Page 167 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

fellow tramp, and asked him what the spike at Romton was
like. He said:
‘Well, ‘tis a cocoa spike. Dere’s tay spikes, and cocoa
spikes, and skilly spikes. Dey don’t give you skilly in Rom-
ton, t’ank God—leastways, dey didn’t de last time I was
here. I been up to York and round Wales since.’
‘What is skilly?’ I said.
‘Skilly? A can o’ hot water wid some bloody oatmeal at de
bottom; dat’s skilly. De skilly spikes is always de worst.’
We stayed talking for an hour or two. The Irishman was
a friendly old man, but he smelt very unpleasant, which was
not surprising when one learned how many diseases he suf-
fered from. It appeared (he described his symptoms fully)
that taking him from top to bottom he had the following
things wrong with him: on his crown, which was bald, he
had eczema; he was shortsighted, and had no glasses; he had
chronic bronchitis; he had some undiagnosed pain in the
back; he had dyspepsia; he had urethritis; he had varicose
veins, bunions and flat feet. With this assemblage of diseas-
es he had tramped the roads for fifteen years.
At about five the Irishman said, ‘Could you do wid a cup
o’ tay? De spike don’t open till six.’
‘I should think I could.’
‘Well, dere’s a place here where dey gives you a free cup
o’ tay and a bun. GOOD tay it is. Dey makes you say a lot o’
bloody prayers after; but hell! It all passes de time away. You
come wid me.’
He led the way to a small tin-roofed shed in a side-street,
rather like a village cricket pavilion. About twenty-five

1 Down and Out in Paris and London