During my two-year stint of being homeless, some of that time in the Gympie region, I went through challenging experiences that could make a woman weep, but what did break me, was kindness.
The first person I saw most mornings was Lisa from It’s Coffee Time!
Lisa from It’s Coffee Time. IMAGE: supplied
The kind barista
I’d tumble out of my van in whatever I’d slept in, my sea-salt hair looking like a goat had chewed it and Lisa would greet me warmly. Later, after coffee, I’d brush my teeth, do my hair and put on some fresh clothes, because not everyone was as easy going as Lisa.
Her non-judgmental attitude was extremely comforting. She occasionally asked: ‘Was that you parked down at the duck pond?’
‘Yes’ I’d say and we’d move on to the next topic, as if sleeping in my rusty old van and waking up with the ducks was nothing unusual.
Some days, Lisa refused payment. ‘Mr Generous donated a free coffee and you’re it today.’
I’d first met Lisa when I was working at Bunnings, a few months before I lost my rental. She knew me as the first person to come hurtling out the back door of Bunnings when she arrived.
After I missed the coffee van announcement a couple of times, Bunnings added my name to the callout: ‘Coffee van is out back! Maree!’
I think Lisa really realised how hard-core coffee addict I was, the day I rang to ask where she was parked. I only calmed down when she gave me the location of her next stop. Then there was the day I chased her up the highway. The most memorable day was the time I rang her so late she’d already gone home.
‘Oh no!’ I cried.
‘Come on around home,’ she said. ‘I haven’t cleaned the machine yet!’
She offered me a lovely porch seat with cushions while she made me coffee.
I felt like a coffee princess.
When I was homeless, Lisa offered me a job cleaning her house once a week. She’d figured out I couldn’t work a normal job in the daylight hours out in the open because I had dogs in my van. What a blessing to park the van and the dogs in her shady driveway and earn some money while Lisa was out working.
The kind bike mechanic
There were other kind people when I was homeless.
Dave from Pedal Power. IMAGE: supplied
Dave from Pedal Power is well known for his generous nature. I’d met him a decade before when I bought a pushbike and often popped in for a coffee and a chat. Dear Dave absorbed everything, kept what was worth keeping and with a breath of kindness, blew the rest away.
When he learned I was living in my van, he would just happen to cook too much food or he’d accidently bake two cakes, instead of one. He’d drop the food to me and cheer me up with his wisecracking.
Dave’s cheesecake. IMAGE: supplied
In the back of my mind, I knew if things got bad, Dave was the kind of bloke who would help me out – no questions asked.
Speaking of kind and generous blokes: I was also working at The Rattler before I lost my rental and had to move into my van.
The kind mechanics
Ben the mechanic kept the trains running. My van broke down often and if I couldn’t get hold of my mechanic son, I’d call Ben.
One repair job kept Ben’s head under the dashboard for hours!
Another repair required an apprentice (a Rattler secretary with a penchant for fixing cars). Those two spent hours with their heads under the bonnet or with their bodies in contorted poses between the seats and the dash.
These two generous people refused payment and were concerned about my welfare, even inviting me to dinner.
The kind librarian
Then there was Barb, the Tin Can Bay librarian.
I used to visit the library to work on my book, No Second Chance, while charging my laptop. After the book was published, I asked Barb if the library hosted guest authors.
They did!
Barb put up posters advertising an event promoting my book and printed bookmarks, slipping them into every book borrowed. Her enthusiasm made me forget the difficult situation I was in until the day of the event arrived.
There was a problem. What was I going to do with the dogs? It was raining!
I had a tarp tied to the leaky roof of my van and I’d have to leave the windows down and… oh, so many distractions.
Barb told me to go and park the van on the grass, under the big tree, out the front of the library.
When there were only a few minutes left until guests arrived, I walked into the event room to find every chair had been turned to face the back of the room. This meant I would be standing at the back of the room, facing my dogs outside the big windows.
I almost cried with relief.
Thanks to Barb’s thoughtful actions I was at ease and the audience never guessed I was keeping an eye on my dogs during the entire book reading and question time.
This seemingly small act of kindness made such a huge difference to my experience of sharing my book.
To add to her generosity, Barb bought a book and donated it to the library.
I’m told the book is always on loan with a waitlist, so it’s about time I donated another.
Be kind
Recently, I was walking the dogs at dawn and saw a woman get out of a sedan to fold her bedding. I kept my head down. This is the hour stealth campers must rise, pack up and move on. The hour where the public usually leave the homeless alone. We don’t look at them or speak to them. Later when the sun is up and they’re parked somewhere trying to look as if they’re just out for the day, that’s another story.
So maybe say Gidday. If you only get a quick nod, keep going.
If you get a big smile, and sense their relief, maybe ask how they’re doing. Small acts of kindness, generosity and care go a long way with a homeless person.
The author of this article, Maree French was homeless for two years in 2020 to 2022. During that time she wrote and published a book: No Second Chance, a first-hand account of serving time in the Queensland prison system. You can read a free sample here
IMAGE at top of story of Dave from Pedal Power: supplied
