I'm sure you will say "I told you so!"

Well, what a day I've had.

As you know I've been a bit of a woman on a mission the past few days trying to get the local homeless lady of Littleborough into some emergency accommodation.

First and foremost, it is no easy feat trying to find emergency accommodation in this borough that isn't already bursting at the seams - if by chance of a miracle you do actually get through to the right person; having run the gauntlet of every phone line in Greater Manchester, you will undoubtedly reach the starting gate : Whats the persons name you are referring, whats their date of birth, whats their last known address, how do we contact them.
Well that is an awful lot of questions to be asking someone who a) is naturally guarded about their information b) not always a full shilling by way of alcohol or drugs c) even if you do get the information you need, chances of it being accurate are pretty slim.

I asked Becky yesterday what her full name was, her birthday, it took her a long time to decipher the different months and years, but we got there.

So, today, armed with this information, I made more phone calls to try and get a plan together - lo and behold a great place in Rochdale called Petrus - a project that does a host of great things across Rochdale, including a day centre where people can pop in, grab something to eat, have a shower, do some laundry, get some clean clothes and toiletries and get some viable help from the incredibly compassionate and pro-active staff working there.

I walked this morning for 2 hours in the rain, through Littleborough, Hurstead and Dearnley trying to find this woman. When I did eventually find her, she was soaked to the bone and beyond drunk.
Trousers falling down, her modesty protected by another pair of jeans underneath the ones round her ankles.
I pulled them up and put her on a bus.

Off we went, the strangest looking pair of woman on public transport. She was away with the fairies for the entire journey, chatting away to herself, swearing and laughing. The strangest state of drunk I've ever seen - especially before 12 o'clock.

When I eventually got Becky to Petrus, she was agitated and reluctant to engage. I could see the anger and frustration and fear bubbling inside her. She stormed out and left me to talk to the lovely ladies who worked there.
I thought she had done a runner. A good 40 minutes passed and as I made my way to leave, she shouted me from across the road. I calmed her down and asked her to come inside and get warm. She agreed. Positive progress.

She was handed a clean towel and a bag of mini toiletries, shampoo, shower gel, a new toothbrush, hairbrush, everything you could possibly need.
Such dignity.
What an incredible thing these people are doing, providing hot showers. laundry facilities, hot meals, it is just truly amazing.

Whilst she was showering, I went into a room filled with bin bags of clothes, piles stacked high to the ceiling, clothes rails buckling under the weight of the donated winter coats and heavy wool jumpers. A worker and I ploughed through the clothes and found ideal rainy Rochdale attire - a lovely pair of Per Una jeans, it made me laugh. They were the kind of jeans my own mother would have picked out for me a decade ago, cute, denim, tight, size 10, lovely.
An oversized tshirt and a thermal and cosy fleece, a clean pair of bridget jones knicker and some thermal socks.

All of this, free.
For any man or woman who should walk into the Petrus Hub on a weekday, they can walk out again, most likely into organised accommodation thanks to the hard work of the people there, in clean, warm, clothes, warm bellies and clean hands, hair and feet.
And whats not to love about that?
- Let me tell you, after walking around in the rain for hours, I was half tempted to jump on the bandwagon myself; alas, I'm in a incredibly humbled position where I can go home and do just that.

I knock on the shower door and Becky opens it, in all her naked glory, I am a little shocked at the sight of a naked woman, especially this naked woman. I have seen her in layers of clothes up until now so to be greeted with her in a natural state leaves me a little taken aback.
It makes me realise how indoctrinated she must be into our prison system. Knock, open, naked, dressed, leave.

She brushes her hair, hands and fingernails the cleanest I've seen them since we met. She looks refreshed, like a little weight has lifted from her shoulders. Nestled in warm clothes, she moves a little easier.
She asks me to pop back to the shower room to grab her hair bobble - I do, but as I find out later, this was a rookie error, as I leave my hoodie unattended with money in the pocket.
A quick lesson in what not to do, but my own eagerness to help teaches me how to do things differently next time.

I can hear you all scoff, take a little breath and wonder what on earth I'm doing.

The explosion comes, her agitation reaches fever pitch, surrounded by strangers, in a place I can tell she doesn't like, her anger surfaces like a volcano.

A rage. Like I've not seen in her before, but read about. A lot.

People writing on social forums and gossiping loudly, that shes a crazy, angry lunatic.
And I see it for myself now.
Shes flipped.
Screaming, shouting, swearing, threatening, aggressive, abusive, violent.

I'm not scared, I'm upset.
I'm frustrated.
I help the womans hand yesterday as she cried at a bus stop and now she wants to throttle me.

She tells me she will kill me if she sees me again and a barrage of other threats.

I'm saddened. Truly. To see her so consumed with rage when just moments before she was gentle and enthralled in brushing her hair.

So, I'm £10 down from my hoodie pocket, a bus fare, a bag of chips and my day off.

Will I do it all again?
Absolutely.

There is no doubt that this woman is consumed with demons. That she needs some serious mental health intervention, absolute abstinence and a bloody good rehab program.
What she really needs is for people not to give up.

If I walk away now, I will be another short lived attempt at genuine help.
I won't do that.
I certainly won't leave myself in such a vunerable position with a woman who clearly needs some professional support, but that doesn't mean I won't stop and talk to her tomorrow and the day after that, and work to get her the help she needs.

It's the strangest way to spend my day off, no doubt about that, and whilst some will think it's case and point and that you just can't help some people - I still don't believe that.

To top off my delightful drama, the £10 she pinched, I couldn't get home from Rochdale and ended up hopping on the wrong train home.
With a few quid in my pocket I hopped on the first train to Leeds, assuming it was the right one, ended up in Todmorden, having the explain this long winded tail to a less than impressed train conductor - who let me on the train to come home - thankfully.
Which in itself would have been arduous enough - oh no, not today - today there were ticket inspectors at Littleborough - who seemed less amused by my sorry tale!

Hey ho, live and learn and have another go tomorrow!

A face, in a place, but invisible.

Her fingers are dirtier today, and the hair, matted into thick black blocks and oh so sad.
I have seen sadness, I have seen hopelessness, but today, in dark brown eyes, there was absolute nothingness.

Oh yes, I know what colour eyes Becky has, as you know, we had lunch yesterday.
Well, today, we had breakfast.

Amongst the stalls of the local farmers market, there she sat, in the door way I found her at yesterday.
Silent. Unassuming and not the offensive, abusive monster I've read so much about.
Funny that, two days in a row, I've met a woman who has been nothing but just that, a woman. Not the lady who flashes her tits at the middle class shoppers of the local sainsburys, or drops her knickers for a pissed up emergency wee (because of course, non of us have done that! - china town, a dark alley, 2008, thats all I'm saying)
Nope. Today, just a very grubby, very sad looking 40 something year old lady, waiting for someone to see her. Really see her.

So off I wandered, through the stares of the masses, to purchase a sausage sandwich from one of the stalls and back I went to sit with her whilst she ate.
"You look very down today Becky, no smiles like yesterday, whats wrong?"
"I've got a sore back," she tells me, welling up, still chomping away.
"Where did you sleep last night? Were you safe?"
"In the bushes,"

She goes on to tell me where she has indeed been sleeping and duly where her she has stashed her worldly possessions I saw her with yesterday and I understand why she does indeed look a lot more dirty than she did.

I ask her if she will let me help her, whether shes willing to try, if I can.
We sit at the bus stop and talk and I promise her I'll make phone calls and see what we can do.
And then something magical happens, she raises her arm and pulls me in for a hug.
Of course I don't pull away, and we have a lovely little moment, of one human consoling another human in a desperate gasp for help on a sunny Sunday afternoon somewhere in surburbia.

I wonder when the last time somebody hugged this woman. Somebody told her she was worth something. So I do. I grab her hand and look her in the eye and tell her I won't give up on her, its not an empty promise - and I am good at those, believe me.
There is something about this woman I can't shake, from the moment I read the comments and the barage of hate directed her way, I felt compelled to do something.

Why? Why this woman?
I walk through the streets of Manchester and I see lots of nameless faces, and I hand out coffee and tea here and there, and buy spontaneous sandwiches, random boxes of fruit juice, I don't do money, I don't do cigarettes and I don't do booze.
I think thats the point. We are so overwhelmed by quantity now. So many people and we have no idea how to help, where to start, what to do, and we shrink back into our daily lives feeling moderately appeased that we tried our best, we bought that hot drinks - and its great. It is, I think every little helps, truly.
But we need to do more.

So yes, this woman, This one woman.
The village is obsessed with her. Shes the blight, the plight, the face of what we can't bear to see.
The absolute hopelessness, the crime, the drugs, the violence, the dregs of society we try to push to one side.
We don't like it, we don't want it, it makes us realise what our society has truly become.
Selfish.
Blind.
Unkind.

No more.

If I can help one woman - and lets just think about that. ONE WOMAN, thats all this damn village has to deal with, ONE WOMAN, when the streets are full of despair, wrapped in second hand blankets and last years shoes, this is someone we can actually help.

This is someone who's life we could genuinely change. So why are people laughing? Why are people criticising?

"you can't help people like that,"
"she deserves it"

The best I've read is "feed an animal and it will return"

I walked to the supermarket today, and the staff were gossiping. Loudly. Laughing about the crazy woman who flashes her tits in the street.
One said to the other "If I ever end up like her, I hope somebody knocks me out,"
What a life it must be to have a minimum wage job, a roof over your head, and to work in a supermarket not steal from it.

Woe betide you my friend if fate changes and you duly end up in such a sorrow state.

I'm irritated by the irony of the "Food Bank Donations" box at the entrance to the store. It's overflowing - and there is a homeless woman 20ft away.

That is what we do. We donate. We drop a few cans in a box. We put a few pounds in a pot. We buy a cup of tea here and there.
We don't engage. We don't ask names. We don't ask why. We don't ask how.
We do enough to feel decent whilst neglecting to do the decent thing.

Tomorrow, I meet with local council people to get Becky some help.
A roof over her head by way of temporary hostel accommodation which comes with a wealth of support, from addiction services to mental health.
What she needs. Of course.
Will she engage? I hope so.
And if she doesn't, it's the sad carrosel system we have created in this country, but it won't stop me trying.

I know what invisible is.
I know what worthlessness is.
I know what judgement is.

This woman deserves compassion.
Don't we all?

A face without a name? Oh no, this woman has a name.

It's not often I get on my high horse, because that would be somewhat hilarious given my background and behaviour BUT there are some things that push my buttons and I have to get a little shouty about.

For a few weeks now, I have been reading threads and posts on a local forum on Facebook about a down and out lady who has been frequenting the streets of the village I live in.

I have read everything from stories of pissing in the street, to spitting in peoples faces, swearing at innocent children, pregnant ladies, the whole sha-bang.
I have read articles about this womans past, a string of convictions that make mine seem like a drop in the ocean.
I have read about how she is a blight, an eye-sore, a very visible problem that people just don't want to look at or deal with.

There is no escaping the fact the woman has lead a violent and destructive life and wages misery upon innocent people. and for that, there is no excuse or mitigation; but she is a victim too and no-one seems to be talking about that.

Today, having read the latest hate speeches on social media about this person, I got so angry, I ransacked my house for jumpers, and socks, and sanitary items, and practical things, facewipes, deodrant, food, a towel and marched down the hill to find the lady in question.
Thanks to the busy bodies of the village, and their eagle eyed photography, I already knew where to find this woman as there seemed to be minute by minute updates about her movements through the village to make sure every person who resides here knew there was an unfortunate soul roaming the streets.

Well, there she was. Sat amongst her plastic bags and blankets, in a puffer jacket, zipped up to the top, looking dirty, sad and cold.
Walking right up to her, I said "we've brought you some bits and bobs, have you had any lunch?"
She replies "no"
"Do you want to go and get a bite to eat then?"
The woman lept off the step from where she was tucked away and bundled her bags into her hands, she let me and a friend carry her blankets and off we went.

"Whats your name?"
"Becky,"
"It's nice to meet you Becky, I'm Fran,"
"Hi Fran, thank you,"

We sit at a table tucked away in the warm, perusing the menu, she has a read of a magazine thats on the table, I ask her what shes reading and she says "Steely Dan" pointing at an advert for a concert.
"I like them,"
She carries on flicking through the magazine, looking a little dazzed by the whole experience. People are looking, of course they are.
She see's them looking and focuses on her magazine, licking her fingers and brushing her hair behind her ears. She's smartening herself up a little. She stands up, ties her hair back in bobble, I ask her if she feels better now, she does.

A monster hot chocolate arrives, marshmellows and all.
Shes picking them out one by one like a little girl, she stacks them to one side, then goes back to eat them as and when.
My friend orders the same, we are the hot chocolate gang in the corner, and its a perfectly lovely way to spend a Saturday.

I don't know who the monster of the streets people have been talking about, but its not the woman covered in hot chocolate sat at the table with me.

A delicious bowl of tomato soup turns up, I'm sure the portion size is overly generous because the lady who runs it has a heart of gold. She digs in, demolishing the bread in seconds - good girl!
I ask her if she has somewhere to stay that night, she tells me she does, but her appearance says otherwise. I don't push the issue, shes guarded - quite rightly. Suspicious of a strangers questions.
I was that way too when I was a street rat.
Trust no-one. Always assume somebody wants something from you. Nothing is free.
I ask her if she needs anything, she tells me she needs money.
I say no, that I will help with necessities but I won't give her any money.
She takes it well, no anger, no animosity.
Carries on with her soup.

All in all, I have a lovely little lunch, a panini and coffee with a friend and a woman I don't know. It's not how I usually spend my Saturday's but it is worth every penny and every second of my time.
What costs me a few pounds, gives this woman a sense of humanity, decency, dare I say, hope.

We make a plan to meet again, at the spot where I found her, that I will take her for some food and a chat the following week.
I hope she keeps our meeting.
I think she will. Delusional, optimistic. I don't know.

I watch people watching her, sat on her step, surrounded by bags, a little warmer and fuller than when I saw her a few hours before.
Such distaste. People either look at her, or look through her. I don't know which is worse.

So here is the woman who robbed an old lady. Abhorent, no doubt.
Who has conviction aplenty and a drug habit that must have stolen several decades.

She is someones daughter. She is someones friend. She had a life before mental illness and drug addiction took over.
She is a human being who has made some awful choices, choices she probably didn't know were the only ones she had.

When I approached her, she was quiet, suspicious but glad of the conversation.
She came with me willingly for lunch and she let me carry some of her prized possesions.
A first flicker of trust.

I don't understand how we can live our lives avoiding the difficult, the awkward, the inconvenient.
Pretending the invisible don't exist. Because its easier. Because we all have our own problems and taking on someone elses seems unnecessary.

I don't have money to give, not a penny, I have money worries, I have my own crazy ass mental health issues to battle, my drug addiction dead and buried, but I have time, I have ears, I have heart.

The only way to make a real change to the homeless crisis that is plaguing our country is to do something.
Even if it is a cup of coffee, a kind word, a phone call to a hostel on someones behalf, a bag of clothes, a bag of food.
When I was nobody, and I was invisible, just a smile and not a scowl would make me feel human again.
Kindness costs nothing.
We need to do more.

I'm sure the social media thread will be full again by the time I finish writing this, and that this woman BECKY will have offended some good citizen.
I'm not giving up on the Becky's.

If you see this woman in Littleborough and you want to help
https://www.petrus.org.uk/petrus_women.php

Great homeless charities making change on the ground :-

http://www.mustardtree.org.uk/
http://streetskitchen.co.uk/manchester/
https://www.facebook.com/Homeless-Project-Manchester-198156730610289/