David Philpott is reminded of the real meaning of Charity, with a capital 'C'.
“What’ these people do here?” asked Thuc Phoung, as she sidled up next to me on the long wooden bench in the Great Hall. Her badge told me she was a ‘food service assistant’.
“They have just been to a Service of Remembrance in the Shepherd Hall,” I said, smiling to myself at the effrontery of this Asian woman invading my personal space without any cognisance that she had broken a cultural taboo.
“What you mean?” she demanded - not willing to be fobbed off with middle-England gobbledegook. “All these people have lost a child or a baby in this hospital and we come here twice a year to remember them,” I said, trying to simplify something that words can never simplify.
“Where are you from?” I asked – never afraid to delve deep into someone’s heritage and culture – especially if they are sitting so close that they are now touching me. "Me from Vietnam,” said my diminutive new best friend. “But I Chinese really.”
That’s twice in a week, I thought to myself. On Wednesday I had been guest at a private dining club at the very top of the Gherkin in London – (oh such shameless show-offery David) when I asked the Peruvian-looking wine waiter where his mother lived. “Afghanistan,” he had said - a statement that had me wondering what the chances were of him doing such a job were it not for Osama Bin Laden. But such thoughts are too deep, so back to St Thomas’s Hospital.
I am a critic of the NHS. I write about it often, rant against it in my speeches, ruin friendships on account of its sacred cows that I slaughter on the alter of truth. Every now and then though, I see beautiful things done by beautiful people in its service - one such being the lead counsellor, Mollie Cook, at Guy’s and St Thomas’ NHS Foundation Trust. Mollie had gathered together all these people – 200 in all – of diverse faiths, traditions and cultures, united only by deep, deep grief - for an hour of remembering the little lives that had been taken from us. I doubt this was in her job description and I doubt many people know that she and her team of clergy, counsellors and volunteers do it at all. This is Charity, with a capital 'C', and I was happy to take advantage of it.
As we all walked towards Waterloo Station to catch the train, I turned to my coterie of kith and kin, stomach rumbling, and asked: “Any good Vietnamese restaurants around here?”
