No Fixed Abode

by Charlie Carroll

  'Oh, tramps disappeared a long time ago.'

  'Not that long,' I remonstrated. 'I remember them from when I was a kid, and I'm not that old.'

  'True. I'm a lot older than you, and I remember them well. Don't know why there aren't any any more. Is it because we're so affluent now? Or because we're so atomised and suspicious of everyone else, especially people on the streets? That's the main problem in general, I think, why homelessness still exists. People don't want to help the homeless because they are fundamentally frightened of them.'

  'That's what I think. It's fear from ignorance. Most people don't know anyone who is or has been homeless, and they don't understand why or how it can happen. They're ignorant, and that makes them frightened, and that makes them contemptuous.'

  'I've been guilty of it myself. I remember a conversation I had with a man in Manchester. He had been a printer, but then his job became obsolete with the digital revolution, and he ended up on the streets. I remember realising then that the homeless are just ordinary people, too, and that it can happen to anyone given the wrong set of circumstances.'

  'Have you read Stuart by Alexander Masters?' I asked.

  'Yes, I know the one. The biography about the homeless man in Cambridge.'

  I nodded. 'At one point, Stuart says that the first time he met middle-class people he was shocked to discover how ordinary they were.'

  He laughed, then stopped and looked about him, perhaps suddenly cognisant of the fact that he had just spent the last few minutes talking to a stranger who dressed and smelled like a tramp. 'Anyway!' he announced. 'Good luck with your work.'

  I thanked him profusely for his time and generosity, and turned to go back the way I had come. Five steps on, I heard him shout behind me. He was stood at the lip of the pavement.

  'You have read Orwell's Down and Out, haven't you?' he asked.

  'Of course. Orwell's my hero.'

  'Good,' he said, and crossed the road.

  6

  I returned to the Dalston house to pass a few hours online researching Boris Johnson's hint at the 'No Second Night Out' campaign.

  Launched in April 2011, the No Second Night Out (NSNO) initiative began in London (its tag line was 'Ending Rough Sleeping in London by the end of 2012'), but has since been taken up by local authorities across the country. Looking at the important fact that, of the approximately four thousand rough sleepers in London, well over half (about two thousand, three hundred) are new to the streets, it aims to target those new homeless and ensure that they are rehoused within their first twenty-four hours of rough sleeping.

  It is a bold objective, but one which, by and large, has met with considerable applause by many who already worked to reduce homelessness. Networking and offering extra funding to outreach programmes, homeless shelters and refuges, soup runs, voluntary and council-led services, NSNO has, at the time of writing, already helped a thousand rough sleepers to reconnect with their families in London, elsewhere in the UK or even abroad, and has nudged a subject which has been taboo for far too long into the public consciousness. One of the scheme's most successful implementations is a hotline telephone number which members of the public can call if they see someone sleeping rough. NSNO pledges to send out assistance to anyone whose location and details are phoned in.

  Like most state-led schemes which aim to help the disadvantaged, No Second Night Out has met with some criticism. Most is inconsequential, but some is worth noting here. One revolves around the strange parameters NSNO works by – that is, that only people literally sleeping on the streets can be helped by the scheme. If a hotline phone call reveals a person sleeping in a stairwell or car park, they are deemed outside of the jurisdiction of NSNO's remit, and no one will be sent to offer them assistance.

  One recent news story reported the experience of a voluntary worker who met a rough sleeper in an Islington McDonald's. Sitting next to him, she succeeded in engaging him in conversation, and learned that he had arrived two days before from Birmingham and was homeless. He had spent the last of his money the first night in a youth hostel, had walked the streets the second night to keep warm, and now was stuck in the city with no money, sweatshirt or sleeping bag. Someone had offered him a five-pound note on the streets that afternoon, and he was using it slowly in McDonald's so that he might keep warm for as long as possible.

  Remembering No Second Night Out, the voluntary worker called the hotline and described the man she had met, only to be told that they could do nothing because they 'don't meet people in buildings'. Their advice was for him to leave the McDonald's, find a place to sleep, bed down, and then call from there. Only then might they be able to send someone out. The voluntary worker related this to the man, he reminded her about his lack of sleeping bag and sweatshirt, his lack of a phone, the dreadful cold outside and the warmth in the McDonald's, and then he burst into a strange laughter.

  There are others who are even more cynical of the scheme. After I returned home from my journey and began my additional research for this book, I had a telephone conversation with a London-based outreach worker who, requesting anonymity, said: 'Mostly, No Second Night Out does good work and helps people. But it's the motives behind it I question. Everyone involved is constantly reminded that it is just a pilot project. We all know what that means. It's the Olympics. Boris wants as many people as possible off the streets for the Olympics. After that, you watch, they'll shut it down. We need something much more long-term.'

  At the time of writing, months after the Olympics closing ceremony, No Second Night Out continues, and the deputy mayor has recently pledged to push the target of ending rough sleeping in London beyond the scheme's original deadline (the end of 2012). While NSNO did not meet its initial target, this is not a failure. Any project which aims to solve the issue of homelessness requires longevity and commitment, and it is my hope that, whatever the new target may be, NSNO will continue beyond that, too.

  7

  The front page of the Metro newspaper the following day seemed so cosmically apt for me that I tore it off and folded it into my journal. Two pictures of yesterday's tennis match predominated: Cameron, neck-flab bulging over his collar, eyes shut, head thrown back and thin lips sucking in air like he had just been punched in the groin; Johnson wielding his racket like an axe, hair inexplicable and jaw thrust out in a grunt of exertion. Above them both, the seemingly disconnected headline: 'Crisis on the streets.' To the right, the first seven paragraphs of an article stating that Britain's homeless population had increased by 17 per cent since the previous year and was likely to get worse.

  In the hope of finding out more, I walked to Charing Cross where Westminster's Homeless Unit worked from the police station. I had no appointment and was asked to bide my time in the waiting room while they found someone who could see me. I did not lie. I was, I told the receptionist, researching homelessness in the UK and wanted their professional perspective.

  An officer came out to meet me and beckoned me into a small office. I was not offered a seat.

  'You're writing a book? I'm not sure I can help you. Really, you should be going through the official channels.'

  'I appreciate that,' I said, 'but this book is supposed to look at the unofficial side of homelessness, the real-life side. I'm sure you could point me towards your latest online press statement with all the up-to-date statistics, but what I want is your perspective, as a man whose job it is to try and reduce homelessness in London.'

  He squirmed uncomfortably. The door behind him was still open, and he was slowly edging towards it. 'Like I said, I can't really help you out. I don't talk to journalists.'

  'I'm not a journalist.'

  'No, but for me the same rules apply. How do I know you won't misquote me? Land me in trouble?'

  I could read between the lines. He feared that, were he to talk candidly, he might say something his superiors would not condone. After years of teaching, I could empathise with his reluctance to speak openly about his profession. It would be
too easy for it to lead to litigation or dismissal.

  But I needed something more than this stonewalling. 'How about I just ask you a few things?' I said. 'Just about the process of your job. Just what you do, not why you do it. As soon as you've had enough, just say so and I'll go.'

  He left the room for a few seconds and then returned. Moments later, a colleague walked in and sat to busy himself with some paperwork. I recognised that, too. The need to have someone else present. It was a small shield against the litigious potential of a one-on-one discussion. If I ever gave a detention to a single child at school, I would always make sure the door was open and another teacher was in earshot. Who knew what that child might claim later? In this situation, who knew what I might claim later?

  'Go on, then,' he mumbled.

  'What would you say is the main focus of the Homeless Unit?'

  'Our main focus is to reduce the amount of rough sleepers in Westminster.'

  'Just Westminster?'

  'That's our area. All London would be too big for us to cover. We couldn't, for example, cope with all the homeless in Angel, as well.'

  'So do they have their own Homeless Unit?'

  'I don't know. I don't think so. The reason we have one here is because Westminster has the highest density of rough sleepers in London. It's constantly changing, but right now the average number we cite is eighty a night.'

  That sounded to me remarkably low, and my interlocutor agreed that it was. He explained that it was not an actual figure of the homeless in Westminster – moreover, it came from literal headcounts of the people that could be found sleeping rough in one night. It did not include those who had secured a place in a hostel or refuge for the night; did not include those who had wandered off for a change of scenery after getting into trouble; did not include those who the police simply could not find.

  'Remember,' he continued, 'our focus is getting the rough sleepers off the street. And not all homeless are rough sleepers.'

  I told him about the research I had conducted into the No Second Night Out scheme which, by my reckoning, seemed to work by the same rules.

  'No Second Night Out is good, I'll give you that, but we've been doing the same thing for years.'

  I asked him to explain the generic strategy of the Homeless Unit when they found someone sleeping rough.

  'The first step is to ascertain where you're from and see if we can reconnect you with that place. A lot of people have had an argument with their parents or partners and thought – right, I'm going to London. You'll be amazed how many people believe that cliché that the streets are paved with gold. But they're not paved with gold. The streets can be lonely and they can be very frightening. Where are you from?'

  'Cornwall.'

  'Right, I'd try and find out from you why you left Cornwall and if there's anyone there I could contact on your behalf. You won't believe the amount of people who are on the streets here just because they can't afford the bus fare home and they're ashamed of admitting to their families what's happened to them. So if I could reconcile you with your family through phone contact, then we would pay for your bus fare home.'

  'And if that didn't work? If, say, I was from London anyway, no family, all my friends are homeless as well, I've got nothing and nowhere to go back to – what then?'

  'The next step would be to put you in touch with one of the hostels or charities: St Mungo's, Anchor House, The Passage, The Connection at St Martin-in-the-Fields.'

  'I've been hearing those names a lot. People tell me I should visit them.'

  'They're right. These are the places on the front line. The work they do is superb. The Connection's just around the corner from here – go and see them now.'

  Acknowledging the implication in the imperative, I thanked my interlocutor for his time and left Charing Cross. The Connection was closed for the day, and when I contacted the other names I had heard so often – St Mungo's, Anchor House – I was informed that unless I was genuinely homeless I would have to make an appointment. That seemed fair, and I did.

  8

  St Mungo's in Camden was one of a number of hostels and housing projects the charity has across London and the South. With full disclosure of the purpose of my visit, I had arranged to meet a member of staff, who did not wish to be named, at the entrance for a tour and a chat.

  'Thanks for this,' I said as we entered through the large doors. 'I thought about lying, trying to get in by saying I needed a bed for the night. But that would have been wrong. I would have taken a bed I don't need from someone who does.'

  'Good call,' she smiled. 'We would have found you out anyway.'

  Like the Compass Centre in Bristol, which St Mungo's also managed, the reception area was large, open, cool and comfortable. The hostel had been converted from an old Victorian school, and light beamed into the reception through the gigantic arched windows. Some of the residents sat around coffee tables in earnest conversation with their staff liaisons, a television played the muted and subtitled news in a corner, and every wall was plastered with posters advertising cooking groups, drop-in sessions, job opportunities, budgeting workshops, education and training possibilities, a walking club, a garden club and myriad others, all of which holistically promoted a clear agenda of health and well-being.

  'All these options and opportunities are amazing,' I said. 'Do you think that, as long as a homeless person wants it enough, there are enough provisions available for them to successfully reintegrate?'

  'There are services, and lots of them,' she replied. 'But each person is an individual and ideally you're offering the service they specifically need. And we don't say "reintegrate". We would say "rebuild".'

  Language was important here. The residents were 'clients'. This was not a refuge or shelter but a 'hostel'. I liked that. With my background in teaching, I knew all too well the importance of well-chosen words.

  This St Mungo's hostel took people in who had a Camden connection. Its fifty-two beds were almost always full as people moved in and moved on. The reception area alone bustled with life as staff members and clients streamed through the doors.

  'Where's Steve? Steve!' a man in his thirties hollered from the desk as he spun in distressed circles.

  Steve appeared. 'What's up, Kyle?' he asked, walking towards him. 'Are you back?'

  'No, mate, no. I just really need a talk.'

  'Then let's talk.'

  As Steve guided Kyle from the reception area, Kyle's nervous anxiety transformed into a calm smile. 'Thanks, mate,' he said.

  'Any time,' Steve replied, and they disappeared behind closed doors.

  I turned back to my guide, who was explaining that part of the hostel's current action plan was a focus on women in need. 'At the moment, a quarter of our clients are female.'

  'That seems a lot. Of all the homeless people I've met on my journey, perhaps five per cent of them were female.'

  'That could well be. In London around one in ten rough sleepers are women. Our residents aren't all rough sleepers, though. Just over half have slept rough but others are people with a mix of housing support needs, including people with mental health issues or who have found themselves victims of domestic abuse or troubled family relationships. What were the women you met like?'

  'Sue wasn't that old, but she looked it. And I don't know for sure, but I think Tanya was a prostitute.'

  My guide nodded. 'Of our women clients who have slept rough, around four in ten have been involved in prostitution. And, as for Sue, if she's spent enough time on the streets, regardless of how old she looks, there's a high likelihood that she has been raped at least once.'

  The boldness of the assertion made me wince, and my guide must have noticed, for she went on to explain that, through extensive discussion with their clients, the staff at St Mungo's had ascertained that it was generally far more difficult for women on the streets than it was for men. Abuse and exploitation – both physical and mental – were commonplace, and this was compounded by the fact that
most homelessness services in London and the rest of the UK have traditionally been set up for men.

  'So what steps do you take to help these women who find themselves at your doors to rebuild?' I asked.

  'The same steps we take with all our clients, men and women. But we're trying to be more aware of what particular needs women might have, maybe around sexual or domestic abuse or loss of contact with children.'

  She explained that clients were able to stay at the hostel if they had some connection with Camden: either they were previously Camden residents or had a family connection within the borough. Some were referred to St Mungo's by outreach teams or Camden Council Housing, while others might come from referrals from the No Second Night Out hub, a twenty-four-hour assessment centre in Islington set up as the first port of call for new rough sleepers under the NSNO scheme. At the hub, anyone who was newly rough sleeping was assessed on what led them to become homeless and, depending on what help they needed, was then referred into a hostel, private rented housing, a reconnection service depending on their visa status in the UK, or even into hospital. The first step, much like at the Charing Cross Homeless Unit, was to ascertain whether or not they had connections: friends or family who they might be comfortable returning to. If so, temporary accommodation and a bus or plane ticket home were paid for.