If you’re homeless then this is where you’re supposed to go, St. Martin-in-the-Fields church, because this place is famous for two things: holding classical concerts in the evening and helping out the homeless. I’m not entirely sure whether all the homeless know, though, because whenever I walk round the back end of the church there’s always a row of them all slumped up against the souvenir shop. And they’re not the kind of homeless that you’d want to give your money to because they’re all young adults (always young men) who swear, don’t care, don’t give a sh*t, hold their hand out, got any money? I need it for a hostel, mate.
I haven’t got any money, sorry.
“Got a cigarette?” I don’t smoke mate, sorry.
Then it’s straight onto the next person: got some money for a train ticket? I need it for a train ticket, mate. Honest to god I need it for a train ticket, bus ticket, phone call to my mum.
One guy is walking around wearing his sleeping bag like a coat whilst another one is pumping up the city council bin bags so he can use them as a bed. Another bloke seems to own two suitcases and a rucksack and has found a shopping trolley to use as a wireframe safe. He has tied his belongings so tight to this thing that he’s never going to get them off in a million years. Whatever plans he had when he stepped off the plane I’m guessing that he wasn’t expecting to end up defending his clothes at the back end of a church. It’s a bit like those wannabe actors who go to Hollywood and end up working in a shop – people come to London with two suitcases and two hundred quid and two days later they have 2p and are sleeping on the street.
Whenever I look inside the church I invariably find a few of them kipping in the pews. There are two blokes in here at the moment who are gently resting their heads against the stone cold columns and they’ve still got their hoods zipped up. I suppose when you’re homeless you expect it to rain wherever you go, even indoors. A couple of religious do-gooders have crept up on them and seem to be asking them invasive questions and offering some help and advice, but they haven’t shifted an inch from their slumbering pose and it’s obvious that they just want to sleep. Thanks for your interest, they’re saying in their heads, but do please leave us alone.
It’s very quiet in here. Ten steps outside the front door is Trafalgar Square but in here there’s nothing… just a quiet tapping of water on the window. They’ve got a very strange stained-glass window at the top that looks like boiled metal (you will understand what I mean you see it) but there are no artworks on show, no paintings, just plenty of ornate plasterwork and a Royal coat of arms above the altar. They’ve got some fancy chandeliers and a dark wood organ at the back, but nothing you’ll want to take a photo of. The only memorable thing here is the silence – and you can’t take a photo of that.
Classical concerts at St Martin-in-the-Fields
Uh-oh, here we go… the silence has been shattered by a piano tuner. The church holds classical concerts most lunchtimes and evenings and he’s having to set everything up for a show. He’s already busied himself positioning the instruments by the altar and now he’s starting to bang out the same note over and over on the piano. Twenty times he’s banged on this note and you can’t call it a tune… it’s the same note they play in horror movies before the psycho comes to slit your throat. Surely it must be a sin to make a din like that in church?
He has driven the homeless people back onto the street.
Remember to visit the crypt because there’s a surprisingly big cafe and exhibition space down there (even bigger than the church upstairs). What I like most about this cafe is that you can practically always get a seat because not many people ever think to go down here. I often go there for a coffee and fiddle with my phone, and sit listening to the background chat and hubbub.
If you enjoy this then try National Gallery (you can walk it in less than 2 mins) and Trafalgar Square (you can walk it in less than 2 mins)
