The Man on the Street

In the five years to the 2011 census, homelessness in NSW grew by one fifth and, while the figures since then are rubbery, support groups say the problem is growing.

“It’s got worse since then,” Homelessness NSW interim chief executive Digby Hughes said.

“They are frightening figures.”

- Homeless NSW interim chief executive Digby Hughes

Homelessness in Newcastle and the Hunter is driven by the familiar spectre of unemployment and a lack of affordable housing.

On the social housing waiting list, the wait for a one bedroom flat in Newcastle is two to five years. The wait for a two bedroom flat is a decade, as it is in the Lake Macquarie and Port Stephens districts. Neither Muswellbrook nor Scone have anything for two years.

There are quirks of geography at play, like an influx of out-of-towners into Newcastle because all the cheap rooms in some towns have been taken by workers on coastal road projects. Others board trains, lured by Newcastle’s reputation of friendliness to rough sleepers compared with Sydney.

To the long-term unhoused like “Sharky”, 50, fishing from Queens Wharf most nights, a flotilla of recruits has been added. Some recent arrivals to the dilapidated old Newcastle Post Office, where Sharky had been sleeping, have brought a new layer of tension.

“These people come in here making a mess, shooting up, doing drugs, pulling bongs,” Sharky said.

“No one can go there now.”

- “Sharky”, homeless man

Some of Sharky’s nightly fishing companions have been forced from their dwellings by rising rents, others are itinerant young “travellers”.

Billy, 23, dreams of heading north for a while. Years of toxic family fighting culminated in him leaving home a few weeks ago.

Even before the post office turf war – which volunteers, who now steer clear, blame on a few belligerent drug users – he felt the strain of sleeping rough.

“I don’t see myself as homeless. I’m only homeless for now,” Billy said.

“There are people heaps worse off than me. But what I’ve found is you never get a good sleep. You finally nod off and people come past making a racket, being smart arses. Some of the cops are all right, some of them hassle you.”

The worst time, says Brian, 38, off the drink and ice for a week now and hoping it’s for good this time, is the window from 5pm to 9pm.

“That’s the worst time, especially when you’re trying to get clean. It’s really tiring. If you were at home you’d be watching TV.”

Brian holds down a job with an understanding boss as he wrestles a multi-pronged addiction.

- Brian, homeless man

It culminated in Brian attempting suicide in Sydney’s Kings Cross by overdosing on synthetic cocaine.

He learned long ago to avoid group politics, but has found a sort of integrity on the street. Give a cigarette today, you’ll be offered one tomorrow.

On his first night, a fellow sleeper offered “a blanket, brah”.

“He didn’t have to do that.”

It’s not all gloom, says Edson Santos, a volunteer with Night Angels.

Those who gather at the volunteers’ hatchback for tea, coffee and sandwiches bro-hug and backslap and greet each other with cackled joy.

“Sometimes I find them less depressing than my friends,” Mr Santos said.

You see them at Hamilton Station in the evening, moving in groups, sharing smokes, beanies, jackets, a dog or two among them, making for the benches and nooks of the platform in the setting sun, stepping around the baseball capped young men from Hamilton South who prowl the car park after dark.

- Edson Santos, Newcastle Night Angels volunteer

Pete Toogood, in his 50s, has been riding the train between towns since it became clear his accommodation in Sydney wasn’t safe. He’s from Melbourne. He never meant to end up in Newcastle.

“I barracked for Essendon,” Mr Toogood said, lighting up a cigarette.

“I used to get to every game at Windy Hill. I used to be a member.”

A kind of homeless person’s daytrip can be unlocked by sneaking onto a train and stepping off at Gosford or Central. Some ride as far as Wollongong. A brush with the guards is costly and traumatic, and can be deftly avoided with a well-timed trip to the toilet.

The recent storms haven’t been so bad, a man named Ricky said, if you’ve been able to find a dry stairwell or a piece of plastic. The rain clears the streets, added his friend, and lengthens your odds of a stray kick in the ribs. He made a point about “the Asians” stopping to take photos, but didn’t find much support.

“Neither the ABS nor other researchers have been able to establish a robust method to more reliably estimate homeless youth staying with other households,” the report said.

“This is a major concern for policy makers and service providers.”

Sleeping at friends’ places keeps you going, agreed Luke and Dean, two teenage mates sharing an ecstasy comedown, until the offers of couches dry up.

Uptown, Peter ended his vigil in a bus shelter and went to bed with his shoes on. Samantha Banks finished her cigarette and cupped his grey head in her hands.

“Ah, Pete,” she cooed.

“Everyone knows you.”