Crisis at Christmas

Crisis doesn't call their Centres 'shelters' anymore, explained a senior volunteer at 3am one night this Christmas, over a paper plate of bloody good curry. It's partly because there is a stigma attached to the word and partly because their Centres don't just provide a roof over people's heads. Instead, London's homeless (known at Crisis as guests) can access services such as doctors, lawyers and housing advice, eat three well-cooked meals a day, watch films, play bingo or board games, sing karaoke, and interact with each other and around 8,000 volunteers across 15 centres. I cannot count the number of times I was told that many of the guests consider the crowd from Crisis to be their family.

My Crisis experience, however, did revolve largely around providing a safe place for guests to get their head down, as I was signed up for night shifts. Starting at 10.15pm and running till 8.30am, the night shift is the longest and quite different from the two day shifts. As I arrived each night, the entertainment was finishing up, and people were beginning to go to bed. By around midnight, most guests were in bed and the majority of my time was spent sitting, watching over the centre. A few guests stayed up each night, shuffling around or sitting to talk. We were warned in orientation that it might seem like the reason for the job we'd been given was unclear, as we could spend an entire hour watching nothing happen. But, of course, every section of the centre needs to be staffed, sometimes just to ensure that nothing untoward is happening in empty corners.

One of the posts was standing outside, checking off people coming and going. There was a lot of chat about whether it was a good job (the fresh air keeps you awake), or a bad one (it's fucking fucking cold in London in December and we are soft British folk who dislike any sort of weather.) I remain undecided, but there is certainly a funny feeling you get in your tummy when you are standing around with two other volunteers, bundled up in a bright yellow jacket of authority and complaining about your 45 minutes of chilly toes, when suddenly you all realise that not 5 feet away is a building full of people who... well, you get my point.

One night I was posted out there when a woman from a housing organisation (charity or council, I'm not sure) was just leaving and a guest collared her for some last minute advice. He had been given a flat in the past and had lost it, he said, due to the incompetence of the council, or charity, or whatever organisation it was. He was laddish, I later found out he was about 45 but he could have passed for a scrappy 25, and he gave a convincing story of his victimisation in the situation. His ex-girlfriend had screwed him over. He hadn't had any support. He lost his job and got kicked out. Housing lady said she'd do her best to help him if he could let her know a place he'd be on a regular basis, so she could visit. He scuffed his trainers on the pavement, sniffed and shrugged, and said he couldn't commit to anything like that. After some back and forth, she told him to see her tomorrow and left.

As soon as she was out of earshot he turned to us and with a cheeky grin he muttered, "I wonder if they'll want the three grand I owe them, hah" as if it was a joke we were all in on. None of us laughed. Another volunteer, who works in the Navy and was getting on with this guy well, told him he needed to play the game and cooperate with the woman. More trainer scuffing, sniffing, shrugging. He would, he said, he knew. It must be hard for the people who work with this all the time to know who to help, when they can't help everyone. This guy seemed like a nice guy. He had his forklift truck driver's license. He was well spoken. And he spent most of his 20s travelling up and down the country and sleeping in service stations. I'm not drawing a conclusion or making a judgement here because I'm not sure I have one to draw or make. Build your own if you want, I guess.

Another of the jobs at the centre was sitting in the sleeping rooms. Guests slept on simple cots made of wooden frames with canvas suspended in the centre and they each have a thick blanket which they are given to keep on the last day. The rooms held about 15 to 30 guests each and 2 to 4 volunteers would staff each room at any one time. The rooms were decorated for Christmas, the walls covered in bright drawings of holly leaves and snowflakes and signs proclaimed "Merry Christmas!" in multicolours and several different languages.

In the blue half-light of the main sleeping room, you could make out the shape of a large model reindeer and a fir tree. In another room were piles of board games and books, and a row of computers. My enduring memory from Crisis is of sitting in these rooms, watching anonymous mounds in identical beds snoring, shifting heavily under welcome blankets and getting some sleep.

One night, I was stationed in the far corner of the main sleeping room, away from the door, surrounded by cots. One boy slept inches from my knees. I say boy, he was probably around 30. But that night, with blankets clutched around his frame, his face upturned towards the window and his skin pale in the moonlight, he looked like a sick child. And so tiny. I kept thinking about stroking his forehead in the way my mum used to do to me, smoothing my hair to one side, where it would never stay. I couldn't do that, but I could help to give him a safe place to sleep that night, and 6 other nights this Christmas. 7 nights total, out of 365.

So every time someone tells me they think it's great I did Crisis this year, I feel only uncomfortable, because I know it's not enough and I don't know what would be or if I'd be capable of it. But, while a lot of what we did on the night shift was just sitting still and watching, I know that meant 100 people a night could sleep, safe in the knowledge that they could leave a plastic bag containing everything they owned under their cot and someone was watching to make sure it'd still be there in the morning. And, while the name for the centres may have changed, I know that providing safe shelter for the night is just as important to the guests as all the things that go on during the day at Crisis.

http://www.crisis.org.uk/