Told my story in court; sympathetic Judge wanted action; brief optimism

Homeless in London part 5: Monday, 26th. April 1976

The previous weeks of hell had taken me away from my university studies. No lectures, no library, no tutorials, no meeting up with friends, no gigs. I had become a person of no fixed abode and most of my possessions were piled in a heap – along with those of my two flatmates – in a room to which I had no access. My notes, essays, books, clothes, toiletries, personal documents – pretty much everything really, were inaccessible. All I had was what I was wearing and had about my person on the day I learned I was homeless.

I was pretty much in a constant state of stress, uncertainty and discomfort, relieved only by frantic dashes from one place to another in order to understand and resolve the situation I found myself in. Legal advice, courts, police, seedy B&B’s, heavies forcing me out when I tried to get a foot in the door, and even a car chase around east London. I felt like the country bumpkin from Devon that I suspect some of my fellow students may have characterised me as.

After a Sunday of relative normality and even bliss, spent on buses out to Hounslow and Richmond and a pub lunch, Monday landed with a thud. I was straight over to the court house first thing, and learned that the injunction had finally been served on our landlord at 8 o’clock on Friday evening.

I told the officers of the court that our landlord wanted us out, had changed the lock to our rooms, had attempted to get our keys back from us and had even moved a woman into our rooms. They immediately arranged for me to see a judge. On this news I telephoned one of my flatmates to let her know and hoped that she and her boyfriend could make it over for support. They were stuck in traffic. That was one of many advantages they had over me: a car. My mobility was entirely dependent upon London Transport timetables.

After replacing the receiver I dashed upstairs to take my place in court number 1, swore on the bible, then told the judge our story. It was immediately obvious to me that the judge was beginning to lose patience, not with me but with our landlord. He was annoyed with her and told me he would have her arrested if they could find her before the court closed for the day. If not, she would go to Holloway Prison that evening.

I was taken aback but immensely relieved. Light was appearing at the end of the tunnel and after all this time I felt vindicated and that justice would prevail. I might even have a home again, and sooner than I had previously thought.

I was in a cheerful mood; not celebratory as I initially thought – we were not out of the woods yet – but cheerful. Cheerful enough to make a dash for the 3 Tuns student bar at the LSE to meet up with my flatmates to tell them the good news. They very kindly bought me a few beers, much needed, enjoyed and appreciated.

Cheerfulness was enjoyed but fleeting. From the LSE we dashed over to the ULU (University of London Union) accommodation office, who had details of only one potential flat for us. From there and another dash back to the court just before closing. Back to reality with another thud, the second of the day, as the court officers had failed to trace our landlord, but they would continue to work on it. How could she disappear so completely and so easily?

I spent another night in a seedy, depressing and cheap King’s Cross B&B – the Midland Hotel – a building I shall never forget. Will tomorrow bring any more hope?