“We fell into it,” says Diane Rowsell, 63, of the community food support project that she and husband David, 64, started in 2020. “It wasn’t like we sat at home thinking: ‘What can we do with our lives now?’”
Pre-retirement they were busy: David’s job as a headteacher allowed them to live in the Czech Republic and the US, where Diane, a physiotherapist by training, also worked teaching music; they travelled extensively and adventurously in their free time. Back home in York, they were looking forward to more travel, plus time on their allotment and with their grandchildren. “Just that era of life – busy doing not much!” says Diane. But it doesn’t sound that quiet when she explains that the couple bought a camper van, David was working as a leadership coach, she was taking art classes, and both were volunteering – Diane gardening and David chairing the local school board of governors.
It was this that set them on their completely new course. In October 2020, when the House of Commons voted against extending free school meals into the holidays, David started strategising with the school headteacher: “I said: ‘What are we going to do about this?’” At the last minute, the local council stepped in to fund free holiday meals but a seed had been planted, leaving David and Diane pondering the wider issue of local food poverty. “It was evident there was a need for food support within the area,” says Diane. That came as a shock, she says: York’s South Bank area is affluent with large Victorian houses selling for vast sums, as well as bustling independent shops and cafes, but it lies next to one of the most deprived parts of the city.
David contacted a group of local residents who had expressed an interest – parents and shopkeepers, plus two acquaintances who had worked with the UK food bank charity the Trussell Trust – inviting them to join the couple on a Zoom call to discuss food poverty during the Covid crisis and beyond. “We decided, everybody together, that we could do something,” Diane says.
The school offered premises, and a local food bank promised a delivery to get them started; the group recruited volunteers and the project took shape. They chose the name, The Collective Sharehouse, rather than “food bank”, to reflect the fact that the project would meet not only the need for local food support, but also the pressing desire many expressed to do something meaningful at a time of crisis. “It’s like an exchange, rather than a bank,” says David.
The Collective Sharehouse opened just six weeks after that first call in December 2020. “We had seven people,” says David, but by the following week, they had 40 clients, and it built steadily. Now they support 100-plus families three times a week, and have gone from having 12 volunteers to about 40. The Sharehouse has also expanded its ambitions, working with local services to offer support on everything from IT to addiction, debt and benefits advice. There have been art projects, literacy support, a warm clothing donation pop-up and cookery classes. They have also ensured that people with experience of food poverty are involved in management – three out of 10 of the central management team are former or current clients. The local community has stepped up to support them in an extraordinary way with donations of food, time and money. “It never fails to amaze me – the generosity, the time, the effort …” says Diane.
It is complex, challenging work and some sessions, and clients’ stories, are desperately difficult. “None of us are specialists,” Diane says. “We learned from the ground upwards.” Welcoming a client for the first time is often one of the hardest moments. “Having to sit with somebody new and let it unfold – it’s very raw.” The Sharehouse has regulars, but other people fall off the radar, leaving Diane to wonder what has happened. “There are lots of people who pop into my head – I wonder where they are now; what they’re doing. It can be emotional.”
Does it take over their lives? More so for Diane, who still does most of the day-to-day, hands-on management (David is still coaching). She’s an all-or-nothing person, she says, and the Sharehouse is always in the back of her mind: what connections she could make; what opportunities there might be to do more. Although it’s challenging, “I’ve never not wanted to go and do it. I like making things happen and seeing things happen that benefit people – I love organising things!” she says. She’s assisted by an “amazing” team, who support each other emotionally as well as practically. Learning to delegate, she says, is a work in progress but the project has already taught her important lessons. “I’ve struggled with the acceptance of what getting older brings, but it’s OK not to be perfect or to need others to help.” Volunteering has enhanced her life and she’s passionate about what it can offer individuals and their communities: “It makes a massive, real difference. I would never have thought it would be possible to achieve what we have achieved.”
The couple complement each other: Diane likes to focus on details, while David prefers the big picture; he’s good at helping her tease out solutions, Diane says, when she comes home with a Sharehouse puzzle or problem. He’s also focusing on the project’s “exit strategy” and long-term ambition to no longer be needed. “If you were to say to us: ‘Where will you be in two years’ time?’ I have absolutely no idea. Sadly, we might still be here.” In the meantime, the Sharehouse serves as a reminder of how effective collective action and community can be. For anyone wanting to volunteer, or do something similar, Diane’s advice is: “Be led by what inspires you, don’t be frightened and don’t overthink it.”
“And don’t vote Tory,” adds David.
