Pleasance Salvation Army shelter: A century giving bed, board and hope

Published on Wednesday 16 December 2009 09:31

LYING on the pavement, sheltered only by a blanket of newspapers, Sam Martin was preparing for another miserable, cold, disturbed night.

Most of those walking past would have barely noticed him, but Sam got lucky that chilly October night. A priest stopped and took him in for the night.

Sam repaid him by stealing his wife's credit card. She was suffering from terminal cancer.

"I feel the worst about that one," he says now, quietly. "I still want to find him and write him a letter to apologise. I was so out of it on drugs, I didn't know what I was doing. I needed money so I got desperate and drained the card of 600. I felt dead afterwards."

It was just the latest in a string of crimes dating back to Sam's childhood, but this theft was, he says, a turning point. Shortly afterwards, he knocked on the door of the Salvation Army hostel on the Pleasance. He's been on the straight and narrow since. The hostel offers him a form of salvation, as it has the homeless and outcast in the city for 100 years.

Like many who pass through the hostel's doors, Sam's problems can be traced to his childhood.

At seven, he was separated from his alcoholic mother and seven siblings, including his identical twin, and shunted around homes across the country. There he was introduced to drugs, principally heroin, leading him to deal, steal and beg for cash alongside an equally addicted wife.

Sam, originally from Fife, tried to murder a neighbour in 1999, resulting in a five-year prison stint. Fiddling with his hands as he talks, Sam, 28, mumbles: "I was on smack all the time to cope and I flew off the handle. I've got two kids and I was told a paedophile was living below me. I stabbed him and threw a television on his head without thinking. I know it wasn't the way to react, but I didn't think straight. My brother was sexually assaulted as a boy and I felt pure anger."

While he served his sentence his wife was found dead on their couch with a syringe in her arm. As soon as he was freed, depression and drug-taking resumed. He stole to get his fix, eventually getting arrested – by breaking into a Co-op and waiting for the police – to get on a recovery programme.

Since the incident with the priest, he says, he has not committed a single crime. He spends time talking with other hostel users and volunteering for odd jobs. He says: "At the hostel you don't feel judged because we've got shared experiences. You can get your thoughts together and your head clean. The staff have been great and this weekend I'm going to be delivering Christmas trees for the Bethany Trust as a volunteer. In the summer I want to work in the Salvation Army shops. I like keeping busy, not thinking about the bad things and being helpful.

"I know I'm not entitled to a second chance, but I want to prove I can change."

Sam's story is familiar to staff at the hostel. At any one time there are 38 men with no place to call home. They stay at the hostel to remedy any addictions, relationship issues or financial burdens, before being relocated to council or private rented housing.

Deputy manager Ian Wilson says: "There are more people in the hostel who have lost their job in recent months. Financial issues used to be a sideline problem but now it has become more mainstream. We're afraid that there are many men out there, many in the building trade, who are only a paycheck or two away from losing their job and subsequently their home."

This month marks the centenary of the Pleasance hostel. For 100 years staff and volunteers have been providing a roof, food and resettlement. The organisation has marked the anniversary with an art project, where residents have decorated mannequins to reflect how they feel.

Homelessness manager Ann Black says: "We handed out 20 mannequins, one to each resident, and left them to their own devices. As they built up the mannequins it was almost as if they were humanising themselves."

As therapeutic as the models are, Ian points out that there is a seemingly simple formula to helping the homeless take that next step towards recovery: "Finding somebody to talk to, who they feel they can talk to, is the key. After we identify what the issues are we can tailor a recovery plan according to their needs.

"When someone leaves it's hard to know if they keep the new attitude and way of life up because nobody wants to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, but we're confident a lot of people go on to live happy lives.

Sitting around the common-room table with Sam are several other residents gearing up for the leap towards a house, a job and a family.

Jon Enwood, 34, ended up homeless after getting addicted to drugs as a teenager. One night a fellow drug-taker became paranoid that Jon was chatting up his girlfriend.

He smashed a concrete paving stone over Jon's head, putting him in the ERI for five days. It has caused his speech to slur, means he can no longer work as a roofer – one fall on his head and he could die – and has affected his memory.

One thing that Jon has never forgotten is the family he lost touch with. Clinging to three battered mobile phones – only one of which he actually uses – he shows off photographs of his kids and stepkids. "I can't get rid of the phones," he says, thumbing through the pictures. "The phones are so old that I can't transfer the images to my working phone, so I keep them as my album.

"I haven't seen my lad for a year. I want to change for them."

HOSTEL HISTORY

THE Salvation Army Hostel on the Pleasance was opened in 1909. It is an all-male residence available for use by homeless 18-70-year-olds.

The Salvation Army was founded in 1865 by William and Catherine Booth, who said the key to tackling homelessness is to "change the man not just his surroundings".

The charity, which works in 118 countries across the world, also performs evangelical, social and charitable work, seeking to bring Christian salvation to the poor, destitute and hungry.

Its ministry extends to all, regardless of ages, gender, colour or creed.

The Salvation Army in Edinburgh also runs a nightly drop-in centre, on Niddrie Street, and Ashbrook Hostel on Leith Walk.