Technically Homeless

Back in late June, mud oozes up, covering my spangled sandals and sliding between my toes. Rain pours steadily down on us – my two oldest daughters and me.

Despite the weather, there’s excitement in us, bubbling up. "I really think this might be the place, Mum." "We could be happy here." "This is it!"

Their voices ring out, full of expectation. I peek out from under the hood of my rain coat. Looming above us Queen Mary’s Castle. It’s crumbling and roofless, and, coming out of the rain, it looks dark and uninviting. "What, here??" I’m a bit more of a realist. "No! Not here, exactly. Just this area." We’ve come to Dumfries and Galloway to scout out the schools. Spent the last few days touring all the high schools, all dressed up – hoping the children might find one they want to go to, and we can leave the endless car-park concrete expanse of Aberdeen. And two hours before we drive back up the road, we came to Dalry High School. Note to self – must type in ‘St. Johns Town of’ before the name Dalry as I almost booked in to see a wee place in Edinburgh. This might become slightly irritating when using Google, but I am willing to overlook it.

They loved Dalry Secondary School. Both did. I was a bit sceptical at first glance but clearly one shouldn’t judge a place on the vintage of its pebble dash alone. The headmaster was welcoming and relaxed and spoke about the pros and cons of a small rural school. He showed us round and when we realised it was actually impossible to get lost, my eldest got really excited. All those fears that have haunted the final year of primary school vanished and she was relaxed and interested. I could see she was going to be able to learn here and grow into a strong young person. I could see the teachers were good, and the other children looked curious and shy as we poked our heads into each classroom in turn. "Do you have somewhere to live then?" asked the headmaster. Well no not yet, not exactly – my parents live out near Dalbeattie, in the same familiar farmhouse I grew up in and we’re going to move in there, just for a few weeks. It's easier to house hunt when you’re local, instead of spending hours trawling the internet from Aberdeen. There wasn’t a lot online anyway so I figured housing and jobs are done the rural way here – word of mouth and connections. My Dad used to have an office in Dalry – he was the ranger for the Southern Upland Way for years – maybe he knows of some folk I can ask. Anyway, I was confident that we’d find somewhere to live. The writhing flapping problem of finding a good (not terrifying) high school was surely more of a challenge and that had turned out to be quite easily solved.

And so here we are, seven months later. Still looking for a place to live. We still stay in the crumbling farmhouse where I grew up with my parents, whose whole lives have been invaded by four grandchildren, a cat with six kittens and two dogs who chase the resident pet rabbits. All sorts of bad things have happened to the MUD situation in the yard now that there are four cars manoeuvring daily. We have spent our time phoning estate agents, farmers, land owners, writing to people and responding to tip offs "it’s a bit of a long shot but…"

And the answer is always "no". No housing. Nothing to rent. Doesn’t meet the government standards. Your family is JUST TOO BIG. It’s not that I feel unwelcome – people are friendly and good and seem to want us to stay. There just isn’t anywhere. Carsphairn School is mothballed, and no children can swoop in and save it. Because they’d effectively be homeless. I was told about a wee place – it’s for sale though, not to rent. It's not too expensive. I think £365,000 was the asking price but it’s been about for a while so they might take less…

Well. If I only had a couple of pennies to rub together. Or maybe a few hundred thousand pounds. Or a flat to sell, in London. But I don’t. I’ve got an SVQ in health and social care and my partner is a gardener but flashing those papers doesn’t get you a mortgage anymore. We both have work so that’s something. We could pay rent on a place quite easily. If there was one. We could squeeze into that tiny little place in New Galloway, except they don’t take dogs (who’d get a dog!?). We could buy a nice big campervan and live in it. Except its minus seven degrees outside and we’re just not THAT hardy. We could wait for a council house. Except we’re eligible for a house with five bedrooms and there isn’t one. Anything under five bedrooms would be overcrowding because of the ages and genders of the children (I’m told). I thought gender was a thing of the past anyway. I’m told by the Stewartry Homeless Officer that rental properties are like pigeon’s eye teeth.

So herewith a plea to someone – I don’t even know who. The first minister? A local councillor perhaps. Or a secret stash of cash. Or a small organisation or idea for generating change. Please build some houses. Affordable. To rent. Or renovate something, anything. A barn, a shack, a hovel. And please change the laws back, so landlords can rent their properties again. We could really do with a home. And we would really like to live in the Glenkens. And we’re not the only ones…

Harriet Whitty