Christmas 1987 - Down and out in Brisbane

It was 1986, and for reasons that are too long ago and too complex to go into now, I left Sydney and hitchhiked to Brisbane, almost a thousand Kilometres away. I had just over three dollars in my pocket.

The next day I arrived broke and homeless. I made my way to St Vincent De Paul's Homeless Men's Centre in South Brisbane. I became a guest of St Vinnies in Oct 1986.

Before long, I was asked to go "on staff" as a full time volunteer. I jumped at the chance. There was no pay, but I did receive food and accommodation at the centre.

Whilst I was there I saw and experienced plenty of things I would sooner forget. I worked as an offsider on the vans at night, in charge of the storeroom, as a doorman, and although I had no training, in charge of the small infirmary and detox ward. However, while there may have been things I want to forget or never to relate to any one else, the bad times were outnumbered by the good.

The centre attracted a lot of itinerants, drifters etc. All had reasons for being at the centre. Some had lost jobs, some lost wives. Others were in between jobs and there were a few fencers, builders, boundary riders and Vietnam Vets. There was even a former North Vietnamese Government minister called Tommy, who was the cook.

The camaraderie was something I have not experienced before or since. Even Tommy was welcomed. Misfortune seemed to blow down the walls of nationalism, rivalry and hatred. When Tommy was beaten up by a local gang, the score was made even by a group of Vietnam Vets. I was the "cocky" the look out.

There were three classes of staff at the centre. Paid staff, voluntary staff, and the unemployed voluntary staff.

The unemployed voluntary staff were treated like dirt by management - they were the lowest of the low as far as St Vincent De Paul's management was concerned. They were not even allowed to mix socially with the paid staff or the other volunteers. In the dining room, they were not permitted to sit at the same table as a paid member of staff.

At night, members of St Vincent De Paul would arrive in their cars and load up with food from the kitchen. The next day, it was the unemployed voluntary staff who were always blamed.

My first Christmas there was memorable. On Christmas Day a few of us organised a picnic and game of cricket for the guys. The highlight of the day was when I hit the ball straight at the windscreen of a passing police car. The two coppers got of the car - and joined us for a few minutes!

In December 1987 I was placed in charge of the stores. I was given a directive by management that no unemployed voluntary staff were to be issued with clothing from the stores. Fair enough I thought. But when the same manager walked around the storeroom picking out clothes for himself and his family, I blew my top.

I packed everything into a box and waited until lunchtime. I then walked into the dining room, dumped the box on his table in full view of all staff, and loudly proclaimed, "These are the clothes you picked out from the store for yourself, wife and kids".

I went out and when I returned, my belongings had been placed outside the centre. I was no longer "on staff". That is how in 1987, I came to spend Christmas as a guest of the charitable St Vinnies.

I remember Christmas Day vividly. We were sitting in the courtyard waiting for Christmas Dinner. We shared our "smokes" and played cards to pass the time.

Through the gates came a woman with a small child.

The courtyard went silent and we all looked at her. I doubt if she had ever seen such a place before. She held herself erect and there was a certain dignity about her. She held the little boy's hand tightly. As she started to walk through the courtyard anyone in her way soon stepped aside. Two men dashed to open the door leading from the courtyard to the reception area.for her. Apart from that, no one knew quite how to react.

At dinner, everyone left her alone. Her table was empty except for her and the little one. No one wanted to intrude or make her feel uncomfortable. Dinner finished and we drifted into the courtyard. Then something happened I never forget.

A group of men carrying two boxes walked around the centre. Virtually all of these homeless, jobless men, the sort many cross the road to avoid, willingly put into the boxes, spare change and the sweets and little cakes we had all been given. The next big decision was, who was going to give these boxes to the woman?

Originally I was chosen because I "talked proper," but I was uncertain as I had no idea what to say or how to go about it. How would she react? would she be offended?

Someone finally volunteered and when she appeared, stepped gingerly forward and handed her the boxes. She wanted to cry but held back, presumably for the sake of the little boy. Hardly a word was spoken between the man and the woman. There was no need for words. Looks can paint a thousand words.

Now things are different. I am plodding along quite nicely with a business consultancy and 1987 seems so long ago in many ways.

But the memory of Christmas Day 1987, will alway remain.