Although our food bank wasn’t much busier than usual, the volunteers were. Because even food bank volunteers have a life, we were close to being down to the bare bones, which is a poor analogy, I know. Either way, it was pretty full on. And just as I left for the day, I saw something very upsetting, our final visitor in total meltdown and crying out loud. I know the reasons but in this instance, I won’t even hint at them. It was a visceral experience.
There aren’t really themes to what happens every week, even if I might have suggested there were. It’s just that I pick on certain things. Today we had a couple of homeless people, who literally had nothing and certainly nothing to get through the next few days without our help. We also had a woman currently on maternity leave from her employer. Her and her partner, who is in full time work, literally ran out of money and because they live day to day, or somewhere close to it, they’d run out of food. I hate categorising people in terms of our food bank, but she was well-educated, well-dressed and smart. But food and fuel poverty had caught up with her and, she confided, although they saw it coming they ran out of solutions. A couple with a young baby with no food and no heating. You have to stay professional, if that’s possible when you’re not getting paid, because if you let too much emotion in, you forget your role. Having said that, I’m not exactly neutral on the subject. The fact that we are there at all is a national disgrace.
The closing episode was profoundly upsetting. There’s no getting around that. It was nothing I’d done or said, but I couldn’t help by being affected by it. We know we are the end of the line for many people and beyond us lies nothing. If nothing else, it was a reminder of how bad things are.
In the food bank, stocks appeared to be getting low on some things. We usually put out some confectionary on the tables for people to eat when they are with us, but we’ve run out of it. Not exactly the healthiest most nutritious food, I agree, but even little things can raise spirits. A parent who was there with a young child asked if there was any chocolate or sweets their grandchild could have while they were waiting. I didn’t feel great when I found the cupboard was bare. In fact, I felt like an absolute wrong ‘un when I had to break the news. And at that moment, I had a vision of me, a rare one from my early years, asking my mum if we had any sweets and she said no, we didn’t. I almost blurted out that I knew from personal experience how the child felt but thankfully I quickly thought better of it.
Today we had it again, a diverse group of callers to our food bank. The demographic is vast, although it’s far more acute among the low paid. Sometimes, I come away feeling young, fit and healthy after a day at the foodbank, which is some distance from where I am, but it’s all relative. I’m in a better place than anyone who comes to see us but a childhood not a million miles away from poverty – we were certainly poor – helps me understand.
I felt helpless when I saw the person in meltdown as I left. But there was nothing I could do. And my mind went to places I didn’t want it to when I thought might happen next to that person. Don’t go there, I told myself. I’m still in a bit of shock as I conclude this blog and for as long as I feel this way I’ll carrying on doing my bit. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do, sang Sir Elton John. And that’s basically me.
