Charitable Intentions

Participation in fund raising activities was always a feature of growing up in the 1970's.

Sponsored events were in their halcyon days with a sheet of paper emerging on a weekly basis on which to gather actual signatures or, by practice, some very good forgeries of the signatures of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and benevolent neighbours whom you dare not approach yet again with demands for monies.

The most popular events were walking based. This could be a few laps around the school field during school hours, always a popular distraction from the usual learning timetable, or a mega walk of between 10 and 14 miles on a weekend. The latter was a major logistical event for not only the organisers, usually a well known charity, but also those taking part as over such distances there was a significant risk of dehydration, hunger or injury.

If sponsorship was expressed in the usual manner of, say 1p or 2p per mile then this was readily subscribed to by family and friends. There was a later development whereby monetary promises were made on the basis of actually finishing the event. The amount, usually 10p looked good on the sponsorship form and did not involve complex mathematics to add up, but the total raised was often lower than anticipated.

The period leading up to the event was exciting, similarly the actual participation on the day although often accompanied by blisters if a walk.  The downside was that the money promised had to be physically collected, accounted for and handed over to someone in an official capacity. Interest ,post event did subside considerably and if constantly reminded, chased and hounded for the raised funds it was necessary for parents to be pleaded with to dip into their own pockets and clear the balance.

Swimathons, bike rides, donkey derby's, cake bakes, coconut ice competitions, tombolas and the good old jumble sales all served to bring in some cash although usually a larger target total required one or more combined events from the approved choices.

As well as charitable concerns I was a seasoned fund raiser for my Scout Troop through the 'Bob a Job Week'.

By the 1970's and following decimalisation the concept of the bob as a tangible monetary value was clouded in myth and vague memory. However, in the minds of those members of the public approached for a task by willing Cub Scouts the bob was the only payment for consideration even after what could be a half day garden or house clearance task or something equally as unpleasant, grubby and exploitative.

The fund raising week brought out the most enterprising and competitive streaks in us Cubs.

There was significant kudos in being the highest earner and every resource and effort was put into thinking of and putting into action schemes and projects to attain this status. I teamed up with a couple of friends from the Troop in a determined approach to the week. I had raided my Fathers garage and shed to equip our team with best chamois leather cloths, chrome cleaner and washing up liquid. We went door to door seeking out cars to wash, shampoo, dry and polish. Most owners avoided the issue by blatantly hiding behind curtains or just ignoring us altogether. We found that the sight of gleaming chrome met with the approval of customers who allowed us to do the business with their beloved vehicles. The best results were achieved by roughly abrading the chrome bumpers, trims, grilles,radiators and badges with wire wool before applying a thick coat of polish and buffing it up to a dazzling reflective state. On close inspection, if not seduced by the showroom or concourse standard of the metalwork, we had scratched and damaged the chrome possibly beyond repair.

We were either very brave or very foolish in some of our ranging about seeking remuneration. One house, well beyond the familiar area of our town, was approached with some trepidation but such was the compulsion to be best earners. It was amongst an overgrown garden, the paintwork was peeling, render blown and falling away, the leaded windows smashed in places but nevertheless showing signs of occupancy. We jostled and joked amongst ourselves as we edged along the driveway, making ghostly noises, whispering werewolf howls and pretending to be zombies or offspring of Frankenstein. The most courageous of the group was pushed to the forefront to ring the bell. We waited. Somewhere within the dark and gloomy house we could hear doors opening, feet dragging and the thump thump of what could only be some form of walking stick or aid. There was a noticeable fallback from the doorstep as the door swung slowly open. The occupant did actually resemble a comic book wolf man, unruly hair, long side burns, yellowy-black teeth and, visible between shirt buttons and neck a veritable ruff of body hair. We screamed in girly unison and did not look back until we felt safe again on the public highway.

This was not the wisest action on our part as we were in full cub scout uniform and therefore easily identifiable should there have been any recriminations for our disgraceful behaviour. I often think of this poor householder, perhaps himself a former scout and more than willing to help out in a good cause.

We were still successful that year, a grand total of £10.50 raised between the three of us but yet at what cost?

My fathers best washing equipment was ruined, similarly many cars which would today be regarded as classic marques had it not been for the shocking deterioration of every piece of chrome trim and fittings on a once pristeen example of bodywork.