Relax! This is not an open admission of my status as an alcoholic. It is just that I am making the effort to recover from last night’s spell of duty at Inn churches. I had only about three and a half hours of sleep, and despite being able to take a nap this afternoon, I’m still feeling pretty weary. Tonight’s Italian class promises to be a bit of an ordeal. (The imperfect subjunctive probably demands that you have your wits about you at the best of times.)
Work at the shelter is certainly interesting. The charity running it has been in existence for about eight years, I gather, and I understand that it is a venture peculiar to the Bradford area. Four of us were on duty last night, with another team who came in to clear up when we finished. We were caring for thirteen people on this occasion, all men, and nearly all of Polish origin. I was struck by the fact that “homelessness” is not the same as “unemployed”. We had to get one young man up and off to work at 5.30 This morning, and others also had jobs. The weather is quite mild at the moment. When it is really cold there is a rather greater demand for places.
The experience had its light moments. A trio of local musicians had volunteered to entertain the guests after the evening meal. Their guitar went into circulation, and we were treated to a round of Polish and Slovakian songs.
The high point of the night for me, in one sense, was the fact that I got to use my old sleeping bag again. This is a 1971 Black’s Icelandic (a summer quality job despite its name) which I got that year to take part in a walking expedition in Yugoslav Macedonia. It still works just fine, with a genuine down filling.
The idea did cross my mind that I might use the occasion to produce something along the lines of Henry Moore’s wartime sketches of sleeping figures sheltering from the air raids in London’s underground stations. Sadly that would be seen these days as an invasion of people’s privacy. It is worth reflecting on the probability that this possibility, in all probability, never occurred to Moore.