Lois Billedo was a 12-year-old runaway when Reverend Bill Crews gave her a place to sleep

Lois Billedo, 49, was a 12-year-old runaway when Reverend Bill Crews, 82 – a champion of Sydney’s homeless – gave her a place to sleep. Almost 40 years later, the pair share the deepest of bonds.

LOIS: When I told my mum that her boyfriend was molesting me, she didn’t believe me. I’d been molested by other men before and she didn’t believe me then, either. When we moved from New Zealand to Sydney in 1990, I told her that if her boyfriend came with us, I’d run away. He came, so I split.

After a couple of weeks on my own, the other street kids told me that on Thursday nights at 8pm, a man called Father Bill handed out food at Town Hall. I remember he was sitting in the food truck; he looked huge to me. He fed me, then asked, “Where’s home?” I said, “I don’t have one.” He told me to come stay at the Uniting Church [in Sydney’s Ashfield]; I lived there for three years.

There were 17 kids there. I was the only girl, so Bill let me sleep in the vestry. He always made me feel important like that. And he let me shower at his place because the church showers were used by homeless adults and were really dirty.

One day, the other kids and I had gone out taking drugs. At Ashfield station, one of our friends, Paul, fell to the ground and started convulsing. The other boys were punching him, trying to get him to wake up. I took Paul in my arms and told the boys to get Father Bill. Within a minute, he’d run over and called an ambulance. Paul died on the way to the hospital, but I knew I could rely on Father Bill after that; if I needed him, he’d come.

When I was 15, I fell pregnant. I ran straight to Father Bill. I was out of control and thought it was the end of the world. He calmed me down. Throughout the pregnancy, a relative said that if he found me, he’d kick the baby out of me. The father dumped me. Nobody on this planet wanted me to have the baby except for Father Bill.

He got me set up in a studio apartment near the church; my first ever place of my own. I was scared to leave in case my family found me, so Bill would bring me groceries. After my son, Blake, was born, Bill helped me get a house in Riverwood. I’d come and meet him every few weeks. Father Bill is so busy now I say to him, “Tell me where you’re going to be for work, and I’ll come.”

In 2023, I asked Bill to officiate at my wedding, which felt like a full-circle moment. You’re meant to be looking at your husband in your wedding photos, but in mine, I’m looking at Father Bill!

He’s like my dad. If I want something, I ask him for it! He won’t accept help, though, which I hate. He found us a pro bono lawyer when my husband was wrongfully dismissed from his job.

I recently started working towards becoming a support worker for people experiencing homelessness, and asked Bill if I could use his office to print the policy documents I needed – all 500 pages. He said, “Use whatever you want.”

If I hadn’t met Father Bill, I’d be dead. So many of the other street kids are.

Life for kids who grew up like me is like an embroidered bag with lots of holes. If you don’t have someone like him, you fall through those holes. I was one of the blessed kids who got to have him.

BILL: Back then, we had so many kids being brought here; the police dropped them off or they’d show up themselves. One day, this lovely little girl with big eyes appeared. All of a sudden she was just there. And the eyes – the eyes always seemed to be watching me. You couldn’t believe a kid as beautiful as Lois could be left on the street.

Immediately, she was someone I wanted to do everything for. She was so young – only 12, but she looked even younger. She was more vulnerable than most of them, so I felt I had to look after her. Slowly, she began to reveal the sexual abuse she’d experienced; I’d get so angry hearing it. My main aim was to keep her in schooling.

Despite being the youngest and tiniest, Lois became the leader. I’d see her talk to the other kids about their lives before I’d had the chance to, and be there for them. She had the rare ability to sit with the kids in their pain.

She settled me, too. Those years were a tough time for me – bureaucrats threw a lot of obstacles in my way – and she was living evidence that it was all worthwhile. I only had to look at Lois to think, “What I’m doing is right.”

She responded so positively to me: joining the literacy classes we ran and volunteering to answer the phone in the office. The place was a whirlwind of drama, and in the middle of it was this calm young woman with big eyes. A lighthouse in the storm.

When Lois fell pregnant, I didn’t get all moralistic because that does nothing. I just celebrated with her. I was there saying, “I’m with you. This will be the making of you.” And it was. She straightened up and said, “I better get my act together now.” I saw her grow up.

It was a huge honour to officiate at her marriage to Rodolfo in their backyard. I probably overdid it a bit, trying to make it as special as possible – as she walked down the aisle, I surprised her by singing May The Feet of God Walk With You, a song that says, “May your life be blessed for all time.” We both cried. I sang it at my own daughter’s wedding, and Lois is kind of like my daughter. She’ll tell me I’ve got a button undone; at my birthday party, she wiped cake crumbs off my face without a word.

But oh, she bosses me around! Just today she said, “You’re unsteady on your feet; I’m going to get you a walking stick.” I made a physiotherapy appointment straight away.

I’m so proud of Lois. Life has been tough for her, but she’s never given up. She brings her kids [she has six] back to the church every Christmas to volunteer and I see what a great mum she is.

I’ve never looked at what I’ve done for Lois over the years as “help”; her success in life is all her doing. Sometimes all we need is a bit of love and support.

Kids Helpline: 1800 551 800; 1800 RESPECT: 1800 737 732

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