Inside the tent village where Romanian beggars live just yards from their luxury homes | UK | News

As the sun rises over Park Lane, Maria peeks out of her tent and peers 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 pot of boiling water will be poured into cups filled with instant coffee.

Anyone who has ever played Monopoly will know that this campsite is located on some of the most valuable real estate in London. For those who wish to stay in one of the nearby hotels, such as The Dorchester or 45 Park Lane, rooms cost from £1,000 per night.

Despite London Mayor Sadiq Khan’s April manifesto commitment to eradicating homelessness, the sight of tents on doorsteps is a cause for concern. department stores or next to council offices has become increasingly common in the capital.

The camp on the grass behind Marble Arch is one of many that continue to grow.

Within a month and a half, Maria had been living in Park Lane, and the number of her visitors had doubled. She had come from Romania and initially slept at her aunt’s for a few nights before raising the money to buy her own tent in London.

The camp was well equipped to accommodate the young woman. Most of the tents are filled with blankets and mattresses, and are raised off the ground on wooden pallets to protect her from the cold.

Fresh water is plentiful from donated tanks at the office water coolers, most of which are stacked in Marks and Spencer trolleys, and large meals are prepared from food provided on a rectangular table with a plastic London bus tablecloth.

When asked to describe a typical day, Maria rubbed her eyes and then replied: “In the morning, I wake up and wash my face and hands with the water we get.

“We’ll stay for a while, tidy up a bit and then maybe start cooking.”

Maria, 26, says she then goes begging “if she needs money to eat or drink.”

L’Express found her slumped outside the Marriott around noon. Pressed against the stone façade, she had taken off her shoes and her toes were sticking out of a blanket. Next to her was a plastic cup containing coins and a sign that read: “Please help the homeless, God bless you.”

Many almost identical versions can be found in central London, in the hands of non-English speaking beggars every day, and after our visit to the camp we spoke to three other beggars who all had extremely similar placards, two in the same handwriting.

However, when asked, Maria, like others we spoke to, claimed to have written it herself with the help of Google Translate.

Even though begging on a London street barely earns her enough money to buy a cup of coffee, the Romanian woman believes her presence in the UK will eventually be the catalyst for improving her family’s life in Eastern Europe.

“My relatives helped me come here,” she continued, “they paid for my ticket as a good deed. I would like to stay here to organize my administrative procedures. [and achieve residency].

“I came here for my children, they returned to Romania and live with my mother. When I was there, I did nothing, all I received was child benefit.”

“I’m not working right now because no one wants to hire me. But I want to find a job and build my life little by little.”

Maria’s ultimate goal is to obtain permanent resident status in the UK and then allow her children to join her in Britain.

She was not the only mother in the camp to have left a young child behind in the East. Another man we spoke to, who was also begging, said he would send the £20 he earned working 6-9 hours on the streets to Romania to support his child.

All the residents the Express met at the Park Lane tent camp, including Maria, came from the same region in eastern Romania, near the border with Moldova.

Most said they were related, with connections ranging from parents and siblings to in-laws and first 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 in the camp.

Sporting freshly inked tattoos and trendy haircuts, the Express saw them piling clothes into bin bags and racing to free laundry appointments at the start of the day.

Sleeping alone or as a couple, the youngest claimed to be 17, the oldest around twenty.

“I only arrived a week ago,” said one teenager who was staying in a camp. “I came here because I needed something.”

“By staying in this camp, we can visit nice places and find suitable employment in this area. That’s the whole point.”

“We hope to work here, to settle here. We are young, we have to do something for our lives.”

“It’s because of the family that’s here,” added his 21-year-old friend, who arrived a month ago. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“We have heard that in the UK people are nice and it is a nice country.

“I’ll work in construction or in a restaurant, anything really. I’m young and I can work.”

Young people dressed this well and living in tents on the streets of central London may seem unusual, but according to statistics released 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. Several people told us that the police had been called to the camp because of a strange man brandishing a knife not long before.

But the young people were not discouraged.

“We’re in central London,” the 21-year-old added. “We imagine security is at its peak here.”

The group said they had travelled with friends and cousins, all of whom had different plans for their time in Britain.

After telling us that he hoped to find a job, the teenager then said that he only planned to stay for a month and that it was “more like a holiday”.

The 21-year-old was more determined, he wanted to stay and find work.

Although they were friendly, most people in the camp were unwilling to speak to the Express.

Their reasons for refusal ranged from earlier press reports to fears it would encourage the local council to close the camp.

But one member of the squat offered a different reason for not being able to speak. Vijay, who was in his fifties, 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, Vijay said, who kept him from giving an interview, even though he insisted that we write some positive things like that there was “no violence” and that “everyone was welcome” in the camp.

He took a Bible out of his tent and began quoting passages from Scripture, and before leaving he insisted that we join him in a prayer of thanksgiving that also called for peace in Israel and Ukraine.

The emphasis on religion ran counter to the image of the Park Lane camp that other Romanian beggars in central London had painted.

Marius, who is from the same country and was sleeping outside John Lewis, raised 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 relationship with them.”

Asked to elaborate, Marius replied: “They are different. They like trouble and drinking more.

“I think they’re all from the same town. They all know each other and, to be honest with you, I can see [members of the camp] with signs to beg day and night.

“They work in groups. They get together at night to drink and listen to music, you know.”

Marius’s claims were supported by the collections of mini bottles of whisky and vodka stored in front of some of the tents during our visit.

When we asked Maria about alcohol consumption, she said they drank a few beers, but nothing more, and also denied that they operated in a group.

But as we were talking to the Romanian mother, a young man with dark hair approached us and interrupted the conversation.

“You’ve been here for five hours,” he said with a glare, and Maria stood up. “You’re only doing this for your own benefit,” he added as she followed him, pulling on her flip-flops and emptying the cup of change into a plastic bag.

Do you have any information on organised begging? Contact zak.garnerpurkis@reachplc.com