Dead Man Walking

This morning my blog was going to be full of  happy chatter about the various things I had encountered this week, however as I came out of Holloway tube station to get to LCC’s HQ’s, I came across a scene which left me rattled.

As I started taping away a text on my phone, stopping to re-adjust the red poppy that I had just bought, I crossed the road absent mindedly and something on the floor caught my eye. As I slowly turned, and the rush of workers kept walking, I noticed a man in a football strip lying on his back on the cold London pavement. His ginger hair and pale skin a stark contrast against the claret shirt and dirt grey slabs. Whilst he had obviously been there long enough for rigamortis to set in, people were casually milling around watching, staring, continuing with their cigarette and idle banter. I slowed down to the point that I had practically stopped, and managed to knock into an older lady. The look on my face had obviously startled her as her eyes followed mine, and a similar look was mirrored on her own face within a moment.

The shock and apparent disregard of others had made me want to ask, has London become so volatile and has death become so common and available through experience and media that we have forgotten how to feel when we witness such a site? Have we become immune to daily occurrence and peoples emotions, and basic respect and acknowledgment when such an event occurs? Do we no longer notice death, even when it is just a few feet away from us?

The ambulance medic on a motor bike stands beside him, checking for a pulse, some chance of revival. As I slowly drift away, internally chiding myself because I am already late for work, my mind lingers over the thought that someone this morning is going to notice he is missing. A mother, a wife, child or friend will be reading the local paper, eating their breakfast, waiting for the phone to ring, not realising that the next time they hear something about him will be the last thing they imagined on this bright blue skied autumn day. At least someone had the decency to pick up the phone and call 999, but was that because they were as startled as me and wanted to help? Or was it because the body of a dead man on the grey slabs of London would be bad press for their area, and in turn their business? I would prefer to be a optimist and think of the first reason rather than the latter, but in this ever changing and evolving world, where people are scared to come forward and help another human being, in fear that they may get wrongly accused, I am saddened to say it is probably the latter reason to why this body was being carted away.