Patrick Whelan, his partner Marian and their five children have been in their latest accommodation for about three months. "It's the best we ever had," says Patrick of the three shared rooms in a B&B in Dublin's south inner city, "but if it's raining you'd think it was raining in the living room."
Though visitors are not allowed, the landlady was out yesterday morning and a brief visit to their rooms revealed a gaping hole, about two feet by three feet, in the top floor room's ceiling.
The landlady was informed at the time the hole appeared and she reacted immediately by patching it with reinforced cardboard.
Though a marked improvement on their situation five months ago, when Marian and the children - aged 6 to 17 - shared two rooms in a B&B on the north side of the city and Patrick stayed with his brother in Ballymun, the accommodation is spartan. The top two feet of the walls are damp and cracked, light-bulb sockets are naked and on the wall outside their room are a number of notices telling residents: "Sign in every day between 67 p.m. or you will be reported to Charles Street [the Homeless Person's Unit] and may be removed". They are not allowed to have visitors - "even in prison you're allowed a visitor," says Patrick.
Patrick has just found out he has a progressive degenerative disease. Though he chooses not to give details he says the situation intensifies his determination to provide his family with some stability.
"At the moment my head is melted," he says. "I don't care about myself anymore. I know where I'm going but I'd like a home for my kids before I get ill. We," he says, putting his arm around Marian's shoulders, "want to get all this sorted out. The place we're in at the moment, it's falling down around us."
Declan and Jo, young parents of four children aged seven to 14, did not want to be identified, so fearful were they of jeopardising their two rooms in a B&B in the north inner city. "We've been there five months," says Declan. They had been in England, seeking treatment for Jo's severe depression. When they came back a year ago they lived with Declan's father. "That didn't work out," he says. "Then we were in a B&B in Inchicore, where we shared a single room. That was a nightmare."
They now have two rooms where the storage heaters do not work in the bedroom. "They told us to leave the bedroom door open and let the heat float in from the front room. My kids sleep in their clothes."
The couch in the living area "stinks, so we put blankets over it", the shower curtain in the shared bathroom is "filthy, mouldy", the walls are stained and the small cooker was so dirty Jo would not use it as "it turned her stomach".
Declan, however, bought a Stanley knife to scrape the accumulated filth from the hob top and "we use it just lately".
The family are not allowed visitors or raise their voices. Declan and Jo do not even have a key to their room.
"We get let in the front door," Declan explains. "Then someone leads us up to our room and they let us in there."
His children "have been through the mill" and his eldest son, he thinks "is cracking up. He hides under the bed and cries. That's not normal for a 13-year-old young fella.
"I don't know how I am keeping it together," says the young father. "You know you have to be very strong, be prepared for a lot of knocks. If you're at all weak in this situation, forget about it."
Irish Lives will appear in The Irish Times from Tuesday to Friday until Christmas
