Thursday, October 31, 2019

Dick Whittington's ghost doesn't work for Harry

A neighbour moves out and Yours Truly volunteers to help him with some lugging of the weighty stuff I see filling the compact living space. He's pleased to get the hand.
Harry (let’s call him) is a fellow of very limited funds who has been here working for as a sort of butler handyman, cook, plongeur, shopper, all rolled rather uncomfortably into one.
is pay: the equivalent of Pound Shop peanuts.
He’s an older fellow, perhaps late sixties, who knows now that Dick Whittington’s streets paved with gold haven’t survived.

Hoping to do well

He came here from the Indian subcontinent, hoping to do well. He learned that hard work alone isn’t sufficient to reach the level of those who succeed.
However, Fortune did help with a council flat earmarked for the needy.
Because he possessed so little, a few necessities for life – a cooker, a fridge, and a few sticks of furniture – were donated by the council.
The Dick Whittington promise of London hasn’t worked, especially as the employers paid little more than slave rates yet demanded – not asked – his presence for extensive hours. It’s a sad tale, though sadly not uncommon. This one, however, does come with a surprise denouement.
His rent is all paid up and he has an initial deposit of several hundred pounds to get back and that will be sufficient for the ticket home.
Expecting the refund to depend on the return of the council furniture, he asked the council when they might collect it… 
Continues on the blogs for my ocean-crossing adventure

http://sailingtopurgatory.com/index.php/feeds/460-dick-whittington-s-ghost-doesn-t-work-for-harry

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