I volunteer at a food bank – we have never been more needed, or closer to collapse

I have always struggled with how to say goodbye to people when they visit us at the food bank. Many of them will have sat and talked over a cup of tea while their food parcel is put together, sharing their worries or just talking about their days. It’s something we do for a number of reasons, including to preserve the dignity of those we help, and as a result, I’ll often awkwardly say “thank you” as I take them to the door to show I was grateful for the conversation. Like replying “you too” to “happy birthday”, or “have a good meal”, it almost always seems cringe-inducingly out of place for the situation.

A month ago, if you had asked me what worried me most about our operation, I would probably have said it was the awkward language of the goodbye – but of course, as it has for everyone across the country, a lot has changed in the last four weeks.

Food banks are facing a perfect storm of crises caused by the coronavirus we are hoping to ride out – the risk of sickness, our disrupted supply chains and increased need have come together in such a way that has us wondering whether we can last the 12 weeks it may take for the tide to turn.

On days which would have once been typical, we have been receiving call after call – from council-run organisations to schools – asking if we can help. As a result, we are serving as many people in two hours as we would have helped in a week before the crisis, many of them arriving on behalf of those in need who have been forced to self-isolate.

Others turn up at our small church hall in east London because they couldn’t find the food they needed on the shelves of their ransacked local supermarkets. While we have always tended to support a broad range of people, we are no longer here only to mitigate the challenges of those waiting for universal credit, or rough sleepers, or people struggling with addiction. We are also here to attempt to resolve holiday hunger for children on free school meals, and support those who have found themselves suddenly out of work.

Panic buying is naturally hitting us hard too. All the supermarkets we work with have described people fishing donations out of our deposit points as they leave the store – meaning time we would spend elsewhere is devoted to salvaging as much as we can from these drop off areas. Even a week ago we were being told we had secured one major chain’s last bag of pasta – a resolute staple of food banks. People are scared, and when you don’t know if you will later be able to get food, you too may be more inclined to ensure you have a supply. But our users cannot afford to stockpile, and the long-lasting goods many are grabbing off the shelves are the things we rely on to keep those at risk fed. Ask your local service and they will probably tell you they have run out, or are running low, on UHT milk.

However, these are the problems we tackle regularly – albeit with circumstances less dire. We always weigh up our supply chains and look to understand the public need in our area as we do our best to put a dent in the issue of hunger. What is new is the fear that we, or the people we turn up to serve, could become infected.

Because of the daytime hours in which we serve the public, many of our workers are retirees – an at-risk group we have since had to ask to stay at home. At our site, the slim number of low risk, younger people who can help has led us to develop a new mantra – we will be fine, as long as none of us get sick. When I wake up in the middle of the night, panicked by our situation, it is the idea that I could pass on the virus to one of our volunteers, or to an at-risk service user, that grips me most.

It also means that our conversations with those we are helping are gone. We can’t invite them in for tea, or to sit and talk, because of all the risk that comes with breaking through the protective bubble of social distancing. On occasion, you can tell those interactions were the only conversation that someone would have for a week, while for others it would provide a rare moment to speak plainly about addiction, or the damage the universal credit system had caused them. It was a moment to hand back dignity – now we hand shopping bags over at the threshold and send them on their way, a heartbreaking but necessary step.

There is, of course, hope, as there always is when you follow Robert Frost’s advice and accept that “the only way out is through”. The skeleton crew we have been able to pull together are putting their hearts and soul into helping the community. As those in need come through the door, so too have donations from the public, while some banks have described getting high “Christmas level” support. There is concern that this kindness can’t be sustained, but the recognition from the public is palpable.

It has been pointed out throughout this time of crisis that the virus has laid bare the flaws in our society, and it is with horrible inevitability that those vulnerable people we support are often among the most at risk. We provide a short term solution to a large scale problem, and as society feels the strain and even elements of the state come to ask if we’re able to stay open, it increasingly feels like we are the last line of defence when it comes to hunger in our community. We have never been more needed, but, when it comes to the support of the public, we have never been more in need.

However, with all these worries, one thing is easier. When people leave, instead of thank you, I tell them to stay safe. Often, they say it back.

Vincent Wood is a reporter at The Independent, and a volunteer at Barking food bank, east London