The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Saturday
My motivation to volunteer was selfish – but it’s become the best part of my week
I’m doing something positive, and it puts my own little frustrations into perspective
Idon’t make resolutions. We all want to lose a stone and take up an energetic hobby at this time of year as we stare into the Quality Street tub and dolefully reach for the last pink fudge. But January isn’t much fun and I don’t think it helps to beat ourselves up about whatever we believe we lack. So, no resolutions. Carry on eating chocolate. We’re going to be wearing layers for a good couple of months yet.
Last year, however, I did start the year feeling a yearning to do something positive. Something as part of a community. I work at home, writing by myself. If I don’t venture out to see a friend or sibling in the evening, I can go a few days without much human interaction and find myself talking to the birds in my garden or the cat that looks like Hitler (white; small black moustache; slightly menacing eyes) who patrols my street.
Fortuitously, an email looking for volunteers for The Royal Marsden Hospital in South Kensington dropped into my inbox around the same time. I applied the following day. My grandmother was treated there, and she was the first seriously ill person I ever visited in hospital. Seriously ill and puffy with steroids, but – I’ve always remembered – relatively comfortable because the hospital was run more smoothly than a naval ship and its staff were worthy of canonisation.
A friendly email pinged back and invited me to click my way through 978 online healthy and safety tests before I was allowed on to the volunteer rota, and duly given a shift over lunchtime in the volunteer café on Thursdays. On my trial day, I was given my own apron, a lanyard and shown how to wear a paper hat which, ironically, wouldn’t look out of place on a frigate.
“We have to wear the hats,” whispered another volunteer, “because they’ve threatened to make us wear hairnets if we don’t.”
I’ve reported for duty every Thursday since, bar the odd holiday, and I’ve loved every Thursday since, which might sound like a strange thing to say of a cancer hospital, or any hospital, but there is something life-affirming about being a part, even a very, very tiny part, of such a place.
I arrive just before midday and pop on my hat and apron, then get going with the business of making sandwiches alongside two fellow volunteers. Usually, I open a catering-size tin of tuna and immediately dribble the brine all over my feet. Tuna sandwiches and egg mayo sandwiches, those tend to be the favourites, and I’m costing the NHS money it doesn’t have because I fill them so full. Although the fat sandwiches are nothing to the slices of cake I cut. No visitor, I figure, is in this place because they want to be, and the least we can do is try to perk them up with a starchy snack. I cut slices of coffee and walnut cake so large the takeaway boxes wouldn’t close over them. Sorry, I mumble to the customer, but you don’t want a small piece of cake, do you?
We make umpteen cups of tea and an exciting array of coffees from a lethargic coffee machine. “It’s being exceptionally slow and dribbly today,” I said apologetically to a woman whose husband was having treatment downstairs a few weeks ago. “If it’s slow and dribbly, it could be prostate,” she said, smiling wearily back. There. Isn’t that something? A joke at a bleak moment. She has the right idea about life, I thought.
Doctors grab sandwiches in their scrubs; nurses ask for Diet Cokes. Some people look stricken and new to the waiting room; others have been coming for years and like a good chat. One man recently asked if we had straws so that his wife could drink more easily during her chemotherapy. “Are you all volunteers then?” he asked, as I passed a few straws over. “Yes,” I replied brightly, before deciding that he needed a joke, “and they call us the young shift!” (Gratifyingly, I’ve learned that we’re so-called because we’re fractionally younger than some of the other volunteers). I don’t think the poor man necessarily wanted or needed that information, and I’ve since worried several times that he might have thought I was flirting with him, but it’s all part of an attempt to distract from misery, even briefly.
Occasionally, I get talking to a patient about the book stand in front of the café which offers paperbacks for £2, telling them not to read an author I don’t like and bossily shepherding them towards another instead. Hospitals are terrific places to source second-hand books, I’ve learned – with a constant merry-go-round of Maggie O’Farrells and Mick Herrons. I keep meaning to bring in my own novels and slide some onto the stand, but worry that some of the racier parts may be more than some can stomach at such a moment.
My motivation is selfish in many ways. I wanted more interaction with people during the week and it’s given me that. Every Thursday afternoon, I
I wonder about slipping my own novels into the book stand, but I worry they’re too racy
leave oddly buoyed by my shift, and that feels selfish too. Or at least isn’t it quite self-congratulatory to leave a hospital feeling pleased with oneself for simply making tea and sandwiches?
I do love it though. Little paper hat aside, it’s become one of my favourite parts of the week and absolutely the best thing I’ve done all year. Plenty of people have plenty to grumble about at the moment – mortgages, heating bills, the absurd price of instant coffee, and will this country ever manage to produce a sensible politician again? But if you and those you love are healthy, well, that’s pretty good, isn’t it? Volunteering offers perspective, in other words.
Some weeks I arrive irritated with my lack of progress on a new book project or despondent about another leak in my house, but then someone with a plaster on the back of their hand politely asks me for a cup of tea and the fact that I can’t find an honest plumber within a 50-mile radius of south-east London doesn’t seem quite so dramatic after all. It wasn’t a resolution but it was a new activity. I can’t recommend it enough.
Beach clean-ups
What better way to contemplate New Year’s resolutions than with a beach walk beneath wide skies and beside a powerful sea? Simply pick your nearest stretch of coast or help out on a beach walk. There are a few taking place around the UK on January 1st. One at Spurn National Nature Reserve is organised by the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust. Others are taking place in Cornwall, at Porthcurnick and Pendower, with the National Trust, and another is at Aberffraw, with the North Wales Wildlife Trust, on Anglesey in Wales.
Free; ywt.org.uk, nationaltrust.org.uk, northwaleswildlifetrust.org.uk
Lake swims Cumbria
Take a freshwater dip in Derwentwater for charity with the Lake District Calvert Trust. The usually serene lake will be a riot of fancy dress on New Year’s Day, when swimmers (limited to 500, so prebook) will enter the water at 11am. Enjoy views of the snow-dusted fells afterwards, when warming up with a hot drink and a cake. Wetsuits are recommended and a safety boat will be on hand. Another dip is taking place on Windermere, with a quick swim around the jetty at Fell Foot. Pre-book a slot with the National Trust. Wetsuits are available for hire and there are hot drinks and a shower too.
Free or minimum donation £5; calvertlakes.org.uk, nationaltrust.org.uk
Bathtubs and cars Dorset
Watch foolhardy locals race bathtubs through the water at Poole Quay then, for something sturdier, ogle a range of classic cars on dry land. The bathtub race is a crazy, annual tradition with a high turnout of spectators that raises funds for charity. Sabotage is encouraged between the homemade craft. The classic car show, meanwhile, includes up to 100 vehicles, on display beside the Sea Music sculpture.
Free; pooletourism.com
Sea dip at Saundersfoot Pembrokeshire
Hear the shrieks from the thousands taking an icy plunge into the sea from
Saundersfoot’s beach. Fancy dress is encouraged for the annual swim, which not only clears the head, but raises around £30,000 for charity. Swimmers pay £5 – alternatively, go for a walk along the sandy beach and show your support from a (healthy) distance.
Free to watch, £5 to take part; saundersfootfestivities.co.uk
Walk and horses Surrey
Get the family away from the television and on an easy walk through fields with the chance to meet some rescued horses along the way. The Mane Chance Sanctuary, outside Guildford, is welcoming walkers who can complete an hour-long loop on the grounds between 10am and 2pm. There is a quiz along the trail and hot drinks will be available to buy in the barn afterwards. Adults £3 (child £2), manechancesanctuary.org
New Year runs
For the clean living among us, a 10km run on New Year’s Day is a statement of intent. One of the best-known organised runs will be down at the Serpentine in London’s Hyde Park. It is followed, shortly after, by a 3k fun run. Entrants are limited to 650 runners, so unless you’re already signed up, this one is for spectators only, who can enjoy a walk and some cheering on a cold winter’s morning. More accessible are the 5k Park Runs, which are taking place all over the UK on January 1st.
Consult the organisation’s website to find one and get your running shoes on. Free; parkrun.org.uk
Lido plunge Cornwall
Forget the countdown to midnight. On New Year’s Day in Penzance, it’s the countdown to 11am that matters, when swimmers will leap into the town’s impressive, art deco Jubilee Pool. The large lido has sea views and is geothermally heated, so immersion shouldn’t be too much of a shock to the system. Arrive at 10.30am to prepare, book a free ticket in advance. Free; jubileepool.co.uk
Nature’s poetry trail Pembrokeshire
Reconnect with nature and try some poetry along the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path. Special poetry boxes, with pens, paper and written works inside, have been placed above the cliffs at various points, see website for locations. Walkers are encouraged to lift the lids and write a few nature-inspired verses themselves.
Free; pembrokeshirecoast.wales