Lionel Cann has been organising the Salvation Army's daily soup run in Hamilton for more than a decade — but he still gets upset when he talks about the plight of the homeless.

Six evenings a week, he and his team of willing volunteers (he has more offers of help than he can accommodate) take their white van around the capital, stopping every few hundred yards to dish out sandwiches and hot soup to those in need.

"I never saw homeless people until I started working on the street," says the community service worker. "They were out of sight. But they become a part of your existence and you know them and they begin to know you and they take on a whole different personality."

Mr. Cann stops and swallows hard before adding: "They are not just some nobody. We have taken notice of them, we have seen their condition. And we want to do so much. We just have to work with what we have, unfortunately."

The soup and sandwich scheme in Hamilton costs the charity about $15,000 a year to run and it operates similar services around the Island. Several churches also offer feeding programmes.

In the city, Mr. Cann and his volunteers deliver food to about 40 people a night and about ten of those individuals are elderly. "Some food is donated," says Mr. Cann. "But not a lot."

The meal they give out — a basic bologna sandwich, usually, and soup provided by the Harbour Light programme — probably doesn't sound like much to most of us.

But, as The Royal Gazette found out when we went out with the team last Thursday, many people rely on it as their sole source of daily nourishment — and others just relish the chance to chat with someone who cares.

Before the van leaves the King Street kitchen, several men are waiting for their evening meal. One has even brought along an empty Ovaltine jar to fill up with soup.

Volunteers Suella Cumberbatch, Inez Williams and Gwen Doars share a joke with the men and ask how many soups and sandwiches they need — everyone wants two of each, a pattern repeated around the city.

Ms Cumberbatch explains why she started volunteering: "I see these people every day on my way to work and it's nice to be familiar with them, to say hi to them. They appreciate that. Some of them don't want the food."

Mr. Cann says not everyone taking advantage of the free food is homeless — some have shelter but have fallen on hard times. The Salvation Army doesn't ask questions — it just feeds.

In a parking bay opposite Sir John Swan's Seon Place on Front Street, a 68-year-old regular shakes Mr. Cann warmly by the hand and has some soup.

He was assisted by the charity when his marriage fell apart and he says he has never forgotten.

Further along Front Street, Mr. Cann spends ten minutes chatting and laughing with a man lying on the grass who doesn't want anything to eat.

"We listen to their stories," says Mr. Cann. "We listen to what's bothering them, just getting to understand them. The person I was speaking with for a long time, he didn't like me. But you keep working until you make some inroads."

At Albuoy's Point, there are two much younger recipients. Two tiny well-dressed boys — perhaps only two and three in age — come rushing up to the van, tripping over one another and giggling.

They hold out their hands for sandwiches and soup, politely saying thank you when they receive the food. Mr. Cann confirms that the brothers — and their father — are regulars too.

The down-and-outs come in all ages and complexions but the vast majority seem to be middle-aged or older black men.

Some appear to be high — one man shouts incoherently about losing someone in the Twin Towers before laughing and screaming "God bless!" as the van pulls away — while others simply look exhausted.

At some locations, the homeless wait eagerly for the van to appear; at others, Mr. Cann goes hunting for the hungry. He almost always finds someone.

"It takes a strong stomach and a strong mind because you could react in such a way that you forget the individual," he says. "One of the things we try to encourage is to make them feel like people with the intent that they want to change.

"I have seen people move off the streets. That's the good part of the story that we don't talk about sometimes: the successes, strong people. I can't take credit for that. They have done it all themselves."