Page 88 - moondani kyema
P. 88
ndani kyema, My Story - Ray Moore 88
This is where I worked for 12 months and began to feel that at last I had found a work
that came a little closer to being what I thought God might be calling me to.
Each morning of the week, the Hostel was opened for “breakfast” and homeless and
“down and out” men would find their way in to the hall which was set up as a meeting
hall with wooden pews. The pews were designed so that there was a shelf on the
back of each pew which would hold a plate or a cup of tea or coffee. This could be
used by the people sitting in the pew behind. Often there would be 60 or 70 men in
each week day morning and up to 150 on weekends.
The breakfast was supplied by city food outlets and consisted of their left overs from
the day before. Often it was cakes and other items that would not usually be
connected with breakfast.
Jim Collett, the man in charge, was a
quietly spoken, gentle man whose love
and respect for these men was an
inspiration to me. He knew many of the
men by name and was able to tell me
stories about their backgrounds or other
items of interest about their character or
problems which they were facing at
present.
I used to hop on my AJS 350 motor cycle
at 6:30 in the morning and drive from our
home in Kew to the city. Because the City
Mission building was in such an out of the
way back lane, it was common to see
numbers of men leaning against walls or
sitting on the curb with their feet in the
gutter, waiting for 7 o’clock when the
doors would open for breakfast. They
didn’t like being in the public eye, but
these little back lanes were OK. They
were a motley crew, who were usually
regarded by the public as “no hopers” or
“drunks”, and indeed many of them were,
but as I got to know them, I also began to
understand what influences had affected
their lives to bring them to this point.
Fortunately there was a locked garage at
the end of the building, so I would unlock
the gate and put my bike safely away for
the day. As I locked the garage door and
then walked from there to the main door
on the corner, I would say hullo to some of the men, but many of them wouldn’t look
at me or simply stared at me sullenly when I greeted them.
Inside, I met Jim Collett who had already arrived before me and with the help of three
or four men, we prepared the breakfast. The urn was on the boil, and the mobile
This is where I worked for 12 months and began to feel that at last I had found a work
that came a little closer to being what I thought God might be calling me to.
Each morning of the week, the Hostel was opened for “breakfast” and homeless and
“down and out” men would find their way in to the hall which was set up as a meeting
hall with wooden pews. The pews were designed so that there was a shelf on the
back of each pew which would hold a plate or a cup of tea or coffee. This could be
used by the people sitting in the pew behind. Often there would be 60 or 70 men in
each week day morning and up to 150 on weekends.
The breakfast was supplied by city food outlets and consisted of their left overs from
the day before. Often it was cakes and other items that would not usually be
connected with breakfast.
Jim Collett, the man in charge, was a
quietly spoken, gentle man whose love
and respect for these men was an
inspiration to me. He knew many of the
men by name and was able to tell me
stories about their backgrounds or other
items of interest about their character or
problems which they were facing at
present.
I used to hop on my AJS 350 motor cycle
at 6:30 in the morning and drive from our
home in Kew to the city. Because the City
Mission building was in such an out of the
way back lane, it was common to see
numbers of men leaning against walls or
sitting on the curb with their feet in the
gutter, waiting for 7 o’clock when the
doors would open for breakfast. They
didn’t like being in the public eye, but
these little back lanes were OK. They
were a motley crew, who were usually
regarded by the public as “no hopers” or
“drunks”, and indeed many of them were,
but as I got to know them, I also began to
understand what influences had affected
their lives to bring them to this point.
Fortunately there was a locked garage at
the end of the building, so I would unlock
the gate and put my bike safely away for
the day. As I locked the garage door and
then walked from there to the main door
on the corner, I would say hullo to some of the men, but many of them wouldn’t look
at me or simply stared at me sullenly when I greeted them.
Inside, I met Jim Collett who had already arrived before me and with the help of three
or four men, we prepared the breakfast. The urn was on the boil, and the mobile
