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| Pamela Jennings, who has died of cancer aged 48, had been a care assistant, a supermarket checkout girl and a bell lyre player in her youth. But as "Soho Pam", she spent the last 15 years of her life begging a living in the square half-mile east of Wardour Street, in London. | Pamela Jennings, who has died of cancer aged 48, had been a care assistant, a supermarket checkout girl and a bell lyre player in her youth. But as "Soho Pam", she spent the last 15 years of her life begging a living in the square half-mile east of Wardour Street, in London. |
| Short, stooped, with owlish glasses, she worked familiar haunts, from the French House to the Coach and Horses, in perpetual hunt of £7 for her bed in a Victoria hostel. "Regulars" willing to donate got a hug and a cry of "love you". The seven quid was usually got early; the remainder went to William Hill, which no one begrudged her. Photographed, painted and written up by Soho-ites numerous times, she was clothed, cared for and ferried to hospital by them when she became ill in 2012. | Short, stooped, with owlish glasses, she worked familiar haunts, from the French House to the Coach and Horses, in perpetual hunt of £7 for her bed in a Victoria hostel. "Regulars" willing to donate got a hug and a cry of "love you". The seven quid was usually got early; the remainder went to William Hill, which no one begrudged her. Photographed, painted and written up by Soho-ites numerous times, she was clothed, cared for and ferried to hospital by them when she became ill in 2012. |
| Throughout, her past remained a mystery, becoming clearer after her death - the sad story of a girl, remembered by her siblings as enthusiastic and accident-prone, becoming afflicted with mental health problems, and then devastated by her mother's death in 1998. Drifting away from home, she limited contact with her family and let Soho take her in. Initially a drinker, she quit in the early 2000s – the only time, as one of her regulars, that I heard her angry was when someone accused her of spending money on booze. | Throughout, her past remained a mystery, becoming clearer after her death - the sad story of a girl, remembered by her siblings as enthusiastic and accident-prone, becoming afflicted with mental health problems, and then devastated by her mother's death in 1998. Drifting away from home, she limited contact with her family and let Soho take her in. Initially a drinker, she quit in the early 2000s – the only time, as one of her regulars, that I heard her angry was when someone accused her of spending money on booze. |
| Alistair Choate, the publican of the Coach and Horses, negotiated her down to two visits a day, which would slip back to six. A local hairdresser styled her for free, and a regular-become-friend Sally Taylor took her on excursions for clothes ("Sally, I need pants"). The police once arrested her for selling travelcards; they ended up giving her breakfast. She got a preliminary diagnosis of her final illness from an ambulance officer outside Bar Italia. | Alistair Choate, the publican of the Coach and Horses, negotiated her down to two visits a day, which would slip back to six. A local hairdresser styled her for free, and a regular-become-friend Sally Taylor took her on excursions for clothes ("Sally, I need pants"). The police once arrested her for selling travelcards; they ended up giving her breakfast. She got a preliminary diagnosis of her final illness from an ambulance officer outside Bar Italia. |
| The anecdotes filled books, her life became a legend, but Pam was more than a mascot. Her lack of guile ascended to a sort of grace. She never called on pity for cash, nor did she regard it as her right. She loved life, without agendas, and reminded others to do the same. That became her job, what she was paid for. Her overflowing wake at the Coach was the first such gathering she hadn't worked in a long time, and the streets around felt empty without her. | The anecdotes filled books, her life became a legend, but Pam was more than a mascot. Her lack of guile ascended to a sort of grace. She never called on pity for cash, nor did she regard it as her right. She loved life, without agendas, and reminded others to do the same. That became her job, what she was paid for. Her overflowing wake at the Coach was the first such gathering she hadn't worked in a long time, and the streets around felt empty without her. |
| She is survived by her brother, Michael, and sister, Susan, and a niece, Montana, and nephew, Matthew. | She is survived by her brother, Michael, and sister, Susan, and a niece, Montana, and nephew, Matthew. |
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