In the depths of adversity

 Myself and William Herbert

The last time I attended a national demonstration for Palestine, I ran into this legend on Upper Street in Islington.

In the depths of adversity, William Herbert emerged as one of the pioneering vendors of The Big Issue (National) in Britain. Reflecting on his journey during an interview, William gestures to a scar that loops like a watch-chain from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.

I first began selling alongside William in Covent Garden during the early 1990s. His story is both poignant and transformative. The last time I encountered William, he appeared to be in a difficult state, grappling with personal struggles related to relationships and addiction. However, I was overjoyed to reconnect with him 30+ years later, witnessing his remarkable turnaround and feeling immense pride in his accomplishments. I also hold admiration for all the early vendors who, both men and women, have proven to be exceptionally talented salespeople. Their contributions to The Big Issue as a social movement have been invaluable, playing a significant role in reshaping public perception of homelessness and fostering a deeper understanding of the man-made housing crisis.

William Herbert shared, “I got that from racist Millwall supporters.” He recounted it as a harrowing experience. After stepping into a pub for a quick drink, a football fan approached him, and without warning, slashed his face with a Stanley blade while pretending to whisper in his ear.

The injury required 24 stitches—almost as many as his birthdays. For this young man, it was a devastating event that led to paranoia, isolation, and a loss of confidence. The visible scars made him feel unemployable, and he believed that meaningful relationships with women were no longer attainable. In search of relief, he turned to Tennent’s Super, which provided a temporary numbness. “I had to have a beer just to step outside, and eventually, I couldn’t even stay in my own home; I was in such a dire state.” Life on the streets became his reality, marked by rough sleeping, begging, shoplifting, and heavy drinking. The warmth from the vents outside the Empire in Leicester Square became his only source of comfort. Reflecting on that time, he acknowledges, “I was slowly committing suicide.”

It was during this tumultuous period that Herbert discovered The Big Issue, introduced to him by a young woman among his group of rough sleepers. The concept was simple: homeless individuals could purchase the magazine for 10 pence, sell it for 50 pence, and keep the profit. “That was my drink money, and I felt safe knowing I wouldn’t get arrested for it.” He soon realized that earning money through this method felt more rewarding. His pitch in Covent Garden required him to engage with the public and make eye contact, which gradually restored his confidence. Selling the magazine became a source of pride, leading him to describe it as “a life-changer.”

Since 1991, Herbert's journey has not been linear. He has faced setbacks and explored various jobs, some of which did not pan out. His experiences included time in prison. One might view a man who has intermittently sold The Big Issue for a quarter of a century as a failure, indicating a broader failure of the initiative aimed at empowering the homeless.

However, he clarifies, “That would be a misunderstanding.” The magazine has provided him with stability, routine, and dignity. Today, he has a flat, pays his bills, and drinks very rarely. He has reestablished connections with his family.

A swift flash of a knife in a pub altered the course of his life, and such wounds can take years to heal. In this context, The Big Issue has served as a metaphorical 25th stitch, helping to mend his life.  “I don’t make a lot of money selling papers,” he admits.   “I’m not going to be a millionaire, but it has enabled me to move forward.”

Currently, William's pitch is located on Upper Street in Islington, just outside a Budgens supermarket.