Homelessness: a scourge on society

This piece is to be published in Creative Writing Heals vol 8. December 2025

I have never been homeless. I have never had to decide where the safest place might be to sleep, whether in the doorways of overpriced, over indulgent shops, under railway bridges; behind industrial dustbins or simply on the pavements. I have never had to ask someone the best way to keep warm, where I can find the best cardboard for insulation, where the soup kitchens are, or where I can wash. I have never needed a dog to protect me from would-be rapists, potential murderers or opportunists. I have never known what it is like to be ‘moved on’, to be spat at, or worse still, urinated on. You don’t believe me? It happens.

I have never had to listen to the vile words that comes out of the mouths of those who have never experienced such poverty; who have the comfort of a home, who have the wherewithal to make a warm drink; cook a meal; bake a cake, make a sandwich.

I have never known hunger or been fearful of where my next meal will come from. I have never had to wash in public toilets, beg on street corners for the luxury of a few coins. But… I have known what it is like not to have a home. I have known what it is like to rely on friends to ‘put me up for a few weeks’, to ‘give me a bed or just a pillow on which to lay my head’, to enable me to ‘create a space’, where I could be myself, if only for a short while. It is a huge ask. For my friend it was a significant undertaking. We haven’t spoken for a long time. She was my saviour, my rescuer. She was the best friend anyone could have. Maybe she came into my life for a reason. Maybe that was it.

In 1999, my life was literally turned upside down. Although it all started off rather well. A name change brought with it mixed emotions, but in the main conveyed a positive outlook. In this year, I gave up my home; worked abroad; got a new job, that new job necessitating a move to London and gave up my role as a special in the police force. Something I bitterly regret. Funny isn’t it. The thing that stays with me the most is giving up my career in the police force, even if it was only voluntary. I likened this time to going on a big adventure. It was anything but. And whilst all this was going on; in the midst of all this chaos, my dad died. And from this chaos, sprung carnage.

I did go to the job in London, despite such a devastating change in my life. I wanted to make it work. I wanted to show the world how tough I was, that I could manage whatever life threw at me. But such a change was simply too much and I went back home to Yorkshire after living in what I can only describe as a one roomed pit. The people who lived in the building weren’t much better either. I had to clean the bathroom and the toilet before I could use them. I stopped short of buying a po to put under the bed, but it was rare I would venture into the corridors during the night to use the toilet. My cousin brought me home, all my belongings stacked up in one van. Someone else I was forced to rely on. Someone else who gave willingly of his time and money. When my dad died he told me whatever I needed, whatever my family needed he would be there for us. He loved my dad. He showed me he meant it. It wasn’t simply rhetoric he uttered. He kept his word.

So, I moved back to Yorkshire. To no home, no job and very little money. But at least I went home to the bosom of my family. Some, never do. The perceived shame and stigma preventing them seeking refuge from those who love them the most.

I was fortunate my friend offered me a room. She opened up her home to me. She told me she didn’t have much, but what she had, she shared with me. She opened up her arms and embraced me. She probably saved my life.

Life got better and then I met M…., my now husband. I moved in with him a few months later. I was lucky. Some aren’t so. After getting married in 2018 we moved to Bridlington two years later, at the height of the pandemic, utilising the limited gap between lockdown and freedom to move house.

Bridlington is a beautiful seaside resort on the East Yorkshire Coast. As you drive down one of the main tree-lined streets, it appears to be a wealthy town. Big houses stand in their own grounds, adorn the major road network. Some worth a million, perhaps more. It appears idyllic. With a population of 35,000 it is a small town. But this picturesque scene hides a dirty secret.

Bridlington is in the throes of a major housing crisis with many struggling to keep a roof over their heads as they continue to grapple with the impact of the cost of living crisis and rising rents. With the availability of housing being at an all-time low, this only amplifies this heartrending problem, one which is not going away anytime soon. Figures from the BBC indicate a disturbing increase in the number of people without a home in Bridlington. Rising from 25 in the first quarter of 2021 to 137 during the same period in 2023, this number represents an increase of over 500%.

The population of Bridlington has witnessed the homeless living in tents in the middle of winter. It has witnessed the homeless living in the sheltered areas of shop doorways, begging on the streets for a few measly coins to feed themselves and their dog. And for all those naysayers out there who point a finger and say ‘how can you afford to have a dog’; I would want a dog if I was living on the streets. So, would you. ‘I’ll never live on the streets’ I hear you say; be careful – according to The Guardian there are many who are only one pay packet away from going to such a place. The pandemic only adding to this crisis.

When the impact of homeless can be witnessed every single day in every town and every city of our beloved country, can we truly call ourselves a civilised society. According to Sue R whose blog highlighted this phenomenon, such homelessness levels are proving costly to Bridlington Council, which spent £189,000 last year housing people in temporary accommodation, a considerable increase from the £26,000 spent in 2021. The cost to humanity, it can easily be argued, is so much more.

Homelessness is a scourge on society. It is a scourge on humanity. It is one of the gravest concerns of modern-day living. Every single person needs a home to rest their weary head. Every single person needs a home where they can close their front door and feel safe, where they can care for their children, where they can shut out the misery and strife. If only for a while. But not just a home… a decent home. One that is safe. Not one that provides refuge to cockroaches, to the wretchedness of rising damp, creating decrepit, unsafe cesspits

Rising damp is allegedly a rare form of damp. Really! It is one of the most controversial most talked about types of damp ever. Rising damp affects the walls of buildings, schools, colleges, universities, businesses, factories, homes. It has the potential to affect every building if you let it gain a hold. For those living in homes where rising damp infiltrates there is no escaping this vile, black substance that once it has a foothold, never lets go. The walls are like this for a reason. The buildings are in need of repair. So, for humanities sake… repair them! I have lived in a house that had rising damp. The council told my dad to open the windows.

Whether rare or not it exists and those that live within its clutches suffer. Recently a council was fined… fined is that all… for failing to improve the housing conditions in which a two-year-old boy died from asthma. Mould is a significant contributory factor in respiratory health problems.

If you are old enough you will remember the programme Rising Damp. That nostalgic sitcom, in which the four main characters all live in a Victorian Terrace, made us smile as we sat down every week to watch some of the antics of our best loved actors and actresses. This programme may have been a source of laughter for those who watched it, but living in these conditions is no laughing matter. For us it was a TV show, for those living in such conditions, it is a nightmare.

Huge swathes of houses are being built in Bridlington. But who are these houses really for? Not for the poor. Not for the homeless. They are being built for the newcomers. Those who have decided they no longer want to live in the grimy, garbage clogged streets of our cities. Who can blame them? They think they are bringing their children to a better place. They will soon find this is not the case. The air may be cleaner, the streets less cluttered with rubbish, after all the Council want to attract the holiday makers, but the job and housing prospects remain dismally poor. The new homes being built will not house the homeless. Will not house those who are living in some of the worst areas of the town, in some of the worst housing. These homes are beyond their reach.

Homelessness has been depicted throughout the centuries as being a scourge on society. In 2020, whilst surfing the internet I came across the duo Sonny and Cher sing ‘500 miles’ a song about homelessness, and I felt compelled to write. My article published by the Nursing Times depicted the misery of homelessness and how the nursing profession can help.

Writing this article has highlighted the different ways in which we can understand homelessness through the use of the Arts. Song writers, singers, musicians, authors and film directors have all sought to convey the tragic stories of those, who often, through no fault of their own, have been subject to the horror and shame of homelessness. Fault or no fault, who are we to judge?

But my article wasn’t enough. It was never going to be. It was simply a drop in the ocean. A wheat sheaf in a field of wheat. It was never going to make a difference. Two months later we were in lockdown and became subject to the government imposed ‘lockdown laws’. It was through these restrictions I began to develop my writing.

Through my understanding of the many different ways of knowing, I have become aware of the horror of homelessness. Thankfully, I have never succumbed to its embrace. I have watched the news, heard the stories and witnessed the most vulnerable in society being dealt the worst cards. For the grace of God, or some other deity, my life could have gone down the same path. Maybe!

Today, on the news I saw the headline ‘Social Housing complaints on the increase’. And as I did all those years ago, when I listened to the haunting melody of Sonny and Cher, I felt compelled to write.

It is understood that a lack of affordable and fit for purpose housing is a UK wide concern. It is equally understood that housing is a ‘wicked problem’, one which appears insurmountable. Wicked problems are considered societal problems that are simply too challenging or impossible to resolve, simply because of their interconnected, interrelated characteristics. By their very nature they defy all logic and ability to make positive change a reality. But such problems are not insurmountable, by saying they are, we indefatigably make them so. And in all honesty isn’t that what governments, the council, the builders, the landlords, the naysayers want you to think. Wicked problems exist when a lack of commitment to making a difference exists. When humanity becomes a second-rate citizen.

Poor housing is linked to poor physical and mental health. These vulnerable souls, of which there are increasingly many, are at the mercy of government agendas, the housing ‘Big Boys’ and capitalist greed. I call them ‘Big Boys’ because those at the helm are all men. I thought I would test my theory. I was wrong, we currently have one woman at the helm of a big builder. An alarming underrepresentation. Will she make a difference? It’s a tall order.

More than five years ago, the CEO of a well-known Builder received £110 million in bonuses, not due to his hard work, as he so strongly voiced, but because of the deeply flawed ‘Help to Buy’ scheme created by the Government, which helped mainly first-time buyers to buy a new home and get on the housing ladder. Another government policy that made the rich profoundly richer. This story at the time just kept giving for according to The Guardian in the same year the same company would hand over £500m to 140 senior staff. Astonishing!

What could £110 million have done to renovate crumbling and derelict homes in our towns and cities. What could £500 million? What could this money have done to rehouse the homeless families, create better homes. It’s obscene. And I’m not the only one to strongly assert my views on this. Apparently, the CEO gave some of his bonus to charity, but refused to say who? I’ll leave it there.

But it’s not just the ‘Big Boys’. The behaviours of the private landlords, those who bought up multiple houses, especially council houses to rent off privately to unsuspecting tenants, is also questionable. Many tenants dare not complain about the damp creeping up the walls; the poor ventilation; inadequate heating; the lack of sanitation, for fear of being ousted onto the streets. The little they have rammed into plastic bags. These private tenants pay the mortgages of the landlords. Passive money, and it’s all above board. It’s all legal. Government agendas have added to the crisis. When will we come first? When will our children come first? When?

According to internet sources, costs associated with caring for those affected by poor housing equates to 1.4bn a year. Let’s make it clear; this is paid for by the tax payer; not the government. We want our taxes to be spent on prevention, not cure. We want our taxes to contribute to society, not line the capitalist pockets, money that could so easily be used to wipe out the horror of homelessness and poor housing, is being spent on yachts, mansions and expensive cars. The capitalist profiteers should hang their heads in shame. Unlike the vulnerable, who hang their heads in despair, these rich profiteers should look these people in the eyes, the very people who dare not look up, for fear of what they may find. And when they do tell them they are sorry and act to make the world a better place for humankind, not just themselves.

And there is always the unanswered question, ‘Do we really need more new houses building?’ Do we really need more greenbelt land turning into sprawling housing estates that have no access to shops, or amenities such as schools or transport. Where every journey, however small, requires a car or a bus journey. Do we really need these? This is a question difficult to answer. What we do need though is to put humanity before big profit. Humanity before exploitation.

As I walk down the town centre streets of my adopted home town, I despair for the dereliction; the deprivation; the run-down buildings that attract vermin. It doesn’t have to be this way. Profits don’t have to be so obscene. Caring for humanity should be the norm. Ethical behaviour the stalwart. Compassion the golden rule.

According to Landlord Today a new analysis suggests homes in England are now less affordable and in worse condition than in most other developed nations. Likewise, according to Interactive Investor, housing is at its most unaffordable since 1899, a time when Queen Victoria was on the throne. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? Arguably, some of the rented housing stock is similar to that of Victorian England. It’s a violation. A violation against humanity. Today, these houses are home to vulnerable private renters trapped in a desperate cycle of benefits, wages that fail to keep up with inflation, poor health and lost hope. As housing policies fail repeatedly to get a grip, the government simply adds to the crisis. No longer an emerging crisis. It is reality.

So, business models that put profit before humanity continue and government officials who bleat they will do something about it; do nothing. Meanwhile the landlords who utilise these business models get richer, and the poor inevitably poorer.

And so, inevitably, the ‘wicked problem’ of housing will continue to exist. While ever we fail to create a fairer society; while ever we continue to pay lip service to the crisis, this ‘wicked problem’ and others like these will continue to be a scourge on society. Until one day, society and humanity itself implodes.

Perhaps, we are closer to this apocalypse than we think.

Do you want to know the solution? It’s right in front of your nose.