THE ( JOLLY BRAVE ) GOOD SAMARITANS
Lizzy and Ruth throw open their homes to troubled teenagers they’ve never met at the drop of a hat. Some friends think they’re crazy. But their stories will restore your faith in humanity
‘I’m a trusting person who sees the best in others’
THERE’S little doubt Ruth Nathan would get plenty of five-star reviews if she were running a bed and breakfast. Her comfortable four-bedroom home in East Sussex is a peaceful sanctuary with a cosy guest bedroom. Two snoozing cats add to the homely feel. There’s home cooking on the menu, too: overnight guests are treated to a plate of one of 52-year-old Ruth’s delicious stews or, if they’re really lucky, her trademark steak served with home-cooked chips.
She’s hosted plenty: over the past three years more than 30 people have enjoyed her warm hospitality — although none of them has paid a penny in return.
Moreover, until they arrived on her doorstep they were all strangers — with one thing in common. They were sent by Nightstop, a charity that provides emergency accommodation for young people who would otherwise be spending the night sleeping rough. Aside from a vague idea of their age and gender, Ruth usually has next to no idea who might turn up.
She is one of many Britons who volunteer to give up their spare room to give a temporary home to a homeless youngster until a more permanent solution can be found.
Such kind-hearted people are extremely brave or extremely foolish, depending on your point of view. Yet mother-of-two Ruth insists it’s one of the best things she has ever done.
‘Sometimes I get home from work a bit tired and wish I hadn’t volunteered to host someone that night,’ she says.
‘But the moment a young person comes through the door and you see the relief on their face that they have somewhere to sleep, all those feelings go away. It helps put my life into perspective.’
There’s little doubt that homelessness is a growing problem: last year more than 83,000 young people were identified as homeless. While around a quarter of them managed to find some form of permanent accommodation, many remain at risk of sleeping on the streets.
Nightstop, which celebrates its 30th birthday this year, was set up to try to address that.
‘Just one night sleeping rough can mean a vulnerable young person ends up in a whole host of dangerous situations, that could adversely affect the rest of their life,’ says Nightstop UK’s head Nicola Harwood.
‘Nightstop keeps a young person off the street and restores their faith in humanity. It shows them that people really care.’
And that people have an incredible capacity for trust, too, even when there have been numerous examples of Good Samaritans having that trust thrown back in their faces.
Earlier this year, journalist Lynn Barber wrote about how she had taken in a 20-something Sudanese asylum-seeker, only for him to take drugs in her home and download porn before confessing that he wasn’t actually a refugee at all.
Then there was the case in March of homeless man Aaron Barley, who is currently awaiting trial for the murder of a woman, and her son, who took him in. Tracey Wilkinson, 50, and her 13-year-old son, Pierce, were both killed.
Yet Nightstop, which homes people between the ages of 16 and 25, across 33 towns and cities, has around 700 homes on their books.
They include couples with young children and single women in their 60s and 70s. The latest person to sign on as a host in recent weeks is an 88-year-old male pensioner.
‘All ages and all kinds of people — from busy young families to retired professionals — take part,’ says Nicola.
She insists all youngsters are vetted carefully, meaning they have no drug problems and are not involved in violent crime.
Last year, Channel 4 cameras followed three of them for a thought-provoking and moving documentary about how it feels to let an unknown and sometimes troubled youngster bed down in your home.
Most viewers will wonder how they can sleep at night knowing there’s a young person with no link to them in a room down the hall.
Ruth, who works as a social worker in Newhaven, East Sussex, has no qualms about throwing open her doors to strangers, even though her own 15-year-old daughter, Nina, still lives at home.
‘I have always instilled in my girls that not everyone comes from a supportive, loving background,’ she says. ‘I felt it would be good for Nina to see that a lot of people are not as lucky as she is.
‘Yes, I have a lock on my door, as does Nina, but we rarely use them. If I felt I was in a position where I needed to lock myself in at night, I wouldn’t do this.’
Ruth signed up three years ago when her elder daughter left home for university, leaving her with an unoccupied room.
‘I love working with young people, and over the years through my work I’ve realised that if you offer unconditional care and friendship, they can really derive a sense of resilience,’ she says.
There was another reason, too: seven years ago, Ruth had a brush with death after contracting bowel cancer, from which she has recovered. ‘I thought to myself: “If I get through this, I’m putting things back in life.” ’
Not everyone approved of her intentions, though.
‘I had a lodger who moved out when I told her about my plans,’ Ruth reveals.
‘She was a very reliable lady in her early 20s who’d been with me for a couple of years, but while she said she felt what I was doing was admirable, it wasn’t for her. I was quite shocked as I’m a really trusting person, and I always like to see the best in people until other evidence presents itself.’ Friends were reticent, too. ‘Most of them were just a bit uncomfortable with the idea of some random person turning up on my doorstep,’ says Ruth.
‘I had to point out that they aren’t really random. Nightstop does extensive vetting of everyone they refer. Everything is quite strict in terms of boundaries. You can’t drink alcohol while you are hosting, and the young people cannot drink or smoke, either.
‘The focus is very much on remaining in the family home together — you don’t go out while they are there. In the morning, they leave when you leave.’
Hosts, too, undergo an extensive vetting service, from a home assessment to a criminal records check, as well as training on dealing with vulnerable young people.
And there’s no question that they are vulnerable: the 30 different youngsters who have crossed Ruth’s threshold have ranged from teenage boys who have run away from home after an argument with their parents to a young woman fleeing a violent boyfriend.
Many of them are carrying their most precious possessions in a small rucksack, whether it is a teddy bear or their art portfolio. Some of them are desperate for a friendly ear, although Ruth employs a ‘don’t ask’ policy, allowing her guests to volunteer their story if they choose.
‘It’s up to them if they want to tell me their life story,’ she says. ‘My job is merely to provide a bed for the night.
‘I’m not being a social worker, I am trying to be a friend. If they want to open up I will, of course,
listen.’ One person to open up is Dandi, a smiley 16-year-old who features in the documentary, and spends a night with Ruth after running away from her mother.
Raised largely in Tenerife, Dandi was brought back to Britain last year by her mother after she separated from her father. Dandi has struggled to adjust to her new circumstances.
‘When families break up at the teenage age, it’s quite hard,’ she tells the camera crew.
Dandi has left home several times over the past year and is well known to Nightstop, but she’s a first-time guest for Ruth.
In touching scenes, she shows Ruth the jewellery she has made and helps her assemble a bedside light for her bedroom. This latter is a deliberate tactic, says Ruth.
‘Everyone who comes through the door I think: “What can I do to make you feel you’re worth something?” I think the answer to that is making them feel useful. I believe everyone has got something they can offer.’
Not once, she insists, has her hospitality been abused. ‘Nothing has ever gone missing,’ she says. ‘Without exception, everyone I have had here has been friendly and grateful. For the brief time they’re here, I consider them part of the family.’
Up in Newcastle, the notion of family provided the spur for retired teacher and university lecturer Lizzy Dickinson to sign up with Nightstop last year, offering a spacious room in her threebedroom, end-of-terrace house.
A 66-year-old divorced mother of two, she says that after hearing about Nightstop through friends, she volunteered with her three grandchildren in mind.
‘They are lucky enough to come from loving families like my own children, but I like to think that if ever they found themselves in vulnerable situations, someone would do the same for them,’ Lizzy says.
Like Ruth, she found the idea did not go down universally well at first. ‘When I told my friends, some of them were a bit worried,’ she admits. ‘We all have an idea of what a homeless person looks like. We all have pre-conceived ideas.
‘Some people were concerned not just for my safety, but for the safety of my property. There was a bit of “How do you know that they won’t take things?”
‘They’re not unreasonable questions, and I was able to reassure them that Nightstop works very hard to vet everyone they deal with. None of it happens overnight, and they have a lot of knowledge about everyone they deal with.
‘A lot of it is down to trusting their judgment.’
Lizzy’s children, who are both in their 40s, were more sanguine. ‘I’ve travelled a lot on my own, taught in Africa on my own, so I’m pretty independent. And we had students staying with us when they were younger, so it wasn’t entirely out of the blue,’ she says.
Like Ruth and all other Nightstop hosts, Lizzy contacts Nightstop each week with her availability, usually offering to host around two nights a week. ‘You can do as few or as many nights as you please,’ she says. Her first guest, filmed for the documentary, was 16-year-old Kieran, a thoughtful, rather shy boy who’d been referred to Nightstop by his concerned headteacher after running away from home following a series of altercations with his mother and stepfather.
He had been staying with friends, but had run out of options and was facing a night sleeping rough.
‘I’m 16 years old and never in my life did I think I was going to be in a situation where I don’t know where I’m going to sleep,’ he admits on camera, before confiding that if he allowed himself to cry, he probably wouldn’t stop.
Lizzy, in turn, says she was less nervous than intrigued by the prospect of her first unknown guest. ‘It was a new experience for both of us, so we had that in common. But I knew it was a 16-yearold boy who was clearly in difficulties. I just wanted to help him.’
Unlike Dandi, Kieran preferred not to chat too much about his family troubles, which Lizzy has since found isn’t uncommon.
‘They all vary. You can have a noisy person who sits at the table and chats and eats everything in sight, or you have a quiet mouse who picks at their food. Most of them do want to have a chat, though. Some of the lads who think they are tough nuts end up just wanting to talk. They’re not used to having people listen to them.’
Like Ruth, Lizzy says her hospitality has never been abused and instead she has derived immense pleasure from ‘doing her bit’.
‘I feel as though I’m putting something back,’ she says. ‘I’m having a good life, I’ve got some space and some time and it’s nice to put it to good use.’
‘Youngsters are part of the bigger community and I think as grownups we should be involved with what happens to other people’s kids as well as our own. You can really make a difference.’
As she did with Kieran, who has managed to find a two-year placement with a family and is now studying for his exams.
Down in Newhaven, meanwhile, Ruth has a collection of letters from some of the people who have passed through her spare room, thanking her for helping them in their hour of need.
‘I feel I’ve drawn a lot of strength from being with you,’ reads one.
Ruth says: ‘It’s a lovely feeling knowing that you have played a part in helping someone stay on the right track.’
As for Dandi, Ruth heard that she has reconciled with her mother and they are working through their problems. But whatever happens, Dandi knows there is always a safe haven, a warm bed and a hot meal out there if she ever needs it.
‘I have space and time and can put it to good use’