The Loneliest Hobo E-Book

Geoffrey Peyton

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

   Having made a fruitless search for some friends in the upmost western part of Cornwall I was left with financial difficulty in getting back to Birmingham. I had already been walking about the English countryside since April and it was now October. I was in no real rush to get back home immediately and I fancied a bit of a stroll anyway. This stroll took me over a month to complete, and as the chilly autumn became a very cold winter I realised that living the life of a hobo wasn't as easy as one may think. The only only items on my person that kept me going through the seven weeks or so was a hot water bottle, a single calor gas stove and my radio. But there were times when even those life savers ran out of their respective fuels, and soon depression, hunger and eventual thieving, took priority for my needs. 

   This is the story of my 250 mile walk home to Birmingham from St. Ives, Cornwall, in the autumn of 1990.   

Leseprobe

Geoffrey Peyton

The Loneliest Hobo

The Longest Road

I would like to thank the very few people that I met on my journey during the autumn/winter of 1990, especially Gary Smith, who was only human companion during my long hike. Thanks to Lesley for giving me a few smokes when I was fag-less. To Steven at Bryan's Green; I hope that you found the right man. And to anyone else that may have found goodness in the heart to help me when I was in need. I would definitely have to thank Gareth ....? whose purse I found on my travels. "Sorry that I kept it, but I was so desperate." To my mother for not throwing the original manuscript of this story, because if she did bung it in the bin this tale could never have been told. And finally to Ken Brown, who almost bent my arm in insisting that I write this down on a computer. Thank you Ken for letting me relive the latter year of 1990. It was a great experience. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Longest Road

It was the 19th of October 1990, and I had made a fruitless journey from Cumbria by train to Penzance in a quest to find some nomadic friends that I had spent an adventurous summer with that year. I walked hopelessly for days on end, visiting pubs and other establishments that they may acquaint, but each time I hit a dead end. With little more than sixty pounds in cash, my only alternative was to return to Birmingham and try to get digs there before the winter sets in. But the train fare would set me back at least forty pounds, leaving me with very to live on once I had arrived there. But there was a coach from Penzance to Glasgow that passed through Birmingham, and by taking this route it would only cost me twenty two pounds. But once again I knew that I would need cash to survive on once I had reached Brum, as it would probably take me a while to find accommodation, and a while longer for the state benefit system to accept my predicament. I was hopelessly lost on the South West tip of England.

When I returned to Penzance a few days later I waited for a Birmingham bound coach at the bus depot. I drank beer, foolishly squandering my poor finances on alcohol rather than the required food. After waiting for almost four hours, a coach finally rested next to coach stop number two. All the passengers alighted, as did the driver. This meant that I had to wait until he returned so that I could ask him the simple question of how far it was to Birmingham. When he finally returned I approached him while he was chatting to a beautiful young blonde girl, who I imagine was the on-board stewardess.

“Excuse me mate, how far is it to Birmingham from here?”

He possibly had the notion that I was to become one of his passengers, and so he kindly gave me my required information. With a courteous smile, he answered, “Two hundred and sixty miles my friend”. I thanked him and moved away to a safer haven to crack off the ring-pull of yet another beer can. I was dubious of his calculation in the length of mileage from Penzance to Birmingham, as I thought that it was closer to the mark of one hundred miles. But once it had been confirmed at the ticket office when I asked there, the coach driver naturally knew his business a lot more than a homeless idiot like me.

The reasoning for my interest of wanting to know the distance from where I stood now was because I was actually contemplating on walking the whole way home to Birmingham. But to walk over two hundred and fifty miles would take a heck of a long time. If I walked roughly twenty miles per day, that would only take me a couple of weeks. I could do that.

I caught a bus to St Ives and decided to give it one more attempt in my quest to find my friends, but it was hopeless, as I imagined it would be. The dark had actually set in by the time I reached St Ives anyway and I needed to find somewhere to hold up for the night. And with it being late October, it was naturally cold.

I didn’t possess a tent anymore, and all I owned in the way of protection from the chilly nights was my faithful sleeping bag. The chances of starting a fire were remote, as I couldn’t find anywhere that looked safe from the prying eyes of the yokels. And besides, it was too dark to navigate through any woodland forest to camp up. This left me with little option but to quite simply sleep on a vacant bench at Carbis Bay that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The bright lights from nearby St Ives were very picturesque, and within a few minutes I was thankfully asleep. But I was awoken during the middle of the night by a local Law Enforcement Officer.

“Okay mate?” he asked.

The truth was that I was perfectly fine until he shook me out of my pleasant slumber.

“Why didn’t you just leave me here?” I pleaded. “I will be gone when it’s light.”

But he was adamant that I was causing affliction to God knows who.

After a discussion as to why I was here I was politely asked to move on and make my way from the bench and to move further on towards St Ives Train Station where I could catch a train to Penzance in four hours’ time.

“Kip on the platform sonny,” he advised. “You shouldn’t be hassled once you are there. Okay sonny.”

I was causing little or no concern to anyone while I was sleeping on the bench, as all the locals were fast asleep, except of course the nosey bastard who called the law. But I concurred with the officer’s wishes and moved further on towards St Ives Station.

The sea spray had dampened my sleeping bag somewhat during the evening, and it was also pretty windy and cold. This meant that returning to sleep was out of the question, and the only way to keep warm was to continue walking about the town. I was stopped on two further occasions by the Police, and even by the arsehole that woke me up at three in the morning at Carbis Bay. But he accepted the fact that I was cold and needed to warm up, and thereafter, the authorities bothered me no more.

It was 7.00am before the sun decided to peak over the shallow hills from the east. Although it was late October the sun shone with the warmth that represented one closer to that of a September morn. I looked at the timetable for train departures, and then noticed that the times were from April 11th to 16th September. But it was now late October and there was no timetable for the off season. With only me on the platform it looked unlikely that there was one due any moment soon. It was at that moment that the platform began to take shape with commuters who looked like they maybe on their way to work. It was a Wednesday; that much I did know, so my initial confusion that it may be Sunday was soon put to rest as the train could be heard chugging towards us from well afar. But when the double car carriage pulled up to the platform, I decided against boarding it. I didn’t actually know where I was going so I just sat on a wall until the train returned whence it came.

I made my way by foot back to Carbis Bay and sat on the bench that I slept on last night. While I was there I counted my money, and was astonished to find that I had less than forty pounds left. I don’t know how much I spent on booze last night, nor do I recall the price of the fish and chips that I bought from a nearby village. But whatever it did cost me, it set me back well over ten quid. I took stock of my situation, knowing that I was in deep trouble if I wanted to return to Birmingham via public transport. I could not visit the Police Station for their help, as I came here on a free pass that the Cumbrian Police had given me when they sent me packing from there a week ago. But that pass was to Birmingham, so I had made my way here illegally anyway.

I had a single calor stove with me which was down to its last canister, and so I needed to acquire a few more. I needed tea, sugar, milk, and food to cook, which was going to cost money. It was then that I contemplated the idea of walking all the way home, or at least walk as far as possible towards Central England and hope for a bit of luck along the way. Little did I realise it then, but I was about to make the longest walk of my entire life, and that would be a two hundred and sixty mile walk to Birmingham.

I returned to the town centre of St Ives in the hope that I would find a bric-a-brac store. Then I remembered that I used one in the town a few months earlier when I was on the run from the law with my girlfriend Becky. The store goods were cheap, considering that it was situated in the middle of a tourist hotspot. But my luck was soon to slap me in the face quite hard when I viewed the opening times. The store was open seven days a week during the high season, but a notice on the door did emphasize that during the period from October until March, the store would be open from Monday until Saturday, and naturally closed all day Wednesday, and today is Wednesday. I furthered my journey on through the town until I eventually came to another store that was thankfully open today. To my surprise the canisters were actually cheaper, and so I acquired four at the lowly price of 50p each. These four canisters should last me a week, and at least I can have a cup of tea and some sort of a cooked meal each day. I then made my way back to Carbis Bay and sat on the bench that was now becoming quite popular with my arse. Little did I realise it then, but I would grace this very bench again twenty two years later, but that would be on a holiday visit to the area. I set up my calor stove and attempted to boil some water. But because I was facing the open ocean and an annoying wind, it was a hopeless task. I returned the water from the saucepan to the plastic bottle whence it came, contorted everything into my backpack and set off on the walk of a lifetime.

I had decided to take the coastal route as far as I could. This way I wouldn’t get lost in the middle of some Cornish outback. I had no idea on how long the coastal walk would take, but I assumed that I would eventually reach Bristol. I walked for an hour along the trodden coastal path, making hard work of the steep gradients that persisted in appearing out of nowhere, but also enjoying some welcomed downhill terrain too until I eventually I reached an inlet estuary. I needed to reach a point that was less than 100 metres ahead of me. But because there was no bridge to cross I had no alternative but to walk all the way into Lelant and cross the first viaduct which would take me another two hours to negotiate. By midday, and three hours of walking, I had made very little headway. Because of the consistent inlets and bays, I had probably completed four miles as the crow would fly, and I was thinking that this journey may take me a little longer than I had stupidly anticipated. The only saving grace that I could find was that it was quite warm for late October, and I could manoeuvre comfortably in a tee-shirt for most of the time. By 3.00pm I reached a head that protruded magnificently out to sea, and gave a great view of Godrevy Lighthouse. There was a cafe close by where I purchased some quite horrible chips. I had bought some bread and butter at St Ives, and so I made chip butties for my lunch. I found a windbreak behind a rock and made tea to wash down my lunch. I ate a Mars Bar for desert and then relaxed for thirty minutes while my food settled as I stared gormlessly at the wonderful scenery towards Godrevy Point.

Godrevy lighthouse was built in the mid-19th century on a minute island about 500 yards off the mainland. It was a truly spectacular site, especially when the waves crashed onto the rocks and smashed quite violently against the lighthouse itself. But this building had taken a fair share of inconsistent weather battering over the past century, and I am sure it will still be standing firm for many more to come.

I made a hand rolled cigarette and stood upon Godrevy Point to glance a better view of the panoramic view, and it was then that my heart sank with utter disappointment. I looked in the direction that I had come from over seven hours ago, and I could see a town quite clearly. I could even see ant like movement of people walking their dogs or whatever was on the beach. It was St. Ives.

As the crow flies I had not even made five miles; that’s less than a mile an hour. I muttered to myself, “It’ll be fucking Christmas before I reach Birmingham.” This forced me to pack up my stuff and make haste for further ground for today. By late afternoon it became quite cold, and even though I was making good progress along the path, the wind came across the sea and made it difficult for me, forcing me to re-attire my pullover. Because I was approaching a built up area of houses I asked a lady who was walking towards me with her dog - if there was a shop close by. She pointed me towards an outlet of this path.

“Take that exit there and keep going until you reach the top, and you will see a Spar Supermarket immediately in front of you.”

I thanked her and made my way up the awfully steep climb. But I was rewarded with the sight of a Spar that advertised that it was also an off licence. Once I had purchased four cans of Grolsch and a miniature bottle of whiskey, I returned to the coastal path where I met the same lady who had previously directed me to the shop.

“Get everything you wanted,” she asked.

“Yes thank you,” I replied, and then she disappeared towards her comfortable warm home for the evening.