Process of observation methodology

This chapter is written ‘as it happened’ so that much of it has an episodic quality. The chronological form of presentation also demonstrates the nature of the research process, including the development of the author’s thinking.

When I first came to work in Glasgow in the mid-1980s one of the things that struck me was the number of people begging in the street, some apparently more habitual in this respect than others. It is still a common experience to be accosted, sometimes by women or children, to be asked for their ‘bus fare home’ or some such.

I soon came to see that this casual, direct approach kind of begging was different from those who sited themselves, usually strategically, with a plastic cup in front of them. The latter group, always men, appeared never directly to ask for money. Here there were also two groups: those with a dog and those without. The no-dog group often held a card­board notice in front of them: one, who sited himself next to a cash-point in Buchanan Street, had a card which read: HOMELESS AND HUNGRY – PLEASE HELP – GOD BLESS YOU. Their stance – typically withdrawn, eyes cast down – presented a picture of utter dejection. This may be just a ‘style’ but whenever I attempted to do so, I was never able to make eye contact, let alone draw them into conversation. I was puzzled as to how I might get to know more about what appeared to be a distinct culture of longstanding.

For some time these street beggars, who seemed to com­prise both a shifting and a regular population (I came to recognize faces), were something that remained on the margin of my interest but I was intrigued by the normalcy of this street phenomenon and began to read around the topic (usually only dealt with incidentally). Interestingly, begging never has been illegal in Scotland, as in England where it was made an offence under the 1837 Vagrancy Act. Devine in his book The Scottish Nation 1700-2000 (1999) describes how begging in Scotland was a recognized, locally-licensed activity (p. 100), in effect part of the pattern of poor relief. Sydney Smith, the early nineteenth-century clerical wit and Canon of St Paul’s, writes in a letter dated 4 November 1798 of his impressions on a visit to Scotland:

I suppose there are at least 3 beggars in this country for every one in England, and there is not here the same just reason for putting an end to the abuse. They beg in a very quiet, gentle way, and thus lose the most productive act of the profession, Importunity. (N. C. Smith [ed.], 1956, p. 120

After more than 200 years Sydney Smith’s observations still apply in my experience; I disagree, however, with his jud­gement on the effectiveness of their style (see page 63).

My impression was that those beggars who ‘set out their stall’ usually with a remarkably docile dog sleeping on a cover, were more ‘open’ than their more withdrawn breth­ren. I determined to try and establish contact with one of them and so to get a perspective on this sub-culture which, I suspected, had its own characteristics, unknown except to those voluntary social workers who sought to help the homeless as these men presumably were. However, I didn’t want to approach the topic through people with their own preconceptions, however well-informed.

I began by plotting the location of these street beggars in three, largely pedestrianized, intersecting main shopping streets (Sauchiehall Street, Buchanan Street, Argyle Street) so I came to see how carefully they placed themselves to get a maximum flow of passers-by, balanced against unwanted attention from the police: in that they might be held to be causing an obstruction. It was also apparent that they picked their time of day – across lunch-time being the preferred period.

1. Making contact

I made a tentative approach to one of the ‘regulars’ who occupied a pitch on Argyle Street. On the first occasion it was raining and he had had the thoughtful (and witty) notion of erecting a small and colourful women’s umbrella over his dog, a brown and white specimen of indeterminate breed. I stopped, commented on this, had a friendly response, put a few coins in his cup, asked him his name (Ian) and told him mine, saying I would drop by again.

Being out of town, it was almost three weeks before I saw Ian next. I dropped some money in his cup, crouched down next to him, said that I was from Strathclyde University doing a study of people like him – and could I ask him questions?

Ian was willing to talk. He told me he was there every day usually from about eleven in the morning to two in the afternoon. I asked if he had a place to ‘stay’ (i.e. live) and he told me he sometimes stayed with a friend but that he usually slept rough where he could – different places. I asked him whether he had trouble with the police and he talked about this at some length: ‘they say I’m in people’s way’ and that he was sometimes taken into custody. I offered to get him something to eat but he declined. I said that I would drop by again and could I buy him cigarettes? His face lit up at that so I took my chance and asked if I could come back and observe who gave him money. He said he was perfectly happy about that. I arranged to be there the next day.

When I turned up he was clearly waiting for me. He said: ‘you’ve just missed about ten people’. I handed over a packet of cigarettes, which he immediately started opening, a box of matches; and a packet of chews for his dog. In characteristically oblique fashion he started talking about his dog (Misty, about nine years old). He was keen to tell me how he’d detected a tumour and took her to the free veterinary service (the PDSA) and the vet couldn’t find it but ‘I know my dog’. This side-tracked into an account of how he’d tried to leave the dog ‘with a lassie’ but the dog had looked at him as if to say ‘don’t do it … ’.

As he talked it became clear that he was very attached to Misty (‘she sleeps where I sleep’) and that having the dog with him on his pitch was not just a ploy to attract custom – although it did, as I was to observe. People often looked at the dog even if they didn’t give something.

Ian was a bit uneasy about being observed (‘how long is this going to take?’) and suggested I sit on a bench about 15 yards away where I would have a good view. Apart from the business of recording I was able to see how Ian regulated his pitch. Periodically he removed larger coins from the plastic cup and put them in a pocket. At only one time did he actually solicit a donation – from a young man part of a group, and as a result of a rapid exchange of Glaswegian banter, incomprehensible to me.

Donations were usually made swiftly and deliberately – in one passing movement, so to speak. As Table 2.1 (page 12) shows, younger women were the most likely to give some­thing and particularly to talk at some length: one young woman crouched down beside him talking and stroking the dog for five minutes. There was only one non-donor who gave Ian and the dog attention. He seemed to be of the type I had noted in my phase of unstructured observations (i.e. ‘hangers-on’).

I felt that Ian was rather conscious of my observing him but seemed concerned that it should work for me. ‘Nae bother’, he said when I thanked him.

I tried to get some account of his sources of income; as far as I could understand what he said, begging was his main and most reliable source. My estimate is that he took in at least £15 in that hour but I didn’t feel I could ask him directly.

One incidental benefit of an hour’s continuous observa­tion was that I gained a sense of the ‘street culture’: difficult to analyse but with a quite different feel from passing through as a preoccupied shopper. One market researcher, armed with a clipboard like mine, and mistaking my pur­pose, remarked: ‘It’s a boring job, isn’t it?’ I didn’t feel I could contradict her …

2. Where next?

From my work so far I could see the following developments:

• determining a focus for a literature search on the culture and practice of begging in Scotland and other urban areas
• building on my relationship with Ian
• attempting to establish similar contact with others like him.

On this last point I soon realized that Ian was unusual in always being at his post: others comprised a relatively shift­ing population even when the same sites were inhabited. So the question became: what was the ‘turnover’ and how did these men differ from Ian (if they did)?

I had to be away from Glasgow for almost two months but made a point of looking for Ian the day after my return, supplying myself with a packet of cigarettes.

He had moved his pitch to the other side of the doorway from his usual place. He greeted me as if I had only been gone a day or two. As I bent down to give him the cigarettes he whispered: ‘Do you have any change? I don’t usually ask but it’s not been a good day’, and he nodded towards a police van stationed nearby. I took this as some sort of recognition and gave him what loose change I had, talking to him for a while before I asked him if I could come back to photograph him a couple of days later (illustrated on page 72). ‘Nae problem’, he said. I had in mind to take a sequence of photographs eventually, but starting off with a single shot to gauge Ian’s acceptance of being photo­graphed. I also speculated as to whether video would be a possibility at some later date.

Note that I had decided to focus more on Ian, for the moment, because I felt there was a lot more to learn from studying him and because of the tentative relationship of trust that was being built up. As have others engaged in this kind of urban ethnography, I found myself increasingly interested (concerned?) in Ian’s welfare, not just as an object of study.

On the appointed day the weather was fine for photo­graphy and Ian was doing brisk business in the crowded shopping street. I observed that instead of a plastic cup he had a plastic lid with a few (low denomination) coins in it. The effect of this seemed to be that people put the money in his hand. Being more visible it may have been that people felt it too conspicuous to put their contribution in the lid. I didn’t ask Ian why he’d made the change, but I doubt that it was deliberate – on a later visit he just had a scrap of plastic bag, weighted down with coins.

I explained that I would be taking about a dozen shots in quick succession, and that I would give him one of the photographs. My impression was that he liked the attention and it occurred to me, really for the first time, that his street pitch was for Ian a part (the main part?) of his social life.

In conversation afterwards he said, quite proudly: ‘A lot of people know me. They know I’m always here.’ Coming away I felt I was right to allow the pace to go slowly; partly because it seemed wrong to do too much questioning and partly because if you are patient, not only are your half-formed questions often answered but you’re likely to be told things it wouldn’t occur to you to ask. That was to be borne out at the time of my next visit.

3. Extending the project

It was only at this stage that I started a search of the journal literature for papers on urban street begging in western countries. This was because I had wanted to see for myself first without preconceptions from the work of others. I would be able to read these sources with a context of my own to which I could relate them.

When I saw Ian about ten days later I said I had a pho­tograph for him and would drop it off the next day. I gave him some change and took the opportunity to ask him how long he had been on his present pitch. After some hesitation he said about eight years and before that he’d been in Sauchiehall Street for two years when he’d had an Alsatian dog. I asked him if he’d had a job before that and he launched into an involved tale, hard to follow, about how he’d been described as a bad influence on ‘the others’ but I couldn’t get it any clearer than that. I have decided that this kind of piecemeal questioning is the only way I can proceed.

Later I went to another regularly inhabited pitch – not always occupied by the same person as far as I could judge – on a pedestrian way between Sauchiehall Street and Bath Street. I found the occupant quite friendly and forthcoming. He said his name was Dougie and that he was there most days between twelve and five ‘but sometimes I go out with my girlfriend – I’ve got kids’ and on those occasions a friend ‘he sells the Big Issue’ filled in for him. (More forthcoming than others I’ve seen on this pitch – perhaps another useful informant here: something to build on.)

Back after about ten days I took Ian one of the photo­graphs I’d taken, which seemed to please him. But he looked troubled so I asked him if he was OK. T can’t tell you,’ he said at first, ‘you’ll no believe me.’ I said that was up to him, but could I help? He shook his head: ‘There’s a guy over there watching me and when I go he’s going to follow me’. I couldn’t make out what it was about and Ian refused to identify him. Later that same day I paid a visit to Dougie who seemed disgruntled: ‘Nobody’s giving me anything’. I dropped a coin in his plastic cup; it was not the moment to ask questions. He remembered me: ‘You’re Bill aren’t you?’ So, a small increment.

A week later and Ian greeted me as an old friend. He was eager to show me a photograph of a painting (oil?) of himself and Misty: ‘It’s a girl from the gallery over the way’. Had he been to the gallery to see it? No, he hadn’t. What about the man who’d been watching him at the time of my previous visit: had anything happened? He shook his head: ‘He was just a nutcase’. I’d assumed something more sinis­ter; certainly Ian had been very troubled at the time.

I explained that I was only in Glasgow for a few days. Ian grinned: ‘You’re always away!’ – adding sententiously, ‘you get a lot of knowledge going to different countries’.

That brief episode confirmed my view that Ian took an interest in people, as people did in him: and that contrary to a superficial impression was not a ‘pathetic’ character, even if he was financially dependent on others. He was ‘good value’ in return in a way that Dougie was not.

A month later: a sunny day and Ian had erected an umbrella as a sunshade over Misty. I took the opportunity to ask him if he had any family. He said his mother lived in Glasgow but he hadn’t seen her for three years because it was ‘nae use’, and he had a sister as well but he shook his head. I asked him who would look after him if he were ill.

He said: ‘I’m not well now – it’s my throat’. He’d mentioned something about that before but I hadn’t understood him: to be followed up.

4. The research literature: a comparative review

In what has been written so far no reference has been made to the research literature on urban street begging and associated factors; indeed none was actually read until a first­hand knowledge base (a restricted one, admittedly) had been established.

Two main studies were identified: one by the housing charity Crisis: We are Human Too: A Study of People Who Beg (Murdoch, 1994); and ‘Begging, rough sleeping and social exclusion: Implications for social policy’ (Kennedy and Fitzpatrick, 2001).

These were relatively large-scale projects. The Crisis report dealt with 145 people who begged in Central London; the paper by Kennedy and Fitzpatrick reported on 66 beggars in Glasgow and Edinburgh. They make fascinating reading and provide more extensive information than in the present chapter. Of interest from the methodological point of view – and relevant to the present book – is that neither is an observational study although Kennedy and Fitzpatrick car­ried out a brief structured observational audit of who was begging and where.

This lack of observational data leads to a central weakness in the definition of begging: Kennedy and Fitzpatrick (2001, p. 2001) define it as ‘asking passers-by for money in a public place’. Now from my observational experience this defini­tion is only true of those who walk around accosting mem­bers of the public. Those whom I have called ‘stationary’ beggars (page 10) do not usually ask for money, even non­verbally by extending a hand. Ian (page 60) seemed to regard this as not what he usually did at all and my observations had also confirmed this. In part, of course, it depends what you mean by ‘asking’ – having a plastic cup with a few coins in it is a kind of request. But it is necessary to distinguish different styles of begging.

In both studies the main method employed was the interview (structured in the case of the Crisis study; descri­bed as ‘biographical’ in the Kennedy and Fitzpatrick study).

The stance taken is that begging is a problem to be dealt with; but Kennedy and Fitzpatrick argue that ‘homelessness’ is not a sufficient focus and that what is required is ‘an individually tailored “resettlement” package which met their particular needs’ (op. cit., p. 2012). Both acknowledge that begging is part of a lifestyle: e.g. ‘Both rough sleeping and the bed and breakfast/hostel circuit help create a life­style that is quite different from that of people with homes and jobs. There was definitely a sense of begging being part of that lifestyle’ (Murdoch, 1994, p.10).

Kennedy and Fitzpatrick take the view that ‘begging is properly viewed as a product of social exclusion’ (p. 2003). But ‘social exclusion’ is a political notion which presumably places a particular value on ‘inclusion’/conformity. In get­ting to know Ian I have come to understand that his way of life is an adaptive response not just to circumstances but to how and what he feels psychologically comfortable in being. The notion of a ‘resettlement’ package which met his par­ticular needs is to beg the question: according to whose definition of needs and system of values? This is not an attempt to romanticize his style or situation but to question the assumptions that underlie a mainstream interpretation.

With all that in mind I continue with an observational approach which is more neutral, and seeks to describe and understand the street culture of which beggars are a part. Note that even the limited empirical work I have been able to carry out has enabled me to qualify what I have found in the published research.

Source: Gillham Bill (2008), Observation Techniques: Structured to Unstructured, Continuum; Illustrated edition.