The Autobiography of a Super-TrampDavies, W. H. (William Henry)
General
The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp
Davies, W. H. (William Henry)
Davies, W. H. (William Henry), 1871-1940; Poets, English -- 20th century -- Biography; Tramps -- Biography
"Boozy" Bob was here, "Drunken Dave" and "Brummy Tom"; three small men
with a large capacity for taking ale. All these men were quiet or at
least not objectionable, and none of them could disturb me in my room.
The sleep of the house was disturbed more from without than from any
cause within. Cats--by day the most docile of God's creatures, every
one of them in the night enlisting under the devil's banner--took the
place by storm after the human voice had ceased. But perhaps the one
who accounted for more than two-thirds of my sleepless nights, was a
woman, an outsider living in an adjacent block. It was her custom to
come home drunk early in the morning, singing and swearing. "Little
Punch," a sickly consumptive, who had lived in this neighbourhood of
Southwark all his life, had no difficulty in recognising the voice of
Mrs. Kelly. So whenever I enquired as to the origin of a disturbance,
the name of Mrs. Kelly was the beginning and the end of it. Mrs. Kelly
was not satisfied with a single fight; she occasionally instigated a
riot. On the night of that memorable day when Southwark, and in
particular the Borough, was visited by royalty, this was the lady that
murdered sleep. The police always appeared tolerant with her, and more
so on this occasion. As a general rule it is people that live in
private houses who have to complain of the presence of a common
lodging house, of being disturbed by its low-class inmates; but this
lodging house, with beds for nearly two hundred men, was kept as quiet
as a large mansion with its one small family and half a score of
servants. In its kitchen was a continual din up till twelve o'clock at
night; but this did not disturb the sleepers in other parts of the
house. Seldom would a loud voice be heard inside; but it was nothing
unusual to hear at night the fighting and swearing of men and women,
and the screaming of children. This could be expected without fail on
Saturday nights and the close of holidays. These horrible and inhuman
cries so affected me on one Saturday evening, when, for the sake of
the study, I had retired early to bed, that I could neither think,
sleep nor lie quiet, and felt compelled to get up and return to the
kitchen. This I did, and found thirty or forty men assembled there,
most of them more or less drunk, but none of them appeared
quarrelsome. Of course it was impossible to sit long here before I was
surrounded by them; and sat fearing to breathe deep enough to inhale
the fumes of drink which came from both their mouths and clothes; and
being in good favour with these hopeless fellows, was continually
invited good naturedly to shake hands with them. Instead of going back
to my room, I left the place and entered a public house for the first
time in three months. "Brummy" Tom was there, with another fish porter
of his acquaintance. "Have a drink with me," he said, "I have often
thought to ask you, but thought you were a teetotaller and would
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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