This is a small article which was written this year about homelessness in the UK.

I spent a night out with homeless people and it was amazing - to hear their stories, their experiences, their lives.

I know Europe is a community of propserity and development. But it's evidently not in some areas. So while this article is probably not what you're expecting in this competition, I feel pieces such as this need publishing to make the european community aware of a simple fact: amidst all the success we're still struggling with our own people.

 

The other side of the street

With the number of homeless people reaching 109,000 – a figure which can only rise with the recession – Ashley Scrace spent an eye-opening night on the streets of Hastings to discover the lifestyle of those forgotten few who sleep rough.

 

There is little that we appreciate more than a good night out. The flickering lights and the music pulsating from nearby bars.

For us being out on the streets in the dead of night usually means socialising or a walk back to our nice warm homes.

 

Yet there are some who are out every night of the week. Not spending money, not warming inside a pub, but outside sitting with the weight of the world on their shoulders. The forgotten people of the street: the homeless.

 

A recent programme on the BBC attempted to show what living on the streets is like by getting the rich and famous to spend a night on the tiles – the concrete ones.

 

Wanting to experience this for myself, I entered town with a very different agenda to usual. Sitting on the cold concrete I intended to observe the streets around me.

 

Hunched over in a brace position, in my dirtiest clothes, I sat and watched the world waiting for some human contact.

It did not take long for someone to approach – coincidentally another homeless man.

 

He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, wearing worn jeans and a printed t-shirt which had faded over the years. Unshaven, and, from the smell, unwashed, he leant over and stuttered a few words.

 

“How is it going?” he asked.

 

Here came the complicated part - explaining in the nicest possible way that I was not really homeless

but acting for advantageous reasons of my own.

 

 The man understood my situation but was reluctant to talk – possibly due to my covert behaviour before. But he provided some truths colder than the concrete.

 

“It’s tough out here. People don’t give much”

 

The question naturally followed: what are you saving for exactly?

“I just want enough for some food”

 

Settling down next to me for the night, he laid out his mat for the kind donations of passers-by. In his lap were a collection of coins. He had gathered pieces of shrapnel but nothing more – twenty-pence maybe.

 

What is twenty pence nowadays? Penny sweets are hard to come by. Chewing gum is double the price. Apparently nothing is of such miniscule value.

 

When confronted about his position an answer of inaudible mumbling strained from his mouth – along with a pungent smell of methylated spirit. A name was caught.

 

“They call me Desperate Dan”. Fitting, that.

 

Across the road a flock of Seagulls swooped down to the beach, searching for scraps by the sea. Dan looked up, almost in awe, but more in jealousy.

 

The Gulls had got something – either a measly piece of food or some rubbish. Either way, something. Dan looked distressed as the Gulls looked towards him – the real street scavengers belittling the timid amateur.

 

I asked to stay with him for a while, but my request was quashed. Sleepily eyed and seemingly frightened, Dan pointed me in the direction of another homeless person who, he claimed, would be more than happy to talk to anyone. He went by the name of Ben.

Slumped outside the local Wetherspoons sat a man. He appeared to be sleeping, with his small Jack Russell taking guard.

He stirred, feeling my presence from twenty-feet away.

 

“Hello, son.” One eye opened. The other was missing.

 

Ben revealed he was 44-years-old and has been homeless for ten years. With no other company – except comrade Dan and his dog, Fluke, Ben explained the loneliness such a position holds.

 

“I read. I’ve read all of James Herbert. That’s why the Dog got its name.”

 

Reciting various lines from Herbert, he explained the allusions between the books and his life.

Telling me about his life, he ventured on to how he’d ended up a man of the street.

 

After marrying his wife in the eighties, a string of violent assaults led to his arrest and imprisonment in the infamous Strangeways prison, Manchester.

“It was an interesting time. As you probably know, the riots were around then.”

Actually, I didn’t know – I was just too young.

 

In April 1990 the prisoners at Strangeways, notably Paul Taylor, began rioting in protest against their appalling living conditions.

Starting in the Chapel the gangs rioted through the prison, tossing furniture over, hitting guards and even making it to the roof.

 

A recorded conversation in the Chapel between Reverend Noel Procter and Paul Taylor revealed the anger of the mob and their reasons for rioting.

 

Approximately £55 million of damage was caused, with over 140 people injured in the riot.

 

But Ben was adamant the media coverage was false. He stated none of the reported brutalities happened at all – from the hands of the prisoners or the guards.

 

Some more controversial claims seeped out, interspersed with sips of his water.

 

“It was all wrong really.” The water bottle tipped back. “The vicar got us riled anyway.”

A couple of girls approached us, staggering across the pavement.

“Oi, piss on this fucking cock!”

Just as it was reaching the important climactic event, Ben’s tales of horrible humanity were realised.

“Why don’t you get a job?” they shouted.

“If I could, would I be here?” came Ben’s response.

Good point. He may be homeless, but he’s not stupid.

 

Measuring homelessness is difficult due to the varied definitions of what homelessness is, who is counted as homeless and the changing situations of the individuals concerned.

 

Statistics from the Department for Communities and Local Government (2005) estimated that there are 10,500 rough sleepers in the UK at any one time. A further 100,000 are only in temporary accommodation to cope with their predicament.

Yet figures from the Joseph Rowntree Foundation suggest otherwise. They estimate that there are 75,000 people living on the streets of the UK who are youths, yet alone the others who are above 24-years-old.

 

In 2007/08 the Department for Communities and Local Government sought to gather statistics as to the reasons for homelessness.

Whether it is due to personal reasons which defy belief, or due to circumstance, the breakdown of the family seems to be the main reason those unfortunate souls end up on the street.

 

Out of those studied, 36% of homeless people lived their dangerous life due to parents, relatives and friends inability to accommodate them any longer.

 

Problems with rent and mortgage payments were other factors, proving problematic for 6% of those studied.

But by far the most startling reason for homelessness is the 18% which makes up the ‘other’ reasons. There are a myriad of reasons listed: family breakdown; abandonment; relationship trouble and so on. So what makes up the ‘other’?

 

Ben looked up. He appeared to have had a job in a factory, cutting sheets of steel. When imprisonment came, the job obviously went. It was during the imprisonment when his personal situation took a turn for the worse.

 

 “My wife left. I had no house or anything and most of my family is gone. So I originally came down here with my brother as he helped me out.”

 

Details all went blurry here, but somehow he ended up on the streets. And the past has been littered with sleeping rough, being beaten up and asking for spare change.

 

“It’s easier to end up here than you think. I mean, I’ve been inside for years. I don’t want sympathy. It was all my own fault. When I came out, all I had was gone though.”

 

With the current economic climate, it is only predicted to get worse. With 2.3 million people unemployed and only 425,000 jobs on offer the chances of ending up homeless – via spending or just misfortune – are much higher.

 

Yet statistics released in June 2009 from the Government revealed that homelessness is decreasing.

 

The statistics showed a 15% fall in people declaring themselves homeless to the local councils in England between January and March compared with the same period in 2008 and a 26% fall in the number accepted as homeless on the whole.

 

Who is right and who is wrong? Ben did not comment on the numbers, but he did comment on the experience.

 

“It’s horrible. Really bad. Why, I don’t know. I mean you get some nice people, but others not so much.

 

“People piss on you, steal your shoes, try and burn you. My glass eye was even nicked. Now I’m waiting on the NHS for a new one.”

But what does he aspire to do? “A house would be good.” But Ben shocked me with his humbleness.

 

“Nothing really though. I love the smell in the morning. I like waking up and looking up at stars. I feel freedom, y’know, not those prison walls.”

 

There was an uneasy silence.

 

“My violent past is behind me. I did it my way. I would kill for some Sinatra, though.”