For years the Mem and meself, poor as we have been, have given generously to needy causes. We supported street children in Columbia, whales in the deep blue sea and a host of other pitiable vulnerables.
In donating to the street children in Bogota we felt we were making a real difference. The little boy we helped would scribble wibbly-wobbly Spanish sentences on thin brown paper letters and included happy pictures of suns and flowers and anything else his mind created in order to pleasantly decorate his thanks to us. These translated letters moved us as, no doubt, similar ones have done so to other cheerful benefactors. But after a while the letters became less frequent and eventually dried up altogether. The last sorry communication we had was with a sister at the children's home that he had recently left in order to join a street gang and take his machismo young man's chances in the untested and dangerous underworld. We instantly felt guilty. Should we have done more? Should we have written back with more earnest and caring sentences?
Whales cannot, as far as I can tell, write letters of any kind: a shameful trait they share with most animals. This voicelessness, I suppose, one of the reasons that encourages our support. But even though we have oft given to worthy environmental concerns, much to our disappointment, we have never recieved a cetacian, simian or ursidaean word of thanks back! Perhaps if Greenpeace, the World Wildlife Fund or Animals Asia taught these beasts basic grammar then our funds would not have been in vain. Alas, no – we give to those creatures as benificent angelic beings the generous habits of which they, as we, know very little indeed.
For the past two years or the milk of human kindness has flowed towards a certain local and international children's charity: I felt it was an absolute good and that no amount of squirming meanness or embarrasment on my part could overcome. Each month a newsletter appeared with pictures of smiling, dirty-faced kiddlies who have become much better off with my money than me (or so I have liked to believe). But then I received a phone call out of the blue from that particular charity by a lovely-sounding girl who charmingly asked if I could give generously to children in Angola who are suffering because of this useless war.
"Actually," I replied, somewhat uncomfortably, "I will shortly be leaving Hong Kong and would most likely close down my bank account here. Could I therefore stop the payments?
"Of course." she replied. "All you have to do is ring this number..."
I duly took down and immediately called. Ring-ring...
"Hello!" The very same charming voice answered.
"Ah! I'd like to cancel my donation to your charity."
"Oh! Mr Peters." She giggled, recognising my voice. "Thank you."
I thought to ask why she hadn't taken details of my cancellation in the previous telephone call, but felt this to be a somewhat unkind point to make, her sounding so nice and... charming. I'm going to miss Hong Kong.
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