Large urban centres are magnets for people and have been throughout the ages, accompanied by all sorts of myths - streets paved with old etc. etc. - which, in turn, attract even more people to them. Not everyone who arrives finds his way, his (or hers) personal goldmine or even a way to survive. Big cities can be cruel and cold in more ways than the temperature, so not every flower can bloom, and survive to bloom again.
London - my beloved London, as you well know dear reader - is just such a place; extraordinarily beautiful in many ways, civilised and cultured, alive and interesting, full of things to do for those who can afford it. Last night, returning from an overseas trip and trying to get home by public transport, I was reminded of the other side, of those fellow Londoners, fellow human beings, who are struggling to survive. They are not all victims of reckless choices, substance abuse or a dissolute lifestyle leading to destruction, though obviously many can be and are. Some are simply people who have found themselves unable to stay afloat in the big city and are forced to try and survive in any way they can and, in the absence of a home, sleep wherever they can. This was made very clear to me in the last twenty four hours...
Last night my stupid flight was slightly late coming in to Gatwick airport so that there were no more trains into Victoria from there, forcing me to take a slow train to St. Pancras International and make my way westwards by bus from there. Last night was not particularly cold, though there was a chilly breeze blowing; this is not a problem if you are dressed appropriately and are not spending a long time out of doors, but it is not conducive to a comfortable night's sleep a fresco. Sitting in one of the bus stops, huddled against the plexiglass side panel and trying to rest, was a neatly dressed lady of middle years, with a couple of small travel bags of her belongings, trying to stay warm by moving continuously. She appeared to be neither drunk nor drugged, just alone and very cold indeed.
You may not realise that I am also technically homeless, but with a room over my head thanks to the kindness, generosity and willingness of my friends and family; technically I am only one step away from sleeping on the streets myself, and this makes me especially sensitive to the plight of those forced to be there. So here I am after midnight, following a flight of nearly four hours, a train journey to the wrong place for my needs, trying to figure out the bus routes home, cold, annoyed and cursing my ill fortune in getting home late... yet sharing a bus stop with someone who had nowhere to go, no warm bed to sleep in, no security, nothing. Realisation made me rapidly ashamed of my annoyance, I became deeply conscious of my personal good fortune and at the same time felt helpless, completely so, not being able to provide any comfort to another human being in distress, zilch, zippo!
Next time you visit a megalopolis, one of our earth's giant cities, look beyond the bright lights, the lovely buildings, the good restaurants, the shops full of attractive merchandise, bars and more. Adore these cities - I do London - but do not think of them as perfect and blemishless. Listen to the songs that mention emptiness, hopelessness, desperation and homelessness - Streets of London is one, Baker Street another, both about London, but there are many more - and look around you, recognise the pain coexisting with the day-to-day activities and the frivolity. And, casting suspicions and small thoughts to one side, please help in any way you can: give to a charity, buy the Big Issue, donate some item (maybe something you no longer need, but help somehow make the life of others who are less fortunate a bit better, however marginally.
You'll even feel better about yourself, I promise you.
No comments:
Post a Comment