Thoughts On Certain Faces Seen In London

 

 Bedlam Insane Asylum, engraving by William Hogarth

And there were others, strange, weird faces and forms and twisted monstrosities that shouldered me on every side, inconceivable types of sodden ugliness, the wrecks of society, the perambulating carcasses, the living deaths—women, blasted by disease and drink till their shame brought not tuppence in the open mart; and men, in fantastic rags, wrenched by hardship and exposure out of all semblance of men, their faces in a perpetual writhe of pain, grinning idiotically, shambling like apes, dying with every step they took and each breath they drew. 

     - The People of the Abyss, Jack London (1903)

It's not unusual in London to see people who look like the heirs of those poor souls described by Jack London 120 years ago, usually in Aldi. The main difference being attire, whereby 'fantastic rags' have been replaced by comfy leisurewear, the elasticated waistbands of which do a good job of accommodating (and disguising) weight increase. Yes, it's ironic that today's 'poor' look so well-fed, but then earlier versions didn't have the temptation of today's fast-food-lined high streets and a pizza delivery service.

If I joke, or worse appear to mock, I only do so as a defence against the horror of what I see and an awareness that I am only a few steps away from 'the Abyss' myself. So many of us live 'on the edge', whether through precarious mortgages or simply low wages. 

However, before I venture too far into economics and financial uncertainty today, I must address what disturbed me and lead to certain thoughts a few nights ago. I had emerged from the tube at Archway to catch a bus which, the sign informed me, wasn't due for another 13 minutes, so I began walking to stops further down the road. But even before that, I'd seen two examples of 'perambulating carcasses', to use London's harsh terminology. They hovered around the bus stop, doing so in a way which didn't suggest uncertainty about whether to wait or walk, as I did, but more an 'eternal' hovering, a listless, nowhere-to-go kind of hovering. More than that, since it's common enough to see people who are apparently detached from the city's normal flow of human traffic, their faces did indeed seem to be 'in a perpetual writhe of pain'.

It was their faces that struck me more than their shambolic attire. In them I seemed to see the Abyss of both financial and psychological ruin. Walking on, I encountered another, shuffling through the gate of a house. He literally shuffled in sandals with unkempt hair and baggy tracksuit bottoms. clutching a few bags of crisps in one hand. 

Walking on, I started thinking about these people and it struck me that whilst they must be noticed by many others, they stood out more now than ever before. Even street photos of London in the 1960s reveal some desperate-looking characters and barefoot kids. London of the 70s could be seen as extremely shabby compared to today, the difference being that now we have so much 'regeneration' and a mania for 'luxury' apartment blocks along with seemingly endless new 'developments' that the people of the Abyss stand in greater contrast to the big, shiny new world.

We are, after all, supposed to have progressed to the point where material progress is not only possible but commonplace. Compared to decades past, that's true. No-one lives in slum conditions and very few people genuinely starve to death in 'developed' countries. Still, it struck me that the assemblage of images and information highlighting 'success' via advertising, online 'influencers', magazines and TV serve to heighten to shock of seeing these tortured physiognomies. I don't mean their material failure, but their actual faces which, I suppose, reflect their social standing, although it's theoretically possible to appear tortured whilst being rich. An incredibly 'ugly' person could own a yacht, but have you ever seen one? 

I say 'ugly', but that doesn't really suit the kind of faces I saw. It was as if all the psychological and physical torture that could be experienced by a person had contorted the faces to mark their presence; written horror in their eyes and warped their skin to match. Unlike citizens of the early 20th century and much earlier, Londoners today are bombarded with pristine faces and healthy-looking bodies, on underground advertisements and yes, bus stops. These images are unavoidable. I would say that such images torment the unfortunate ones, but I suspect they long ago left the realm of common environmental awareness to inhabit their own alien form of inner space from which the outside world looks very different to the one you and I see. This I concluded, having walked to another bus stop. Perhaps it's wishful thinking but I hope, for their sake, it's true.