As a child, my grandparents owned a beach, it’s one of the places I call home. (Military, nomadic childhood)
It was open to the public, and boat parking was by permit. We sold the permits from the house, overlooking the beach. The cost of the permit?
One of us grandchildren, standing in front of you, holding a lifeboat collection box.
Notes were forced in. Many notes. Raised a shedload of cash every year. The local lifeboat was the subject of a TV show, illustrating the normal people, everyday people in everyday jobs, who dropped everything when the flare goes up. Ordinary people who risk EVERYTHING for others when they’re out on a shout. Proper, genuine heroes. You want to see ‘stunning and brave’? It’s not some sleb updating their Instagram status, it’s a barber downing tools and running to the boat. It’s a carpenter turning away from paid work to save lives. The word legend is often overused, but every single person who runs when called? Legend.
I’ve never needed them, and I hope I never do, but to this day, I can’t walk past a collection box without making a donation.