The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 29

The Autobiography of a Super Tramp 29

We were now entering the town of Stratford-on-Avon, and my companion

was advising me as to my behaviour at the common lodging house. "It is

the only lodging house in the town," he said, "and the old lady is

very particular and eccentric. Our very appearance may dissatisfy her,

and then we will be compelled to walk some miles to the next town.

She keeps a shop attached to the lodging house," continued the

downrighter, "and if strangers, not knowing this to be the case, when

applying for lodgings, have bread, tea, sugar, meat, etc., in their

hands, that is bought elsewhere, this eccentric old landlady declines

to receive them as lodgers, and they are forced, often late at night,

to walk to the next town. Some time ago," he continued, "a lodger

bought at her shop a half pound of cornbeef, which he thought was

underweight. Going to the public house opposite for a glass of beer,

he requested the publican to weigh this meat, which being done, it was

found to be two ounces short of the required weight. On returning to

the house this lodger went quietly to bed, but the next morning he

spoke his mind to her in a very straightforward manner, making mention

of the publican as a witness. Ever since that time, any man who visits

that public house is not allowed to sleep on her premises. If seen

entering that place by day, they are objected to at night, and if seen

visiting that house after their beds are already paid for, on their

return their money is at once refunded without the least explanation."

 

It certainly spoke highly for our respectable appearance when this

particular landlady received our money, and admitted us without much

scrutiny into the kitchen; although she lost no time in following us

there, and stood for several minutes watching our movements. No doubt

if one of us had thrown a match on the floor, or sat too near the

fire; or complained that the kitchen only contained two tea pots,

cracked and half spoutless, among the ten lodgers now patiently

waiting a chance to make tea; and that there were only three cups, and

one half rimmed plate like a vanishing moon--no doubt if we had

uttered one complaint, our money would have been returned without

advice or warning, and we would have found no other lodgings that

would have answered our small means in the town. But we fortunately

knew the old lady too well to implicate ourselves and we gave her no

chance to complain.

 

After tea I wandered alone about the town, and as I went here and

there in this enchanted place, ambition again took possession of me,

stronger than ever. It filled me with vexation to think that I was no

nearer my object, for I was, comparatively speaking, penniless. Two

months had I wandered, during which time I had not been able to

concentrate my thoughts on any noble theme, taking all day to procure

the price of a bed, and two or three coppers extra for food. True I

had by now some three pounds saved, the income that I had not touched,

but at this rate, I would never be able to attain my ends. November

was here, and I was suddenly confronted with a long winter before me,

and I pictured myself starved and snow bound in small out of the way

villages, or mercilessly pelted by hailstones on a wild shelterless

heath. Side by side with these scenes I placed my ideal, which was a

small room with a cosy fire, in which I sat surrounded by books, and I

sickened at the comparison.

 

The following morning I was up and on my way before the downrighter

had put in an appearance. In two or three days I was again back on the

outskirts of London, walking it round in a circle; sometimes ten miles

from its mighty heart, or as far distant as twenty miles; but without

the courage to approach nearer, or to break away from it altogether.

Whatever luck I had good or bad, I always managed to escape the

workhouse; and was determined to walk all night, if needs be, rather

than seek refuge in one of those places. One desperate hour possessed

me every day, sometimes in the morning, or in the afternoon, but more

often in the evening, when I would waylay people on the high roads, go

boldly to the front doors of houses, interview men in their gardens,

stables or shops at the same time flourishing before their eyes a whip

of a dozen laces. In this hour I seemed to be impelled by a fatality

like that of the wandering Jew, cursed at having to perform something

against my will. When this mad fit was at an end, during which I

generally succeeded in getting a shilling or more, people might then

come and go without fear of being molested, for I was satisfied that

the workhouse was once more defeated for another night.

 

One morning at the beginning of December, I made up my mind to tramp

home for Christmas. This was a new idea, and not much to my liking,

for I had always written them hopeful letters, and although they knew

that I had left London, they knew nothing of my present condition. As

usual, under these active impulses I made astonishing progress, being

on the borders of Wales in less than a week. The greater part of the

journey accomplished, being now less than thirty miles from my native

town, I regretted having started with such an intention, and tramped

over the Welsh Hills day after day, ultimately finding my way to

Swansea. I did not remain long in that town, but began other rambles,

and the day before Christmas eve, was in a town twenty-seven miles

from home; sleeping there that night I rose early the following

morning and started for home. Keeping up a pace of three miles an

hour, in spite of the one leg and the rough uneven roads of the hills,

I accomplished the journey in nine hours, arriving home just after

dark, without having once rested on the way.

 

I had now been tramping for over three months and thought myself

entitled to a little rest, if such could be had. After all, why had I

done this, and to what end had I suffered? For I would now draw the

few pounds that were due to me, would return to London in a week or

two, and would again commence writing without any prospect of success,

for I would once more be living on a small income. And such was the

case: three weeks' comfort improved me wonderfully and vitality

returned stronger than ever after the low state into which it had

fallen. What cut me to the heart was not so much that I had not

practised writing during these four months, but that I had been forced

to neglect reading and had therefore been taking in no means to

justify my hopes in the future of being capable of writing something

of my own. The poor man, who has his daily duties to perform, has his

quiet evenings at home, with friends to lend him books, and being

known in the locality, a library from which to borrow them, but what

privileges has the wanderer?

 

Feeling myself fit, I drew what money was due to me and returned to

London.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXV

 

THE FARMHOUSE

 

 

Yes, I returned to London, and to my surprise, began to look forward

with pleasure to be again frequenting the old haunts for which, when

leaving I had felt so much disgust. This feeling seems to be natural;

that I felt inclined to see familiar faces, although they were red and

blotchy with drink; to hear familiar voices, however foul their

language might be. Therefore, on the first night of my return wonder

not when I say that I was sitting comfortably in the Ark, as though I

had not slept one night away. I looked in vain for my old friend the

Canadian. Many recognised and spoke to me. One in particular, a toy

seller, who was curious to know where I had been. Seeing that he

suspected that I had been incarcerated in a jail, I told him something

of my wanderings, and ended by making enquiries of him as to the

whereabouts of the Canadian. Of this man he knew nothing, but gave

information that "Cronje," the fish porter, another of my

acquaintances, was staying at the Farmhouse, and no doubt would be

glad to see me, he having been at the Ark to enquire of me during my

absence. Of course it was not my intention to stay long at the Ark, so

I at once made my way to the Farmhouse, to see "Cronje," where I found

him.

 

The Farmhouse is very particular about taking in strangers, which

certainly makes it a more desirable place than others of its kind;

but, at "Cronje's" recommendation, I was without much ceremony

accepted as a lodger. This man, nicknamed "Cronje," who had been for a

number of years in Australia, and had so many wonderful anecdotes to

relate, was a sharp little man, the very image of a Jew in features,

but fair, red, always happy and laughing, for a contradiction. He was

clean in his habits, extremely generous to the poorer lodgers, and was

well liked by all. It is true that many considered him to be a liar;

but no man contradicted him, for no man was capable of talking him

down. In his early days he had had a phenomenal voice, which he

claimed to have lost through auctioneering. As a rower he had defeated

all comers on the river Murrumbidgee, and had publicly disgraced the

champion of Wagga Wagga at billiards. On seeing a man taking a hair

out of his food, Cronje declaimed on the danger of swallowing this,

relating how his friend Skinner of Australia--who had taken down all

the best fencers of Europe--had swallowed a single hair which, taking

root in his stomach, had grown to such a length that it had killed

him before an operation could be performed. Again: hearing some one

mention the names of two famous singers, one a tenor and the other

basso, Cronje, eager to create wonder, said that it was a most

remarkable case that the tenor had at first become famous as a basso,

and that the basso had at first received recognition as a tenor, and

that each man's voice had changed after he had become famous.

 

What a strange house was this, so full of quaint characters. Some of

these men had been here for fifteen, and twenty years. "Haymaker"

George was here, and had been here for some time; for he claimed to

have gone haymaking from this very house, when he first came here;

going and returning daily without the assistance of trains, busses or

cars.

 

"Salvation" Jimmy was here; who had been so emotional that he had been

desired as an acquisition to the Salvation Army, which he had joined,

and donned the red jersey. At last the poor fellow had become so very

emotional, probably influenced by such stirring music and the ready

hallelujah of the members, that really, his frequent laughter, his

fervent cries and his down-on-the-knees-and-up-in-a-trice, had

provoked so many smiles and sarcastic remarks from his audience, that

not only was he not promoted to rank from a private, but was

discharged the service altogether. Even to this day, he knew no reason

for his dismissal. He was mad enough now, in these later days,

laughing, dancing and singing up and down the Farmhouse kitchen, so

that I can imagine the effect on his nerves when marching to the sound

of loud music, under the spread of a blood red banner. Even now, in

these days, he drew every one's attention to his eccentric behaviour,

so that what must he have been then?

 

I soon knew them all by name, that is, by their nicknames, by which

most of them preferred to be known. It was very interesting to hear,

morning after morning, "Fishy Fat" and John--the latter being in the

last stages of consumption, and poor fellow peevish withal--sit down

to breakfast and to abolish the House of Lords. It was often a

surprise to me to see this noble edifice still standing, after hearing

it abolished in such fierce language, and in terms of such scathing

reproach. Strangely, these men had very little to say during the day;

and did one get up earlier than the other in the morning, he would

stand silent with his back to the fire, or pace quietly up and down

the kitchen waiting the appearance of his friend. When one saw the

other preparing breakfast, he would at once follow his example and

when everything was ready, both would seat themselves opposite each

other at the same table. Up till this time nothing would have been

said, until each had tasted and sugared his tea to his own liking.

After this being done, one would suddenly ejaculate a sentence of this

kind "Smother them lazy rotters in the h'upper 'ouse, the bleeding

liars." In accordance with that remark, the other would immediately

answer--"Perish 'em all." And then would follow oath after oath of the

blackest character, and daring cold-blooded designs that would have

gladdened the heart of Guy Fawkes.

 

Brown was also here, and always in a state of wonder. He had very

little faith in print, and every hour things happened which made

him--to use his own words--"know not what or what not to believe." He

presumed that the laity was a certain kind of religious sect, but to

him they all seemed without difference. The only difference he could

see between a vicar and a curate was that one had a larger corporation

and a redder nose than the other. Brown, who was a simple,

kind-hearted fellow, said that we were all born of woman; that we were

born and that we must all die; that it was a great pity, and made his

heart bleed, to see a man come down in life after he has been high up;

and that we had to face a cruel fact--although it was almost beyond

belief--that a man's own relations often caused the man's downfall which, with his own eyes, he had seen done.