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Cases These stories are true; they are about real people. Some have left behind the problems that brought them to Veterans Aid and have asked that we share their experiences but not their identities. Their names are bracketed by commas.
Others have agreed to be named and identified. Every story is different, every tragedy unique, but VA's philosophy is a positive one.
CEO Hugh Milroy says: “Most people make the transition from Service to civilian life with no problem; they don't become homeless and they don't need further support. Others, through a combination of circumstances, and through no fault of their own, need help. That's why we're here.
“Our message is ‘Don't wait until you're desperate' ; we'd rather speak to people before they get into serious difficulties. Our core business is homelessness, but our expertise , understanding and linkages with other support agencies make us a gateway for help with a wide range of problems.”
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'Fred'
Caption:‘Fred' takes his last look at London from his temporary home at the Union Jack Club. Within weeks of arriving in London from overseas he has been found a home by the seaside. Picture: Anastasia Taylor-Lind.
‘Fred ‘ is a bright, dapper man with a twinkle in his eye and a treasure-chest of stories to tell. He's also 86-years old and, until recently, alone in the world.
When he arrived back in England after years living overseas the former Marine had only one ambition; to spend his remaining years in the country of his birth.
Without family, friends or anywhere to stay ‘Fred' arrived at Heathrow tired and without a clear plan. He was directed to London's Victory Services Club by a helpful airport information worker. It was a good call, because in a way ‘Fred' did have a family – he just didn't know it.
Every former serviceman and woman has access to support agencies and friends; their needs may differ, but the without a place to live to live other requirements pale into insignificance. ‘Fred' has cataracts, he can't drive and his health isn't great. But he now has a flat of his own on the coast - somewhere to display his pictures of giant salmon and tell fisherman's tales to his new friends.
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‘Lucy'
When ‘Lucy' left the Army to study for a degree she was optimistic about her future. The ‘A' levels she had gained in the Royal Artillery had enabled her to get into university and she was on track to qualify in her chosen profession.
Confident after three years service as a Gunner and a series of responsible telecommunications and security posts, the last door she expected to be knocking on after leaving the Regiment was that of a charity dedicated to helping the homeless. Not that ‘Lucy' was ever on the streets, but she came perilously close to being.
So how did it happen? How did a bright, hard-working ex-soldier with a professional qualification and a good job end up desperate and broke?
The stereotype of the homeless veteran is a middle aged man with an alcohol dependency, or a young one suffering from PTSD. The reality is that anyone can end up homeless or temporarily unable to cope, regardless of age, race – or gender.
The perceived stigma attached to homelessness makes many of the most unlikely people – senior officers or successful career women like ‘Lucy' - reluctant to seek help. In her case mounting debts built up because of high start-up costs and the fact many of those she helped professionally were slow to settle their bills. Unable to pay her rent, and with no recourse to family help, she faced eviction.
Looking back Lucy says: “I was suffering from clinical depression at the time and my tenancy in my old place was coming to an end. A friend offered to let me stay at his house for a while, but unbeknown to me his wife wasn't too happy. Six weeks later I went back to a locked door - at 11 in the evening.
“I went to all the public and charity organisations as I was literally homeless. The council said I wasn't a priority as I wasn't vulnerable enough. Shelter gave me the number of other shelters. I contacted the Royal British Legion but they couldn't see me for a number of weeks. I was sofa surfing for about ten days. The next place I was to go to fell through so I called the RBL again they referred me to Veterans Aid.”
She came perilously close to joining the ranks of the capital's rough sleepers. Within hours of arriving at VA, ‘Lucy' had been reassured, guaranteed aid and had two sources of charitable funding identified. Her worst fears were never realised; her professional colleagues never became aware of her desperation.
Lucy is not typical of those who find themselves sharing tea and tears with the team at Victoria; luckily she was directed to people able to step in before her problems got worse. “I was very relieved. The prospect of sleeping on the streets of London was very scary. I was upset, and ashamed that I had got myself into that position, but so very grateful to everyone who helped me sort out my accommodation problems.” * * *
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