Charity begins at home – Chapter 1
Lorna wished she’d never retired. She was bored, bored, bored!
There are only so many walks along the seafront, so many library books, so many newspapers and daytime TV was dreadful; wallpaper for old people in homes.
She had had a long working life, starting at 16 on the China and Glassware in the local Woolworth’s and ending up as the manager of a domiciliary care provider, via many varied routes and one failed marriage. Yes, the last job had been extremely busy and very stressful, but so worthwhile, and she had loved doing it. However, her GP and family had other ideas and she was virtually ordered to retire at 65 and take it easy, or there would be problems with heart attack or stroke.
Her two brothers, her sister and her many nieces and nephews had encouraged her to retire to her holiday cottage on the seafront and assured her that they would be popping in to see her at alarmingly regular intervals so she wouldn’t be lonely and she’d just love the sea air, the light, the peace and quiet…….
Just how wrong can so many people be? After using her intelligence and wit to good effect for so many years, now she was talking to seagulls and the occasional fisherman. The high point of the week was when the library van came round and she could chat for a brief time with the lovely young librarian and choose the next 10 books to keep her relatively sane.
She had even taken the bus into town and crept into the local job centre, although why a job centre had to have a bouncer was beyond her. The young man on the desk had treated her with utter disdain and said “Why don’t you do some voluntary work if you’re just bored?”. “No”, she said, “I need to earn some extra money to supplement my pension”. He just shrugged and turned away.
How do pensioners manage on £126 a week, or whatever it was these days? She was lucky, in that her pension was slightly more than that, and she had her company pension, but it didn’t go far once the taxman had taken his cut, the gas, electricity, telephone, water, council tax bills had been paid, the car taxed and insured, the cost of fuel to get anywhere she couldn’t get to by the local bus (twice a day), household cleaning products and food had been bought. When her relatives did descend on her (not as often as they had promised, thank goodness!) they didn’t think to bring any food or drink with them, so she was constantly catering for 3 or 4 very hungry adults who expected lunch and tea when they came, “as it was such a long way”.
So, decision time. Did she look for a voluntary job to keep her mind occupied and to meet new people, then just hope that some paid work would come her way? If so, what voluntary work could she do? Over a cup of latte, she went on to the internet and found a local hospice which was asking for help with administration or reception work – that would be ideal! Three phone calls and three answerphone messages later, she was getting a little frustrated; did they want volunteers or not?
The young man called her back eventually, but only to tell her that they had enough volunteers for the office and for reception but would she be interested in helping out in their charity shop, which was only a short drive away? She wrinkled her nose; not really her thing, as she rarely went into a charity shop. Her experience of them was they were full of other people’s tat and they smelled musty. However, she had made the first approach and agreed to go down to her local shop to see what she thought of it, then she would fill in all of the forms if she decided to carry on.
The Hospice Shop had been a very pleasant surprise; light, airy and sweet smelling, all clothes displayed as if they were in a West End store, some lovely china and glassware, lots of CDs and DVDs, which she had a good browse through, and two delightful ladies in charge. Things had changed, and for the better! They gave her the application form, which she had duly completed and sent away.
Her first afternoon in the shop was a real eye-opener; she hadn’t worked so hard for a long time! Glenys and Bobbie had been very welcoming, showed her round and made her a coffee, then sleeves rolled up and set to work, sorting out the donations which had come in that morning. Most of it should have gone to the council tip (and did). The good stuff was put on to hangers and steamed, then priced up – that was an art form in itself. The books, games, toys, DVDs and CDs were sorted and put on display. If the staff wanted anything from stock they had to pay the list price for it, which was fair enough as the money was going to the Hospice, but she could see that this job might be costing her money!!
After a few weeks she had settled in well and was enjoying the work and meeting new people, although, to be truthful, the people she met shopping there were not the usual class she would mix with. Most of the volunteers were older ladies like herself, widows, divorcees, spinsters and a few married ladies getting out from under their retired husbands’ feet. Still, it got her out of the house, kept her busy and made her feel as if she was doing something for the local community.
One Thursday afternoon, she was on her own in the shop, which was not permitted, but the other volunteer on that shift had called in sick at the last minute and no-one else could slot in at that short notice, so they’d let her stay open for the few hours. The doorbell pinged and a man staggered in under the weight of several large black sacks. He explained that they were full of his late wife’s clothes and he had finally managed to clear them out six months after her death. As she was on her own, he helped her to take them into the back room for sorting and, somehow, he stayed for a coffee as well. Richard was a lovely man and obviously lonely, as he stayed to chat for quite some time. Luckily there were few customers that afternoon and he stayed to help her lock up at 5.30. They parted with a handshake and she virtually skipped to her car with a little smile on her face. He’d be back.
Written By: Laura Wickham
Laura Wickham
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