A stack of tasteful grey pamphlets titled "Ageing Gracefully and with Dignity" sits on a table in the reception of the National Office for Seniors and the Physically Challenged on Victoria Street.

Directly opposite the smart green and white NOSPC building, lying on the edge of a grass verge and clutching a filthy shopping bag, is a 76-year-old man doing anything but that.

Marshall — not his real name — lives rough on the streets of Hamilton and is believed to have done so for well over a decade. He isn't the only senior in Bermuda without a roof over his head.

No official statistics exist on the number of homeless elderly people but charity workers estimate there are as many as ten in the capital alone and plenty more scattered around the Island.

These individuals fall under the radar when it comes to getting even the most basic help from the authorities — after all, who ought be assisting someone who doesn't 'officially' exist?

"You are not going to find figures," Claudette Fleming, executive director of Age Concern, tells The Royal Gazette. "They are like the invisible people."

On a scorching hot day in July, Marshall does indeed seem to be invisible to most people who walk past him.

The odd city worker on their way to grab lunch glances down at him, but the majority appear oblivious to the white-bearded figure lying back on the grass.

If you do stop — perhaps to offer Marshall some loose change or a kind word — the first thing that will probably strike you is the stale stench of urine surrounding him.

The second is his sandal-clad feet — his thick, overgrown toenails are black, yellow and green and the skin around them looks parched and flaky.

His scant possessions are next to him: the shopping bag and a black trash sack containing an umbrella, a half-drunk bottle of vitamin water and a couple of styrofoam cups.

It's possible to find out a little about him in conversation: he was once married and then divorced, he has a daughter and a son who "don't come around me", he was a long-standing Belco employee and Bermuda Industrial Union member who got fired from his job.

He'll tell you that he'll be 77 in October, that he's been on the streets for 17 years and that he wants to be there.

"There's only one [other] place left: the hospital. I don't want to be there," he says. Asked what he wants most, he replies: "A safe place, with no gangsters, to rest."

Piecing together how he came to be sleeping rough in his twilight years proves impossible. He can't or won't explain why he no longer lives in his home "down in the country, down in Devonshire". But it is known that he has abused alcohol.

While he doesn't appear to grasp every question, Marshall nods vigorously when asked if he'd like a coffee and a pastry from across the street. On being handed them, his face lights up as he says: "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Last month, Marshall was diagnosed with dementia after a charity volunteer got him to visit a GP in town.

Lucy Willitts, of Warwick, was helping with the Salvation Army's soup run a year ago when Marshall was pointed out to her by the charity's community service worker Lionel Cann.

The elderly gentleman was so well-camouflaged in a bush that she couldn't see him at first and then suddenly: "Lo and behold in a hedge was living this old man. Right inside the hedge. I was so upset that night. I was angry. I thought this is not right. This is Bermuda; this can't happen."

She admits: "I said: 'Something needs to be done about this' and unfortunately I dropped the ball."

She began volunteering again this summer and came across Marshall once more, tucked inside a makeshift shelter in the pouring rain in a different location.

"This dear soul was wrapped inside trash bags inside the hedge," she says. "This time, I was really, really angry. I thought to myself I have got to do something about this."

With the help of a community nurse, she got Marshall to the Mid-Atlantic Wellness Institute (MAWI), where he was given a shower by a male assistant and fresh clothing to wear, courtesy of the Eliza Dolittle Society. "This angel [the male assistant] literally had to cut a sock off him," says Mrs. Willitts.

Next stop was the surgery of Dr. Gordon Campbell, who agreed to see Marshall without charge. Mrs. Willitts says: "It was there in the office, while he was examining him, that the doctor said: 'He's got dementia'."

Mrs. Willitts assumed that would mean Marshall automatically qualified for a place somewhere he could be looked after and treated.

The reality was rather different. Mrs. Willitts claims that when the community nurse tried to find Marshall a bed in a rest home she was told he would need photo ID.

"It was ridiculous," she said. "This man doesn't own anything. The red tape is unbelievable."

Whether or not Marshall has an ID card, it is not certain that the help he may need is available.

For although the NOSPC's website proudly proclaims: "We serve as a beacon of light and hope", the office has little to offer the likes of Marshall.

John Payne, acting manager of the NOSPC, explains: "The NOSPC is not a service provider in the traditional sense. We facilitate and provide advice and direction to service users and providers.

"It is not uncommon for 'street persons' to sit in front of the Victoria Street Health Centre that is directly across from the National Office.

"Our community is challenged by a lack of services to offer assistance for some persons in need. There is a shortage of bed space for institutionalised rest and nursing home care.

"There is also a shortage when home care services are needed. The service providers that do exist prioritise cases and with collaboration manage the best they can."

In other words, there simply may not be room for Marshall at any of the Island's elderly care facilities. And if there was, who would pay for him?

According to the NOSPC website, which appears not to have been updated since before the departure of manager Melvin Dickinson more than a year ago, residential rates vary from $1,395 a month at Lefroy House to $7,588 a month at MAWI.

The Salvation Army's Mr. Cann, who first came across an inebriated Marshall on the streets more than ten years ago, asks: "Why couldn't he stay at MAWI, where there is medical care, psychological care?"

He answers his own question: "Why couldn't he stay there? Dollars and cents."

Marshall may not want assistance — and, if he doesn't, has anyone the right to force him off the streets and into an institution, however worthy their intentions?

Should someone, in some agency or government department, be monitoring his well-being, making sure he's not forgotten — or should he be left alone to spend his final days living a life few of us could bear to imagine?

Apart from the health implications of a permanent outdoor existence, there is also personal safety to consider.

Two years ago, homeless friends Frederick Gilbert and Maxwell Brangman, both in their fifties, were senselessly slaughtered by a teenager. Killer Darronte Dill denied at his trial that he committed the murders to gain rank within a gang.

Seven months later, the body of 55-year-old St. Claire Augustus — who was known to frequent the Salvation Army on North Street in Pembroke and slept in a container in that area — was found in a derelict house gutted by fire. Police launched a murder investigation but the killer has never been caught.

A Police spokesman said yesterday: "There does not appear to be any credible information to show systematic targeting of homeless seniors by criminal gangs."

He said the investigation into the death of Mr. Augustus remained an active Serious Crime Unit case.

Marshall's vulnerability was uppermost in the thoughts of Mrs. Willitts when she and the nurse turned to the Salvation Army men's shelter, after failing to find him a bed in a care home. Strictly speaking, those aged 65 and over cannot stay at the shelter.

"The policy is that anyone over 65 should come under the umbrella of the National Office," says Mr. Cann. "That doesn't happen very often."

The shelter relaxed the rules for Marshall and he was given a bed one Friday night in July. Mrs. Willitts says: "Unfortunately, [he] didn't stay the night. He left. This broke my heart."

She spent the weekend looking for him and eventually got a call from Mr. Cann to say he had been found in the grounds of the Victoria Street Health Centre.

Since then, Marshall has continued to sleep rough around the city — come rain, shine, or, most likely this past weekend, tropical depression. Mrs. Willitts thinks that's not right but she doesn't know the answer.

"Would a rest home work? I think he'd wander off again. He almost needs to be in a locked down position."

She adds: "We are not talking about a stray dog here. He's such a good soul, such a lovely man. I just feel so passionate about this."

Mr. Cann says that's a natural reaction but cautions: "I think sometimes we get ourselves in such a pickle and we take on stuff and create within ourselves such emotional baggage.

"That person doesn't know what we are going through. I wonder sometimes if that's what's needed. There are some who just prefer to be on the street."

Mr. Payne agrees. "It's really difficult when they choose to [live on the streets]. It goes against what some of us believe should be the values of our community. Personally, I don't understand it.

"I have had three persons I have been involved with and it's really been their choice."

He says the authorities can do little to intervene when a homeless senior has mild dementia. "If they are in the early stages of dementia, then we leave them alone.

"As it progresses and leads to Alzheimer's, that's a different focus. Then we'd need to have a proper psychological evaluation."

Dr. Campbell won't comment specifically on Marshall due to patient confidentially but is willing to discuss the wider issues highlighted by his case.

"We don't have enough facilities for homeless seniors," says the GP. "One problem, of course, is that you can't make people do necessarily what's best for themselves. People are free agents and as long as they are competent, then they have the right to be homeless if they wish.

"On the other hand, there is the question of competence and there are certainly people out there who are not competent to take care of themselves or make decisions for themselves. We really don't have any good way of dealing with that."

He adds: "It really needs a crusader like Lucy to actually want to do something. Lucy is like our conscience — which is great."

Tony Forster, chairman of the Eliza Dolittle Society, has known Marshall for 15 years and says it can be distressing to see how he lives.

"We care about people and we don't want people to live like that. We do want to help him and a lot of others. One of the problems is that he's a bit like a lot of people that you see on the street — many of them might not go back and live with their relatives, even if they were given the opportunity."

The two things Marshall does seem to want each day are a bologna sandwich and a cup of soup from the Salvation Army — and he can rely on getting them.

Mr. Cann, who has become adept at spotting even the most unobtrusive street dweller, always makes sure he tracks down the elderly man.

Last Thursday evening, Marshall was to be found dozing in a nest of trash bags under his broken umbrella, which was wedged between the low-lying branches of a tree on another grass verge, high above a street.

His bright, pale eyes looked a little startled as Mr. Cann gently roused him but he slowly sat up, took the food offered and exchanged a few words.

As the Salvation Army van pulled away, Marshall waved, before slipping back down into his shelter. Office workers heading home for the night walked past just below him — but he was so well hidden it was almost like he wasn't there.