Malcolm Ricks: 'One woman in particular
lingered at my stall, and we eneded up talking.
There was an instant chemistry.'
Photograph: Mark Chilvers
Ihad been single for years before I became homeless, but I was very happy with my lot. In 2007, I'd been working as a tree surgeon and had a room rent-free in some stables in Hampshire in exchange for helping out with the horses. It was a blissful lifestyle, and the slide on to the streets was a gradual one. I found myself doing more unpaid work at the stables, at the expense of my job, and when my van failed its MOT, I couldn't afford to keep it on the road. Without transport, I couldn't do my job, and I became penniless.
You never realise you're so close to financial ruin until it's too late. I knew I needed to make a fresh start; I was almost on the verge of bankruptcy. I wanted a change and decided on Bath – it was a city I'd lived in when I was much younger, and where I'd felt very comfortable.
It was midwinter, 10 days before Christmas, and bitterly cold. I was fit, strong and determined, but I was faced with life's most basic problems: where to get food and where to sleep. I had no money, just a sleeping bag and a few clothes. It looked bleak at the time, but I was convinced this move was going to open up a whole new life to me, that I'd be able to find work somewhere and then accommodation would follow.
I wouldn't have considered shoplifting, and I was too proud to beg or to contact my brother in nearby Bristol. Instead, I discovered where they gave out free soup and sandwiches, and which hostels had day centres to give you a chance to get in the warm.
The main problem was the terrible tiredness – I was 53, but I soon felt 73. I spent my days walking, saw a different side to society, a huge divide between those who had beds to sleep in and those who didn't.
While some people did give me abuse for being homeless, I also saw great acts of kindness. One night, a car pulled up and a man got out and distributed £20 notes. Another time, someone came along with a huge tower of piping hot pizzas.
After 10 days of sleeping rough, I decided I'd had enough – I knew I needed to get off the streets and brave a hostel, which I did. The staff were so supportive, and once they heard that I had a horticultural background, encouraged me to start up a gardening group with some other residents.
This was a shift towards my new life. Working gave me back my identity, and three months later I moved into a halfway house. It wasn't ideal – the other residents were alcoholics who kept borrowing money from me – but after a year I had scraped together enough money for a deposit and found myself a bedsit. It was heaven: privacy, a warm bed, a cooker. A place I could keep clean and cook good food in.
We sold the veg and plants we'd grown at a market stall, and it quickly became hugely popular – customers were fascinated by us and always stopped to chat. One woman in particular lingered longer than the others, and we ended up talking for an hour, mainly about plants and gardening, which we both loved. There was an instant chemistry and, later, she told me that she had felt the same way.
My career was being rekindled, too, when customers started to give me gardening work. I signed off benefits and set up in business with the help of a Crisis Changing Lives grant to buy tools. I now look after 10 acres of gardens around Bath.
I couldn't stop thinking about the woman I'd met, and the next time she came to the stall I decided to ask her out. There's something to be said for meeting someone when you're working your way out of homelessness – I knew she was genuine and couldn't have been after my money. I found it attractive that she didn't judge me; there was no stigma for her. She was interested in my background and history, and recognised my determination to get back on my feet. She also liked my optimism, that in spite of it all I'm always hopeful.
I do look back on what happened and think what a difficult time it was, but hitting rock bottom also stops you taking anything for granted; a set of keys in your pocket, warmth, food. I also remind myself that if I hadn't been homeless, I would still be single and not spending Christmas with someone who means so much to me. [rc]
• As told to Emily Cunningham
© Guardian News and Media Limited 2009
December 12, 2009
UK: Experience - Becoming homeless helped me find love
.
LONDON, England / The Guardian / Life & Style / Experience / December 12, 2009
'There's something to be said for meeting someone when you're homeless –
she couldn't have been after my money'
By Malcolm Ricks
Malcolm Ricks: 'One woman in particular
lingered at my stall, and we eneded up talking.
There was an instant chemistry.'
Photograph: Mark Chilvers
Ihad been single for years before I became homeless, but I was very happy with my lot. In 2007, I'd been working as a tree surgeon and had a room rent-free in some stables in Hampshire in exchange for helping out with the horses. It was a blissful lifestyle, and the slide on to the streets was a gradual one. I found myself doing more unpaid work at the stables, at the expense of my job, and when my van failed its MOT, I couldn't afford to keep it on the road. Without transport, I couldn't do my job, and I became penniless.
You never realise you're so close to financial ruin until it's too late. I knew I needed to make a fresh start; I was almost on the verge of bankruptcy. I wanted a change and decided on Bath – it was a city I'd lived in when I was much younger, and where I'd felt very comfortable.
It was midwinter, 10 days before Christmas, and bitterly cold. I was fit, strong and determined, but I was faced with life's most basic problems: where to get food and where to sleep. I had no money, just a sleeping bag and a few clothes. It looked bleak at the time, but I was convinced this move was going to open up a whole new life to me, that I'd be able to find work somewhere and then accommodation would follow.
I wouldn't have considered shoplifting, and I was too proud to beg or to contact my brother in nearby Bristol. Instead, I discovered where they gave out free soup and sandwiches, and which hostels had day centres to give you a chance to get in the warm.
The main problem was the terrible tiredness – I was 53, but I soon felt 73. I spent my days walking, saw a different side to society, a huge divide between those who had beds to sleep in and those who didn't.
While some people did give me abuse for being homeless, I also saw great acts of kindness. One night, a car pulled up and a man got out and distributed £20 notes. Another time, someone came along with a huge tower of piping hot pizzas.
After 10 days of sleeping rough, I decided I'd had enough – I knew I needed to get off the streets and brave a hostel, which I did. The staff were so supportive, and once they heard that I had a horticultural background, encouraged me to start up a gardening group with some other residents.
This was a shift towards my new life. Working gave me back my identity, and three months later I moved into a halfway house. It wasn't ideal – the other residents were alcoholics who kept borrowing money from me – but after a year I had scraped together enough money for a deposit and found myself a bedsit. It was heaven: privacy, a warm bed, a cooker. A place I could keep clean and cook good food in.
We sold the veg and plants we'd grown at a market stall, and it quickly became hugely popular – customers were fascinated by us and always stopped to chat. One woman in particular lingered longer than the others, and we ended up talking for an hour, mainly about plants and gardening, which we both loved. There was an instant chemistry and, later, she told me that she had felt the same way.
My career was being rekindled, too, when customers started to give me gardening work. I signed off benefits and set up in business with the help of a Crisis Changing Lives grant to buy tools. I now look after 10 acres of gardens around Bath.
I couldn't stop thinking about the woman I'd met, and the next time she came to the stall I decided to ask her out. There's something to be said for meeting someone when you're working your way out of homelessness – I knew she was genuine and couldn't have been after my money. I found it attractive that she didn't judge me; there was no stigma for her. She was interested in my background and history, and recognised my determination to get back on my feet. She also liked my optimism, that in spite of it all I'm always hopeful.
I do look back on what happened and think what a difficult time it was, but hitting rock bottom also stops you taking anything for granted; a set of keys in your pocket, warmth, food. I also remind myself that if I hadn't been homeless, I would still be single and not spending Christmas with someone who means so much to me. [rc]
• As told to Emily Cunningham
© Guardian News and Media Limited 2009
Malcolm Ricks: 'One woman in particular
lingered at my stall, and we eneded up talking.
There was an instant chemistry.'
Photograph: Mark Chilvers
Ihad been single for years before I became homeless, but I was very happy with my lot. In 2007, I'd been working as a tree surgeon and had a room rent-free in some stables in Hampshire in exchange for helping out with the horses. It was a blissful lifestyle, and the slide on to the streets was a gradual one. I found myself doing more unpaid work at the stables, at the expense of my job, and when my van failed its MOT, I couldn't afford to keep it on the road. Without transport, I couldn't do my job, and I became penniless.
You never realise you're so close to financial ruin until it's too late. I knew I needed to make a fresh start; I was almost on the verge of bankruptcy. I wanted a change and decided on Bath – it was a city I'd lived in when I was much younger, and where I'd felt very comfortable.
It was midwinter, 10 days before Christmas, and bitterly cold. I was fit, strong and determined, but I was faced with life's most basic problems: where to get food and where to sleep. I had no money, just a sleeping bag and a few clothes. It looked bleak at the time, but I was convinced this move was going to open up a whole new life to me, that I'd be able to find work somewhere and then accommodation would follow.
I wouldn't have considered shoplifting, and I was too proud to beg or to contact my brother in nearby Bristol. Instead, I discovered where they gave out free soup and sandwiches, and which hostels had day centres to give you a chance to get in the warm.
The main problem was the terrible tiredness – I was 53, but I soon felt 73. I spent my days walking, saw a different side to society, a huge divide between those who had beds to sleep in and those who didn't.
While some people did give me abuse for being homeless, I also saw great acts of kindness. One night, a car pulled up and a man got out and distributed £20 notes. Another time, someone came along with a huge tower of piping hot pizzas.
After 10 days of sleeping rough, I decided I'd had enough – I knew I needed to get off the streets and brave a hostel, which I did. The staff were so supportive, and once they heard that I had a horticultural background, encouraged me to start up a gardening group with some other residents.
This was a shift towards my new life. Working gave me back my identity, and three months later I moved into a halfway house. It wasn't ideal – the other residents were alcoholics who kept borrowing money from me – but after a year I had scraped together enough money for a deposit and found myself a bedsit. It was heaven: privacy, a warm bed, a cooker. A place I could keep clean and cook good food in.
We sold the veg and plants we'd grown at a market stall, and it quickly became hugely popular – customers were fascinated by us and always stopped to chat. One woman in particular lingered longer than the others, and we ended up talking for an hour, mainly about plants and gardening, which we both loved. There was an instant chemistry and, later, she told me that she had felt the same way.
My career was being rekindled, too, when customers started to give me gardening work. I signed off benefits and set up in business with the help of a Crisis Changing Lives grant to buy tools. I now look after 10 acres of gardens around Bath.
I couldn't stop thinking about the woman I'd met, and the next time she came to the stall I decided to ask her out. There's something to be said for meeting someone when you're working your way out of homelessness – I knew she was genuine and couldn't have been after my money. I found it attractive that she didn't judge me; there was no stigma for her. She was interested in my background and history, and recognised my determination to get back on my feet. She also liked my optimism, that in spite of it all I'm always hopeful.
I do look back on what happened and think what a difficult time it was, but hitting rock bottom also stops you taking anything for granted; a set of keys in your pocket, warmth, food. I also remind myself that if I hadn't been homeless, I would still be single and not spending Christmas with someone who means so much to me. [rc]
• As told to Emily Cunningham
© Guardian News and Media Limited 2009
