The first thing I notice is the cold, stone slab numbing my bum as I sit and wait for the homeless people to arrive. I have joined a group of seven volunteers as part of The Bristol Soup Run Trust on a chilly winter evening to give out soup, sandwiches, blankets and clothes to those who are sleeping rough. We are gathered outside the Pip n’ Jay Church who, along with Bristol Cyrenians, grew and founded the trust in 1986. I huddle inside my jacket eyeing the 40 or so homeless people that have congregated and I am met with the rugged smile of a man who resembles Aragorn from Lord of The Rings and I soon get involved in dishing out food from the makeshift stall assembled in the boot of a car. They seem grateful to receive the tomato soup and most are happy to engage in banter.

Life on the streets can be lonely, so whilst receiving material items is all well and good, a benevolent smile is like gold dust. The friendliest of the bunch, a smack addict – not that you’d be able to tell thanks to a sun-kissed complexion and bright eyes – tells me how he attends the soup run regularly after being banned from a day centre. Having started a methadone programme, he is attempting to get his life back on track. He sells the Big Issue to provide him with a source of income and as well as motivating him, the enterprise enables him to gain valuable money management skills and sales techniques. Since the soup run is mobile, it is able to reach out to different areas in Bristol.

After everyone has had something to eat, we drive on to the next drop of the night; the Waterfront. Here, a smaller crowd has assembled, waiting patiently as the icy wind tears through fraying woollen jumpers. Despite the chill, one man has arrived in flip flops. We distribute hats, blankets and other winter necessities and I become engaged in conversation with a charming old man who invites me to read some poems he has composed. One, about the victims of plastic surgery and today’s distorted conceptions of the human body, makes me feel as though I am being privy to the wizened thoughts of an ancient bard. Patrick observes that in his previous job as a tax man, he never had the chance to be creative but now that he is homeless and free from the mind-forged manacles of society, he is able to develop his creative side which many of us repress in mindless, robotic jobs. He reads out a chilling sonnet about rape, inspired by the assaults on two female friends within days of each other and it brings home to me the vulnerability of the homeless.

The Bristol Soup Run Trust is a registered charity and operates every night of the year. If you would like to make a donation or help in what ever way you can, please visit:
www.bristolsoupruntrust.org.uk

Harriet Hernando

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Rape

I am a man, proud, tall, yet I stand so ashamed,
Ashamed that anyone can take, defile and hurt,
That which is so precious and pure for pleasure,
Thoughtless, ignorant of pain, the life destroyed.

I cannot, dare not bring myself to call you a man,
Nor are you animal for they too have laws, morals,
Savage, barbarian, creature of the night too good
A word to name you: Rapist, thief of all that’s pure.

My thoughts, tears are for the one you cruelly used,
Stole the beauty, the joy of all that’s good: The love,
Which celebrates that special bond twixt two lovers,
Leaving pain, anger, hatred, desolation in your wake.

One message, one hope I have and offer fair maid,
No matter how rough or cruel that attack might be,
No one can take; can steal your own special beauty,
You are you forever, special ‘cos you’re you: Special!

Patrick R.
Bristol
December 2008