TIGHTENED BELTS

Evening Star, Issue 19328, 14 August 1926, Page 10

TIGHTENED BELTS

BEDS OF ROCK NEWSPAPERS AS BLANKETS New Zealand lias its crisis of unemployment with attendant hardships, but has never had any crisis approaching the normal winter conditions in Sydney, where hundreds ' of the unemployed and _ the unemployable sleep nightly in the Domain. The appended account-is from the Sydney ‘ Sun.’ One of the strangest tilings about the sleepers in Sydney’s biggest and breeziest dormitory, tbo Domain,' is that after they have settled themselves ' for the night on a bod of solid rock, the offer of a kapok mattress and warm blankets in a sheltered hostel leaves them untempted. Not one in fifty of them will shift. “Too late now,” they say. Im set here.” , And they can sleep, and snore, insomnia and kindred ills of the featherbed sleepers are unknown; but many would eagerly grasp the chance to risk indigestion. To wake a man Horn a sound sleep to offer a bed is one thing; to offer a cheering meal in the morning is quite' different. The Santa Claus who brings these gifts each night is an officer of the Salvation Army. _ On the night of which this story tells drizzling ram added to the misery of a winter night outdoors. It dripped steadily from overhanging ledges, and a gust of wind now and then blow in a film of moisture over huddled figures, dimly outlined against the stony canopy' by the newspapers in which their limbs were wraped. Colonel Orr and Captain Birt had started from the western side, near Farm Cove, on their round of help and cheer, and it was after 11 p.m. Bedtime in the Domain us anything between 10 p.m. and midnight, but because the first arrival gets the best of the bad beds they arrive about the earlier hour and talk before curling up. TORCHLIGHT FLASHES.

“There can’t be many here tonight,” said Captain Birt, who has been doing this patrol for years. “ Many of the favorite spots have not been taken.” His torchlight flashed in all the likely places, but it was not until they ■wore nearing the point that the first sleeper was found. He was stretched out under tho overhanging rock, his coat buttoned tightly, his feet and legs encased in many layers of newspaper, and his head pillowed in the crook of his arm. “Are you awake, friend?”

, His answer was a snore. Colonel Orr said it a bit louder, and there was a rustle of paper as a head lifted into the light of the torch, now shieded by the Salvationist’s hand to soften the glare. “ Wassup?” “It’s the Salvation Array, como to see if there is anything wo can do for vou. Would you like a bed?” “ “No, thanks. I’m all right now. It’s too late.” He sat up, sleepily, and told them ho, was a driver, out of work. He had a bed the previous night, but two nights before he slept in the same spot. “What about breakfast?” ■“ Yes; I wouldn’t mind that." >“And a bed to-morrow night?”

w That’d be all right, too.” Captain Birt wrote oat a ticket giving the driver breakfast, a bed, and breakfast again the nest morning at the hostel in Foster street. With a cheery “Good-night,” they moved on to the next stop. The march continued tin’s time to the “Rock of Ages,” that hi* cave near the end of the Domain, which is the popular camping place, and in which any night you can _ find half a dozen men curled up in a little community of paper and bags. Climbing up the trade in the rock, Captain Birt_ threw out a searching beam from his torch, and in the first sweep two soundly-sleeping figures "were discovered by the circle of light. The first was wrapped in the customary layers of paper, and so covered by an old overcoat that only one foot was showing. . “I know that boot,” said the captain. It was an old hoot—-a very old one, with easily identifiable patches on the sole. He stirred the owner, who peered out from under the_ coat and smiled as he greeted the visitors, “How are you to-night?” Captain Birt asked.

“ Nicely, thank yon. “What Lave you had to-day?” “A pot of tea and a bit of toast this morning.” “ And a drink of water and another hitch in the belt for supper?” “ That’s about it.” “What name is it to-night?” “ Patrick.” “ Well, that’s about as good as any of the others. What’s it to bo—breakfast and a bed to-morrow night?” “ If you please.” “Comfy?” “ Yes, thanks. God bless all of you.” Patrick turned over and was soon sound asleep again. This conversation had been conducted almost in the ear of his sleeping partner, but Hie other did not wake. Nor could loud calls rouse him; and so the officer wrote out a ticket giving him breakfast at the hostel in the morning, a bed the next night, and another breakfast. The ticket was’ slipped into the sleeper’s hand. Many times during the night’s round this Salvationist Santa Claus left little messages of practical good cheer beside men who slept so soundly on rocks that loud calls would not wake them.

Leaving the “Rock of Ages,” the party found tho next sleeper round on the Woolloomooloo Bay side._ There was a breath of Scotland in his accent, and on Armistice Day ho played in one of the bands that led the military procession in which this Domain sleeper marched. Thus they met again, at the other end of the world, the soldier out of work, sleeping in the out-of-work’s bedroom, and tho Salvationist carrying on his Army’s rescue work.

TICKETS FOR MEALS. 44 Is this a habit now?” he asked. 44 Well, when there’s nothing else

“Like a bod?” “I’m fixed here now.” “Are you fixed for food, too?” “ Well, I’d like a meal or two.” He got them, as does every other deserving man in the Domain. But there are some who have put themselves beyond the beacon ray of help that comes nightly from that flashing torch. A conversation with two men who had found a cave so snug that they did not need to encase themselves in strata of newsprint showed that at least one of these was an old acquaintance of the visitors.

“ You’ve signed on before,” said the captain, as the torch ray sought out the reclining figures deep in the cave. “ Yes, you’ve known me about eight years.” The speaker was over GO years of age and "was one of the Domain “regulars.” Two tickets were tossed in, giving them the customary bed and two meals.

“ What about Jimmie?” asked one, adding that Jimmie would be along a little later.

“ I’m off Jimmie,” said Captain Birt. “If ho would like anything from me he knows how to get it.” “ Yes, he drinks a lot,” the voice from the cave admitted.

A timber worker, a marine engineer, a cook, and a shearer were among the nest who received those cheering tickets. Each had hopes of getting work in a few days. The absence qt paper blankets proved them' amateurs at camping out.

Two of the soundest sleepers found in the evening’s march were perched on ledges of rock 10ft or 12ft high and barely wide enough to hold them. Below wore rocks on to which a slight roll in their sleep would precipitate them, and their knees were over the edge. They snored. Colonel Orr left tickets for them both. He was afraid that if he stirred them they would turn over the wrong way. Thirty-seven men were found in the Domain that night, and the officers said the number was rather short of the average of late. The last they met said he had prospects of a meal in the morning and a good chance of work. “ I say, captain,” the last man called after them. “What is it?” Captain Birt called back. “ Have you gob any boots down there?” “What size?”

. “Eight or nine.” “You come and see me in the morning. I think we can fix you up.”