The Chatteris Tramp

Another glimpse of life during some of the coldest weather seen in the UK!

The Chatteris Tramp!

In an instant he was there! He appeared out of the swirling snow that held on the blizzard’s wind. I glanced and he held me with his icy stare. At once I recognised the man. I had seen he over the years. I call him the Chatteris Tramp. So called because of the name of the bleak Fenland Town that centres the vast circumference of his travels.

 

He was marching forward on the grass verge that edges a busy trunk road in the gravest chill of the decade, in a howling, killing, wind. The swirling snow had concealed him behind its netted curtain until he was less than forty yards from the front of the van I was driving.

 

In the warm summers I had see him, pink and sweating with his tufty, unkempt hair as bright as the sun. Summer warmth meant his clothes would flap open as he walked with his round pack, rope-bound, on his back.

 

On this vicious day he remained without a hat, without gloves too. I knew that he had already walked several miles with many more to go before he reached any sort of habitation. In the moments his bright eyes clamped my mind, I saw rope tied his old overcoat tight to his wrists. So too rope tied his trousers tight, just above his ankles. The large turtle-like back pack was still roped to his trunk. His arms punched with exertion and his legs pumped with the dynamic energy of a man wrestling against intense, some would say deadly, cold.

　

He always stared angrily at the vehicles that passed him. His footing must always be unsure on crooked, grassy verges. The narrow roads meant that vehicles would pass him that little bit too close for comfort. Thus tormented he vented his bile at we drivers with rapier stares over strong set jaw and gritted teeth.

 

Where he goes no one knows but he. In this Arctic, weather why was the man out at all?  All local humanity, who could, were warm in their homes. Others, like me, struggled against the weather from our snug driver’s seats.

 

The Chatteris Tramp knew exactly where and when he has to go. He allows nothing the weather can throw at him to delay his progress. But today! No one could survive today! No gloves, no hat, no windcheater, I could only guess the man’s motivation.

 

Was it to reach charitable sanctuary by certain deadlines? Perhaps to reach the derelict out-buildings or vast straw stacks which could house him safely. I suspected his presence in such safe havens could last for only one or two nights at a time. Which ever I knew this poor man was marching from this unbearable chill to somewhere less cold.  Perhaps he was seeking some secret nook hiding his face from man.

 

Why he chose this life I could only puzzle!  What personality or mental incapacity drove him, beastlike, through that wilderness?  Why undertake his penniless, hard, cold life of solitude?  How did he survive year after year in this cycle of chill, hunger and loneliness. In truth I think he must prefer it rather than living a life with humans and conventional home.

 

My experience has taught me that this type of vagrant who shuns the rest of the world does not drink alcohol and has his own out-posts and venues which he occupies hermit like. No cajoling or human temptation can ease them from it. Some are ex soldiers, prisoners, ex merchant seamen, or men who find the toil of living life with others, for some reason, unbearable.

 

I wondered why I never offered my hand in friendship or ask him if he needed help? Would I be rejected if I did?  My mind wandered as the heater fan droned. Sometimes I pine for his freedom and solitude. I was envious of his abilities to live outside in the most intolerable circumstances.

 

Most of all I was in awe of his bodily strength, fitness and hardiness. Men of his durability are rare! He was the man who hauled the ropes of Lord Nelson’s ship “The Victory.” He was Rifleman Benjamin Harris who marched for twenty one days to Corunna. He was Welsh Archer who marched starving one hundred miles before fighting at Crecy! This man is the sturdy English Yeoman who built Empires and survived against all adversary!

 

　

　

　

　

Author's Note

Strange what driving does when you spot ordinary things.

Reviews

[EMF]

I have to agree with young Thurston. This is so good it begs for expansion and exploration. A superb write that leaves me overjoyed to have read it. Crafted like a master Ron. Briliant work

[Thurston]

See below.

[Thurston]

WE WANT A BOOK!
20,000 people saw the tramp that day. Only one ex-professional of huge experience. Who writes graphically. Makes you laugh at exertions on the Patio Whacker! Embues his long-suffering colleague in life with a brilliantly taciturn Sherlockian persona. Describes with relish the exact shape and size of globules of blood being consumed by flies. Acts up with rare good humour. Just what is needed to blow open in a national best seller what really went on.

Yeah that was 'im.
That was him.
Will he write that book?

[OT]

great! very visual!! I felt like I was there at parts! well written, and a great story!

[G. K. Bostic]

I felt the cold....I saw the Chatteris Tramp....I think I was in the passenger seat as you drove. Thank you for the ride and for introducing me to this amazing character.
G.K.

[Samuel Dickens]

Your skill at turning the characters in your world into marvels of interest is extraordinary. I think if you saw a postman delivering the mail, you could make him the most intriguing person on the planet.

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

Ron, this was an excellent story, i found myself out in the cold beside him trudging on, trying to keep up, hoping to find out more about this intresting man! Great story!

[abby2011]

Was there something else you wanted to say in this piece? I can hear you thinking, especially toward the end.

I like this piece a lot - i just think that the last line doesn't do it justice. He's more than special he's something else. I'd like to have seen you touch on how he makes you feel. Does it make you uncomfortable? Crave autonomy? Afraid that you are missing out on a secret of some kind? Touch in on those things, that's most interesting for the reader as you have a nice voice.

Abbs

[Tony]

As it turns out, he ended up in Reno, Nevada.
I met him there on a similar day, my own backpack heavy and my feet cold.
We nodded when we passed.

This was a great story.

[Cafe Reader]

This is a great story!