After an Army infantry soldier risked his life, struggled with a broken marriage, was arrested and left homeless and struggling with alcohol. Is this really England?
In a recent report published by Ministry of Housing Communities and Local Government, 4,677 homeless veterans are still on the streets in the UK. Homeless vets like Spencer find themselves locked out of support and getting by with the help of non-profit organisations.
On a cold night each January, the department of Ministry of Housing Communities and Local Government takes a count the number of people who currently live on the street and in shelters. On the chosen night this year, 4,677 veterans are said to be homeless. Decreasing in numbers by 2% since last year.
"I was shot because I wouldn't buy a bottle of whiskey from a shop keeper in Bosnia"
But this isn’t the entire story. Many veterans go unnoticed in these counts for numerous reasons, though, there may be more veterans homeless than are officially counted resulting in a dark figure of unreported cases. This was the case for Spencer, a former Royal Anglian infantry soldier, turned barber who joined the British Army in 1991, when he was just 16 years old; and retired an honourable discharge in 2003, after serving four tours and even suffering gunshot wounds, he says, from a shop keeper in Bosnia after he refused to buy a bottle whisky.
Spencer’s speech slows down when being pressed about recounting his time during service. His voice turns gruff as he bows his head as if his memories have defeated him. “It’s hard to look back sometimes,” he explains, “Part of me wants to be done with remembering, but I know that part of my life won’t go away.”
After leaving the army, Spencer was united with his new born son, that due to his job, he was yet to meet. “I didn’t want to take them to Ireland,” he described, “it was where the company was moving to next. It also didn’t help that because of the job, my marriage was severely struggling.”
Spencer, who has recently turned 47, decided to make us a cup of coffee before proceeding with the conversation. He lives in a small antiquated town house; the bright green front door emulating the surrounding fields that border his home in the midst of Kings Lynn. His home is almost a juxtaposition to his life, it is quiet and isolated, a calm and relaxing ambience, appose to his military career, which was chaotic and tempestuous.
Spencer has lived in this home for eight years with his fiancé and now 16-year-old son. He shows me around his archaic home, his left hand firmly grasping his cup of coffee and his right hand directing my gaze to the hundreds of photos he has on the bookshelf in the front room. The framed photos portray a slideshow of his life, an insight of 47 years in a photographed memory. “This one’s my favourite,” he says as he picks up what seems to be an eroded photograph of when he was 17. “This was me and two of my pals in Iraq,” he smirks, “I was just 17 when I got deployed there, and if I’m honest, excuse my language, I absolutely shit myself. We toured Iraq for six months. It was my second tour, Ireland was my first, that was another six months.” He blows on the photo, discarding the settled layer of dust that has been atop it for what seems like a while.
Spencer remained quiet for a moment, flicking his eyes over the collection of photos. “I lost a lot of men, in Iraq especially. It fucked me up. 17 and in this condition?!” He exclaimed, “it’s bound to fuck you up somehow. But that was just the beginning!”.
We moved into the kitchen, where a glass cabinet displays two of the medals he had received during his service. “This is ‘The Conspicuous Gallantry Cross’, I was awarded this after Iraq alongside James, one my closest pals.” The medal is still in its box, but with the lid off. It shines as if it is brand new, “I keep it clean,” he says, “every other day I will polish it, I absolutely adore this little thing. Not because of why I was awarded it – which was because I helped save five lads whose car had just been blown up by a hidden IED. I’ll never forget it, it was like a firework had been lit right in front of my face, but I wasn’t anywhere near it, however I definitely felt it. I saw it happen and a few of us ran over because we saw some of the lad’s bodies laid on the floor.” Spencer directed me back to the sofa, sipping on his coffee as he prepares to divulge more about the life that once taunted him.
“We all had to perform CPR. Some of the lads responded imminently and woke up, obviously severely dishevelled, though my lad, he wasn’t responding at all. I had to alternate between chest compressions and rescue breaths. I honestly thought I had lost him, he was gone. I continued to do it for at least half an hour, it’s what we’re taught, you never leave a man, no matter if there’s no help you don’t stop. But luckily for me, help eventually came.” He stopped for a moment, pausing to finish the last few sips of his coffee. “I found out weeks later from someone in the med corps (Royal Medical Corps) that he survived.”
"I had nothing, I had no home, I had no wife, I couldn’t see my son!"
Spencer started smiling, he was proud, and he had every right to be. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks in a peaceful manner, “some biscuits or water?” I kindly decline. He leaned back in his adjustable chair, finding comfort in the cushions. Spencer’s personality is something of a benevolent despot, he is heroic as he is humble. His glasses frame his face, though with a few scratches on them, he later told me was because he would keep dropping them when he would hear a loud noise outside, “it’s just a reflex”, he tells me, “I hear a loud exhaust and I’m like… shit, and always seem to grab my glasses and accidentally drop them.” He seems bemused by his reactions, to which he now knows is a symptom of his crippling PTSD (Post-traumatic-stress-disorder).
Spencer is a heavy-set man, he would comfort eat in order to help him deal with the emotions he was facing when he left the military. “I would just eat, I had nothing, I had no home, I had no wife, I couldn’t see my son! I had nothing and I hated myself, so I mistreated my body. I don’t regret it, because it helped in the moment, but I don’t like feeling like one of the M&M characters on the adverts.”
"I even had to shoot a man and a woman because they were proved terrorists, it was really messed up.”
We both found joy in the reference and laughed for at least a minute. “So anyway,” he proceeds, “Iraq was terrifying, mainly because of how young I was (17). But two-years later, I toured Bosnia. I was shot at there, because I wouldn’t buy a bottle of whiskey from a shop keeper! Bosnia was the tour that I’ll never forget, I even had to shoot a man and a woman because they were proved terrorists, it was really messed up.”
Spencer has toured six-months in Ireland, six-months in Iraq, eight-months in Bosnia and six-months in Jordon. As well as participating in over 100 exercises (recreational deployment), visiting places such as Calgary, Cyprus and Canada. “I loved the exercise we did in Amman Jordan, we slept in the dessert and would ride camels everywhere, some proper badass stuff!”.
As well as touring and deploying on recreational exercise, Spencer represented his company in boxing, and played against the RAF and NAVY in a hockey tournament in Cyprus. “I was the goalkeeper and got best player of the tournament”, he added. “That was part of the reason why I loved the military.” Spencer sat up and leaned his elbows on the top of his knees, “being part of a huge family. I was in foster care from the age of three months old, I’ve never had brothers or sisters until I joined up.”
Spencer doesn’t blame his home life for contributing to why he became homeless, “Sure, I didn’t have a family to fall back on when I left, but I made my own family, I had a wife and a son, and that’s all that mattered to me, not having my own parents was probably a blessing in disguise.”
Mandy, Spencer’s fiancé came and joined us in the front room with a fresh cup of coffee, her kind gesture was emulated in the way she touched Spencer, standing next to him and placing her hand on his shoulder. “I ended up leaving the army because my wife at the time had just given birth to my son, and my marriage was struggling. When I eventually left, my marriage broke down and I became dependent on alcohol, and eventually started sleeping rough for roughly six-months, excuse the pun”, he chuckled, “I had a nice camp as I had all of my army exercise equipment with me. I was only found because it was really late at night and I had built a fire.”
“Since my end of service, I have suffered terribly with crippling PTSD and depression, as well as depending on alcohol as a way to cope with the isolation with loneliness I was once feeling. I actually ended up going to prison for four years and eight months. But when I got out, I vouched to steer clear from alcohol and ended up residing in a hostel.”
Statistics released 31st January 2019, by the Ministry of Housing Communities and Local Government reported there were still around 4,677 rough sleepers [veterans] residing in England. 16% of those are female, 25% of them are non-UK nationals and 6% of them are under the age of 25. In comparison to Autumn 2017, when there was a total of 4,751. It was also reported that there are 2.5 million veterans, and 94/95% of those who leave the armed forces “quickly settle into civilian life.”
Another report issued by the MOD (Ministry of Defence) report that in the years 2017 and 2018, four out of five veterans were diagnosed with a mental health condition. With the statistics showing that 6.1% of females (971 individuals) and 2,7% of males (3,915) were diagnosed with a type of mental health disorder. 17% of those were officers (497 individuals) and 3.4% were of other ranks (4,389 individuals).
The highest number of mental health disorders diagnosed were to those of the ages between 25 and 29, with a staggering 1,183 having been diagnosed. The statement also states that PTSD is diagnosed to at least 0.2% of the UK armed forces.
However, Spencer seems to disagree with these statements, “I’ll be honest, I don’t think they have truly counted the exact number of homeless veterans on the streets. So many go unnoticed. I would have gone unnoticed if I didn’t light that fire that one night.” When probed about why Spencer feels as though homeless is still occurring, he said; “Homelessness is still an issue because there is no support on release. If you have no family or friends, then going into a world where there is no discipline or regime is really difficult. You have to do things for yourself, and you are not really used to that. You served your country and put your entire life on the line, and when you leave you become a nobody.”
The night started to creep in, and streaks of light from the sunset spilled through the window, reflecting off of the medals in the glass cabinet which was placed in the kitchen opposite me. The most important question still remained: who does Spencer believes is most at fault for the number of veterans still on the streets. “If I were to blame anybody”, he says, “I would wholeheartedly blame the Army and the Government. Their lack of support once our service has ended is just terrible, because it’s non-existent, not for me anyway.”
Spencer refuses to regret working in the military. “I did my part, I made friends for life and lost some friends for life, literally. I’m proud for what I have done, and been through, and to beat the odds and still be here? Well that’s just about the proudest thing I have done. I’m doing great now! I am 12 years free from alcohol, own my own house with my fiancé, even own my own business, all off of my own back.”
Spencer’s story highlights the issues that many veterans still face today. Without help and depending on alcohol, or suffering with crippling mental health issues, many veterans are not getting the help they need. When asking Spencer what can be done in his opinion to help minimise these numbers, he said: “I think most importantly, there needs to be hands on support. If I had somebody checking on me every week or two after leaving, I wouldn’t have gone down the route I had gone down. Mental health is still stigmatised in the armed forces, and this needs to change, no man or woman should feel ashamed for suffering, because we all suffer sometimes.”