While driving through the Southbank area, Ant McPartlin and Declan Donnelly saw hundreds of homeless people sleeping on the streets in the cold winter night. Without hesitation, they spent £1 million to rent an entire hotel for 3 months, providing accommodation and free meals for all the homeless in the area. But the touching story behind the first woman to enter the hotel really touched everyone’s hearts…

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Ant and Dec’s Southbank Sanctuary: A Winter of Warmth

The Southbank of London, with its twinkling lights and vibrant arts scene, was a place Ant McPartlin and Declan Donnelly knew well. But on a frigid January night in 2025, as they drove through the area after a late-night charity event, the glamour faded. Under the glow of streetlights, they saw hundreds of homeless people huddled in doorways, wrapped in thin blankets against the biting cold. The sight was a gut punch. Ant, gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Dec. “This isn’t right, mate. It’s freezing out there.” Dec, staring out the window, nodded. “We’ve got to do something. Now.”

By morning, the duo had hatched a plan that stunned even their closest advisors. They would rent an entire hotel for three months, transforming it into a warm, safe haven for Southbank’s homeless population, complete with free meals and support services. The price tag? A cool £1 million from their personal fortunes. Critics raised eyebrows, with one tabloid sniping, “Ant and Dec’s latest publicity stunt?” But the duo ignored the noise, driven by a visceral need to act. “We’re not heroes,” Ant told a friend. “We’re just blokes who can’t look away.”

They chose the Riverfront Hotel, a modest but comfortable 80-room establishment near the Thames, and negotiated a deal with the owner in hours. By the next day, the hotel was theirs for February, March, and April. Ant and Dec didn’t stop at beds—they partnered with local charities to provide hot meals, clean clothes, medical checkups, and job counseling. They hired social workers and chefs, ensuring every guest felt human, not just housed. The duo was on-site daily, rolling up their sleeves to serve breakfast or chat with residents, their Geordie warmth melting away skepticism. “It’s like hosting a show,” Dec joked, ladling soup, “but the audience gets a bed and a hot meal.”

Word spread fast. On the first night, as snow dusted the Southbank, a line formed outside the Riverfront. Volunteers guided people in, offering blankets and tea. The hotel, once quiet, buzzed with life—families, elderly men, young women, all finding refuge. Over 200 people were housed that night, with more arriving daily. The community rallied, donating toiletries and clothes, while local restaurants sent surplus food. Social media lit up with praise: “Ant and Dec turning a hotel into hope—Geordie legends,” one post read, shared thousands of times.

But it was the story of the first woman to cross the hotel’s threshold that truly captured hearts. As Ant and Dec stood at the entrance, welcoming arrivals, a frail figure approached, clutching a tattered coat. She was Mary Thompson, a 62-year-old Newcastle native who’d been homeless for a decade. Her face, weathered but kind, broke into a hesitant smile when she recognized the duo. “You’re the lads from the telly,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Ant, moved, took her hand. “You’re home tonight, Mary. Come in.” Dec handed her a warm scarf, his eyes soft. “We’ve got you.”

Mary’s story, shared in a quiet moment with a volunteer and later featured in a BBC report, was heartbreaking yet inspiring. Born in the same Newcastle estate as Ant and Dec, she’d been a schoolteacher, beloved for her patience and love of literature. But a series of tragedies—her husband’s death, a lost job, and crippling debt—spiraled into eviction. Pride kept her from seeking help, and she ended up on London’s streets, surviving on charity and sheer will. What made her story resonate was a revelation: as a young teacher, Mary had taught Ant and Dec in a community drama class, encouraging their early performances. “You two were cheeky, but you had heart,” she recalled, a tear falling. “I never thought I’d see you again—let alone like this.”

The connection floored the duo. In a private moment, Ant wiped his eyes. “She believed in us when we were just kids, Dec. Now it’s our turn.” Dec nodded, his voice thick. “This is why we’re here.” They ensured Mary received extra care—a private room, medical attention, and a counselor to help her rebuild. Her presence became a symbol of Happy Haven, as the hotel was dubbed, a place where past and present intertwined to create hope. Mary, once invisible, was now the heart of the project, her story shared widely, inspiring donations and volunteer sign-ups.

Under Ant and Dec’s guidance, Happy Haven became more than a shelter. Job workshops led to employment for dozens, while families were connected to permanent housing. The duo brought in guest speakers—musicians, athletes, even their pal Stephen Mulhern—to lift spirits. By April, over 500 people had been housed, with 70% transitioning to stable lives. The £1 million investment yielded immeasurable returns: lives restored, futures reclaimed. The media, once skeptical, hailed it as “Ant and Dec’s finest hour.”

Mary’s transformation was the project’s crowning jewel. With support, she regained her confidence, volunteering to read to children at the hotel and mentoring others. By March, she’d secured a part-time teaching job, her love of education reignited. At a closing ceremony, as the three-month initiative ended, Mary took the stage, her voice steady. “Ant and Dec didn’t just give me a bed—they gave me my life back. They reminded me we’re all worth saving.” The crowd, including teary-eyed staff and residents, roared. Ant and Dec, standing nearby, shared a quiet hug, their mission complete.

As spring warmed the Southbank, Happy Haven’s legacy endured. Ant and Dec pledged to fund similar projects across the UK, with Mary as an ambassador. Fans worldwide celebrated, with one X post summing it up: “From Newcastle kids to national treasures—Ant and Dec are proof heart changes everything.” The duo, reflecting on Mary’s impact, felt a deeper purpose. “She taught us to dream big,” Ant said. “We just returned the favor,” Dec added.

Happy Haven wasn’t just a hotel—it was a testament to compassion, a reminder that one act of kindness can rewrite countless stories. And for Mary, Ant, and Dec, it was a homecoming, proving that the ties of community, no matter how frayed, could mend with love.