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I don't know about you but I intensely dislike the feeling of being cold. I am not referring to being a little chilly
when caught without a favourite pair of gloves on a beautifully frosty
morning. I mean that bone chilling cold
when, despite the layers of clothing you are wearing, the thick woolly jumper,
the winter coat, the scarf (sometimes two!), you still feel frozen to your very
core. The only thing that enables you to
thaw out is a hot drink whilst snuggled up by the fire that you’ve lit because
the central heating just isn’t cutting it today. Or, maybe you shake off the numbing coldness
by sinking into a deep bubble bath because that’s the only thing that could
possibly warm you up.
Imagine feeling that cold all day. Every day.
Then imagine feeling even colder all through the night. Each and every
night. It’s hard to fully imagine that
isn’t it. But the homeless people living
on the streets of every city in the UK
don’t need to imagine it. This is
the reality of their lives. Add to this the gnawing hunger, the constant
threat of danger, the lack of dignity, the judgements, the loneliness, the
dirt, the untreated mental and physical illness, the lost hope, living with the
fear and the memories of whatever led you to have nowhere to call home. No comforts, no hope, no joy.
Imagine this was the life of one of your parents. Your sibling.
Your child. But this wouldn’t
happen to them would it because they have you.
Unless of course, you were not able to be there for them, or something
got in the way; pride, mental illness, family disputes.
As I get older, I find that I am more content. More comfortable. My life continues to become richer in so many
ways. I am lucky that this is largely circumstantial but it is also that I have
the luxury of being able to recognise all that I have and for that I am
grateful. I am not wealthy in material
terms but then I guess that is relative.
I have all that I need. I am
happy. The things that provide me with
the most pleasure are the simple things in life, being surrounded by the love
of my family and friends, the roof over my head in which I retreat to find the
many comforts of home. The time and
clarity of mind to see what I have and appreciate it and share it. When the hard times hit, I am supported and
helped through them. I draw on my
reserves and I face my fears. I overcome
the sadness and anxieties. I wait until
the good times return, as they always do.
So, why then, are our streets lined with people who have
lost their way, lost their homes , lost themselves?
Figures released last week by the Department for Communities and Local Government (DCLG) suggest that the numbers of
homeless people in the UK have increased over the last year by 16%, rising from 3569 to 4134. I have been reading the
stories of people who appeared to have life sorted only to find out how easily their
lives can crumble; a lost job, being left by a partner, a sick child, personal
illness, a lack of family support; things stack up until the situation becomes
impossible. It would be easy to make
judgements about who these people are.
Why they, instead of me, and instead of you, are facing such
hardship. As you learn more, it becomes
clear, that moving from a position in life of being comfortable and
‘successful’ to becoming homeless can be, it would appear, startlingly easy.
I find it heartbreaking that I have so much whilst others
have so little. But what to do? I feel guilty but unwilling to compromise the
life I enjoy. I live in an area of Sheffield that is
considered to be a ‘good’ area. The majority
of people who live here are comfortable…we don’t tend to see the face of
homelessness in Totley. It is easy to
busy ourselves with the challenges of the everyday which distract and shield us
from the harsh realities life can offer.
However, I recognise that for me, it is time to make a change. I have been talking about wanting to do
‘something’ for long enough. It is time
for action. Time to try to make some
small difference to someone elses life, or, rather more hopefully, to the lives
of a few people. Time to be kind to
people we don’t yet know but who could benefit from our support .
A number of friends, neighbours and acquaintances have stepped
forward to join in. I have begun to research homeless
organisations and projects currently running in the city. There are a lot of good things already
happening but there needs to be more. I
want to be a part of this ‘more’.
I am no martyr. I
have walked past homeless people in the street.
I have judged them. I have made
assumptions and jumped to conclusions. I
have decided not to give them my money, concerned that they are as likely to
spend that money on alcohol or drugs as they are on much needed food. If I am honest with myself, if I had gone
through all that a person goes through to lead them to this life of
homelessness then I would be really very likely to spend the little cash I came by on
drink or drugs in an attempt to want to try to block out some of the pain if
only for a short time. I would lack the
motivation and focus to seek out help and support and to always try to do the
right thing. I would, quite possibly, appear to be
desperate and pathetic to you as you passed me by in the street on your way
home from work. Maybe my fears of where
my money would go would reflect on me rather than on the homeless person in
front of me asking for what little I may be willing to give.
Before I opened the tea room I worked in the City Centre at
one of the city’s two universities. When
leaving work I would often see the same homeless woman as I walked past her
particular ‘bit’ of Sheffield. One
bitterly cold evening I stopped to chat to hear. Tears rolled down her face as she spoke of
her fear of spending that cold night on the street. I asked her what I could do for her that
would make the most difference. She said
a sleeping bag that was easy to carry would be of the most use. And tampons.
Until then, I had never even considered what a women on the street may
face each month when she gets her period.
I promised that I would go back to see her that night. I had fully intended to return with a
sleeping bag and tampons and hot food.
But then I got home and one of my kids was ill. My husband had to work late. My life got in the way and I never returned
to see that homeless woman whose face I can still picture and whose words I can
still hear in my head. I continue to feel
bad about this now, years later.
I’m really good at talking about what could be done to make
a difference, offering my opinion without translating the well intentioned
thoughts into any kind of action which could make any actual difference. Well, enough of talking…it’s time to be that
difference.
Watch this space.
