VT Coughtrey - game's up!

NOTES	By the Autumn of 1961 I had finally run out of money. Having tracked down and borrowed money from as many of the Crusaders as possible, as well as from Nigel, I had turned to former workmates from Hegarty & Merry, accosting them on their way home from work. Apart from Eddie, whom I had no intention of seeing again to admit defeat, there were only two or three that I had been on friendly enough terms with to borrow money from, and they couldn't afford anything like the amounts the Crusaders had lent me. (Of course, I use the words 'borrowed' and 'lent' very loosely, since no-one ever got a penny back. If any of you ever read this, you can have your money back, as long as you don't expect interest).
	It seems remarkable now that I was able to roam all over north London for six months, doing quite a lot of drinking in West End and City pubs for the last few weeks of that period, on money that I had saved out of my 15 months of wages from Hegarty & Merry (still only about £4 a week by the time I left, though augmented by the illicit private work on Saturdays), followed by the 'borrowing'.
	For a couple of weeks, I made up excuses for not paying my mother on Friday nights (I can't remember what I said), but she soon got very worked up and eventually made it clear one morning in rather hysterical terms that she expected money when she got back from work at the Co-op that evening, or else.
	I set out as usual for the day's wanderings, more scared than ever to admit that I wasn't in fact going to work. However, I was convinced that this would be the very day when something marvelous would turn up on the Heath. But the Heath was as lacking as ever in introducers, providers and any other kinds of charitable people. When the time came to start out on the long walk home, I simply didn't dare to go back. I continued to wander the Heath all evening, and eventually sat all night in a shelter with a dosser who gave me the benefit many times over of his exceedingly low opinion of women.
	I wandered the Heath for another two or three days, meeting and being fascinated by some pretty weird dossers, such as the man who continously claimed that he used to be successful, sane and happy, but finished every sentence with "but that was before I met Satan the Devil in Epping Forest".
The railings are still there, but they were eventually re-aligned slightly to exclude the shelter from the area locked at night.	I discovered a loose paling in the railings surrounding Kenwood, an area of the Heath locked at night. By removing this paling, I was able to squeeze through before carefully replacing it. This meant that I could have the Kenwood shelter to myself after dark, and didn't have to watch out for the approaching bicycle lamp of the policeman who was lucky enough to have the Heath as his night beat. This discovery was to stand me in good stead again, from time to time.
	The only food I had for these few days was the bread and nuts left in large quantities every day on the parapet of a bridge over a stream, by an old lady. It was intended for the birds and squirrels, but the dossers knew all about it and let me in on the secret. However, I already had something of the huge appetite for which I was later to become infamous, so this diet, together with the cold nights, sleeping in my clothes and not washing was more than I could bear for any longer. I started walking and found myself in the City.
	For some reason I went into a probation office in Old Street. The only explanation I can think of is that in those days probation officers had a very soft image. They were seen more as social workers, dedicated to helping anyone who asked, not just their proper clients who had been handed over to them by the courts. I saw a man called John Fergusson. He was very concerned, also very persuasive. He made me believe that I should go home immediately. He volunteered to drive me back to Barnet, then to see my mother first while I waited in the car, in order to smooth things over. He assured me that he was very good at doing so. But before he could do that, he had to appear in court because one of his clients had broken probation. I went into court as well to observe the case. Fergusson made an impassioned plea in the prisoner's defence, of which one phrase has for some reason always stuck in my mind: "He appears to be trying to drink himself to death".
	During the drive to Barnet, I told Fergusson that I didn't approve of his profession at all because it was involved with upholding the laws of property, whereas I was totally against private property. Actually, this gem of my superior wisdom sparked quite an intense political discussion during the 12 mile drive.
	When we arrived outside 4 Connaught Road, he went in as promised while I waited in the car. He emerged about half an hour later and seemed almost annoyed. He said he couldn't understand what I was so worried about. My mother was a very charming person and was very happy indeed with the news that I was about to return. He assured me that all was forgiven. This raised my spirits a lot. Obviously he had done an excellent job. I thanked him profusely and said goodbye.
	But as soon as I stepped inside the door my mother and grandmother really let me have it, just as I had originally feared. They shouted insults, cried and generally put on quite a performance. On top of that my mother refused to give me any food at first. She even called in Mr Wright from next door, who subjected me to a long tirade about how disgraceful my conduct was in view of the fact that my mother had only recently lost my father. Eventually I told him to get out, whereupon he threatened to give me "the good hiding I deserved". I reminded him that that was against the law and he stormed out, muttering more insults. Oh well, at least the banjo was waiting for me upstairs.