Most of us want a legacy of some sort. Something positive to be remembered by. Its not necessarily altruistic. We want to be seen to be doing good for others. It makes us feel warm inside. Some people leave their bodies to medical science (cheaper than a funeral too...). Others pay for a park bench (sometimes situated in the oddest of places...). Still others leave money to charities. Cat and dog homes are popular. Cancer research and hospices too. Conservation charities do well. Church roofs used to be the in thing. And often the people who have the least to give donate the highest proportion of their wealth.
There's been a lot of mention of this in the media recently. Millionaire and billionaire 'philanthropists' who donate large sums to charity with plenty of media coverage but don't pay tax in this country. There's a wonderful irony in this. For their tax bills would probably be considerably higher than their donations. And with more tax coming in, would there be less need for the charitable donations...?
So where do I fit into this? I pay direct debits to three well known charities. I have a charity credit card. Every time I buy something, a little brown bird benefits. I make one off contributions to disaster funds: earthquakes, tsunamis, illegal wars. And then suffer the interminable phone calls for weeks afterwards asking for more. I could off course make more and higher contributions. But sometimes it feels strange to be funding things - where the perpetrator of the loss or suffering should really pick up the costs. Gaza being a prime example. However, I digress.
Back in November I was in Ward 18 in St Johns Hospital, Livingstone. The standard of medical, nursing and 'hotel' services was outstanding. Staff coming in on their days off to decorate a Christmas tree. Time taken for patient hair washing. Fresh hot delicious food. A comforting chat in the dead of night. I genuinely didn't want to leave. I noticed, though, that the ward could have done with another commode. An extra one would save nurses time and effort, and increase the comfort of patients. So at Christmas I sent a card, offering to purchase one for the ward. It was a daft idea, but appealed somehow. What a legacy!
Yesterday I finally received a call from the Ward. Was I still interested in buying the commode? The nurse was a little embarrassed about the price. Someone is making a healthy profit out there. But the cost of the commode is less than a weekend trip to Barcelona, less than dinner for four at a Michelin star restaurant, less than a designer handbag. OK, perhaps the NHS should be picking up the tab. But it isn't. So I, with a generous contribution from my mother, will buy the commode. Its not clear yet whether there will be a plaque, but if so, we will need something appropriate with just the right amount of cheek. Entries on a postcard please...
There's been a lot of mention of this in the media recently. Millionaire and billionaire 'philanthropists' who donate large sums to charity with plenty of media coverage but don't pay tax in this country. There's a wonderful irony in this. For their tax bills would probably be considerably higher than their donations. And with more tax coming in, would there be less need for the charitable donations...?
So where do I fit into this? I pay direct debits to three well known charities. I have a charity credit card. Every time I buy something, a little brown bird benefits. I make one off contributions to disaster funds: earthquakes, tsunamis, illegal wars. And then suffer the interminable phone calls for weeks afterwards asking for more. I could off course make more and higher contributions. But sometimes it feels strange to be funding things - where the perpetrator of the loss or suffering should really pick up the costs. Gaza being a prime example. However, I digress.
Back in November I was in Ward 18 in St Johns Hospital, Livingstone. The standard of medical, nursing and 'hotel' services was outstanding. Staff coming in on their days off to decorate a Christmas tree. Time taken for patient hair washing. Fresh hot delicious food. A comforting chat in the dead of night. I genuinely didn't want to leave. I noticed, though, that the ward could have done with another commode. An extra one would save nurses time and effort, and increase the comfort of patients. So at Christmas I sent a card, offering to purchase one for the ward. It was a daft idea, but appealed somehow. What a legacy!
Yesterday I finally received a call from the Ward. Was I still interested in buying the commode? The nurse was a little embarrassed about the price. Someone is making a healthy profit out there. But the cost of the commode is less than a weekend trip to Barcelona, less than dinner for four at a Michelin star restaurant, less than a designer handbag. OK, perhaps the NHS should be picking up the tab. But it isn't. So I, with a generous contribution from my mother, will buy the commode. Its not clear yet whether there will be a plaque, but if so, we will need something appropriate with just the right amount of cheek. Entries on a postcard please...
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