 

London: notes from the field

Editor’s note:

Last year‘s GrinneIl-in-London
program offered an anthropology
course in Ethnographic Research.
Enrolled students chose a person,
organilation or group to study. and
spent a great deal of time “in the
field" gathering notes and data on
their subjects. Topics ranged from
punk rockers to the National Front.
and covered many different
aspects of London. Here are three
students'
periences:

The dosser

by Tim Connor

Tony is a dosser. In America, he
would be a bum or a Wino.
“Dosser’I literally means
“sleeper"7specifically. someone
who “sleeps rough,” outdoors. at
least some of the time. Tony is not
a tramp, Tramps are nomads;
Tony is one of the most sedentary
people I’ve ever met. He spends
nearly all his time sitting on a
bench in Maida Vale. a middle-
class residential districtin London.

I had known Tony by sight for
weeks, but my first conversation
with him was almost accidental. I
emerged from the Underground
station carrying a very heavy,
rented typewriter, and headed for
my flat. As I crossed the street. I

accounts of their ex-'

bottom now. but I’m going to try to
get back up. , .I can’t go back into
aircraft work because of the
noise—it’s bad for my nerves. I}
suffer from paranoid
schizophrenia, you know. I never
did like the noise.”

HE TOOK me around the West
End, showed me Bruce House, a
large, Victorian brick building
near Covent Garden. We walked
through the antique turnstiles
inside the door. under the sign
which Warned that only holders of
current bed tickets were allowed
inside.

The walls were painted in in-
stitutional pastels The place
reeked of stale Smoke. urine and
disinfectant. It was filled with
unshaven middleraged men, all of
whom seemed to wear worn, dirty,
grey suits. We sat in a large
common room where a few men
were cooking their meals on an
ancient gas stove. On a windowsill
at one end of the room were
stacked dozens of cardboard
suitcases, paper bags. boxes. One
man was rummaging through a
blue pasteboard suitcase which
probably contained everything he
owned. “A bit of a dump, I’m
afraid." Tony said apologetically.

TONY CAN'T always afford

 

Bruce House. “You can wrap
yourself in a-ers and kit in a

Tony. the street-corner philosopher. Photo by Tim Connor.

saw Tony walking toward me.
looking, as always, like
Michelangelo’s Moses, fallen on
hard timesisomber and
thoughtful. with a magnificent
grey beard and strong. handsome
face. We arrived at the bench at
the same time. I put the typewriter
on the ground and sat down. Tony
sighed. and sat down beside me.

We sat for a few minutes. ex-
changing remarks about the
weather. He opened his bottle of
cider (an alcoholic drink in
England, almost as strong as beer)
and offered it to me. I took a
swallow and passed it back. He
wiped the mouth of the bottle
carefully before drinking. '

“Do you always stay around this
part of the city?"

“Well, I live in Bruce House.”
He paused. “That’s in Drury Lane,
do you know where that is? Down
in the West End. It’s a hostel, a
hostel for men. It’s run by the
Westminster Welfare Depart-
ment.” Another pause, longer.
“But I used to live in Maida Vale.
and I have friends hert%that’5
why I spend my time here." ,

I spent a lot of time with Tony
during the next weeks. He talked

freely about his life. He was 48, ‘

though he looked 60. His father died
when he was three. and he and his
brothers and sisters grew up in
various orphanages. He was
drafted in who. spent two years in
the R.A,F., then became a
mechanical inspector in an airy
craft factory, In 1965 he had a
nervous breakdown. “I lost
everything, you might say. My job.
my home. my woman: . .I‘m at the

 

 

doorway. Sometimes the police
will come around in the morning,
you know. tell you to push off, but
they aren’t too had. not in the West
End. I'm always being stopped by
the police, mind you. They ask
what I‘m doing, where I’m going.
where rm sleeping. Because of my
appearance, I guess. I suppose
people set quite a bit of store by
appearance.”

Most of our time together was
spent sitting on the bench wiU’i a
bottle of cider, talking about
literature, politics and religion.
Tony is quite well-read; he often'
spends winter days in a library.

“JESUS CHRIST was the first
socialist. He was a poet of action,
you luiow. [believe in miracles, the
water and wine. raising Lazarus
from the dead. . . ,He was a poet of
action, not of Wordsihis disciples
were the ones who wrote it down.
He was crucifiedicrucilied
because he was a communist.
socialist, anarchist.

“I'm a great believer
resignation, you know. . .
resignation. as it’s taught in the
Eastern religions. I was writing a
poem on that. a long poem, but I
burned my notes when I had my
breakdown. It was a poem to‘
Britainithe idea was that Britain
should set an example to the world
of true resignation. having already
set an example of greatness, which.
is gone now. ‘Oh Britain, now is the
time to show true resignation. .’ It
was a long poem."

CIDER, AT firty pence a liter, is
the dosser’s drink. Tony is never

in

 

 

without a bottle. ‘.‘I suppose you
could say that drinking had a lot to '

do with my. . .my downfall. Iwas a
heavy drinker, . .not an alcoholic.
mind you, but a heavy drinker.
You’d think, wouldn’tyou. that‘ifl
had 48p and hadn’t eaten for a day
or so, I’d buy food. wouldn't 17
Well. I bought this bottle of cider. It
cheers me up a bit. you know.” He
took out his tin of Boar’s Head
tobacco and rolled a cigarette.
“Ah, this is nice. Sitting drinking
cider.” He paused, took the cap off
his bottle, drank. “We are the cider
drinkers, this is our song.“ He
seemed to be quoting. He fell
silent, his head Sluwly tilted for-
ward. I thought he was asleep. He
remained like that for a few
minutes, then he sat up, shook
himself, and laughed. “We are the
cider drinkers, aren't we Tim?”

“Is that a song?"

“Yes. I don‘t know the rest of it

though. We are the cider drink»
ers. . .”

Centre/mint

by Shelley Johnson

Sixtyeeight Shaftesbury Avenue.
I followed the numbers past
brightly lit shop fronts. theatres.
Chinese restaurants. and chains of
eating and drinking houses.
Theatrergoers. tourists,
businessmen, punk»rockels, street
vendors and students wove their
ways through the odd assortment
of sidewalk traffic. each involved
in his own immediate world, each
staring blankly ahead. .

I at last reached Centrepoint,
number sixtyreight, an immense,
rusted ornate iron gate which
closed off from the flow of the
street a dark, forbidding alleyway
leading to a dingy courtyard. The
gate was chained and padlocked.
but outside was a doorbell and
instructions on how and when to
make inquiries. I spent long

' minutes gathering courage enough

to ring.

Centrepoint is a registered
charity located in the heart of
London's West End. The purpose of
the charity is to provide temporary
shelter; counseling, and referral
services to homeless young people
in London.

Each night one social worker.
one or two students, and several
volunteers stay in the shelter.
Bunkbeds fill the two moms in the
basement. while a lounge, kitchen.
and two offices fill the space up
stairs. The shelter holds twenty-
four clients—Women in one of the
two bedrooms. men in the other7
although usually there are no more
than a dozen clients in one night.

I spent one night a week as a
volunteer at Centrepoint. arriving
at 7:30 in the evening to help
prepare coffee and tea. and leaving
the next morning alter the clients.

Clients and staff spend most of
the evening in the loungeka large
room furnished with booths, tables
and chairs, a record player and
cabinet full of records, and shelves
displaying books. pamphlets, and
games. A counter and stools
separate the kitchen from the
lounge.

The social worker and students
may counsel clients during the
evening conversations. or through
these conversations try to discover

Where a particular client's needs

.lie. Many clients just need to be
able to talk to someone who will
listen. Later after the clients have
gone to bed, the staff discusses
each individual, assessing in
formation revealed in con-
versations. In cases where clients
have been in before. the staff
reviews _file card information.

Then, in the morning. the social.

worker speaks individually to each
cilent. referring him or her to an
appropriate agency. or advising
him or her to return home.
Centrepoint admits clients
through a selection process which

 

begins at the gate. A worker and a
volunteer answer the hell by going
out the back door. through the
courtyard. to the gate. One of the
two unlocks the padlock and listens
while the other conducts a short
interview. recording information
such as name, age, and hometown.
Then the two staff members return

Brixton's West In

men stopping in to drink and chat .
(both of which they seem to do well)
before going about their business.
As much a meeting place for
friends and acquaintances as a
place of business. the market
draws young and old alike. To
some extent. the warmth and
it'tt- I ' island homes

communities. in this picture, protesters demonstrate against im-

migration restrictions.

inside to discuss the interviewee. If
the two feel that the person can be
helped by Centrepoint. they admit
him or her.

One night I unlocked the gate and
listened while a Worker in-
terviewed a slender, \vell»dressed
boy of about seventeen. He said his
name was Timothy Taylor and that
he had been in before. We could not
find a file card for him, however,
so when we returned to the gate
and told him so. he gave us another
name which he said was his real
one. Again, we found no file card,
so Susan. the worker, turned him
away because he had lied twice. He
became very upset and mentioned
something about being in bad
trouble. Susan told him that if he
had wanted help badly enough he
wouldn't have lied. As we returned
inside she expressed guilt feelings
athaving turned him away without
knowing why he needed help.

The social worker expressed that
the young people accept certain
responsibilities when leaving
home, and shouldn’t expect
someone to be there whenever they
need help. At the same time. she
emphasized the need for places
where people can find others who
care enough to listen and en.
courage. Many clients come back
to Centrepoint time after time—
after intervals of several weeks.
months. or years.

Brixton

by Robin Connolly

Brixton lies at the southern end
of the Victoria tube line, the last
stop on a route that goes through
the busy Oxford Street shopping
district, past Buckingham Palace,
and under the Thames.

On my way to Brixton I would
watch as wellvdressed shnppers,
attache-cased businessmen and

'chattering tourists disembarked at

central London stops; train nearly
empty. the automatic doors would
slide to a close and we would move
on silently.

OVER the course of my
edinographic work, Brixton came
to be a special place to me. a world
unto itself. removed from the fast
paced bustle of London.
Predominantly West Indian, it has
the aura of a Small town rather
than an impersonal urban setting,
Its market is generally full of
people making purchases and
talking in small clusters, with
reggae music from the nearest
record stall pulsating in the
background.

THE nearby pubs are usually
smokerfilled and crowded with

have been successfully trans
planted on the comparatively
bleak English soil.

There is, I found. a less pleasant
side to Brixton. however. West
Indians first came to England in
large numbers during the 1950’s
and early '60s, primarily at the
invitation of the British ”an.
sportation and communications
industries which were sorely in
need of unskilled labor. The
demand for workers soon abated
as Commonwealth citizens from
India and Pakistan as well poured
into the country in search of em-
ployment and a higher standard of
living. Though many old-timers
will tell you West Indians first
Settled in Brixton because the Old
Bailey prison islocated there and it
was simply easier to stay in the
area after leaving Jail, most im~
migrants could only afford the
relatively dilapidated housing of
spots such as Brixton.

EMPLOYMENT opportunities
for minorities have progressively
worsened along with the British
economy, and schools are still in
the process of adapting techniques
and materials to suit the needs of
ethnically diverse classes. A
generation of Britishrborn West
Indians is now reaching adulthood.
resentful of their parents’ “old»
fashioned" ways and yet disdainful
of English culture as well.

Several “grassroots"
organizations have grown up in
Brixton in an attempt to combat
Jroblems of unemployment and.
poverty. For my ethnography
project. Iworked with the Brixton
Neighborhood Community
association, a self-help group
under the dynamic leadership of a
Jamaican. Courtney Laws.

IN THE face of a constant
shortage of funds and opposition
from a number of local officials,
laws has managed to build up a
tightly efficient organization of»
fering free legal advice. family
counseling services. a lunch
program and club activities for
West Indian senior citizens. school
liaison work. vocational and
university-preparatory training,
and supervised playground ac-
tivities, Developing leadership
potential among West Indian youth
is a primary goal. and great em-
phasis is placed on education.

Much remains to be done in
Brixton, but the continued growth
of such organizations as B.N.C.A.
are helping the West Indian
population of England establish a
strong and culturally viable place
for itself within (or in spite of) the.

 

confines of British society.

 

