In this day of the homeless and drug addicts roaming our streets we seem to have lost our ‘Gentlemen/Women Of The Road’ – our tramps. As back in the day you would see them walking country roads going from one village/town to another, usually a well-planned circuit that was often particular to each individual tramp/gentleman/woman.

They would have ‘regulars’ who they would call on to do a days work for, gardening, clearing up, cleaning etc, and in return they would be given a healthy meal and a few provisions to keep them going for a while. You would also see what looked like Hieroglyphics marked out in chalk or crayon on the path outside, or on the entrance wall to the helpful properties so that if other tramps came by they would know if the house was tramp-friendly, and the type of work and reward they could expect to find.

These tramps would normally have old prams or push-chairs (Pre Supermarket Trolleys) to transport their worldly goods about in, and it usually had a tarpaulin or plastic sheet included so that they always had shelter from the elements. Their deodorant was a good strong B.O of course, but that was usually disguised by the smell of smoke as they’d be sitting or sleeping around one every night under their sheeting. All in all they lived quite a romantic but hardy existence where many people were protective of their local tramp and saw to it that they were safe and well.

Of course, we’re talking pre 1970’s when attitudes towards the rough-and-ready element starting to roam the streets were growing steadily and the public started fearing for their own safety and the security of their homes. Previously, most people didn’t lock their doors, and they left their cars unlocked too, often with the keys still in them because you could generally, quite literally, ‘trust’ your neighbour and anyone else not to rob or attack you.

The Gentlemen/Women of the road could certainly be trusted. But this new breed were chancers who you had to watch like a hawk, and very soon our tramps could no longer roam free and be treated with the respect they’d earned over the years. They got swallowed up by the ‘Scallywags’ and ‘Ne’er Do wells’ so that you couldn’t tell the difference any more and they have now vanished from society.

On a personal note, I remember well our local Tramp. His name was Old Joe and his regular circuit was Henley-On-Thames, Maidenhead, Marlow, Nettlebed, Caversham, Shiplake and back to Henley again. His most regular base was half way up White Hill on the Maidenhead Rd exit from Henley. It’s a very steep hill and his plastic tent and fire used to be half way up on the left.

As an 18 year old, my nights out would be in Henley or Reading. Reading was OK for a late Train or Bus to get back to Maidenhead, but Henley wasn’t well-served at all, so I’d often have to walk the journey from Henley to Maidenhead after a ‘good night out’ and Old Joe’s campfire was a welcome little rest for a cup of stewed tea and a chat to sober up a bit before heading off in the direction of home. One night I was walking back with a friend, except I was so drunk I don’t even remember leaving the pub. But when I did wake up, I thought I’d died and gone to Hell! All I could see was a very smokey bonfire with two chaps sat around it and it took me a couple of minutes to get my bearings and realise where I was, thankfully Old Joe had let me fall asleep on his old bed of straw and leaves.

He offered me a cup of his stewed tea which I took gratefully and then my mate Brian and I set off towards Maidenhead. We were trying to hitch a lift but no-one was stopping, until I went into the field for a jimmy-riddle and then I heard Brian shouting that someone was stopping for us. I think the driver thought my mate was a girl actually, because his hair was down to his waist and he had that ‘walk’ about him.

We got to the car, opened the door, and the driver looked as though he’d seen a GHOST! Reluctantly he let us in, with Brian in the front and me in the back seat. We were dropped off at the Thicket Roundabout as that was where the M4 started in those days. We walked into Maidenhead from there, but as we got into the High Street it was just getting light and a Police car came screetching around the corner, four Cops jumped out and pinned us to the Post-Office wall while they interrogated us as to where we’d been and where we were going.

After a while they were satisfied with our simple explanation and let us get on our way. They told us the driver had phoned them as ‘I’ in particular looked very suspicious. I couldn’t think why, until I looked in a shop window – I was covered from head-to-toe in ‘thick grey ash’ from Old Joe’s tent. I had my best suit on as well. What a sight? But great memories ….

Thanks ‘Old Joe’ You were a Diamond!

.

.