A Caring Kind Of Christmas

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While many of us are gearing up for festive shopping, Mohammed Khan recalls the night he gave something back – as a volunteer at the Hackney Winter Shelter.

Looking through the window I saw a long line of guests waiting for the hall to be prepared. Inside, there were numerous volunteers involved in getting it ready. We were split into groups and assigned different tasks – sorting clothes, making food and preparing the beds. My group was assigned to make the beds – two thousand, one hundred and ninety-one of them, each with its own mattress and duvet; all of them to be ready by the time the doors opened at 7.30pm.

On entry, the guests sat down to have their dinner. The evening meal consisted of chicken soup, turkey with roast potatoes, mince pies and Christmas pudding. While they were eating, many of the guests began to trade stories – with each other, and with volunteers – often about how they came to be homeless. But some preferred to keep their circumstances to themselves.

After the meal at around nine o’clock, about 30 per cent of the guests decided to leave because they preferred to find shelter elsewhere. The guests who remained played board games and role playing games such as charades. Given their situation, you might assume the atmosphere would be sad. Quite the opposite – the room was filled with humour and even joy, as the guests started to riddle and joke with each other.

But the mood changed dramatically when one guest stood up to speak. He began to explain his daily struggle to find food for himself and his partner. As he went on, the room filled with tears.

His was an ageing face with visible battle scars. His eyes were yellow and pulpy, as if he had not slept for a long time. He had a rough grey beard with long hair, and he was wearing an old jacket – ripped, patched, and ripped again. In a husky voice he explained himself:

‘It is important to understand that being homeless is not always caused by addictions. Sometimes other circumstances occur. I was a special needs teacher who was passionate about the job until I was made redundant and became evicted. I became depressed because homelessness separated me from my wife and children. I could no longer afford to pay for my children’s college trips. My wife lived on the other side of London with her sister, while I walked around on the streets.’

This man’s speech motivated other guests to stand up and speak about their struggles. But by 10pm tiredness was taking its toll. Many of the guests had not slept properly for days, and they began asking about the beds. Before they were shown into the sleeping quarters, they were each provided with a set of clean clothes, and invited to put their old clothes in a basket so they could be laundered and ready for the morning.

Snug and warm, covered in a thick quilt, some loosened up and started chatting again. But others were disturbed by this, and after a while we asked the talkative ones to continue their conversation in the main hall, so that the majority could sleep undisturbed.

When morning came there was breakfast, and advice about how to get a place in a hostel. Then we said our goodbyes. Chucking out time was 10am, and around that time I searched for the man with the ageing face and long hair, thinking to offer him further help. But another volunteer told me he had slipped quietly away about an hour before.

Saying goodbye was a wrench. I had only known the guests for a night, yet I felt I had really got to know them in that time. As I left the premises I promised myself I would help again next year.

I am looking forward to spending some of my Christmas in the night shelter. How about you?

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