East end adventures
I walk the streets of East London, with
my new found friend,
From Bethnal Green to Limehouse,
Aldgate to Mile End.
From Bow Road to the Isle of Dogs,
Shadwell to Stepney Green,
I know that still that back at home,
they’ve no clue where I’ve been.
All my money had ran out, and gone by
the fourth day,
Even though, I’d got back that twenty, Joanne promised to pay.
At first we would be staying, at one of
Joanne’s pals,
But often be back at Brick Lane,
meeting the street gals.
We’d often be in Whitechapel, and Joanne would always say,
I’ll meet you back here in two hours, just hang around here
and stay.
So I’d be hanging by the tube station, with the drunks on the
street,
And Ozzie he was African, had no shoes
on his feet.
Couldn’t understand a word he said, he chewed on Khat all day,
I’d kick an empty metal can, and they’d join in and play.
Sometimes people would walk past, and
give a little smile,
They hadn’t seen something like this, on this street for a while.
We’d often visit Joanne’s friend, in the hospital ward,
I think he liked us both being there,
it helped him stop being bored.
His name was Drew, a Scottish man and
he’d been beat up bad,
And all his leg was in a cast, but Drew
never seemed sad.
I’d tell folk outside the tube station, that I needed to get
home,
Asked for money for a ticket, or to use
the phone.
I’d often make around a tenner, or sometimes I’d make more,
And now I’ve made more money, than I ever have before.
An old drinker had been watching me,
sat on a crate down on the ground,
He winked at me when he had seen, that
I’d hustled up five pound.
“Nice drop, kid” he said, “You did
that good, could I please bother you about summut?
I promise you kid that I will pay you
back, could you please just lend me a nugget?”
“What’s a nugget?” I then
reply, “A quid, a pound” he then said,
“I just need a tin to settle my nerves,
and help me get back a straight head.
I promise you lad, I’m a good man, and I keep to my word all the time”,
So I then gave him, a one pound coin,
and said “alright mate its fine.”
“Come over here, I’ll show you some things” said the old Irish drinker to me,
“I’ll soon give you back, that pound that I’d lent, sit on this crate and you’ll see.
Don’t say a word when I speak to the people, but if they give us
some money say thanks,
Cuz if your polite, even if you feel
shite, they could come back and there’s
always a chance.”
“Even if they ignore you, you’ve got to stay strong, just say to them have a nice day,
Don’t be like those that just cuss and swear, you can’t let your feelings get in the way.”
So we sat on the crate and some people
approached, “How are you sir?” the drinker then asked,
The guy on the street replied “Alright, I’m
sweet, how are you?” as he walked passed.
“It could always be worse” the old drinker replied, “You don’t have
any spare change at all please do you?”
And then the man went to give him a
pound, then changed his mind and gave us two.
“Oh thank you so much, that’s so kind of you sir, I hope that you have a nice day”,
And then he would tell me, to make a
point, of thanking them as they walked away.
“Always be nice” he then said to me, “and you’ll get
regulars come all the time”
And here’s that nugget that I promised you back, see I stuck to those
words of mine.”
“Thanks mate” I replied, and then soon later, I’d met Joanne as she walked by,
I did not know myself that I had
learned, a new skill that I was to later try.
I’d been missing a month by this point until now, and Joanne
said that I had to call home,
Just to tell them I’m safe so we went to the station, and walked inside to use
the phone.
She pressed one-four-one to withhold
the number, then I dialled it in on the keys,
I let Joanne speak first, because I
could not, feel I could speak to them with ease.
They asked where I was but I wouldn’t say, I thought that then I’d be a fool,
So instead of them looking in London
for me, I said I was in Liverpool.
Follow the true story of a young teenager
running away from home and the state, in a premature search for independence. In
poetry.
Making choices that often only a young mind would make, Ben tells his story and memories of being in the social services system from eleven years old, as
well as 1990’s London street life, as a missing runaway sleeping rough.
From angels, predators, shocking times to heart-warming moments, Musician and now debut author Ben Westwood gives an insight into the mind of a rebellious-spirited youngster trying to find his own way in the world.
You can read the first fourteen poems written for this project at the following link.
To order a signed colour copy you can order via paypal below.
The price is £18.99 including postage and packaging
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