Bloody Germans

Jumble Sales

Yet another form of charity that goes on in every village, town and city throughout Britain, are the Jumble Sales; they are a long in the tooth and still remain an ongoing tradition.

These local events are often arranged by bodies such as schools, clubs or other small organisations, as a method of raising funds to help with their finances.  Local churches hold the most regular jumble sales to help repair all of their roofs -- or that’s what they keep telling us -- whoever put these church roofs up in the first place, must be now raking in a fortune with all its many repairs!

 Members, or the general public, are first asked to turn out their cupboards, attics, sheds and garages, and contribute unwanted items such as clothing, household wares or simple bric-a-brac. These items are then taken or collected by the volunteers, to wherever the event is to be held.

On the day of the jumble sale, volunteers will set out the tables and trestles in the main hall, and all the items from the contributed collections of boxes and large plastic bags, will be turfed out and dumped mountain-high on top of them.

This is where the word Jumble comes into it; piles and piles of clothing -- all tangled up and tied together, like as if it has all just emerged from the washing machine spin cycle.

Then, when the dreaded pre-set time arrives -- the main hall doors are opened and a herd of mad women, from an oversized ravenous impatient queue, lunge forward. Many of these women are hard-core jumble sale veterans, so this is no place for the fragile-framed, weak-minded, or even, ex-nams to be. For those not so seasoned, once inside the church hall, it is virtually impossible to get in close to view the heaps of old discarded clothing. The secret is to barge, bite, shove, push and gouge your way through -- but be warned, one slip to the floor and your finished -- lost and gone forever.

A church jumble sale is no sane nor safe place to be.

Charity Begins At Home

In Germany, I notice that they have none of the above. Here you will not find any charity shops, tin-rattlers or jumble sales -- though they do have plenty of their own charitable arrangements, but nothing so outlandish as in Britain.

In Germany, they don’t ask -- they do!

Even the beggars are of a better class in Germany..,

I once boarded an underground train, and when I was sat down -- I noticed that a beggar had also boarded and was moving up the aisles -- begging from seat to seat. When he came up to me and uttered his begging words, I answered..,

“Entschuldigen sie, Ich spreche kein Deutsch!”

It was my clever device to escape the beggar by making out I did not understand a word of what he was asking me.

He replied, “What language do you speak, English, French, Italian...?”

This guy was good -- I gave him Five-marks!

Another time, I had a beggar approach me and ask for a cigarette. When I kindly brought out my packet to offer him one -- he said..,

“Oh I don’t like mild cigarettes --  have you nothing stronger -- oh don’t worry, I’ll ask somebody else!”

Well excuse me for living!

 Now I felt even below the needs of a beggar!

In Germany, as I have previously mentioned, the not so well off can furnish their homes by regularly visiting one of the many recycling centres. For clothing, people will often pass a large plastic bag around their families and friends, containing their unwanted clothing. Each person will take out items of their choosing, and add in other articles that they themselves no longer require. The bags of clothing, that will have grown considerably by the time it has done the full round, will be then passed on to one of the many organisations, who in turn, will give them out free to the needy.

Notice that nobody is making or collecting any money on anything -- just passing around things to each other, that they no longer require.

This reminds me of another time when I was young -- the rows of houses within the street my family and I lived in, were soon to be demolished; the local council’s plan was to move the street out, one by one, into their new homes. The family in the house next to us, were packing up the last of their belongings, and moving out. Us kids were waiting impatiently for them all to leave, because as soon as they did -- we would be in there sharp to snoop around...,

Well, it was in the days before the telly got interesting..,

The last one to leave, was the father -- and when he finally set off on his motorbike -- we were in, like Flynn!

There was a good few of us kids roaming around the place, when upstairs, in one of the bedrooms -- I caught sight of a very nice white shirt hanging up neat on the top of the door.

My first thoughts were --

“My Dad would like that shirt!”

I was a thoughtful child..,

So I grabbed hold of it by the sleeve.

But just as I did, a snotty nosed kid -- a boy from two doors down, grabbed hold of the other sleeve..,

“My Dad would pay me good money for this shirt!”

Said the not so generous or thoughtful one, as I.

We fought -- oh how we fought -- pulling as hard as we could at each sleeve.

Then suddenly -- ‘rrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiippppppp!!!’

The shirt became two shirts -- and just as it did, we heard a motorbike pull up in the house driveway..,

“Okay, you can have it!” We both generously said to each other.

But then, as we caught glimpse of the father, still helmeted and in his leathers, coming up the stairway -- we both panicked and each threw our halves of the shirt into the upstairs bathroom. Both halves, landed neatly inside the open lavatory pan -- but mine was a better shot, as a part of his half was still overhanging the porcelain.

No class!

The Father reached the top of  the stairway, still wearing his helmet -- and surprising to us, he did not seem to be bothered at all that us kids were occupying and running all over his, not too long ago, once private home.

We felt quite comfortable and relaxed about that, until he said..,

“Has anybody seen my best shirt?”

Well, it doesn’t matter what anybody may say about dress-sense -- at that time, the only sense we had going, was to get the bloody hell outa there -- and quick!

Pity really, as I would have loved to have seen the look on his face when he found his beloved shirt -- but I hear it’s not nice to see a grown man cry. We could have said we were freshening it up with some toilet water -- and a shirt in two halves was all the rage now -- easy for packing and stuff like that. But that’s how clothing did the rounds in my days -- you either had to buy them, or they suddenly came your way.

In Germany, I have come across other charitable societies -- Tafelrunde is an organisation for the homeless, who collect expired sell-by date foods, that are donated regularly from large stores. And at Christmas time, many large shopping arcades will have a  place specially arranged, amidst all the other decorations -- where the public can donate presents for the children in Germany’s orphanages and mentally handicapped homes. The piles of gifts I see each year, have all been colourfully wrapped prior to being placed there. So once again, no money is ever directly asked for -- just items.

When I go to some of the shoe shops in Hamburg, outside the premises, I notice that there are special bins where customers, who have bought new shoes, can dispose of their now unwanted footwear. Any down-on-their heels passer-by, if they so wish, can dip into this bin and choose a discarded pair for themselves. Those that remain, are once again, sent off to organisations that help the homeless and the needy.

The only people who may sometimes ask for money donations from the public, are the Red Cross and the Salvation Army -- but in both cases, they are so obviously active with all that they do for their nation’s disadvantaged; the red-cross ambulances can be seen daily on the German streets, many times working alongside the normal ambulance services. The Salvation Army sets up temporary accommodation for the homeless, drug addicts and alcoholics -- their aim being to eventually help them back onto their feet and get them into decent accommodation.

The homes for the handicapped are all well maintained and funded by the government, the old people's homes are financed in the same way by its own separate tax contribution -- even the local churches have their own private funding by church members and through the same wage system; they have no need for jumble sales. Clubs or other small groups and organisations, will raise their money by holding a regular Flohmarkt -- they make their proceeds only from the entrance fees that sellers have to pay prior to selling their wares.

Other ways they have raised funds from the public, for children’s, handicapped, elderly homes and hospitals, is to set up proper regulated lotteries and prize draws -- there are several of these large professional groups who have well-organised draws every week.

Germany is by far better organised with its charity than Britain; everybody around can see it in daily operation and that it is working. Germany’s charity is not just for people in other countries, as it is mostly collected for in Britain --  Charity First Begins At Home, but it is also given, via the State, to others less fortunate, abroad. Germany also looks after many of its asylum seekers, that it allows into its country each year.

Britain’s answer to Charity at Home is a joke, and one that if it wasn’t for it also being such a sad indictment -- would be bloody hilarious at that!

As earlier described, Britain is amassed with charity organisations from tip to toe. I have only touched on a small part of it. I’m not going to mention in detail a few of the other big TV extravaganza’s, like the famous all-time Live Aid, or the annual Red Nose Day, to name but two. All very good and worthy causes I might add, but my point is -- the millions of pounds that are collected each year by Britain’s main charities, all goes abroad.

In Britain, the general attitude is, because of our fine welfare system --

“There ain’t no such thing as being poor!”

This is usually a remark made by well-salaried people, like television producers and talk-show chat hosts. Okay, its true that many of Britain’s folk may not be wandering around for miles in the dry deserts looking for water holes -- but that doesn’t mean that now and again, they couldn’t do with a little helping hand to get them back on the first couple of rungs.

I’ve already told you about Germany’s recycle centres, and other schemes, administered from both their government and local organisations that help out the local people when they are down on their luck -- now here is what they do in Britain for those very same people..,

The only Charity at Home available to the low-paid, unemployed or homeless --  is via the Government Social Security, Social Services Department, which is run by Britain’s Home Office -- the same guys behind the country’s prison system, so you can immediately savour the aroma of benevolence!

So if you take a scenario of one person requiring a simple thing like, a pair of shoes to walk the streets in, or maybe a pot (nearly said it) to boil-up a few lentils whilst in their poky bedsit. In Germany, it would be quite straightforward, but here’s the procedure that one would have to follow in UK, for them to acquire such..,

The very first thing they would need to do, is either make an appointment to see a Social Security Benefits Officer at the main department, or personally go down there, peel off a numbered ticket from the machine, and wait all day to be attended to.

When that sensational moment finally arrives, the claimant has then to shout at the top of their voice, through a thick glass protective screen, in order to be heard by the claims officer behind it. The rest of the so often called scroungers waiting in the same room, will also get to learn just how hard up they are and desperately in need of some help with certain items; such as a pair of shoes, without any underfoot ventilation holes, or a cooking pot that is larger and has a far superior handle attached to it, than a half-opened bent-back lid of an empty can of beans.

Now the claimant has first to be believed by the benefits officer; that they are not coming the old soldier and trying to drain the coffers of the State dry. I mean, they don’t give away pot n’ pans willy-nilly to all and sundry who walk in here..,

“What would happen if everybody was to march up to my window and ask me for a free cooking pot?”

Bearing in mind, that during the last war, that’s exactly what the government did; they requested folk should donate their pots n’ pans to help contribute towards the War-effort. 

Well, they demanded it really.., because if any one person wasn’t prepared to hand over their metal bedpan -- then they must be a spy or an enemy of the State. They’d drag ‘em off somewhere, lock ‘em up or shoot them slowly against a wall. In the end, they’d still make off with the bedpan, so nobody had any real choice, but to surrender it willingly!

 At that time, they were even asking everybody to hand over their front metal garden gates -- at least our guy is only asking for one small cooking pot -- so what’s unreasonable about that?

Now that I come to think about it -- I bet those wartime communities never had their cooking pots returned to them when the war was over. So it’s no wonder the government's now got a shed-full of the things that they still want to hang on to. And what’s more, I have never seen any war footage of Jerry being whopped over the head with a frying pan by a descending British red-berets parachutist, or heard of any advancing army commander stop his troops dead in their tracks and shout..,

‘What the f**k ‘you brought all them iron gates for -- go back and get your bloody machine guns!’

“Is it all right if we fix soup-ladles?”

Once the claimant has convinced the social security officer that they really do not have millions of pounds stacked away in a Swiss bank account, or they are not endeavouring to start up a second-hand pot-shop business of their own; that they are really desperate and hopelessly in need of a cooking pot -- for them, it’s just one small step away from leaping off the highest building! Then they might just be considered admittance into the cooking-pot vaults.

Bearing in mind, that if the officer should in any way, deny the application -- then there is no comeback whatsoever for the claimant; no second opinion, nor High-court of Appeal, and no going off to Strasbourg to beg Justice from the European Court of Human Rights -- not even Amnesty International are allowed to meddle with the social security’s officer’s decision.

That’s it --

No cooking pot for you mate!

But if such were to be granted, then this is still no time for them to joyously celebrate -- they still have to wait a while for the issue of their free cooking pot..,

‘We don’t keep them here under the desk at Social Security you know..,’

Is what they will tell you..,

‘Besides, only those with assigned cooking-pot authority are allowed to get near them -- you’ll have to wait for your claim to be processed, computerised and validated by our Newcastle main head office -- then checked out by the Metropolitan Police -- oh no..., that’s for a gun licence!’

So the claimant has to go away and spend a few more days cooking their lentils in a rusty old bean can, until finally -- a brown, prepaid government envelope will hit the floor under the letterbox, where one day, it is hoped, a hairy doormat may soon lie. Inside the envelope will be an official form stating where, and at what time, they may be allowed to go and acquire their full entitlement -- to be issued with a free cooking pot. They are also assigned a set period of time to go and requisite this claim, if they default -- then they have to return to the main Social Security office, and re-apply once again.

The building where the government keeps it’s Aladdin's Cave warehouse, is often unknown by all, except by the lowly misfortunate claimants. The one I visited, back in my hometown of Bournemouth, was way off the beaten track and set well back out of public view -- it would have been easier to track-down Martin Boreman.

The windows, of this large brick building, were all barred up and the main solid doors were locked tight.

So I rang the bell.

I heard a few clicking footsteps, each step coming closer by the millisecond.., and then, with a not-too frequent application -- the doors painfully creaked open, and I was greeted by an elderly woman wearing a dark blue uniform.

Entry was only permitted once I had yielded the official government document. Inside, it was very dark and all around, there were racks and racks of items; bed-linen, clothing, household items.., and yes -- lot’s n’ lot’s of distressed n’ dented cooking pots.

Despite the size of this warehouse, that had been cleverly constructed inside this normal, but very large building, this solitary woman was only one person maintaining the fort. She was a member of Britain’s well known and comfortably loved, Woman’s Royal Voluntary Service, or the WRVS.

I thought that lot had disappeared after the last war.

Note the word, Voluntary again -- it often appears alongside charity. Apart from those sitting in high places within the many charity organisations, the staff that do all the ground or front-line work with the public, are often termed as voluntary, which basically denotes, unpaid.

The Queen and Queen Mother are the Patrons of the WRVS, though I have never seen any of them down there, least of all heard  that they have ever contributed any of their old garments to the scheme. A cooking pot -- plus a crown and sceptre, wouldn’t go amiss you might say.., but at this place, you are only entitled to what you have been sanctioned; that which is clearly printed, defined and affirmed on your docket:-

One pot -- cooking -- small -- for the use of..,

And no more.

So if our guy happens to spot another item --

‘Oh.., I see you do doormats as well...’

He’ll have to go back to the Social Security building and make another application plea for his free doormat entitlement.

Britain’s Charity At Home is low-key, hidden-away and substandard, unlike it’s more renowned charity organisations, that are geared solely towards overseas relief.

Due to the fact that most of the public are unaware of the existence of these WRVS or Social Service buildings, unwanted donations will routinely go to the all charity shops and consequently, onto to the needy abroad. I have never seen any notices, nor heard any requests, that are in support of the general public to donate their unwanted items to help the WRVS or Britain’s needy. Unlike all other charities in Britain, they have no shops nor collection points around the busy main towns, and neither do they have any scratch-cards for sale in local supermarkets or shops. I was informed that they’re not even permitted to have a simple collection skip outside their premises, for the public to drop by and place in their unwanted items. I also doubt very much, if they have ever been entered, or come anywhere on the list of National Lottery receipts.

The Social Service departments, are far from being as upfront or as distinguished as the more well-known high street charities. Even for those, that it purports to provide for, are often looked down upon on with widespread disdain.

On my visit, when I  looked around at some of the items they had on offer to Britain’s needy -- I was daunted and dumbfounded by the condition that most of it was in. To me, it appeared as if it had all been succumbed from the town’s many charity shops and jumble sales -- it looked more like the rubbish they could not even get rid of themselves.

I left that place with the opinion that Britain’s Charity at Home; the social services and WRVS centre -- were the last on the list of all Britain’s charities.

Within some towns and cities in Britain, they do allow a few concessions for pensioners and students, to help pay for their bus travel, museum visits or for low-priced entrance fees to the cinema or theatre. My own mother, who is a pensioner, has a bus travel concession in one town, but is denied the same in an area adjacent to it -- so none of these concessions are entitlements, they are merely, obligatory.

My mother once told me that she had to go into town, to the main bus office, and make an annual renewal of her concessionary bus pass. I was surprised by her comment; do the  people down there really believe in all honesty, that it could be possible that one year -- she might grow younger?

In Germany, the retired, long term-sick, students and the unemployed, are all are entitled to cheap concessionary travel -- the handicapped travel for free. They are all also entitled to many other concessionary or cheaper rate privileges -- and not just in the provinces, but right across the whole of Germany.

But in Britain, where there are no concessions for those out of work or receiving low pay, being unemployed or down on one’s heels, appears as the greatest stigma of all -- almost a crime that neither warrants nor deserves, hardly any assistance at all.

From now having the experience to see how the across-the-board charity organisation’s operate in both Germany and Great Britain, my final analyses is --

For Germany, Charity at Home -- is just another fine record for them to feel very proud about.

I have always had it in my mind, and still do -- that Britain is closer to America than it is to Continental Europe, when it comes to following culture, especially with business and politics. We may be ten or more years behind them, but we always seem to get there in the end. I have always seen the USA as being a country where everybody loves a winner but has no time at all for losers -- we had a good taste of that thinking with the Thatcher/Reagan love affair.

So many times, when I hear of clicky UK companies with the big bosses and their fancy buzz words, who have no time or respect for the staff below them, and will always give them the low end of the deal -- or I hear the government say they are going to introduce a new policy that will weigh down heavily on the less prosperous level of society -- I always think..,

“I bet all these ideas come from America!”

I know we live in a capitalist world, but I just hate it when money comes way before people. I’m no economist -- but many times, I think you get the best out of folk when you treat ‘em right -- especially in employment.

From what I gather, I might be wrong -- but in America, being poor can be just as much as a crime as it seems to be in Britain, when it comes to being denied good social welfare, legal representation, housing and proper medical attention. These, and other important basic needs, have been slowly eroded away from Britain’s more impoverished classes, since the days of Margaret Thatcher -- and they don’t look like returning either.

The sad thing is, as proficient as the Germans are today on all of these deeds -- there is far more chance in the future of Germany following the American, political and business technique, with their ideas of cutbacks and streamlining to make and save money -- than of Britain ever modelling itself on the German Way.

I guess I am a bit of a humanist, but I think that any country that does not have a good social welfare programme -- well it reminds me of an old soldier’s saying..,

“Under the tinsel, lies s**t!”

Well, that’s my bit of politics for the day..,