PITY THE HUNGRY.

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume XXXV, Issue 4771, 3 November 1924, Page 3

PITY THE HUNGRY.

A SIDNEY SOUP KITCHEN. CONSIDER THE UNFORTUNATE, Here is a poignant word picture that speaks all too plainly for itself (says the Sydney Daily Telegraph), it you are not frightened of life in all its reality—go along to the Soup Kitchen at 531 Kent Street —see for yourself the plight of the i anks of the unfortunate. Perhaps there is something you can do to help. The superintendent will tell you how. Just after mid-day, when business folk were going out for their pleasant lunches, and when restaurant tables groaned with the good things, I stood opposite 531 Kent Street, Sydney, and saw 184 homeless men drift into the soup kitchen at the City Night Refuge. They were a pitifully clothed crowd, these, the ranks of the hungry army —old, faded coats, most of them collarless, a few lame —almost cripples—were there, some without an outer shirt (God knows where it went) — the city flotsam and jetsam. Their battered boots were a study in themsevesl, blutchers, shoes —and almost all down at the heel —those boots told their own story. While those to whom life hap been kindly were hesitating over the thirl course or finishing the after-dinner cigar, these men (some once of the better class) were enjoying "their onecourse meal, provided by a noble institution unaided by Government subsidy. STUDY IN CONTRASTS. As you are, perhaps, toying with your wine-glass, a lame man, with a stick, hobbles in, fingering his ticket. By this time the first-comers have finished their meal and are drifting out again. As they come up the street before entering, a few .walk queerly and unsteadily. No, it is not drink, but the weakness of hunger. Driven by hunger, remarkable men have gone in by this ever-open door lawyers, down and out, accountants, jobless and friendless, actors —'yes. and even clergymen I Here and there is a decently-dress-ed, well-set-up man, married, out of work, and saving his wife the worry of struggling to provide his lunch at home. God help him ! . As the.minutes slip by the Hungry Army drifts out, more cheerful-book-ing this time. They merge in the crowds, and are gone—where, one wonders. A man in a green felt hat walks unsteadily out. He has had nothing to eat for nearly two days, and feels as if he is floating on air. He will have no dinner to-night, nor breakfast • tomorrow, and he wonders helplessly what to do. Unevenly he walks down the street and ip lost to view. Prosperous business men pass oy the open door, the tide of life flows on, and leaves the others stranded. I went into the building and interviewed genial Superintendent- Talkes. He showed me over the establishment, a scrupulously clean kitchen, where soup bubbled cheerfully in huge boilers, where corned beef cooked merrily and smelt appetising. He took me into the great dining room, where the cripples, the man ip the green hat and the khaki coat, and all the rest gather day by day. Here, on Sunday afternoons, a church service is held for the flotsam and jetsam, and Superintendent Talkes states that for years he has never known a man go out to miss the service. ALMOST HAPPY AGAIN. They sing the hymns cheerily, and It makes a break in the week for them. Yes, they have 122 beds for the homeless ones here —in huge dormitories —and he has had all nations here. Even once a Chinaman ami a Jew ’ I saw the huge bathroom. Monday night is bath-night. The homeless men come in for their beds at seven o’clock. On wet nights they come in earlier. Only a dozen or so women are accommodated at the Refuge—they manage better than the men, somehow. All honour to this institution, which deserves all the help we can give it, for it has sheltered scores of thousands in its history ; it is sheltering scores to-night ; it is giving food to the Hungry Army every day in the year.

For it welcomes all worthy men and women, 'asking nought of them save that he or she be needy and in