The Busker Stranded

The sarsaparilla coloured sky suspended over London and I stood waiting to cross over the pedestrian crossing near St Pauls . I stopped for a moment unsure of the traffic flow. Only being in the country for a few hours I took it easy getting the feel of the city. There were tourists silently shouting in their sign language at the hustle and bustle as if they owned the city.

I smiled as I saw a break in the traffic and decided to make my way across the intersection. As I crossed over a car narrowly missed me and the driver shouted out something loud and rude. I had no idea of what he said and couldn't respond because he was gone.

Once safely on the other side I took a long look at all the construction work taking place around St Pauls courtyard .The famous Cathedral seemed like a lost monument standing there among the fast pace of life in London.

I made my way to Carter Lane Youth Hostel and walked in through two large red doors. I stood at the reception with both hands full. After waiting for ten minutes I put down my six string and suitcase .The girl at reception was on the phone and although she was aware of me standing there, she continued to talk on the phone. She eventually hung up the phone and disappeared behind two drawn curtains. Five minutes later she returned with a cup of coffee and said,

:"Sorry to keep you, how can I help?"

I presented my International Youth Hostel Card and enquired if I could stay for a few days. She took a long look at me, sipped her coffee and checked a book on the desk. I had this awful feeling that there was going to be nothing available and said nervously,

"I've just landed in London and need a few days to get settled."

Some German travellers came in and stood by the reception. They were making a lot of noise and not happy at being kept waiting. The girl behind the reception desk smiled at me and said,

"You're very lucky, we do have one vacancy. It is holiday season you know and without pre-booking your chances of a bed are like minimal."

She took my card and wrote down my I.Y.H. number then asked for twenty pounds deposit up front before paying for the bed. I looked at her and replied,

"Money is a problem at the moment. I haven't accessed my bank yet. If I could just leave my suitcase and guitar, I'll be back shortly. "

She tutted and then nodded her head and said,

"How long do you think are you going to be?"

"I'm not sure. Do you know where the National Westminster Bank is?"

"Do I look like I'm a tourist information service to you?"

She said.

"No need to be rude "

I replied.

"Look, I'll keep the bed until 5pm. If you're not back then it's gone ok."

"Thanks, Is there a telephone book I could use?"

She handed me a phone directory and I went over and took a seat in the common room cafeteria to see where the nearest Nat West Bank was.

Later that evening I returned with the cash and paid for the bottom bunk bed number 66 in the upstairs dorm. I placed my bag under the bed and went downstairs to the common room area. Within a brief moment of me taking a seat I realised how lucky I was to have a bed as the hostel was absolutely bunged full of overseas travellers. I watched those German travellers disappear behind a bowl of cereal at about 10pm at night. Their crunches and slurps echoed through my head and my stomach turned over in disapproval.

For some reason I was angry and I don't know why. Maybe it was just tiredness taking over. My anger dissolved into humiliation when one of those travellers asked me if I would like a game of chess.

"Ok that would be nice."

I said.

My humiliation soon turned into anger again as the game was over in about ten moves. So I asked this American at another table if he would like a game of chess.

Just to prove I am not a good chess played he also won in about ten moves.

I had a brief conversation to the American tourist before heading off to bed.

Before going to sleep I had thought about getting out there early in the morning, to do some busking around the streets of London.

I had a good sleep and when morning came I decided to kick off busking in Shaftsbury Avenue.

So after breaking a few strings and not making any impact I moved along to Charring Cross Road. I sang my heart out to a packed audience who seemed oblivious to everything else around them. I took a walk to Leicester Square thinking the wild west end would be willing to listen to the busker from Oz, but no. In fact I was verbally abused and had to duck some articles thrown my way. What a wake up call I had. With my emotions at an all time low, my throat hoarse, my stomach empty and with the grand total of 10p in my hat for busking,I decided to return to St Pauls Youth Hostel.

As I made my way to the underground I went to the National Westminster Bank to withdraw some money but remembered I had left my wallet in my suitcase at the youth hostel . So I went through my pockets and counted out my small change . Luckily I had enough to grab something to eat and drink .

After taking tube to St Pauls , I found this quiet spot called The rising sun café in Carter Lane and decided to have a meal there before returning to the youth hostel . I sat there in a daze and tried to forget the fruitless efforts of my first day busking around the streets of London .

After I regained some composure, I walked along the laneway to the IYH went straight to my bed and placed my guitar underneath but was horrified to discover that my suitcase was not there . Everything I had was in that suitcase . Bank details , money , clothes and all my I.D.

I reported what had happened at the front reception but they were not able to assist me at all . I was told that I was responsible for the safekeeping of my belongings .

I stood there in shock , speecheless , then I swallowed my anger and hurt and said ,

"That's not acceptable . I want some action taken So call a meeting or begin an investigation .I am a guest in your country and demand your attention to this situation ."

The girl at the receptiion replied ,

"Look maybe someone had innocently lifed the bag by mistake and placed it under their bed . Lets go and have a look around the dorm ."

Both of us searched around . Some travellers were asleep on their bed and didn't appreciate being stirred fron their sleep . I was in a panic and tried to explain my problem to them but they were not very sympathetic .

I searched everywhere before returning with the girl to the front desk . I started asking people in the cafe and at the reception if anyone had seen my suitcase .

The girl who worked for IHY began to get angry with me and told me to make a report to the police .

Shaking with anger some words spurted out .

"I'll do that and I'll also contact a local member and Australia House while I'm at it . This is not ending here ."

Once again I left the youth hostel with my guitar under my arm but this time it was not to go busking . It was to guard the only thing I had left and to see if the police could offer some assistance in my predicament .
I was vunerable and very worried .

London now looked even more menacing than before .It was overcast and cold and people on the street stared at me as if I was some kind of Alien in London .

The first policeman I saw I asked for directions to the nearest station and with his lack of interest to my situation I soon began a long walk to Snow Hill Police Station . The two officers at the desk were laughing as I walked in .

"Hello ."

I said .

'How can I help you ?"

Said the lady .

"Well I'm staying at St Pauls Youth Hostel and all my belongings have been stolen . My bank book , my money , my passport , my clothes ."

'So what do you want us to do ?"

Said the smug looking policeman ,

"I want you to get them back ."

I replied .

"That's not possible sir . Don't you think we have better things to do than run around all over London looking fort your suitcase ?"

Said the man in uniform ,who had now taken over as the spokesperson for the London police .

I was dumbfounded .

"You don't understand . All my money and banking details are in that case . Who ever has my suitcase could withdraw everything in my account ."

"Can't you tell your bank in London what ahs happened ?"

"I don't have a bank in London . My bank is in Australia . If I had a bank in London that wouldn't be a problem . My London account is where I have my funds transferred each week . "

"It's a hard world out there ."

Said the police officer .

"I was always told that if you were in trouble the old bill would help you out ."

"Sorry but there's nothing we can do . Goodbye ."

I walked out of Snow Hill Station devastated .

Upset and at my wits end I spend the next two days making enquiries back at Carter Lane in the youth hostel . No one had seen my suitcase .

The only lead someone gave me was that some cleaners had been in the dorm on the morning my suitcase went missing .

I persisted with the staff until one of them took me down into the basement of the building where lost property was kept . On the floor was a mountain of bags and suitcases . Within five minutes I found my suitcase It had been buried beneath some other bags and lay there opened and completely empty of all its contents .

As if I wasn't feeling hurt enough the staff who ran the hostel told me I had to move out because I hadn't paid up for my bed and they had to allocate it to somebody else .

So there was I in London with no friends , no family , no job , no money ,no food , no clothes and no where to go .

I was homeless and it was cold out there . I must have walked through a million streets that night until the morning came .

I thought that now was the time to reach out .

I remembered that I had some relations in Wellingborough , near Northampton and decided to make my way there . All I needed was the price of a train ticket , what ever that would cost .

The magic of busking had gone . Now it was for my basic survival as I stood on the street . When I sang there was an anger in my voice . I had a new feel in the steel strings that I plucked and strummed . From Waterloo to St Pancras I had out sung myself to an audience who were confronted with a busker desperate to get through to their hard hearts .

Thanks to the few who had gave I managed to get the fare to Wellingborough.

After waiting for half the day the train arrived . I took a seat in the comfortable carriage and sat looking out the window , numb and glum , wondering what would come .

As the train pulled out of St Pancras I decided to try and close my eyes and escape the nightmare of London .

When the train arrived in Wellingborough I checked the phone book and found my Aunt Mary and Rita's name and gave then a call .

They were surprised to hear my voice and send a neighbour to pick me up at the station. The neighbour wasn't too happy with me but grumpily took me into this compact little estate called Kilnway , where he walked with me to my Aunts front door . They were delighted to see me , their loving nephewfrom down under . At first I didn't explain everything that had happened to me .

I had said that all my bags were in the left luggage in London .

As the night fell I was given food and shelter from my dear old aunts .

What was going to be a brief visit with them ended up a six month stop .

I had picked up a job in the laundrette and had saved up some money .

My thought was to return to London and get one back on the city that had robbed me of all I had . That place owed me big time and I just had to recoup some of my losses there .

In my last week with my Aunts , they took me out to the pubs , clubs and even a day trip to their local bingo hall .

I could feel the wanderlust at my feet calling me on .

So I purchased a bus ticket in the local travel agent on the National Express coach heading for London .

I said my goodbyes to my Aunties in Cobbler Country and waited patiently for the bus that would take me back to London .

Look out London , because the busker is coming back .

The End