Having skived off last week with a dodgy back condition, I was back at the food bank today. I daren’t lift anything remotely heavy, so I was unable to help service users transport their essentials to their MOT failure across the road, but I was able to meet, great, take food requests and bring people a very small selection of hot and cold drinks. It was, as Gary Glitter once put it, good to be back.
When I arrived, there was already a short queue of people waiting to be seen. It can’t be nice standing outside an old church that has ‘FOOD BANK OPEN’ signs outside, knowing that some passing motorists will have seen them. If I had been one of them, I’d have been cringing, looking the other way and pretending I wasn’t there. At least I think that’s how I feel, but would I really feel that way if I had absolutely nothing to eat?
As ever, there was no general theme running through the afternoon. I don’t ask people to tell me their stories, pointing out that my sole function is to find out what it is they need and to pass it to my brilliant colleagues who do the searching and the packing. Having said that, there were some familiar stories.
One man I saw was going out shopping, only to find that his bank account had been wiped out by what was to him and unexpected withdrawal from Wessex Water. Shopping trip abandoned, empty cupboards; what else was there to do? Get a referral to see the food bank. “I don’t want to be here,” he told me, but what was the alternative? He’s disabled and unable to work. He’d allowed for £18 for this week’s shopping. Today he had 87p.
Another caller, again someone clearly unfit for work, had seen her benefits unexpectedly reduced and now had no money for food. It’s not my job to check the story out, or to contact anyone on her behalf, but I believed her. Even if I didn’t, it would make no difference. I’m not there to judge, just to help people get something to eat. I’m not naive to assume that there were never going to be people trying it on, but for £30 or so of food?
I always feel a little sad when service users are accompanied by their children. We give the kids things to do, like stuff to write and draw with, and we make snacks and drinks available but the waits can be very long, even on an average day like today. Understandably, they get irritated and if they get irritated then they can irritate other callers. I don’t like telling or callers to control their children but some days you just have to. But what do the children make of it all?
They come into the church, their parent sits down with a stranger who seems to be taking an order for food and other essential household items. Is this what all parents do? Their friends haven’t talked about anything like this? Should they mention it? Are they different to other children? Some will be too young to understand what’s going on but I saw some children today who will have known full well who and what we were. I am still traumatised by elements of my childhood and I still have nightmares about them. Will they have nightmares and panic attacks in future? Will they feel some kind of shame? Imagine having absolutely nothing? I can remember empty cupboards. but thanks to my mum, I never went hungry, even though it turned out she did. Not to know how poor we were was probably a good thing. Some of these children will not be able to avoid that knowledge.
After two and a half hours I was very tired. I’m still having to move slowly and cautiously because of my bad back and feeling tired is one of the many symptoms caused by having my depression meds reduced. In fact, I was so weary I had to splash my face with cold water to ensure I would not fall asleep at the wheel as soon as I got in the car. I didn’t stay to help put the furniture, wash up and then vacuum, as I normally do because I had to get away.
I’m not in for a few weeks now, thanks to a much needed holiday. That in itself reminds me just how lucky I am than I can afford a holiday when I am helping people who can’t even afford to eat. And I never forget my good fortune. If there had been food banks in the 1960s, I’m pretty sure I’d have visited them with my mum. I think that every single week.
