MY BIOGRAPHY. |
1. DHSS. Department of Health and Social Security! Now there is an experience for someone not familiar with how the other half lives. But let us take things and work them out in some sort of chronological order. We had to get out from where we were, still in the Pub, and the time was flying by and everyday there was something to sort out or someone at the door wanting to know what was going off and when they could expect to be paid. I felt sorry for the people recruited to work the bar downstairs for the brewery, as my attitude was, towards them, less than friendly, especially as the woman made it quite clear that she knew we would end up as we had and that if she had been given the opportunity, in the first place, then things would certainly have not been as they were then. Silly cow! Who she was, the wife of a failed bar steward as far as I could gather, and what she meant was a mystery, she lasted, I was told later, about six weeks after we left before being replaced by the brewery. So, so much her superior knowledge and expertise. 2. As for those who actively campaigned to be paid I followed the bailiff's instructions and referred them all to the official receiver. There was really little else I could do as I certainly had no money to pay them or any form of income for that matter. 3. One of the more hectic days was taken up with our personal appearance before the Official Receiver at Hull. 4. Notice was duly served on us and the time and place specified. A valued customer, of many years standing, turned out to be more than a customer in the end when he, after admitting that he too had been made bankrupt, offered to take us, stating as his main reason for offering, the fact that he knew exactly where we had to go. Also, he added, that he had a car and we were perhaps not in the best mental state to go into a strange city looking for an unknown place, either driving or on public transport. 5. You will not believe it, or you will if you already know, but the Official Receivers Office in Hull is housed in an old Brewery. A bit ironic for those in the Pub trade who end up there and the number seems to be constantly on the increase these days. 6. When we arrived much to our surprise the actual Bailiff, who had overseen the removal of our possessions or assets or what ever you want to call them, was waiting for us, in the main entrance, and because there was no parking allowed on the premises, unlocked and removed a chain so that we could park in a private car parking area. He claimed that all he wanted to do was wish us all the best and to assure us that the day's proceedings were a mere formality and that by the end of them we should have a clearer and better understanding of our circumstances. 7. Once inside and having been directed to the correct rooms, we were invited to take a seat in surroundings that very much reminded me of the County Court. There were officials flying round and people sat waiting, most looking glum. 8. We sat close together and I felt dreadful. My wife was pale and very quiet and somewhat disturbed by the guy sat next to her, who sitting with his head in his hands, muttered 'Bastard' between bouts of tears. As we waited he seemed to calm down and then all of a sudden turning to us said, 'Do you know what happened to me?' and before we could answer he continued, 'I went on a months holiday and when I came back my partner had sold most of our assets, taken all the money and done a runner and I have ended up in here. Me with a wife, four kids and a bloody mortgage and now nothing.' Fortunately for us and unfortunately for him, or whatever way you look at it, his name was called before ours and he disappeared through some double doors. Shortly after we were lead away into a large room and we never saw the guy again after that. Which was maybe as well, as we had more than our fair share of our own troubles. 9. The man behind the large desk said that he was the Official Receiver for the said County of - and goodness knows what else and that under these rules and those laws he was there to establish something or other. When he asked if we understood I nodded as all I wanted was for him to get on with it and for me to get out of the place. The damage had been done and there was little he could do that would add to it or even improve it. 10. I remember part of this spiel was about our records and that with the exception of our private papers, which would be retuned to us in due course, we would be given forms to fill in and return to his office to let them know where we would be living, and all other records would be impounded and kept by them. 11. He was filling out forms and asking questions about if we had withheld any relevant information from the bailiff or if we had failed to disclose any assets, land, rents, private income, bank accounts and god knows what else. Every now and again there was a short break while we were asked to sign the relevant form or clarify a point. 12. Finally he said we were free to go and that all the final documentation, along with a set of Rules, would be sent to us and that we were officially bankrupt and that we could not enter into any form of business or apply for credit for seven years but could apply for discharge after five years or sooner if we had discharged all our debts in a lesser period. 13. When all the rules and regulations arrived and I had time to go through them I discovered that seven years is the maximum they can give an individual, (or was at that time, as it may have changed yet again since then) and that depends on the severity or the degree of bankruptcy. Directors and others can be given longer or bared from holding office for longer but that didn't concern us. In our case we could expect an automatic discharge after five but could apply for earlier discharge if we had settled all our debts within the five-year period. 14. As it turned out, when updates and changes in the law arrived through the post, over a period of time, we could, in actual fact, apply and they would review it after three years and if there was no evidence of any attempt to pay off debts and no likelihood of that happening then they would consider discharging us. 15. That is what happened in our case. We applied and were discharged after three years. Not long, you might think, but time enough for an awful lot to happen. 16. Bankrupt, officially, and with the papers to prove it and very shortly with nowhere to live. What next? 17. Running a British Pub is, or was, one of the last feudal systems to be accepted and worked in this country, and that is a situation where the home went with the job, so loose the job; loose the home. So because of that and I suppose as some pathetic means of compensating for it, it had long been the practice for those entering the trade, if they had any sense, to go along to the local Corporation Housing Department and register the fact that they were giving notice that they could be rendered homeless at any time. How exactly this worked I am not sure but the allocation of housing was based on some sort of points system. You know the idea; get so many points or collect so many packet tops and you get a badge, just like the Girl and Boy Scouts. Get so many badges and you qualify for something bigger; in this case you jump the housing queue. All I do know is that, in another example, if you fall out with Mum, because you are an underage girl and don't want to be home at the specified time, you can get yourself pregnant and they, the system, will throw that many points and packet tops at you that you can have your choice of accommodation and it will all be paid for by the system. Then to help you spend all the other state handouts that come your way, because of your condition and circumstances, you can move all your friends in, including the child's father, if he is known, and the state will keep you all for evermore. That is some points system that could certainly do with being tided up, but sadly, in our case, it was slightly different. To start with the wife was too old to be pregnant and was, to her detriment, as far as the state system was concerned, already married so we had to rely on the fact that we were allocated 'so many' points simply because of our 'trade' status and an annual top up of a few additional points for each year registered and not making a claim for accommodation. 18. The very nice lady, in the Housing Department, the Mother in Law of one of our past Barmaids, explained the situation and how it all worked. To start with we had enough points and so they had the statutory obligation to house us, but where? Houses were limited but there was always 'Bed and Breakfast' in one of their preferred, cheap, doss houses if we were not satisfied with the housing on offer. The look, from my wife, told me that we would sleep on the streets or on the beach or more realistically make our own arrangement, through friends and acquaintances, many of whom had private and seasonally operated holiday flats, before accept anything like that. We still had some pride even though it was Bankrupt Pride. So to state our case I made it clear that we could not accept any offers of accommodation within the larger estates, that surrounded the town, and where over the years I had barred from entering my premises a very large proportion of the inhabitants. 19. The Lady understood and went away to see the principal housing officer to establish what could be done. In between time there was a low and mumbled, and quite heated discussion between my wife and I as to what was acceptable and what was not and if we refused an offer what happened then? 20. On her return, the 'housing' lady enquired if we would we be prepared to move and live out of town? 21. My gut reaction was to say 'No' as I desperately did not want to move away from the sea and Lifeboat Station etc but my wife's clear 'Yes' sorted that out. 22. We were offered and given the keys to go view two properties, both out of town, and then to report back. 23. The first, we selected to go look at, was for a flat in a complex, in a village, some ten miles out of Scarborough and three miles inland from the sea. On the way there we had some very heated discussions regarding our desperate situation and finally agreed that if the place was at all suitable then we would take it and use it as a base from which we could move on should our circumstances improve. 24. The flat was small, or appeared to be when compared with what we had been used to, but it was in a nice location within a nice area. We went straight back to the housing department, handed back the keys for the second property, that we didn't even go look at, and signed up for the flat. We were told that we could have instant access, four weeks credit on the rent to allow us to sort out our financial arrangements and so, with keys in hand, could make arrangements to move in. The housing people had probably heard it all before, on many occasions, but at the time we thought they were being very good to us. Perhaps they were, for who knows what strange tricks fate can play on the odd occasion? 25. We had a home that we could move into at any time but little cash and certainly no means of paying the rent. But that would all sort itself out eventually. Buy the way we have been in that same flat for seven years now (2003) and despite the fact that our situation has improved tremendously, we have no immediate plans to move. 26. But first things first! A couple of squares of carpet, one for the lounge and one for the bedroom and then what little cash that remained, set aside to pay for removal costs. Later, when we had settled in we took all our surplus, personal stuff, that the Receiver had left us and we toured all the car boot sales and raised enough to buy a second hand cooker, washing machine and a new fridge. If you have stuff to sell then you can do very well at car boot sales, as we proved, and whilst doing so we came across one guy who claimed he was a school teacher and that he always took 'car boot sales days' off sick as he could earn good money. 27. But once again that is digressing a little. 28. According to the rules the next job was a visit to the local Job Centre, to sign on as unemployed and look for work. My wife was excused this part having declared herself a housewife. But that would not be easy for me after so many years self-employed, but then beggars cannot be choosers. The charming young lady at the Job Centre solved all my problems, for having sat at her desk and filled in the required forms, whist surrounded by low life and a few genuine job seekers, that filled the place to almost overflowing, and where most seemed to be doing nothing but bawling and shouting and making a din. I sympathised with the girl who informed me that eventually you got used to it and could, to a certain extent, shut off from it, whilst at the same time explaining to me that as I was over 58 years of age and because of that fact alone, they then had no obligation to find me work. The government had decreed that rather than have me register unemployed and thereafter be an embarrassment to their unemployment statistics, I would be registered as un-employable due to age and that I need not apply for work, and that my National Insurance Contributions would be credited to me, on a weekly basis, until I reached the state pension-able age of 65. That in turn got me another form to fill in that then allowed me to go and claim State Benefit, which included a weekly hand out, my Poll Tax paid and my Rent. My wife was already drawing her state Pension and so a proportion of that would be taken into account. The form also stated that if I found gainful employment I was to inform them. NO WAY. Me go find gainful employment after what the system has done to me. They sent me down; they can keep me. 29. That eased the pressure, but what the level of my future income was likely to be, had yet to be determined. 30. Armed with my little form and means of identification, I went the DHSS. Entered a different world. Can and do such human beings exist? Yes they do and their favourite meeting place is apparently the DHSS. There they urinate in corners, sleep on benches, be sick on the floor and all the time, collectively, ball and scream that they will not leave the place until they are given money for one or more of a million different reasons. The girls scream the most hysterically about leaving their kids to let some other C**T feed them and that bastard has F****d off with her mate or is sleeping with her sister or has sold the telly. The only time they seem to quieten down and slope off, for a short period, is when it is time to go collect a Methadone prescription from the nearest Chemist. Then on their return share the contents of the bottle with several 'mates' before once again throwing themselves into the melee. An amazing experience really but one that I would not volunteer to become involved in again. 31. I guess the people working in these places are truly professional for having stood myself, for a long period, in some semblance of a long queue, where the bullies and brain dead constantly pushed to the front and the kids running around did their best to bowl me over, I eventually reached the front of the queue and there a woman, behind a screen, and long before I had time to explain anything, handed me a ticket with a large number printed on it, and told me to take it to the room with the same number above the door, go in and wait, and someone would be along to see me. I had noted these numbered rooms, while I stood waiting, but had not seen anyone go in or out. I found the one I was looking for and at the same time as I entered and noted a small room divided by a glass screen, the light came on and a young woman entered through another door on the other side of the screen. She smiled and told me to slip the bolt on the door behind me so that we would not be disturbed and then to sit down. She also made a half-hearted attempt at apologising for the mayhem outside. 32. I explained why I was there as she filled out yet more forms; the world revolves round forms, or the civil service does. 33. She explained that I would have to fill this in, provide proof of this and that and sign all the following declarations. No I could not do it there and then, as I would need to do this and that first. Sorry, she smiled, I would have to come back later and bring everything with me and, sorry, no there was no assistance with removal expenses but I could have a Crisis Loan with repayments, deducted weekly, from allowances. But it was doubtful if my application for even a loan would be granted as I was not in a crisis and would not qualify for the necessary number of points. I didn't bother asking how one got the points. Perhaps the boy friend had to burn the house down when he hadn't managed to steal enough to pay for his next fix or the place was flooded out following the removal of all the copper water pipes, sold as scrap or something like that. Anyhow allowances were available and regularly paid out but according to the rules I did not qualify. I suppose that was good, in a funny sort of way, because at least it meant that although I was down on rock bottom I was still slightly different from those who did qualify. My dignity and self-respect may have been shattered by recent events but I was not going to stay down there for long. 34. So I took all the forms 'Home', to the Pub and filled them out, made photocopies of all the 'proofs' I was required to provide and then went back. I queued, again for a long time, asked, as instructed on my previous visit, for a private interview, in a numbered room, and once again sat down among the filth. 35. Photocopies won't do. All documents have to be the originals and from them they will make the necessary copies. But it didn't say that anywhere. Perhaps not but that was the ruling. 36. Home and then back again. Same procedure as before, but this time ending with, 'Thank you, you will hear from us, it will come through the post unless you are moving, in which case if you tell us now, we will hold it here for you to collect. Ring that number and quote that number and they will tell you when it is ready.' Not knowing exactly when we would be moving I reluctantly I agreed to collect. 37. There was a State Benefits book with vouchers that could be cashed weekly at a Post Office of my choice, as long as I filled out the form and sent it back informing them of which Post Office that would be. There were loads of rules and regulations regarding the payment and receipt of benefits and all had to be read and then filed away for future reference. There were also lots more forms to apply for Poll Tax Relief and Housing Benefit towards paying the rent. 38. All the appropriate forms filled in and along with proofs of this and that, all stuffed in the large brown envelope provided, it was now the turn of the Housing Benefits Department located within the Town Hall. Here for the first time there was some semblance of normality although, once again, there were a few dick heads and the form filling in wore you down. 39. More original documents, photocopied by them, followed by a mass of correspondence informing me that I would be sent my Poll Tax Bill, which would show the allowances set against it. It would be accompanied by a document showing how they had arrived at the allowance and how I could appeal if I did not agree. As the total and final figure on the Poll Tax Account was £0-00 I decided that, on that occasion, I was not going to appeal. The Rent Allowance was very similar, showing the weekly rent and stating that the same amount would be credited, weekly, and directly into my rent account in the Housing Department. 40. I was finally and total on State Benefits and getting the maximum my circumstances allowed and I was quietly confident that I would never have to fill out any of the additional forms, which were provided to inform the various departments, if I found work or received any form of taxable income. I swore then, and today it still holds true, but not quite as angrily as then, that the system had placed me in that position and so therefore the system, from now on, can keep me. 41. As no doubt you will gather and the fact that I have made the above statement on more than one occasion, I was hurt, deeply hurt and there was one other person involved in all this and who certainly did not deserve any of it, my wife, who I am very proud to say took it and adjusted to it, much better than I did. We both shed tears, lots of tears, but she was the first to say, 'I have my two dogs, my flat and my future. What's done and gone is done and gone; let's get on with it' 42. What my mother would have made of it all when I, her hopes and aspirations to carry on our aristocratic background, now lived in a Corporation Flat, that property so far down the social scale, according to her, as not to be spoken about by decent people, and filled in forms and held out my hand for State Handouts and never intend doing another days legitimate work in my life. How would she have coped with the fact that a neighbour, in an adjoining Corporation Flat, died recently and left three farms worth well in excess of a million pounds and a great wad of cash to family and friends? Not to me I hasten to add. Or the couple who lived in a large private bungalow and looked after the old lady next door until she died and left them her house? They moved into this bungalow next door and sold theirs. When they had 'done up' their new home and it was ready to put onto the market they moved into a flat, above a shop on the main street. The second bungalow sold and the cash invested they applied, on health grounds, and got, a corporation flat. They are one of my neighbours and I mention them simply to ask, and particularly of my mother, had she been here, how does corporation housing automatically become inexplicably associated with low life and the less fortunate? |
CHAPTER 52. The DHSS and Housing. |
MY BIOGRAPHY. |
