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FRANK BARONMs Naysmith would reject gifts and housing
There was a very flamboyant Teddy Boy, a biker who had a coffin for a side-car, a chap with a house full of chinchillas, another who cut his privet hedges into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes.
And, of course, the inevitable ancient old lady at the very end of the road who dressed mainly in black and pushed along a pram full of firewood.
Naturally enough we children thought she was a witch and stayed out of her way. We terrified ourselves with all sorts of tales about what might have happened to the baby whose old Silver Cross it was and why she might need firewood.
As I got older I grew to respect her independence and the fact that whatever the weather she would fetch wood for her fire from the wasteland and council tip at the end of our road, not just to keep herself warm but to get out into the open air and chat to neighbours.
My late father, a fresh-air fiend who could never stay in a room for long without flinging a window open, thought she was a marvellous old soul and would often trot along with her.
Miss Anne Naysmith was similarly something of a wonder: a homeless lady who roamed the highways and by-ways of West London where I now live, her feet clad in plastic bags full of pigeon-feathers and old socks. She had a tendency, sadly, to walk in the road, pushing a little trolley containing her clothes and few treasures.
One afternoon last week she was knocked down and killed by a lorry.
The outpouring of grief over her death locally and comments and stories placed on social media have helped newspapers piece together fascinating obituaries for Miss Naysmith.
Originally from Southend-on-Sea, Essex, she was an acclaimed concert pianist who performed at the Wigmore Hall in London and played for Sir Adrian Boult.
But after her mother died in 1976 she is thought to have had some sort of breakdown.
Miss Naysmith lived outside the normal system... she seemed truly free
She drove away from the house in Chiswick where she had lived with her mother and sister, and disappeared for nine months. When she returned, her sister had sold the house.
Feeling "angry and lost", according to one local resident, she moved into her car and lived in it until March 2002 when a couple of neighbours, who feared her presence was wrecking the value of their property, managed to get her moved and the car taken away.
Turning down the chance of social housing she lived in a makeshift shelter by Stamford Brook station near Hammersmith (from which she was eventually removed by Transport For London contractors), behind an Italian restaurant and in various other places.
Lots of comments have suggested that Miss Naysmith, who was fit and clever and articulate and, I think, knew exactly what she was doing (or not doing) with her life was "let down" by society but I don't think she was.
One of my friends offered her a pair of Ugg boots and she simply threw them back in the woman's face.
Another received a mouthful of the most terrible abuse when she offered Miss Naysmith some money. She seemed to have a fierce desire to refuse all help or charity: to live outside of the normal system of things.
In that sense, despite having to wash herself and her clothes in public toilets and, I'm sure, almost freezing to death on many occasions, she seemed truly free in a way that none of us really is.
I would see her sometimes, resting next to her cart in the cricket pavilion in the grounds of Chiswick House.
Apparently if a match was in progress she would score the game on a piece of paper, using her own system, and applaud a great stroke or a good piece of bowling.
On other occasions I would encounter her, also at Chiswick House, when I was walking Ruby, our bichon frise. Her face would light up as Ruby ran up to lick her hands.
We would chat, quite inanely, about the dog or the weather and it never even occurred to me to say, "Are you hungry? Can I buy you a cup of tea?" because the dignity of this woman radiated like a force field.
SHE DID not look me in the eye but she was smiling and perfectly articulate and on more than one occasion I'd be tempted to say: "Why don't you come along to our book club one evening?" She looked down and out but she didn't really behave as if she was.
I'm glad I met her and I'll find it hard to forget her. Who is to say how any of us should live or find peace in our lives?
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