‘Christmas Day was the worst time’
Sarah Martin, 43, is a finance and income housing officer. She lives in Brent, north London, with her children, Ishmael, 17, Cj-isiah, two, and Jahkiel, six months.
Painfully crawling back into my bed, I nibbled at a piece of toast. This was my Christmas dinner. It was 2018 and I’d never felt so low. My son Ishmael, then 13, had gone to my brother’s for a Christmas meal, but I was too ill. I suffered from MS and was having a relapse, so I was alone, listening to the shrieks and laughs of content revellers. Yet, this wasn’t my home. It was a building we shared with strangers – a homeless hostel.
ALWAYS FILTHY
Our small room had two beds, a fridge and a sink. We shared a kitchen with others and, as much as I tried to keep it clean, it always ended up filthy. I even discovered cockroaches.
We had been placed there six months earlier after being evicted from the home we’d shared with my mother. Ishmael and I had moved into my childhood home after I suffered a mini-stroke in 2012. I worked as a housing officer and supported us, but when my mum died from lung cancer two years later we found ourselves in a legal predicament. The house had only been in Mum’s name and after a complex case involving other family members, Ishmael and I were put into a hostel.
The place was frightening. It was filled with people who had been released from prison. Some were using drugs or staggering around the corridors, drunk. The noise was dreadful – shouting, crying, people pacing up and down at all hours. One poor woman even tried to set herself on fire in her room.
I tried to keep everything normal, taking Ishmael to school and carrying on working. All the time I looked for somewhere else to live, but nearby rents were too high for my salary. Family and friends couldn’t take us in long term.
For 13 months we stayed in that terrible place. Ishmael became withdrawn, nervous, and his schoolwork suffered. It was hard for him to
‘THE NOISE WAS DREADFUL’
do his homework in peace. Meanwhile, the stress of being there brought on more MS relapses for me.
Eventually, we were given a twobedroom temporary accommodation flat in August 2019. I was relieved to be out of the hostel but the flat had problems too. I gave birth to my son in June 2020 but my bedroom was too cramped to have a cot in so he had to sleep with me in my bed.
One night, in the early hours, I heard a noise and thought the sound was heavy rain. But when I went to investigate, I saw water pouring down the walls of the bathroom. I called an emergency plumber, but the problem was never sorted out, the leaks continued. Later, they spread to the kitchen. I’d come home from work and find my carpet saturated. The smell was awful and it was potentially dangerous because of the nearby electric sockets.
ONE ROOM
But when I was offered a place at a B&B, I turned it down. There was no way I was going to live in one room with two children. I went to my MP, got on social media, and Shelter took up my case, putting me in touch with a case worker.
Thankfully, in April 2021, we were given a Housing Association two-bedroom flat. I gave birth to another boy in June 2022 and we have a lovely family home for us at last. This Christmas will be different – we’ll have a tree, I’ll cook a roast dinner and we’ll have friends round.
Now, my stress has diminished and my health relapses are much less frequent. But Ishmael has been emotionally scarred by our experience. He’s only 17 but knows he never wants that again. He’s studying sports science, and as soon as he gets a job he’s determined to start saving to get a deposit for a house.
People should not have to go through what we did. I knew what I was entitled to, yet this still happened to me. It really could happen to anyone.