Her husband would not look for her here.  It was only after
she was married that she had found out that he did not like
parks. He liked betting shops. Gradually her life had
deteriorated and after two years she had practically nothing
left.
 While her husband had been out at the betting shop today, she
had crept out of the cold, dark flat. It was cold and dark
because the gas and electricity had been cut off.  Her husband
had failed to pay the bills and after bailing him out for a
time, she realised how far down she was going. There was
nothing left but to walk out and she did not know quite what
to do.
So she walked down Lichfield Road and into Kew Gardens. She
went first to the Princess of Wales Glass-house and sat in the
Dry Desert area. This she loved best. The first time she had
visited was before it had been officially opened by Diana.

She had seen the first very small cacti, which had just been
planted. Entrance fees were not yet charged and there were few
visitors. People were not yet aware of the new conservatory.
This was a day she remembered as it had brought much
happiness.

How she wished she had not married Cyril.  He had been such a
plausible man, a salesman.  But she soon found out that he
rarely sold anything. Instead he had spent his time in betting
shops.  She had had no children and for this she was glad for
she dreaded to think how children would have fared in the
cold, dark, bare flat in November. Everything of value had
been sold, and her husband had suggested cooking over a
bonfire in the garden. In fact he had gone into the garden and
lit a bonfire yesterday, laughing as she warmed up some soup.
Now she thought of her three days rest in Kew Gardens with
pleasure. This was better than her neglected back garden.

From a second-hand shop she had bought a copy of Dr.Zhivago
and she sat down to read this on the bench in front of the
display of cacti, looking up from time to time to watch the
visitors. There were a few school parties. They sat down to
draw the rare plants, with a little encouragement from the
teacher. All these children seemed so well-behaved compared
with those she had seen recently in her home area.

Her problem was:-  where to spend the night?
Outside a young woman spoke to her showing her some outline
drawings of cacti.
"I'm hoping to make my living selling flower drawings.  What
do you think?"
The drawings were good, but conventional.
  "Your drawings are good," she said.  "What work do you do
now?"
  "I'm a secretary working for a large company.  It's a very
boring life.  I'm hoping to give up and make my living selling
pictures."
  "But it;'s a safe job," she said.  "I gave up a safe job and
now I'm in trouble.  Not doing well at all, though I had some
good times just after I gave up the safe job.  I worked in the
laboratory on drug testing for a large company.  This was
where I met my husband, who was a salesman."
  "I don't feel like getting married," said the young girl.  I
need to live an independent life."
  "As long as you can make your living.  You need to be
careful and think hard."
  "I will think carefully; at the moment I'm not sure what to
do," said the girl and they parted agreeably.

A walk through the wet tropical area and the temperate fern
house invigorated her, as she was braced by the sudden change
in temperature and humidity. Then she spied a young woman with
a five year old child entering the underground cinema in the
centre of the conservatory.  There were ten buttons to start
5-minute films on plant life.  The child chose the desert
area.  She watched this film giving details on how people in
Ethiopia were being helped to grow more crops without eroding
their oasis areas by scientists from Kew.  She guessed that
only a few people were being helped by this method and was
dismayed by the images of areas which were said to be getting
overcrowded.  She wondered if this were true and thought about
some parks in London which were becoming "overcrowded" with
homeless people asking for hand-outs.  She did not intend to
become one of them, which was why she had chosen Kew when she
became homeless herself.  The entrance fee meant that homeless
people were unlikely to enter. She blessed the day when she
had bought a season ticket for Kew Gardens which still had six
months to run.  She blessed the name of Diana for opening the
new, warm conservatory.

She wondered if the underground cinema would be a good place
to spend the night.  Warm and dry.  But would she feel
claustrophobic locked in here until morning?  Was it possible
to hide here in a dark corner unnoticed, when the building was
searched at closed time, which was 4 pm in the afternoon on
this January day?  She decided it was too risky.

 Gladys decided to visit the Temperate House. This had been
open the longest in recent times, and was the glass-house
where she  felt most comfortable.
The temperate house was divided into three sections.  One of
these was semi-tropical, not temperate, and here she felt
comfortably warm sitting on one of the long benches with back-
rests.  She almost went to sleep here.  She was awakened near
closing time and walked down to the Palm House. There was time
only for a quick walk through, glancing at the walk-ways
reached by spiral staircases which encircled the glass-house
about 60 feet from floor level. When in an energetic mood she
had often enjoyed ascending to the level near the top of the
tallest palms, looking down into an array of tropical trees,
some with exotic flowers..

Tonight she decided to sleep in the temple near the temperate
house, but until the wardens had finished their rounds, needed
to hide under a bush.   On this first night out in the open,
she felt childishly excited. It was an adventure she had not
undertaken in her conventional life as a salesman's wife.
To begin with, all new circumstances are adventures.

She saw two Park policemen patrolling and passing yards from
where she huddled. Then by half-past five, it was pitch dark.
She knew the way and walked boldly through down the pathway
leading to King William's Temple. She went inside and huddled
at the back on a rough wooden seat, using her rucksack as a
back-rest. She stuffed newspaper into her anorak.  She had
seen tramps do this, and she felt warm.  But she did not
sleep. It was an agonizing wait until first light.  But her
first day was over.

When she got up in the morning she freshened up in the ladies'
convenience near the Orangery.  She had to wait until opening
time at nine o'clock.

On the second day., the weather was still unseasonably mild
and sunny.  She returned to the Prince of Wales Conservatory
and said some prayers sitting on the bench in front of the
display of dry desert cacti. Soon a man dressed in some kind
of uniform entered. He was lecturing a group of four adults on
the nature of the displays.
"This is where children take photographs", he said, pointing
to the cacti. "They are clever children and produce the photos
to convince friend that they have actually spent a holiday in
an Eastern desert."

Gladys doubted that any of today's sophisticated children
would believe this. She smiled.  She was still fairly relaxed,
and went to see a further film show in the underground cinema.
She noticed curtains hanging against the walls.  The place was
dimly lit and visitors were hesitant to walk near these walls,
going straight to the four long benches provided for seating
in front of the screen.  The cinemas would prove to be a good
hiding place, she thought and remembered how cold she had been
cowering in the back of William's temple. She thought about
overcoming her fear of claustrophobia and staying here
tonight.

Cyril gloomily looked into the mirror in the bathroom. It was
cracked. The bailiffs had just visited removing all the
furniture, even the beds and gas cooker.  Even they had
considered the bathroom mirror worthless, and they had left
him some shaving gear. He was glad that he had kept his old
hand razor and blades, now that the electricity was cut off.
Shortly someone was coming to repossess the house as the
mortgage payments had lapsed two years ago. They had been very
patient, and his wife had been clever at arranging extensions.
Now he was on his own.

He knew the procedure to be followed. He must go to the social
security office and register as a "person of no fixed abode."

Up until now he had avoided social security offices.  He had
been visited at home and had been receiving a giro in the post
since he had lost his job as a salesman. No longer did he call
at doctor's surgeries offering them  complimentary packages of
his company's newest brand of drugs..  There was some
travelling to the NFA social security office located in
Bermondsey. Outside London Bridge Railway Station an old man
was playing an accordion.
"20p for a cup of tea," he implored as Cyril passed.  Still
dressed in a salesman's suit, he may have looked affluent, but
Cyril envied the man with the accordion.  He had a means of
making money. Cyril had two 50p coins in his pocket and that
was all.

Entering the Social Security Office was terrible.  There was
sawdust on the floor.  Cyril looked out of place. There were
young men in jeans and ear-rings, and elderly bag-ladies
wheeling trolleys.  There were slightly drunk Irishmen.
Chapter Two- Cyril's Job

Eventually Cyril reached the front of the queue. To his relief he was
granted emergency relief. A giro to cash at the local Post Office. But
he also directed to the Job Centre.

Soon he felt better. After a meal at an Italian Restaurant he was being
interviewed.

Salesmen were not in demand, but there was a vacancy for a Museum a
Attendant. Training and Uniform would be supplied.  Cyril jumped at the
chance. The work sounded boring, but quite frankly, at the present time,
he did not want too much to think about.

The next day he was being interviewed and introduced to the rest of the
staff, Tommy and Jack and Sean.  To his surprise he was asked to start
next Monday. Apparently his salesman's experience was regarded as
helpful, in that he would have to communicate well with the public.

Next week he had found a bed-sitting room near the museum. Often he
would be required to work six days per week. The museum was open every
day except for Monday. He started off very quietly doing as he was told
and spending time at the back of each room in the museum especially when
a class of children were present. There were no incidents the first
week.

But on the following Monday something unusual happened. An elderly lady
stepped over the low barrier into an Elizabethan room and started
playing the spinet. No attendant was preset. There were few visitors and
Cyril was alone in a room at the other end of the museum. But he heard
the instrument, loud and clear.

He had never heard a spinet before He wondered what on earth was
happened and walked along the corridor and confronted the miscreant.
"I am 75 , she said, "I always wanted the chance to practise my music."

"But you can't do that here. It is an offence. By rights I should call
the police."

"Please excuse me, said Ellen. "I am lonely. I have never done this
before."

So Cyril decided not to report the incident but he kept an eye on the
lady next time she visited the museum . She came regularly once a week
on Tuesday mornings.