The Sunday Times Magazine • 27U
pstairs in the Prince
Rupert Hotel, its
61-year-old owner,
Mike Matthews, was
sitting in his office,
head in hands. The
computer screen
showed a summer of
bookings for the hotel’s 70 rooms — it had
been shaping up to be a good year. But on
television terrifying images were coming
from Italy, where hospitals were being
overwhelmed by a deadly virus from China.
Mike, who had bought the historic hotel
in Shrewsbury, Shropshire, 25 years earlier,
called in his two fiftysomething right-hand
women: Charlie Green, the hotel manager,
and Jacki Law, his accountant. “I think they
will close us down,” he said. “It’s economy
versus life and that’s no contest.”
Centuries-old grade II listed buildings
such as the Prince Rupert were not like a
modern Holiday Inn that you simply could
shut down. Behind the walls lay myriad
pipes and wires that, if not used, could seize
up. If hot water didn’t flow, the copper and
iron pipes would corrode. If the heating
wasn’t on and air wasn’t flowing, mildew
and mould would grow. The Prince Rupert
needed constant care and attention.
The next day Mike began making calls
and sending emails, offering the hotel to
organisations such as the NHS, the police
and the fire service. Nobody responded. By
evening he had given up hope. But at 4pm
the next day a man from the local council
called Tim Compton rang him. “I guess this
is a long shot but the government is ordering
us to bring in all rough sleepers off the streets
because of this coronavirus,” he said. “I
wondered if we might use your hotel.” Mike
was stunned. “I bet we’re the last hotel you
tried,” he laughed. Compton said nothing.
“How many are there?” Mike asked. “Thirty
to forty,” said Compton. “Wow,” said Mike.
Compton explained that the government
had launched an initiative called Everyone
In to get all homeless people off the streets
by the weekend, because they were
considered particularly vulnerable and
potential spreaders. Councils had been
asked to house them in hotels and B&Bs.
“How long for?” Mike asked.
“We’ve been told up to four months, butthe name and arrival date,” said Charlie.
You could hardly ask homeless people for
an address or a credit card for extras.
“Can I take your luggage, sir?” asked
Trevor, the porter. The man stared at him.
The team had decided that they would
treat their new arrivals exactly the same as
regular guests. Charlie led Bennett up to
the first floor and opened the door to a
room, showing him the fluffy towels, the
flatscreen TV, tea tray, ornate brass bed
with Hypnos mattress, crisp white cotton
sheets and Dorma pillows. He looked
astonished. “I thought you were just going
to give me a sleeping bag and send me out
again,” he said. She wanted to hug him.
Meanwhile the other staff were getting
rooms ready for their other new guests.
They were removing second beds from
twin rooms to deter anyone from bringing
back a friend, and the tasselled ties from
the curtains — somewhat alarmingly,we think it will be just a few weeks,” said
Compton. “Until this is over.” The hotel
would get £85 a night per guest for room
and board from the council. “This won’t be
easy. Many are high-level drug addicts or
alcoholics; some are convicts. Many have
not slept inside for years. Maybe you could
take one or two,” Compton suggested.
“We can take them all,” Mike replied.
Just after lunch on Thursday, March 19,
2020, the first new guest walked in.
“Welcome to the Prince Rupert,” said
Charlie. “Chris Bennett,” replied the man,
carrying a dirty rucksack and sleeping bag.
“Should they fill in forms?” asked the
receptionist, trying not to look scared. “JustRichard Marshall, aka Titch, was sleeping
rough after a life in care and prison.
Below, from left: one of the Prince Rupert’s
suites; the hotel’s dining room➤
ANDREW FOX FOR THE SUNDAY TIMES