The Park Lane encampment has grown substantially since Sadiq Khan vowed to crack down on people sleeping rough (Image: Facundo Arrizabalaga)
As the sun rises over Park Lane, Maria pokes her head out of her tent and squints across the road at the Aston Martin showroom. Around her, others open their doors, stretch and pull on flip-flops before heading to a camp stove where a boiling pot of water will be poured into mugs stacked with instant coffee.
Anyone who has played Monopoly will know that this campsite is located on some of the most valuable land in London. For those looking to stay at one of the nearby hotels, such as The Dorchester or 45 Park Lane, rooms can cost as little as £1,000 per night.
Despite London Mayor Sadiq Khan’s April manifesto pledge to eradicate street life, the sight of tents on the doorstep of department stores or next to council offices became increasingly familiar in the capital.
The campsite on the lawn behind Marble Arch is one of many that are getting bigger and bigger.
In the month and a half that Maria has been living in Park Lane, the numbers have doubled. She arrived from Romania and originally shared a room with her aunt for a few nights before saving up the funds to buy her own tent in London.
Identical cardboard signs can be seen across London on any given day (Image: Facundo Arrizabalaga)
The camp was well equipped to handle their arrival. Most of the tents were packed with blankets and mattresses, while raised off the ground on wooden pallets to keep the cold out.
Fresh water is plentiful thanks to tanks donated by office water coolers, most of which are stacked on Marks and Spencer trolleys, and large meals are prepared from donated food on a rectangular table covered in a plastic tablecloth from a London bus.
Asked to describe a typical day, Maria rubbed her eyes and replied, “In the morning I wake up and wash my face and hands with the water we are given.
“We’ll stay here for a while, tidy up a bit, and then maybe we’ll start cooking.”
Maria, 26, said she then goes out begging “if she needs money for food or drink”.
Express found her slumped outside the Marriott around noon. Pressed against the stone facade, she had removed her shoes and her toes were poking out from under a blanket. Propped up next to her was a plastic cup filled with silver coins and a sign that read, “Please help the homeless, God bless you.”
Many near-identical versions can be found in central London in the hands of non-English speaking beggars every day, and after our trip to the campsite we spoke to three other beggars, all with extremely similar signs, two in the same handwriting.
However, when questioned, Maria, like other people we spoke to, claimed to have written the text herself, with the help of Google Translate.
Although begging on a London street barely earns her enough money to buy a cup of coffee, the Romanian believes that her presence in the UK will ultimately be the catalyst for improving the lives of her family in Eastern Europe.
“My relatives helped me come here,” she continued, “they paid my ticket as a good deed. I would like to stay here to sort out my paperwork.” [and achieve residency].
“Coming here is for my children, they are back in Romania living with my mother. When I was there, I didn’t do anything, all I had was the child benefit from the state.”
“I don’t work right now because no one is willing to hire me. But I want to get a job and build things up little by little.”
Maria’s ultimate goal is to obtain UK residency status and then have her children with her in Britain.
She wasn’t the only mother in the camp who had left a young child in the east. Another man we spoke to who was also begging said he would send the £20 he earned from 6-9 hours on the streets back to Romania to support his child.
Young generation
The campsite is located opposite hotels where a single night’s stay costs £1,000 (Image: Facundo Arrizabalaga)
All the residents Express met at the Park Lane tent city, including Maria, came from the same region of eastern Romania, close to the border with Moldova.
Most said they were related, with connections ranging from parents and siblings to in-laws and second cousins.
Some claimed to have lived in London for years, with one woman saying she had been squatting on the streets of Marble Arch for more than a decade.
But the older generation was in the minority, outnumbered by the young people in the camp.
Showing off freshly inked tattoos and trendy haircuts, Express saw them pile clothes into bin bags and rush to free laundromats early in the day.
Sleeping alone or in couples, the youngest claimed to be 17, the oldest in their early twenties.
“I only arrived a week ago,” said a teenage resident of the camp. “I came here out of necessity.
“By staying at this camp, we can visit cool places and we can find a suitable job in this area. That’s the whole point of this.”
“We hope to work here, to settle here. We are young, we need to do something with our own lives.”
“It’s because of the family that’s here,” said his 21-year-old friend who arrived a month ago. “We have nowhere else to go.
“We hear that in the UK people are nice here. People are nice and it’s a nice country.
“I work in construction or in a restaurant, anything really. I’m young and able to work.”
Such well-dressed young people living in tents on the streets of central London may seem unusual, but according to statistics published by Sadiq Khan’s administration and analysed by the charity Central pointthe number of young people sleeping rough has increased by a third since 2020.
No matter your age, the city can be a dangerous place after dark. We heard from several people about the police being called to the campground because of a strange man wielding a knife not long ago.
But the young people were not shaken.
“This is central London,” the 21-year-old added. “We imagine security is at its highest level here.”
The group said they travelled with friends and cousins, who all had different plans for their time in Britain.
After telling us he hoped to get a job, the teen said he only planned to stay for a month and that it would be “more like a vacation.”
The 21-year-old was more determined: he wanted to stay and find work.
Partying or praying?
Marius was anxious that we should know that he had nothing to do with the group in Park Lane. (Image: Facundo Arrizabalaga)
Although they were friendly, most of the people in the camp were not willing to talk to Express.
Reasons for the refusal ranged from previous media reports to concerns that it would encourage the local council to close the camp.
But there was one squatter who offered a completely different reason for not being able to speak. In his late 60s, Vijay seemed to be the patriarch of the camp. Sitting at the head of the plastic table in the middle of the tents, he was watched with interest by some of the young people as he gave speeches about his Pentecostal religion.
It was God, according to Vijay, who prevented him from giving an interview, although he also insisted that we write certain positive things, such as that “there was no violence” and that “all people were welcome” in the camp.
He took a Bible out of his tent and began quoting verses from scripture, and before we left, he insisted that we join him in a prayer of thanksgiving that also asked for peace in Israel and Ukraine.
The emphasis on religion was contrary to the image of the Park Lane camp that other Romanian beggars in central London had painted.
Marius, who hails from the same country and was sleeping outside John Lewis, held up his hands when asked about the tent city.
“To be honest with you, I don’t know anyone from there,” he said. “I have no connection or business with them.”
Asked how to elaborate, Marius replied: “They are different. More into problems and drinking.
“I believe they all come from the same town. They all know each other and to be honest with you, I can see [members of the camp] with posters asking for alms during the day and night.
“They work as a group. They get together at night to start drinking and listening to music, you know.”
Marius’s claims were supported by the collections of mini whiskey and vodka bottles hidden in front of some of the tents during our visit.
When we asked Maria about the drinking, she said they would have a few beers but nothing more, and also denied that they were acting as a group.
But while we were talking to the Romanian mother, a young man with a shock of black hair approached us and interrupted the conversation.
“You’ve been here for like five hours,” he said with a dirty look, at which point Maria stood up. “You’re only doing this for your own benefit,” he added as she followed him away, slipping on her slippers and emptying her cup of change into a plastic bag.
Do you know anything about organized begging? Contact zak.garnerpurkis@reachplc.com