SANCTUARY

Dominion, Volume 21, Issue 116, 14 February 1928, Page 13

SANCTUARY

THE HARD BEDS OF THE HOMELESS A LONDON SIDELIGHT Dominion Special Service. (By Nellie M. Scanlan.) London, December 28. A loud knocking on the door, the handle turned, and two petty officers from His Majesty's Navy, well-groomed and warmly-coaled, came in. Between them stood a little old man with a long white beard and silky hair, trembling with cold. “We found him on the corner. . . . Come on in, grandpa.” They closed the door behind them—the door of bt. JI artin's-in-the- Field. At a small table inside sat a woman in the neat blue uniform of the Women’s Auxiliary—the women police. The little old man stood in silence. “How much to pay?” asked one young officer, with a kindly, fatuous smile. They were not intoxicated, these young sailors, but mellow, and their elation, their youth and repletion had but intensified their pity. In their well-fed and happy mood they had found the old man shivering on the corner. “How much to pay? he re V, < \,J c ,| l ’ fingering a handful of change. ‘Well see that grandpa has a bed to-night . . . can’t sleep out there on the corner .... get frozen.” „ .... "There is nothing to pay, said the woman gently. “This is a church; it gives shelter to the homeless He will be all right; I know him; he has been here before.” , . . . “Well, Miss. Mrs., or Madame—whichever you are. ...” . “It’s Miss,” said the woman simply. "Well, Miss, is there an offertory box wo can put something in ?” “You can leave it with me. and 1 11 give it to the old man in the morning to get a hot breakfast.” The sailors each put a shilling on the “Sure he’ll be all right?” repeated one with the stupid persistence of a man who is not quite sober. “Quite sure," said the woman. And where are you going to sleep, sue asked. , . ... » "At a hotel, Oh. were all right. "Then put vour money into your inside pocket, and if you can’t get a bed, come back to me. But take m.y advice and don’t have any more to drink, in any case, “lookin? at her watch, you can’t get it now unless you go to a 11 “Introduce me to your friend,” said the younger officer, and ho shook hands with me. "A happy New Year to jot too,” he said. “And a happy New tear to von, grandpa,” as the little old man descended shakily into the crypt, where the homeless find sanctuary It was with difficulty that the woman got these two kindly lads away, one coming back to the door, ami poking his head in to say: And God bless you,’ before thev stumbled down the bid grey steps. The policewoman smiled. She. "-is voting in heart, but old in experience; an ancient in the wavs of the wot Id. Every night guards the portals of tins church, which so widely interprets, and so generously fulfils the spirit of bin istiau charity. “We usually have about ..50 or GO every night,” she told me. "It is only a shelter they cannot make a habit of coming’, but for most of them it is a tornnorai’v refuge be!ween jobs, or until Hicy ‘get llieir wages on a new jou But we use our own discretion, and have no fixed rules. Yes. soinetipies we have young girls, but most of those i'O trv to get into a hostel. The door opened, and two men appeared. "Come in, come in, she said. No money for a bed?” "No. ma’am,” said one. Ihe /’’.her shook his head. One was a dark, thickset youth of 18, a labourer, out of work. ’The other was a stunted, pale-faced inan of 35. Ho looked factory-sweated, but also claimed to be a labourer. '‘All right, down those slops. said Um woman, “I’ll see you both Infer. When they had gone: "T may bo able to get thorn a job,” she confided to me. “I have been boro so long, and so many of fhe employers know me now, I can sometimes find them work.” She turned down fno light, hung a notice outside the door. "Please knock, anil we went below into the irvpt. A gilt crucifix stood on the filial*, and a dim light burned in this sanctuary of fhe homeless. It was long after midnight, in Christmas week, and in that chill twilight I could see the .rows of s’cening men and women, their heads pillowed on the little hussock, their old. aching limbs and hungry bodies Iving on the hard seats, huddled under their overcoats, if they bad any. The women had one group of seats, hut there were always more men than women. Most of them were old, ano the pathos of these human derelicts seeking shelter from the frost and snow, was intensified by the chatter and laughter of Ilin gay, after-theatre crowd that wont sweeping by outside. Like a. beacon, a light shines from the windows and tower all night, and with Nelson on his high column across the way, keeps vigil in Trafalgar Square. "It is early yet; wo will not be full np till about 2 o’clock. At six wo call them, and they must go.” London has known the first white Christmas for over twenty years, and England the bitterest blizzard in half a century. Daylight pierces the murky gloom about eight in the morning, and fades soon after three. Into that icy, wind-swept darkness at six o’clock- those homeless poor emerge from the shelter of the grey old church, and lucky they are if there is "tuppence” to buy a hot cup of coffee at a stall. Who knows how or where '•hey snend their days. St. Martin’s-in-tho-Fiekl asks no questions.

ft was now nearly one o’clock in the morning, and wo hurried to a Corner House for supper, the icy breath of the wind, and the si ill frozen streets chilled one through and through. At the adjoining table, two young girls were eating curry and rice, mashed potatoes, and drinking large glasses of stout, and a man was devouring poached eggs.