The day I met Keith. Or: Can anyone tackle homelessness?

Homeless people in Berlin, 1931. Img: Bundesarchiv, Bild 102-11649 / CC-BY-SA 3.0

The night I returned to Britain from Norway, I had a disturbing experience. I got home late and popped out in the car to get some food. It had gone dark and the quiet country lanes wound through a pitch-black landscape.

Suddenly, I saw orange lights flashing and indistinct shapes on the road. As I swerved around the scene, narrowly avoiding collision, I saw out of the corner of my eye that there was a pushbike on the road, lots of stuff strewn around it and one dark figure hunched over another. 

I turned the car and drove back to see if I could help. The flashing orange lights belonged to the car of a young woman in running gear, presumably on her way back from the gym. On the floor, next to his bicycle, sat a man who seemed to be in a pretty bad way. He wasn’t bleeding but his bare arms and face were covered in dark blotches. His long hair, loosely tied in a ponytail, was matted and framed a gaunt face with deep-set eyes that darted back and forth between me and the other woman. 

“Are you hurt?” I asked the man on the ground. “Arghh,” he groaned, “my knees!” Well, that’s two of the first-aid boxes ticked, I thought, strangely detached from the reality in front of me. The person was talking, so he was both breathing and conscious. The site was as secure as it could be between the two cars, but I was still keen to get us all off a dark country lane. The woman told me her name was Maya and she had found the man like that on the street. He confirmed that he had lost his balance when something heavy fell off his bike. 

“Can you make it to the nearest layby if we follow you in the cars?” Maya asked the man as we gathered all his belongings off the street using a phone as a torchlight. There were three bottles of Lucozade, a plastic bag containing biscuits and bread, a large battery box and an assortment of charging cables. Our colonnade of two cars and a bike travelled a few hundred yards up the road to a layby, mercifully equipped with street lighting. 

“Will you be able to get home from here?” asked Maya. “Don’t know,” said the man and sat down on the curb, hugging his knees. In the cold light of the street lamp, he looked dreadful. He was wearing a vest, and his thin, long arms shivered as he held them wrapped around his legs. He got some Polos out of his trouser pocket and began chewing one after the other with loud crunches. 

“What’s your name?” I tried. “Keith,” came the answer. “And how are you feeling now, Keith?” Silence. Manic rocking back and forth. Then, “my knees hurt.” Maya asked “Are you okay to get home or shall we call an ambulance?” Keith didn’t think much of ambulances. He began a long, rambling story about how they never take you to anyone who knows what’s wrong with you. “A bit of engine oil will sort out my knees. I drink it, you see, and it goes right down to my knees and makes them less squeaky. I have loads at home”

“And where’s home, Keith?” I ventured. Wrong question. Keith just buried his face in his arms and started rocking forward and backwards again.

I looked at Maya and we silently decided between us that we couldn’t just abandon him there. I signalled to her that I was going to sit in the car and call for help.

Mindful of the permanent state of crisis in the NHS, I figured this wasn’t an emergency and shouldn’t take away response time from a heart attack or stroke victim. So I thought I’d call the non-emergency number of the local police. After five minutes in an endless loop of “Are you sure you can’t just read our FAQs on our website?” I finally got through to someone. I was told that the police don’t patrol the area and I’d need to call 999. 

Really? I sighed, hung up and called 999, not knowing what else to do. Keith seemed harmless but he clearly needed help. The ambulance dispatcher told me they would be there in “an hour or so” and to keep Keith engaged in the meantime. Maya and I did our best to do that. Bit by bit, we unearthed Keith’s sad life story, and that home was nowhere really.