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Tramp Chronicles: ALBERtThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by grace | |
| Thursday, 10 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      Life or legend? Myth or reality? Deviant sexual predator or merely misunderstood? These questions shroud the existence of one man, one man known to most by the name of Albert, although it is unclear if this is a pseudonym or in fact the name his mother "blessed" him with at birth. He lives in a grotty 2 bedroom flat in a hidden cul-de-sac deep in the depths of south London. For years little was known about Albert, and still there is much to find out, to the lively adult inhabitants of Fracas close he was a docile mad man who came and went from Maudsley mental hospital to Fracas baring no reverence to their everyday lives. To the children, however he was a frightening shadow of darkness and mystery; apparently he threw his cans of beans against the wall to open them for his dinner, apparently he tried to kidnap Josie but she managed to get away somehow. He came like the candy man of south, except you don’t have to look in the mirror and call his name 5 times, you just have to say his name once, look around and guarantee he would be there looking in your direction whether you’re in your house looking out the kitchen window, or you’re on the road, walking somewhere surrounded by a hundred people or more. Albert had lived at Fracas close since time began or at least he was there before I moved in, and he will probably be there when judgement day comes, albeit his very own crack of doom or indeed the day that revelation speaks of. Over the years, generations came and went, people were born and people died in that very close and gradually the place changed as would be expected. As it changed, so did Albert, he went from being that docile mad man, the sight of which horrified children, to a more overt, more out going sort of guy. His presence certainly increased and to those of us who were those frightened children this was indeed a frightening sight. The changes in Albert were noticeable to say the least, he had a new walk, a kind of bop, a mad man bop where his head bobbed forward and you could now tell when he was having a particularly ''good'' day, because there would be a little bit more of bounce in his step, a little bit more of a jig. Before long Albert had a form of girlfriend, a skinny, pale, sallow faced crack head who visited everyday without fail, shouting, "ALLLBERRRT" from the top of her crack damaged lungs as she meandered towards his flat, announcing her arrival in this way probably because neither of them had mobile phones to contact each other and also it was more than likely that she had once entered unannounced and found him doing some deed or other that she wished never to witness again, be she crack head or not.
The Change
The change in Albert occurred over a period of time, I couldn’t put it in an exact time frame, but it is clear that these changes came about through a series of events. Albert was a character, but until now it was never clear what sort of character he was except that he was a character you didn’t want to get to know.
On return from a hard days tramping, Albert met up with some associates of his, one a white man, middle aged, large frame, and a tough guy image if you would. Trevor Willis, the mad Scottish tramp, was yet another unsavoury character who had some form of unspecified dealings with Albert. Trevor was known for his aggressive attitude and violent outbursts, although family members may describe him as being a ‘BFG’ this is rather unlikely as the sort of personality disorder Trevor suffers from or in fact inflicts upon others is more inherent than an acquired ailment he uses to camouflage his soft nature on the mean streets of south London. Noted in the minds of many as a particularly dangerous tramp, Trevor rolled up and down the high street like he was always on a mission, some tramp mission but a mission none the less. He strolled onto the close with a can of tenants in his hand, giving Albert the “big man nod”, Albert responded with the same action and the proceeded to sit on the bench, the only bench on Fracas Close. If this bench was not inanimate and in fact had the power of speech, it would tell us the trials and tribulations of every bottom that graced its wooden splinters.
Copyright 2008 grace |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 10 April 2008 ) |
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