Here in 2020 I am struggling in trying to remember things from 40 years ago; yet it is important for me that I try. Consequently I cannot exactly remember how I got to know Jack Knowles, other than it must have been in my early days as a student in Gloucester. He lived in the Church Army Hostel, which I think was in London Road, not far from the city centre.
Many of us liked the idea of taking gritty documentary photos. We were used to seeing Don McCullin’s documentary photographs, along with others, and I certainly warmed to that kind of “purpose” in my photography. I admired the honest capture of life as the images drew back a curtain on a disadvantaged world, which was all too easily overlooked.
Homeless men, or Gentlemen of the Road as they were sometimes known as, were one of those neglected groups in society. Often society would label each one as being an alcoholic and their destitution was “their fault”. And yet as I got to know some of the men in the Church Army Hostel on London Road in Gloucester, I found myself in for quite an education. Many were well spoken, well educated, always courteous and polite towards me. Mind you, Captain George (?) was the hostel manager at the time and was looked up to as a fair man. He could, after all, decide who had a bed for the night, or not and yet he was firm but fair.
For Jack, he was an elderly man who was always very friendly towards me. Always well dressed, as homeless men went, with his 1970s suit jacket and wide collar and lapel. I recall his walk was more of a shuffle and if I recall correctly, had been married but I cannot remember him talking about any children. I sometimes used to take him to a city centre cafe, or perhaps a greasy spoon cafe and he was always very grateful. We would chat endlessly about the things going on. He had a sense of humility about him, saying how he had made mistakes in the past and although he was humble in admitting this, his family didn’t want anything to do with him. I never liked to pry, I just listened to whatever he told me and I suppose even then, I came to realise how there were often two sides to any story. I got the impression, though I might be wrong, he was a Gloucestershire man.
One day word reached me he had passed away. I remember going to his funeral service which I think was a cremation. I slipped in at the back, not that there were many there. Captain George and a small handful of men from the hostel. It seemed they were his family at the end.
Looking at the photograph, it’s very institutional. Look at the glossy wall, easy to wipe down and disinfect, less likely to be marked with the daily comings and goings. The neat bed with the uniform blankets and look at the bed on the right, there’s someone there, all curled up. The single man’s wardrobe, possibly containing everything he owned and this was probably the norm in those days.
If by chance, you have come across this post through a Google search of Jack Knowles (or perhaps James Knowles), please use the contact screen to get in touch. I would be very interested in anything you might know about him.