20 and her coat and purse

She walked out of the home she shared with her boyfriend
some time after midnight.
She had battled depression for a number of years,
had taken a turn for the worse
after receiving a letter
telling her she had to be assessed
to see if she was fit
to return to work.
Her mobile phone
was found discarded
on a bench in the park.
And her coat and purse
in the river.

[Chronicle Live, 26/02/2013, Body found in River Wear is Leanne Chambers]

42 down the stairs, fussing

Two years after his wife’s death,
her widower was visited
by the husband of his niece.
‘I went in the back door.
The dog came flying
down the stairs, fussing.
He must have been in the room with him.’
He had suffered depression
following his wife’s death.
‘I went upstairs. I had
an awful feeling.
I put my head round the door.
I could see him lying at the side of the bed.
His face was straight down and
I just knew.’
Police officers searched the home;
empty packets of insulin.
An officer found a draft text message on his phone.
It gave the name of his niece.
It said, ‘I’m so sorry,
I hope you can forgive me one day.’

[Hull Daily Mail, 16/05/2013, Man found dead after wife drowned in Holderness Drain]

52 available to help

He received a letter last month;
the Jobcentre – an appointment.
 
It read:
‘You and your personal adviser
will discuss the possibility
of going into paid work,
training for work,
or looking for work
in the future.
They will tell you about the support
available to help
with going back to work,
and make sure you have all the information
to help you make decisions that
are right for you
about work.’
His wife
called the Jobcentre to explain.
Sixteen years ago
he was diagnosed
with progressive
multiple
schlerosis.
He cannot walk,
talk,
or feed himself.
He communicates by blinking.
They told her
if getting to the Jobcentre was difficult
they could organise
a telephone interview
but if he did not attend
his benefits would be stopped.

[The Guardian, 22/06/2015, Man who cannot walk or talk called for jobcentre ‘back to work’ interview]

62 stop worrying

You are a fucking bitch”: a man’s voice.
Then the sound of violent banging,
a woman’s sobs.
Officers were on the way;
sobbing and breathing heavily,
she said the man had retreated.
Police arrived and arrested him.
She had opened her window.
If the man had succeeded in getting through the door
she was prepared to jump two floors to escape.

The woman was calling from her bedroom.
She had been placed in ‘exempt’ supported housing
after leaving prison –
a five-year term for serious fraud and deception.
She had a history of mental illness:
suicide attempts, spells in psychiatric hospitals.
She had been the victim of violent abuse
at the hands of a former partner:
twice he had fractured her skull;
marks on her arms; burn scars
snaking across her chest,
where he had set her on fire
while she slept.
The man hammering on her door that night
was a troubled alcoholic with demons of his own.
He was under
a suspended prison sentence
for making threats with a machete.
Police ultimately did not bring charges against him –
a result of conflicting versions of events that night.
“Officers attended the address just after midnight
and arrested a man.
It was alleged he had
been verbally aggressive to the woman,
made threats, and
damaged the door to her room.
The woman was not injured.
The man was later released without charge;
the property owner said
the damage to the door
was already there.
He would not support
a prosecution.”
A Probation Service spokesperson said
“Prisoners released without somewhere to live
are 50 per cent more likely to reoffend.
Providing basic accommodation on release
helps cut crime and make
our streets safer.”
The man was moved to another property.

Exempt accommodation: supported housing
funded through a higher rate of housing benefit, exempt
from caps applied to normal housing.
Prison leavers, rough sleeper, refugees and migrants,
substance abusers, people with mental health issues,
disabilities, people at risk of homelessness:
strangers
housed together, mostly left
to their own devices, with arms-length help
amounting to an hour or so of dedicated support a week;
a support worker
at the end of a mobile phone.

She has lost weight and become more ill;
thefts were so common
she now stored her kitchen pans and cutlery in her bedroom.
She described a fellow resident:
he had not been out of his pyjamas or had a wash
for five weeks; he kept her awake all night.

Access is via a steel staircase.
Inside, the corridors and shared kitchen and common room
are monitored by CCTV with audio mics;
private conversations may be listened to.
Bedrooms are small.
A hole burnt in the kitchen top,
rusted hobs. The common area and kitchen
are full of the belongings of one of the tenants;
crudely written notices in felt tip
on stereo, tv, kitchen gear:
‘hands off’.
Heating comes from plugged in storage heaters.
In the night it’s freezing.

“I eat two sausages and vegetables every night,
cereal in the morning.
I don’t drink, don’t take drugs, yet
it’s all around.
Nobody seems to do anything much about it.”
At her lowest point she tried to jump in front of a train.
She was pulled back at the last minute;
another spell in psychiatic hospital.
“While living here
suicide is the only thing
that goes through my head,
day in,
day out.
The owners say I am too much hard work for them,
they said
they didn’t have problems
before I moved in.
It’s not a great place to be.
The landlord told me
‘just ignore it’, stop worrying
about other people.”

[Birmingham Live, 25/09/2021, Chaos, fear and suicide attempts – life inside ‘exempt’ housing in Birmingham]