question. "Just tell them in Weybridge that I'm well and still trying to head in the right direction." The two men separated each to go their own way, a world of difference apart.
That week Jon kept a low profile at the pub, worked hard and ate as much as he could, even scraping the saucepans before they were cleaned.
Its not food I need so much, but sleep. Sleep and warmth. Giving up smoking is not as hard as I thought, but I could never give up my tea and beer. Bad nights they were last week at Victoria. Got booked three times by railway police, the buggers, so I had little rest. Must find a new circle of movement. Dont want to get my accomplices into trouble.
In the middle of the week and when at work Jon saw a young man drinking heavily. Under the pretext of clearing his table Jon asked quietly, "whats up. Looks as if you're trying to escape."
"I am that," replied the young man.
"Like to meet me at the door at ll pm.? Got to work till then." Jon felt the young man could do with some attention, that he had needs which were causing a vacuum that drink was supposed to fill.
"O.K. I'll be there. Bit pissed, I expect."
The youngster was waiting at the appointed time, a pillar propped him up.
"Whats got you in this state?", asked Jon, taking him by the arm and leading him firmly towards St Jamess Park. The cold night air had a sobering effect. The youngster was soon talking rationally.
"I've been teaching at the L.S.E for a year. can't make them out. The arrive full of enthusiasm, just kids they are, and within a year theyve changed. They become cynical, coarse, sometimes dirty, and Im sure many are on drugs. I can see it in their eyes, pupils all dilated, but I've never caught them at it. Feel I should be able to do something, but they just mock me."
"Steady now, young man," said Jon, "lets sit here, its out of the wind, and Won't be too cold. Dont try to take on the world. Youre aware of what is happening. Be yourself, and bide your time. Youth becomes an early victim in the present systems convertion of teenagers to be a materialistic consumer. They cannot resist the pressures. There is a carrot and stick persuasion method of breaking in the unwilling youngster to submit to the competitive circle of activity which then absorbs 60% of his working life. The only consolations for doing what he is not cut out to do is the creaking bed and the fear of failure, and not being able to keep up his payments on his hire purchase."
"What a future, poor young sods."
"I find this Government completely without awareness." Jon looked at the man for his re-actions. There were none. "The last year of school should be termed "Lifemanship", and should be geared to build up enthusiasm, optimism, and awareness. They should be taught how to make compromises , and have their personal motives checked and guided. Lifemanship and comradeship should be equated in their examinations. They should be shown how society cares for them, and what society expects of them. There should be a sophisticated appraisal devoid of acidity."
"That would be a dream world," sighed the young man. "But thanks for talking. I dont think I'll wallow in self pity and beer again. Pointless, isnt it? My, I'm cold. Must off. Thanks for giving me your time and talking to me. I've a flat in Kensington. Bit of a walk. Never mind. Are you O.K? Bye and thanks again." He didnt wait for an answer, Jon wouldnt have given him one anyway. The youngster walked off into the darkness. The moment of communication had quickly arisen, and equally quickly evaporated. It was midnight: again the chill air sent warning messages.
Cant doss down just yet. Too many people about. Will leg it to Euston and try there. Big enough place, but its new, and I'm not sure of the lay-out. Walking will get me warm. Mighty tired I am. Sleep, sleep, glorious sleep. Why are you so hard to find?
Halfway down Marylebone High Street Jon passed a man slouched against a lamp post. He looked blue with cold, and his eyes were clouded and blank. Jon handed him what he thought were two pennies. The man spat at him. Jon took no notice and went on walking.
Poor old buffer. Hes losing control. Wonder whats got him to that state. It makes me sick and sad to see another human being losing his dignity. Must get a cuppa before I turn in, warm myself up a bit. Shouldnt have had that big meal and all that beer. Left me a bit short of cash. Lets see what I've left. Should still have two half crowns. What only pennies? Damn and blast. Must have given the silver to that sodder. And it produced a spit. No tea for me and nothing till tomorrow evening. Cheerful thought. Ah, Here's Euston. Perhaps I can take the weight off my poor legs. Bugger of buggers, There's the station police van. can't go there now. Must find somewhere else. God, I'm tired.
With an aching body and throbbing head and feet that were swelling up, and a dirty tasting mouth he walked back towards Regents Park. He came to Park Square Gardens, and saw a gap in the fence. Too tired to look around to see if there was anybody about, he squeezed through the gap,, found the nearest and thickest bush, and lay down under it in the foetus position, even too tired to bother with the plastic bags. He was woken with the clatter of milk bottles. The silent electric milk float was its morning rounds. Cold and stiff and sore Jon squeezed back through the hole in the fence. Dawn was just breaking, there was no one about except the milk man.
Jon approached the milk float slowly, his legs were so cold that they would not go fast, he could not feel his toes.
"Hi, mate. Bit cold it was last night. Any spares with tops off? My mouths like a bird cage."
"Yer luck's in. Tits been at the side crates when I was delivering. Takes time to climb some of em stairs. can't do two at a time now. Broken gold top there. Plenty with silver tops all pecked at. Take yer pick."
"Youre a godsend," said Jon warmly, gripping the gold top and one of the silver tops. "But my fingers are so cold I can hardly hold them."
"ere yer are, bud. 'ave a bag. Think I've got some yesterdays bread too. Any good to yer? Dont like to see a cold un. Youd better look arter yerself. Not as young as you used to be, eh? Much best you ask me than nicking bottles off doorsteps. That gets me into trouble."
"Never nicked a pint, and I dont intend to. Thanks a lot. Maybe see you again."
With the bread and milk clutched to his chest, Jon hobbled to Regents Park. He found the public toilets open, and to his joy he found a hot pipe running round near the floor. He knelt to warm first his hands, then his legs and finally he took off his boots and warmed his feet.
Hope I can get the boots on again. Feet are getting very bad. Much too swollen for this time of day. God, it hurts as they get warm. Hope nobody comes in. I'll look a right banana with my boots off. Must wash out a few things when I get to the pub tonight. I've found an airing cupboard, and dont think theyll be spotted. This is a blooming feast. Milk AND bread. Thought Id get nothing all day. Another unexpected card of good fortune dealt out to me. With all this effort to keep going I may not last too long. May get sick. How do the other poor buggers in their boxes survive? They dont do much all the time like I do. Just live from day to day with little hope for a better to-morrow. What is the alternative to survival for them? Living on the brink of the alternative, no wonder they feel a sense of hopelessness and helplessness.
I want more out of life, both for me and for the unborn. Thats what keeps me going.
It had taken Jon over half an hour to thaw out. He used the toilet facilities and had as good a wash as possible, then propped himself against the wash basin and slowly ate half the bread and drunk one bottle of milk. The rest he kept for later. A new day had begun.
The following Sunday the crowds were larger than ever. Jon looked around and saw two faces that he recognised, the little thief and the irate man of the previous session. He was also glad to see a group of men of various ages who were obviuosly of the collar and tie brigade. He spotted some poker faced thugs, their only moving part was their eyes.
Got some minders there. Wonder who they are going to report back to? Never mind, I'm going to talk in the only way I know. I'm not going to change my kind of approach. People will just have to pick up what Im saying as well as they can. But I'll try for a bit more punch. Maybe do them good to have to use their brains a little.
Jon stood up on a step-ladder that he borrowed for a small agreed fee on tick from the near by park keeper. He felt he could view the crowd better from higher up. "To-day I am going to tell you all how I feel the situation is at the moment, nothing to do with pounds, shillings and pence, or unions, or party politics. From time to time I will ask questions, but I do not want you to give me the answer, just think about the questions." He waited a moment.
"Cant see you've much left to talk about," said a voice. "If you're on to religion, then I'm off." The crowd did not heed the interruption and grew quiet.
Jon continued. "I lived in an age when people lost sight of liberty, and when they came to their senses they realised it had been removed. Whenever truth was approached, goodness and sanity were encircled. Those who tried to mitigate human hurt came up against hostility, everything became politics, party politics."
"Grow up man. You should know by now everything is led by politics or leads to politics," the same voice called out again.
Jon disregarded the comment. "Words, words, words, all fed to lovely people, which when consumed reduced the individual down to a mere number. Those who lived by all these words showed contempt of the deeds done by good people in every day life. Innocence was made to look suspect, psychological pressures flooded in in camouflaged ways. Whatever they, the religious leaders, the politicians, the civil authorities, believed in was constantly foisted on the citizen of this land, and the citizen was expected to conform. Can you remember how often this has happened to you?"
"Sure, sure. Youre right there. Got a point, you have." Jon heard these words from the edge of the crowd as he warmed to his subject.
"Those in authority lived differently from what they preached. Humanity was being led without the symbols of truth. Ask yourselves how many times you have felt facts have been manipulated to fit expediency." Jon paused.
"Go on, man. Go on." There were a few puzzled looks on nearby faces.
"In the name of this expediency, soul pollution has been encouraged, the right of the unborn ignored as the inventiveness of evil made all past misfortunes but a product of ignorance rather than of knowing. Never have the hopes of mankind been so mindlessly squandered, in spite of individuals trying to practise decency, trying to cultivate beauty, art and sensitivity into their life styles.
"Is it too late to apportion blame?
"You tell us. Thats what weve come to hear." Jon recognised the voice of the irate man of previous sessions.
"It is better that we seek gradual improvement rather than become off-balance to scale perfections heights. Good ideals are the only way to that high standard, but that way is hard, sensitive. We should recognise that this journey to perfection needs some compromise, no one is perfect, and while we should never condone retrograde confrontation between human beings, we should acknowledge the efforts of triers."
"Blimey, gettin a bit 'igh an mighty, arent you.?" Another voice added excitement to the occasion.
"Confrontation does not produce the results which humanity needs, it only takes care of his wants, and that very poorly. The obstacles arising at the oncoming of the 21st century are many, and though there appears ever worsening dilemmas there is still hope within the individual, deep within. With this hope and with compassionate skill unity will return and the welfare of the individual will be enhanced."
"There will be no need to ask, as people in this great land of ours now ask, on which side of this human daily war is the law?" He paused again. The irate man was looking baffled, the thief did the victory sign with his two fingers, and the group of educated gentlemen were rubbing their chins, nodding, and smiling. The minders looked angry.
"What does survival mean?" Jon continued. "If in the uncontrolled momentum impelled by wants, human dignity is thrown to the wind, and if uniformity curtails the spark of leadership, and if leadership by example is lost, where do we go from there?" He paused.
"Come off it man. You make me uneasy. Where do we go?" It was the angry man again.
"In our time change will take place, and it will happen faster and at more cost than ever before. The cost may be more than each of us can freely give, but it may lead to living life without psychological hurt or living a defeat with suppression. If we can accept change at this pace, which mankind has never experienced before, mankind will have a rendezvous with destiny. Preventative action will be able to offset collisions course, and reclaim "NOW" with all its energies for a new era of survival with no preference and without casualties." Jon stepped down from his ladder. It was a way of dismissing his audience. When he turned round he saw the crowd disappearing, the thief was waiting for his attention, and the silent men with angry eyes were still standing statue like.
"Well done, Guv. Mighty fine. If yer go on like this yer'll be asked to join them tha sit in the 'ouse, tha bloody great place by river where them makes rules for us suckers."
"Somebody did drop me a hint the other day," laughed Jon. "But who in their right minds would support me looking as I do."
"Yer be alrigh, Guv. Be seeing yer. Oim keepin an eye on yer."
Jon understood the thiefs good intentions, but he wished the law-breaker was not quite so liberal with his relationship within the view of the silent men. Jon knew they were the law in disguise as he knew that they were cognisant of the thiefs demeanours. He was tired and hungry, so he boarded a train to try for a kip. That evening he persuaded the publican to let him do an extra Sunday shift for he needed a meal and the few shillings. It was midnight when he found himself back at Victoria.
He walked slowly across to the mobile tea bar. There were only a few people about, but the steady tread of the station police rythmed in his head. Then disturbing events seemed to cresendo. Walking towards him came a female tramp, whispy hair sticking out under an old army beret, her long army coat trailing the ground. She carried two plastic bags. The only misdeamour that Jon reasoned she could be doing was to walk very slowly. It looked as if her feet hurt. To his surprise he saw the two policemen turn and approached the tramp with quickened footsteps.
One took her arm, and roughly pointed her towards an Exit. "Out of here and quick," said the senior policeman. "I know the likes of you. You're not going to travel, so get out quick. Otherwise it will be the nick for you, for loitering." They gave the old woman a shove and she shuffled slowly towards the Exit. Jon felt anger well up inside him. She had committed no proven offence. He was about to interfere, but then he saw a well dressed woman approach the group.
Ah, now what will their attitude be? She might be a tart for all we know looking for new areas for her beat. Just look at her, sidling up to the policemen. Bet she'd have them in bed given half a chance.
"Evning, Officer," she said looking coyly at the older man, making her cleavage more evident by allowing her coat to open. "D'you think its too late for me to get a taxi?"
"No, madam," said the policeman oilily, his eyes flickering towards her bosom. "I'm sure if you telephoned Enquiries and asked them for an all-night number you'd find one. Good-night, madam, glad to be of help."
After smiling the woman had turned away. She never went towards a telephone booth.
"Couldnt leave the old girl with her dignity, could you? She hadnt committed an offence. For all you know she could have been going about her business, minding her own business. Jon angrily called after the police. "Just smarmed at the woman because of her cleavage. Couldnt you see she wanted to lay you?"
"Mind what you say? We've got our eyes on you, and the likes of you. You bugger off, or youll be had for trespassing, let alone loitering." The older man, a sergeant, puffed out his chest and looked aggressive.
"The trouble is," said Jon standing his ground, "that there is no one to protest to, no one who can say stop to brutal treatment of the individual, no one strong enough to say that this is a public concourse, and as I am contemplating taking a journey in the immediate future do not molest me, and do not lay one finger on me. The only time when you have authority to do this is when I, by my actions, need restraining from hurting myself or others. As long as I have other peoples welfare at heart I challenge you not to violate my dignity, and that applies to that old lady too."
"Piss off," said the sergeant, "I dont for one minute think you are planning a journey. There's only the 1.30 a.m left to go. Just piss off and let us get on with the job." Jon turned and walked off. He trudged wearily to Oxford Circus, the only people about were other shadowy figures slowly moving in the same direction. Finally he spent the remains of the night with a group of louse-ridden, smelly and very drunken young people on the second level at Oxford Circus. They were not disturbed, and Jon snatched the sleep gratefully. He was glad he had nothing valuable to steal for in the morning he found his few remaining cigarettes had disappeared.
With the money saved from tobacco smoking he bought re-inforcements of warm wear from the little shop who sold him the boots.
Never mind what I look like. With this odd cap and huge scarf Ill be more incognito than ever. Wonder where the fellow gets all this old stuff from. Its so cheap he can't make a living. Can just manage to keep clean and avoid smelling badly by using the toilet facilities whenever possible, specially the ones at the pub. Some dossers smell ghastly, poor chaps. Theyve got beyond caring. But its an ongoing battle to keep my feet from getting blistered and ulcerated. Must watch out for them. Once an ulcer starts I'll never get rid of it. Glad theyve given me that three quarter jacket to work in. Covers up a lot.
One early morning after a night spent in a cardboard box down an alley way in Soho perched off the ground on two milk crates Jon was stretching his cold and aching limbs.
"Come on, Guv, hurry up." There was the thief, looking as perky as if he had slept on a feather bed. "Follow me, and do exactly as I say." Rather bemused, Jon followed the little man, hobbling painfully on his frozen feet. They proceeded to the staff quarters of the Allambra Hotel on Park Lane, one of the biggest and most expensive hotels in London. It was too early in the morning for the time-keeper to be wide awake. Guarding the staff entrance, he sat hunched up and half asleep. The thief, followed by Jon, moved in almost military style towards the time clock immediately opposite the office. The thief drew out a numbered card, clicked the time-clock bell without putting the card in and returned the card to the section from which he had taken it. Jon followed this procedure well enough. This first obstacle was over, and the thief continued to lead the way to the chefs changing room.
"Oi know my way around ere," he said. "Now put these on fast," and he extracted two complete sets of chefs clothing. "We've got just five minutes before the real chefs ll be ere." He said that with a mischievous grin. Then he carried out a mock inspection of Jons somewhat untidy appearance, adjusting Jons clothing with the air of a bullying sergeant-major. Jon stayed silent.
"Yerll ave to do," said the thief, "now, yer watch me. Watch me all the time." Jon followed the thief into the dining area, where they both helped themselves liberally to a mixed-grill breakfast, complete with porridge and the very much needed cup of tea. The flamboyance of the action of the thief was as though he had always worked there. His repartee with the staff, while not being familiar, seemed to confirm his role as a chef. Jon, less sure and with some trepidation, followed, and only relaxed when both chose a table away from the rest of the staff who were enjoying their breakfasts. They were soon tucking into a sumptuous meal.
"Now yerll be feelin beer," said the thief. "Want another cup of tea? Put a cigarette into yer face till Oi gets back." Then he added in louder tones, "I've got a good mind to complain about this porridge. Its not as good as when I do it."
"Holy Moses," Jon muttered. "You've got a nerve." They both chuckled. Jon fiddled with the cigarette but did not light up. The thief returned not with just two cups of tea but four.
"Och," he laughed, "its no good having courage if yer dont use it. Look man, yer avent lit up yet. Bad as that, is it?"
"Given it up," said Jon shortly. He was now completely thawed out after his night at Cardboard Hall, and he swigged the tea with a hurriedness that the thief abhorred.
"With such manners, I'm not sure I can take you anywhere," laughed the thief. Sustained by such a welcome meal they were warm both inside and out, and soon they were on the street again and well away from the hotel.
"Thanks, mate," said Jon, "now I feel I can breathe freely again, but you certainly have some cheek. Wouldnt have thought of that in a thousand years."
"See yer," waived the thief, and again he melted into his surroundings.