A tale of two vagrants

‘Home sweet home’ sadly that is not always the case. Lamid's home was anything but sweet. For the past 6 months he had been holed up in a little room in a partly burnt out building on Leonard Road in Walthamstow, E10. The house had been damaged by fire and it was boarded up, but Lamid found a back entrance where he could slip in and out without being noticed. The room he chose was on the ground floor with a window overlooking the street, but the window was nailed shut and only a few rays of light entered during daytime, and it was pitch dark at night. The place stank of dampness, burnt wood, dirty clothing, and the smell of one who had not washed in a long time.

This was Lamid's home; It contained the whole of his worldly possessions: A black bag containing an assortment of worn out clothes; an old, battered pair of shoes that had seen far better days; a dirty old blanket that laid in a heap on the dusty floor, and a gold wristwatch which he kept in his pocket all the time.

The gold watch was the only thing of real value and it was his last remaining link with the real world and sanity. It was the only thing he hadn't lost; his reminder that things had not always been like this.

Two years ago he had everything: A job, a proper home, and he had friends - or so he thought. He had energy, motivation, and ambition. And hope.

His downfall started with a very insignificant incident. He was returning home from ‘Terry's framing’, the Picture frames factory on Mathew Street, where he worked as storekeeper. He was stopped by a tramp. ‘I have been walking all day, I am tired and hungry. Could you spare me a fiver, please?’

Lamid reached for his wallet and gave him the money and forgot all about the incident by the time he reached home - until he failed to find his wallet. At once he was sure that the vagrant had stolen it. He did not report it to the police. He decided to do that the following day.

If only he had done it then!

The following morning there was a knock on his door when he opened it, he found himself standing face to face with a policeman. No, they had not found his wallet but would he please come to the police station? There was a robbery and his things had been found at the place. Somebody fitting his description had been seen running away from the scene. There was a witness.

He remained at the police station cell all day. He was scared, anxious and annoyed all at once. He had never been to the police station before. No matter how many time he denied the accusation his interrogators, remained unconvinced. His statement was ‘dubious’ and he ‘had no alibi’.

He had never been a lonelier, waiting in the cell for hours on end. Terry, a workmate, could not help; he had taken the day off to give his girlfriend a treat. Jerome, the factory manager did not come to his aid - there was nothing he could do since it was not a work-related matter. Lamid was stuffed; he had no relatives in UK.

In the end he was released without any charge. But he lost his job at the factory; as far as they were concerned, he now had a record; after all, he had ‘helped the police with their enquiries’. From then on his fortune was in steady decline. After several futile job applications he soon lost all his savings, motivation, and self-esteem (hard to tell in what precise order). He neglected his mails and failed to pay his bills and rent.

Soon enough the landlord threw him out. And now he lives in this hell-hole, doing nothing all day but roam the streets and beg ‘I have been walking all day, I am tired and hungry. Could you spare me a fiver, please?’