The helpline of hope
Missing People can be a lifeline for the 250,000 who run away from families each year. Guy Kelly joins the volunteers at its 24/7 call centre
In a quiet office in south London, above a bustling Waitrose, a group of dedicated workers listen for the calls of Britain’s lost. It is here where Missing People – a national organisation that offers assistance to the 250,000 or so individuals who run away or go missing every year, as well as support for their families – is headquartered, and where the charity’s free, confidential helpline is manned, day and night, all year round.
Every day, the 24/7 international line (Britons missing abroad, such as Madeleine Mccann, also fall under their remit) at Missing People rings nearly 200 times. Of those calls, some come from the worried friends and family of an absent loved one; others might be from the police or social services following up on a case. But for the most part, the voice at the other end is that of a person already absent, or considering running away.
“It can be difficult, because people often don’t consider themselves ‘missing’,” says Paul Joseph, 40, who has managed the helpline for six years. “For whatever reason, they might have simply decided to remove themselves from a particular situation, and haven’t alerted anyone.”
There are endless reasons why somebody could feel compelled to run away, but Missing People makes no judgment. Whether the caller is suffering an adolescent tantrum, severe depression, marital breakdown, escaping abuse or simply harbouring a desire to start again, the team must be ready for anything. “We do see similarities between cases, but every person is treated entirely as an individual. Every situation has different factors involved,” Joseph says.
Calls to the helpline are steady, rather than in peaks and troughs, though slight upticks are experienced seasonally; since almost two thirds of missing people are under 25, for instance, the school holidays see a rise. As does this time of year.
“It’s very dark, which can definitely contribute to making people feel like they need support,” says Joseph. “Plus, people like to think of family at Christmas, whether they want to reach out to people they’ve lost touch with or get home themselves.”
Set up from a bedroom by Mary Asprey and Janet Newman after the disappearance of Suzy Lamplugh in 1986, the Missing People helpline (call or text 116000; email 116000@ missingpeople.org.uk) is built on trust and confidentiality. In phoning the free number, absentees know that they aren’t speaking to a member of an authority who will attempt to retrieve them, and they do not have to disclose personal information like their name or location. If they do wish to speak to the police or their families, however, they are put through by the helpline staff, thus removing traceability. Three-way calls, when Missing People stay on the line as a liaison between the individual and an authority, another charity or a family member, are common. “It isn’t our job to fix anything here, but just to listen to that person and get involved only when they ask us to,” Joseph says. “They might have seen themselves on a poster and just want us to inform the police that they’re not in danger. Or they might want a chat. Or they’ll want our help in getting back in touch with the right people. It’s always their decision.”
In addition to the helpline, it’s possible to reach the office by email and text, as well as a live chat service, launched in the past year and overseen by 25-year-old Adwoa Duncan. “For a lot of young people these days, especially if they are in trouble, they might not be comfortable speaking on the phone to a stranger. We’re only in the early stages [of the chat], but it’s very popular, and we know we need to digitise to keep up,” she says.
On one side of the small, open-plan helpline office, a whiteboard bears the names of recent people suspected missing. A separate, shorter list appears under the heading “found”. In all, the team answering phones, texts, emails and online chats consists of 30 full and part-time workers, plus a large group of volunteers who take four-hour daytime shifts. Overnight, 10pm-7am, two people normally hold the fort, with the support of an on-call manager.
Today’s helpline responders, four women of varying ages, huddle around a small bank of computers. A tray of seasonal cupcakes receives much attention. Small talk flies. But when the phone rings, a hush descends.
“You almost find yourself switching into a mode when you’re talking to them, a listening mode,” says 62-yearold retiree Sarah Allan, who has volunteered since 2008. “You could take 25 calls in a shift, or you could take three calls that last the hours. It’s a real leveller, putting your own little life problems in perspective.” Allan, who joined Missing People when she heard an appeal for a lost teenager who was the same age as her son at the time, now divides her retirement between one four-hour shift at Missing People per week and two other volunteer roles at different charities. As well as accompanying new volunteers in their extensive training, Allan hopes to begin helping with Return Home Interviews – a separate service offered by Missing People that sees staff meet returning runaways for informal support.
Every staff member’s shift is ended by a debrief, so as to take no worries home with them. A handful of times over the years, Allan says, cases have stayed with her for weeks.
“Some years ago, I had one call from a 13-year-old boy on the way home from school, who got to the local bakery and used their phone to ring us. He didn’t want to go home because he was being abused there, and didn’t know what to do. The call went on for a very long time, and eventually he did agree for us to do a three-way call with social services, ending with them going to collect him. It really stuck with me.”
Around 70per cent of people who go missing return or are found within 24 hours, but staff rarely get the full story, and almost never the conclusion. Fleeting chats can be just that, leaving more questions than answers, while on the text service, says Allan, it isn’t uncommon to see a one-word plea: “Help”.
“You just don’t know, and you have to get used to that. You’re there for them in that moment when they call. That’s when they need you.”
Last year, 75 per cent of calls were successfully answered. With further support from the Telegraph’s
Christmas Charity Appeal, though, it’s hoped that percentage can rise significantly. As the only organisation of its kind in the UK, it is many runaways’ only lifeline.
The evening draws in and a cheerful poster catches the eye. “When it rains, look for rainbows,” it reads, “when it’s dark, look for stars.”
Day or night, the Missing People helpline is open, on the lookout, and ready to listen. Missing People is a beneficiary of this year’s Telegraph’s Christmas Charity Appeal. To make a donation to this or one of the other charities supported in our appeal, please call 0151 284 1927, visit telegraph.co.uk/charity or see the advert on page 29
‘At the helpline, small talk flies, until the phone rings – and then a hush descends’