Beggars london

The match-seller must buy his matches 23 centimes a halfpenny a box, and the retail price must not exceed 50 centimes one penny. A useful margin, one might think.

Perhaps so at first glance, but we must remember that in order to earn 15 francs half a crown a day, the bare minimum needed to live in London, he will have to sell sixty boxes. In good or bad weather, they have to stand still for six whole days on the kerb, peddling their wares in a plaintive voice. No-one buys their matches, their laces or their lavender, but from time to time a passer-by takes pity on them, and throws a coin onto the little tray they wear wound their necks to display their wares.

Sixty hours a week of this stupefying drudgery will bring in just over a hundred francs 16 shillings — just enough to avoid starvation. Then there are those who beg openly.

However and exception is made for the blind, who, by a sort of tacit agreement enjoy total immunity. Now that we have cast an eye over the diverse forms of begging in London, let us look at the private lives of those who are obliged to live on charity. The single man has the advantage here, because he can pay 4 francs eight pence a night for a bed in one of those common lodging houses which proliferate in the populous districts.

The married man, on the other hand, must rent his own room if he wishes to live with his wife, which will cost him a lot more.

Indeed, it is against lodging-house rules for both sexes to sleep under the same roof, even in separate dormitories. They rarely drink beer or any other alcoholic drink, for beer costs 6 francs a litre sixpence a pint in London.

So tea is their only stimulant. They drink it at all hours of the day and night, whenever they can afford it. Like the tramps, the London beggars talk together in a special language, a kind of slang full of strange expressions mostly referring to their dealings with the police.

They observe a certain etiquette among themselves. Each one has a pitch reserved on the pavement, which no-one else will try to steal. Their great enemy is the police, who have quasi-discretionary power over them.

A policeman can order them to move on when he feels like it, and can even arrest them if he wants to. Perhaps he was ill, and could not go out to earn the 4 francs needed to pay for a bed for the night. Spending the night out of doors has nothing attractive about it in London, especially for a poor, ragged, undernourished wretch. You can, if you so desire, wander up and down all the streets you like during the night, sit down on a flight of steps, on the kerb or anywhere else, but you are not allowed to sleep there.

That is because it has been found that a sleeping man succumbs to the cold more easily than a man who is awake, and England could not let one of her sons die in the street. But, as I have said, there is one road where the homeless are allowed to sleep. Strangely, it is the Thames Embankment, not far from the Houses of Parliament. Here there are a few iron benches where every night some sixty or seventy people come to sleep, representatives of the most abject poverty to be found in the capital.

It is bitterly cold beside the river, and their worn and tattered clothes are no protection against the severity of the cold. So, as they have no blankets, they wrap themselves in old newspapers. The uncomfortable seats and the freezing night air are no inducement to sleep, and yet these poor devils are so exhausted that in spite of everything they manage to sleep for an hour or two, huddled up one against the other.

We advise all those visitors to England who would like to see the reverse side of our apparent prosperity to go and look at those who habitually sleep on the Embankment, with their filthy tattered clothes, their bodies wasted by disease, their unshaven faces, a living reprimand to the Parliament in whose shadow they lie.

He also wrote articles on John Galsworthy, the exploitation of the Burmese people, and on censorship in England, for French journals. The very short paragraphs are not typical of Orwell. There were once about spikes casual wards or workhouses ; a government order closed the last at Bishopbriggs, near Glasgow in The French text has asile for workhouse and usually prints tramp s in italic but occasionally translates it as vagabond s.

Ironically, some former workhouses are now being converted into luxurious apartments, for example, at Marlborough. It was not regularly used for reviews and articles until December In correspondence, he tended to sign himself, and be addressed, as Eric or George depending on whether the correspondent originally knew him as Eric or George.

Occasionally, if a secretary typed a letter for him, he would sign Eric Blair over a typed George Orwell. Avoid them if you can! Beggars Begging is widespread in London. You'll come across people asking for money in many parts of the city, and although some of them are genuinely needy, there are also 'professional' beggars making an excellent living from the constant stream of small change. Not a bad income!

Those begging in London are generally passive and non-threatening, however they can occasionally be intimidating and even aggressive when, having been given 50p or whatever, they demand more. To my mind, this is damn rude. If they ask for more, then walk away. Many Londoners, and indeed the London Metropolitan Police, advise that you don't give to beggars, but rather buy the Big Issue Magazine see also boxed text below or consider giving a donation to an established homeless charity such as Crisis or Shelter.

So should you give to beggars? I can't answer that for you I'm afraid - it's completely up to you. Personally, if I see someone who I especially feel for - or if my children see someone who they want to help - then yes, I do give. But if I feel at all uncomfortable or intimidated, then no way! Remember, you are under no obligation to give anyone anything. The beggar must, as we have said, pretend to be a tradesman or artist in order to avoid falling foul of the law… a poor sham which, in reality, deceives no-one.

He begins by drawing three or four pictures very quickly, showing the King, the Prime Minister, a snow scene, or perhaps fruit, flowers etc. Then he sits on the ground and asks for money. Sometimes, like the organ grinder, he relies on the help of a friend to pass the hat round as soon as a sufficiently large crowd has stopped to watch. So he spends his days squatting on the hard, cold stone. As you can well imagine the pictures are anything but masterpieces.

Some of them would shame a ten-year-old child. One has even some of these pavement artists who have never learnt to draw more than one subject, which they go on reproducing for years.

This calling can sometimes bring up to three or even four pounds a week, but one must bear in mind the problems. It is impossible, for example, to draw on the pavement when the paving-stones are wet, with the result that, taking one year with another, weekly earnings do not exceed a pound. Poorly dressed, ill fed, the pavement artists, who spend whole days exposed to the cold and wind, fall prey sooner or later to the rheumatism or pulmonary tuberculosis which will finally carry them off.

Let us now turn to those who sell, or rather pretend to sell, matches, bootlaces, lavender etc. The match-seller must buy his matches 23 centimes a halfpenny a box, and the retail price must not exceed 50 centimes one penny.

A useful margin, one might think. Perhaps so at first glance, but we must remember that in order to earn 15 francs half a crown a day, the bare minimum needed to live in London, he will have to sell sixty boxes.

In good or bad weather, they have to stand still for six whole days on the kerb, peddling their wares in a plaintive voice. No-one buys their matches, their laces or their lavender, but from time to time a passer-by takes pity on them, and throws a coin onto the little tray they wear wound their necks to display their wares.

Sixty hours a week of this stupefying drudgery will bring in just over a hundred francs 16 shillings — just enough to avoid starvation. Then there are those who beg openly.

However and exception is made for the blind, who, by a sort of tacit agreement enjoy total immunity. Now that we have cast an eye over the diverse forms of begging in London, let us look at the private lives of those who are obliged to live on charity. The single man has the advantage here, because he can pay 4 francs eight pence a night for a bed in one of those common lodging houses which proliferate in the populous districts.

The married man, on the other hand, must rent his own room if he wishes to live with his wife, which will cost him a lot more. Indeed, it is against lodging-house rules for both sexes to sleep under the same roof, even in separate dormitories. They rarely drink beer or any other alcoholic drink, for beer costs 6 francs a litre sixpence a pint in London.

So tea is their only stimulant. They drink it at all hours of the day and night, whenever they can afford it. Like the tramps, the London beggars talk together in a special language, a kind of slang full of strange expressions mostly referring to their dealings with the police.

They observe a certain etiquette among themselves. Each one has a pitch reserved on the pavement, which no-one else will try to steal. Their great enemy is the police, who have quasi-discretionary power over them.