Collecting For The Poppy Fund

Launch Day today: overcast, brief spells of watery sunshine, hailstones, a biting wind and bitter cold.
Knowing that for four hours you will be the only one on the town main street, where to stand, where’s the best spot?
Should you move further away from the busker, the Heart Foundation collector, the wood carver and Big Issue seller?
Set up under the bank canopy so as to keep the worst of the hail and rain off but still visible to passers by, beret on, medals squared off, collecting box neck cord shortened to a suitable length, all set and ready.
Within a short time your in the ‘swing of it’, some people want a quick Poppy and away, others want to chat, about remembrance, their families service, about your medals, about your service. The ex-service widow who wants to chat about her husband and the rare currently serving donor who smiles, acknowledges your service and empties their pockets of change into the tin.
Some people fumble and struggle for change, some people surreptitiously fold a £20 note into the collecting box in return for a single paper Poppy, students, smiling, chatty and calling you ‘sir’ and wanting a single paper Poppy because; “it’s traditional”.
Offers for coffee or tea, questions about why you collect and flatteringly from one: “aren’t you a bit young to be doing this”.
Encouraging young children to take a wrist band or the fluorescent clip on Poppy, parents asking: “how much” but thinking that getting children into the habit of wearing/buying a Poppy now will hopefully ensure that they wear them in the future.
People surprised that anything in the box is for a donation not a fixed price.
After six hours the collecting ‘tin’ has so much money in it that it weighs almost 7lb, (3.2kg), and is in a tray that’s on a cord around your neck, your neck and shoulders begin to ache but finally you have almost nothing left to give in return for the donation.
A great day and peoples warmth and amazing generosity shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Home for some stew that has been in the slow cooker for almost twenty-four hours accompanied by crusty bread.
Saturday’s Telegraph, the final Bledisloe Cup game recorded earlier and a little of my latest book, Michael Palin’s Erebus, before bed and a well earned nights sleep.