Slumped at the base of a bronze lion or lying with her head against a bench was Polly Nichols, cold and anonymous. When morning came, the rough sleepers were joined by a steady trickle of the unemployed and the “friends of Socialism.” Daily that autumn they gathered in their thousands at the base of Nelson’s column. They came with their red flags and banners, singing songs and shouting slogans about workingmen’s rights.
