A student volunteer’s first-hand account of Aberdeen Cyrenians in the late 1960s

My involvement with the Cyrenians began when, aged 18, I left a small town in Angus to study at Aberdeen University.

Through the Catholic Society and the Student Christian Movement, I met a group who operated a soup van for homeless people in the Castlegate. I remember being handed a flask of soup and a torch to “find” people sleeping rough in Catherine Street (which no longer exists). A rather sheltered young person, I found it inconceivable that so many had no choice but to exist in such circumstances. I held the naïve belief that the NHS and our caring society didn’t let anyone “fall through the net”.

Eventually, we were given permission to use a condemned chip shop - The Golden Chipper - as a rudimentary night shelter. The building and surrounding area were earmarked for demolition. Inside, conditions were primitive. There was an ancient cooker to make soup, and a damp room with planks on the floor where people slept, using whatever covers or blankets they had. It was impossible to keep clean or warm, but it offered a roof and some comfort against the chill of winter.

I met people from all walks of life during my time as a Cyrenian volunteer - from travellers to former accountants - who had survived despite everything life had thrown at them: broken homes, marital breakdowns, childhoods in care, abuse, addiction, violence, imprisonment, unemployment, and mental health struggles of every kind. Their lives were scarred by tragic stories. It seemed incredible that all of this could result in someone losing their home - a basic right for all. Any of those stories could easily have been mine, or that of my fellow students, but for circumstance, accident of birth, or sheer luck.

After much pressure from Sandy Murray and other campaigners who had begun the soup run, the council agreed to provide a purpose-built night shelter in Peacock’s Close, off the Castlegate. This was an area that had welcomed many immigrants fleeing persecution and hunger - Irish, Italians - so it felt fitting that the night shelter should find a home there.

I’ll never forget the night it first opened. The childlike delight on the women’s faces - and the laughter when they used the showers instead of being taken to the City Hospital for a bath - is still vivid in my mind. Even more deeply etched are the quiet moments, during the night, listening to women - old and young - talking about their lives: the chances they missed or never had, the people who had been cruel or kind, and both their happy and painful experiences.

In the beginning, the shelter opened in the evening. It was staffed by student volunteers on a rota system, working shifts from early evening until around 11pm, when they were relieved. Most of us were at university, so we often worked “half-nights.” I remember the night porter in my Hillhead hall of residence waking me for my 3am shift, walking down King Street in the dark. The shelter had to be vacated by 9am - sometimes earlier - leaving the residents homeless again. Some wandered the streets, some sheltered in the library or at the beach. Others drank anything they could to escape reality - from cheap sherry to hairspray - or turned to other substances to numb the abandonment.

For me, the day after a night shift often began with an early lecture in Moral Philosophy. It’s little wonder my experiences at the shelter shaped my political consciousness and my views about what a humane society should look like.

Being part of the Cyrenians - whose values were grounded in acceptance, help, and compassionate intervention - also made us more aware of injustice and prejudice. We accompanied residents to court, to meetings with social workers, to doctors, to hospitals, and even to prisons. It was a broader education than university could ever have offered.

The shelter was never meant to be a solution, or a home. How could it be, when it was little more than another comfortless and temporary roof? But it was a start - an acknowledgement that something had to be done. Over time, thanks to continued campaigning and growing awareness, resources began to follow: women’s refuges, day centres, support and resettlement work. Still, homelessness hasn’t been “solved.” If anything, the situation is worse. Too often, solutions are tied to market forces, reflecting a society we once believed was moving toward compassion and opportunity for those most in need.

I still remember the many wonderful people helped in those days by the Cyrenians - people who, in turn, taught me so much. Their stories will, I’m sure, be told by others whose lives were also changed during this formative time.