No Chicken

1st April
Now it begins- napowrimo.
Day 1


No Chicken

You sit,

Hunched over,

on the cold pavement,

a colourful sleeping bag

pulled up under your chin,

It seems futile against

this crisp March morning,

Strategically,

carefully,  you've chosen

your place,

next to the steps
that lead 

to the the doors

of the St Benedict's  Church.

You reach out to me,

 hands gnarled, greasy,

 gritted with the road,
Your eyes search me,

 hopefully,

find their way to a  corner

of my soul

"Are you hungry?
Can I get you a sandwich?"
"Yes, thanks..."
Is that an Albanian accent?
"What kind would you like?"

I leave  you that dignity,

won't presume to choose.

"Chicken please..."
"No chicken left, 

what about
 ham and cheese?"
"That's fine, Thank you"
polite, refined, 

what brought you here?

You take my hand.
I wish I could take you home.
I find myself sitting beside you,
we talk for a bit,
I leave

to go back  to my,

centrally heated house

Feast of St Nicolas

6th Dec 2017

Aren't the days moving swiftly through December ??? We'll be in January before we know it and Christmas will be just another one of the many that we've celebrated over the years.

I want to share two blogs with you. I hope you take the time to look at them as I think they are wonderful. They are by two of my daughters, one of whom says that I am biased. Well, of course I am, but that doesn't take away from the fact that there is some great  content there.

They write very differently ... well, you will see:

godwheresthemanual.wordpress.com

and

adventuresfromthesofa.wordpress.com

I hope you enjoy them. Please let me know what you think. Or, better still, leave a comment on their blogs.

Now, I'd like to tell you another story about a homeless man. The weather has been bitter these last couple of weeks, the nights being particularly icy. It was on one such night , last week, when the temperature was below 6 degrees c that a homeless man died on the streets in Birmingham . So, so sad...

But that is not my story. My story starts last Saturday morning in Oxford.

We turned up early for our grandaughter's confirmation at the Oratory, and,  passing a man sat at the gate, walked through to the big doors at the entrance where we got talking to a very jolly chap who was waiting to talk to the priest. It turned out he was going to be getting married later that day. I left my husband talking to him while I went into the church.
When I came out hubby was with the man at the gate chatting away.

I felt a bit awkward as I always do with homeless people . You know, not quite knowing what to do.
Anyway I was dragged into the  conversation which was about homeless shelters. This tall man, who was standing now, his long, tangled, matted hair falling over his shoulders ( a Billy Connolly look alike),  told us that they charged for them and he didn't usually have the money to stay in one . Well, I thought, what homeless person would, living hand to mouth on the road and all that.

Then he and my husband proceeded to tell me of the good fortune which befell him while I was in the church. How the chap getting married that day had asked him what size shoes he wore - unfortunately his feet were two sizes too big -and then what size waist he was. Ahh , better luck there.  And what about corduroy, did he like brown corduroy. Of course he did . Reaching in his holdall bag,  the  "soon to be married" took out a smart pair of trousers and feeling in the pocket found a ten pound note. "It's your lucky day," he said beaming and handing him both the trousers and the money.
As the man of the road told  me this tale , he also had a huge smile on his face.
At this point I took his hand in mine to see how cold he was. He was cold...

"Give him my gloves,"  said my husband . He had let me borrow his gloves earlier . I feel the cold more than he does.
And of course your man  was delighted to get the gloves too.

He wasn't there when we came out after the service and I just hope that he is still doing OK and that he will survive through the winter.

No Going Back

26th Nov 2017


The temperature recorded just above  freezing in the car this morning.
 I shivered.
That can't be right. It must be at least a little below freezing point.
But I've always been a cold mortal. I turned the heating up high hoping it would
 soon kick in and warm my nose and my fingertips.

Anyway, later, on this bright winter morning, home at last,
wrapped up in layers, drinking warm coffee, I tune in to radio 4.
 They're telling the  story of a homeless man.
 I sit up, listen more carefully, look out at the grey skies.
Is there snow on the way?

Apparently this man  finds a ladies handbag in the centre of Bolton.
 Now, you might be tempted to think  think he counted his blessings
 and  rifled through the bag to find anything that he might be able to use.
For sure he could make his life a bit more comfortable even
if only for today. Keep the cold out with a pair of gloves.
At least buy some hot soup.
I mean, it fell into is path, so to speak.

But no, our man decides  he wants to find the owner and return it to her.
He thinks she'd be upset,  be missing it. It's got her bankcards in there, after all.
Maybe she'll be going without food herself. She needs her her purse.
No, he'll find her.
For two days he gradually makes his way, mostly walking, 
in the direction of the address he finds on her driving  licence.

When he thinks he must be in the vicinity he begins to ask  people
 if they know the  place. He shows them the licence.
Eventually he stops  a young woman, tall, dark hair, knee length  black skirt
under a three quarter red coat. He steps in front of her when she tries to pass
him by without making eye contact.
She looks at the licence he holds
Forced to look, she her eyes dart back to the little card.
Turns out she knows this girl, we don't find out her name,
and messages her on facebook.  She pulls her phone from
 her coat pocket,
begins messaging, arranges a meeting between the two
in the coffee shop just around the corner.

 The young twenty year old is delighted to get her handbag back,
all the  money, cards and sentimental, personal belongings still in place.
She was touched, surprised. Our homeless friend didn't take anything.

They kept in touch.
She went on to create a crowd fund site to help him get off the streets.




Such a heartwarming tale on this bitter morning

A poem:

No Going Back

Determined to save your sanity

You left

On that crisp, cold December morning

You left

With nothing but the clothes 

On your back

And the whole of your world in a

Very small sack.

You had no idea where

You might go

You just kept on walking

Hoping you'd know

That was over a year 

Ago now

You've got used to the road

Got some 

Know how

Wrapped in your blanket

You're there 

Outside the  Station

Sloane Square

Creases in your hands

Deep set in grime

Hair molded against brow

matted with time.

The cup at your feet waits

Waits for passers by

To see

But they all rush past

Without a glance though some will throw 

Ten pee

You left that day and 

Though it's hard this way

There's no going back 

No going back 

For you
You left