Photograph: Glyn Strong

Guy Fawkes for some, poppies for others. Remembrance Sunday approaches and the familiar blood-red blooms appear on the streets . . . . later tonight fireworks will illuminate the London sky. To the uninitiated it sounds like gunfire, but if you’ve heard the real thing it’s a benign parody.

The man pictured above, on the left of the crowds, is a volunteer from Veterans Aid ( http://www.veterans-aid.net/ ) a Victoria-based homelessness charity that does exactly what it says on the tin. From 6.30am he and ex-Servicemen like him have been ‘tin-rattling’. Or rather, they haven’t. For the most part they stand quietly, waiting for people to approach them. Nigel (above) speaks Italian and is able to satisfy the curiosity of a visitor who asks what the poppies mean. He explains patiently and simply. She is young but nods and buys one.

An older man, wearing a Veterans badge, also stops to speak. He doesn’t need to buy a poppy – but pauses to acknowledge a fellow veteran. Something unspoken passes btween them. They have never met before, but for that moment they share something. A recognition.

Many people simply pass by in a blur – heading for their offices, looking for hotels or taxis, ears glued to Blackberries or blocked by earphones that plug them into private worlds.

Many of the commuters who pass Nigel will go home this evening to bonfires celebrating a failed attempt to send a message to Parliament. Nigel, who suffers from Parkinson’s Disease, will go home to his ‘family’. They are ex-Servicemen men like him who live in VA’s Limehouse hostel.

The military mantra ‘man down’ is something that veterans understand.

Nigel’s story, like that of every former homeless veteran, is unique. This is it:

http://www.rewritetomorrow.eu.com/reflections/personal-stories/my-unwanted-friend/