Who wait for food, warmth and a place to sleep
brush their teeth. I return to the gym hall to find my mat and sleeping bag has been moved to the middle of the floor, away from the wall where I placed it. A man is lying where it was and as I look over one of the other men smiles at me, gestures at the floor and says “he always sleeps there. You’ve been moved”. The room is freezing despite the noisy wall-mounted heaters blasting hot air. I decide to climb into my sleeping bag fully clothed and pull a hat over my ears to prevent any heat loss. Still awake, I survey the room which is dimly lit from moonlight coming in from 10 skylights above our heads. Most of the men are asleep and there is a cacophony of snoring and coughing. A few are still sitting up. One man’s face is lit by a mobile phone. There is a stage at the far end of the room where the volunteers sleep so that the men know where they are. They are often awoken by someone experiencing night terrors who needs a listening ear. They are also called on to unlock the front door when the men want to go outside for a cigarette in the wee small hours. My back begins to ache after only two hours on the wooden floor but eventually I drift off, only to be woken shortly after by shouting. One of the men has involuntarily called out in his sleep and the others stir. Some of them shuffle past my face as they go back and forth to the toilet. Light begins to come in the skylight as dawn breaks. Most of the men are still asleep but a few go through to the toilets to freshen up now that a plumber has unblocked the pipes. Some of the men pack away their bedding and go through to the TV room to make tea and coffee and some prepare food in the
kitchen. There is silence in the gym hall as the men don’t speak to each other. “Some of the men find it difficult to mingle because they don’t speak English,” one of the men tells me. I take my mat back to the store room and pack away my sleeping bag. As breakfast is served BBC News broadcasts a debate about immigration. The men watch intently as politicians rail against migrants. The last of the bedding is put away and many of the men rush to grab a bite to eat before they are forced out on the streets again. Most of them walk around until the city libraries open. It is their only refuge during daylight hours, aside from charities which are only permitted to help if private donations are used. “We don’t have a penny and we have no recourse to public funds so the charities funded by government or councils can turn us away,” one of the men explains. The night shelter closes its doors and the men slope off aimlessly, with 12 hours of waiting ahead, until they are again given a place to go.