Maybe the door-bell isn’t working. I knock. A young woman answers. I tell her that we’re a charity from India. ‘Yeah, I’ll sign up for that she says’. ‘Oh’, I answer, ‘Have you a connection with India?. ‘Well I love the food’ she answers. Next minute I’m in her trendy living room while she’s filling in the form. I can see she’s making it out for £10. I lean over ‘This section here is about our Buddhist work – we’re a Buddhist –run charity’. She ticks the 30% box. I fresh-knock the rest of the doors in the street with a spring in my step.
A few nights ago I had a long talk with Ulrika from Sweden and her two blonder than blond children. She’s over here to study and I wonder if she hasn’t made many friends yet. Her husband was away and she doesn’t have an English bank account. Tonight he’s back and not pleased. ‘No way am I doing a standing order’, he grumps. ‘You’, he glares at her, ‘were annoyed when I gave money away the last time’. ‘Not annoyed – just surprised’ she counters and carries on chatting to me. He emerges with his wallet and takes out a fiver. She glares at the note. ‘Oh give me the form then’ he snaps. The little boy provides a way in. ‘Daddy was on a plane and it was so windy’. I ask about his journey. He’s softening now. I thank them both for their contribution and tell them what a difference it will make to peoples lives. They all smile and call goodbye.
I’m looking forward to re-visiting Rick, the hippy with the amazing cultivated jungle of a front garden. He fetches the booklet for me. So it’s a no then. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot he says, and I’ve decided that I want to concentrate on helping inner city Birmingham kids’. I say that it sounds like he’s in the process of clarifying his values. ‘Yes’, he says excitedly and reading your booklet has been part of that process. He tells me about his work. He teaches woodland crafts and once he got the kids to write a list of their hopes and dreams. What he thought would be a pleasant exercise had him in tears. Had all the teachers in tears. The kids said ‘I want furniture for our house’. ‘I want my dad’. Then he stops himself.. I’m talking all about me he says and apologises for not supporting us. I tell him he is supporting us; that this conversation helps me to knock the next door. He looks delighted.
My last call-back of the evening is to Catherine, a nurse. It’s about quarter past nine and when I knock she peers through the curtains. I flash my leaflets and she smiles and comes to the door. She invites me in for a cup of tea, apologizing for the mess. She’s studying and papers are spread over the sofa. She isn’t particularly chatty so I sit quietly as she fills in the standing order form, enjoying my drink.
