'WE would like to give a donation . . .'.

Welcome words to anyone who has a hand in raising money for the R.N.L.I., and we hear them often at the various functions arranged by ladies' guilds, branches and stations all over Scotland. As we are a voluntary organisation, depending on the generosity of the public, we make our appeal by holding coffee mornings, whist drives, raffles, and—for sheer grind—sales of work.

Many boatsheds are open in summer with the life-boat on view, and R.N.L.I.

souvenirs for sale. At the same time, discreetly but strategically placed at the door is a large collecting box, usually a replica of a life-boat, and every weekbrings in a harvest of coins. Occasionally we rejoice at the inclusion of a banknote, but we never cease to be amazed at the number of pounds raised in pennies alone.

Then we get our touch of glamour at the annual dinner dance, life-boat ball and the odd champagne party. Add to this the many personal efforts by enterprising folk, and at the end of each year we find that once again we have the money to keep the life-boats sailing.

ASKED FOR HELP Almost by accident, my husband and I found a different way of adding to the funds. It happened that our organising secretary was unable to supply a speaker for a church guild in our area, and she appealed to us to help out. The rockets calling out our crew could not have caused more alarm! Our bleats of protest—• 'We've never done this before' availed us nothing. It seems in the R.N.L.I. 'there is aye a first time'—and this was it. We agreed then to answer this unusual call to duty and determined to make a job of it. As my husband has been a lifeboatman for 20 years or so, and is now a coxswain, all he had to do was sort out some of his experiences (grave and amusing) and somehow 'put it over'. Off we sailed, at a laggard couple of knots, but full of resolve. Also HQ had sent a set of slides which any novice could commentate on.At the sight of the packed hall the speaker's face was seen to pale visibly.

So did mine. The minister kindly offered to manipulate the projector and I fancy he soon regretted his offer, for the coxswain launched out into the commentary at a cracking 15 knots, and the poor man had to rattle the slides in at such a rate that he never had time to loosen his collar or mop his brow. I was in a cold sweat—feeling that it would all be over before the late comers could squeeze in. Then, as my husband began to speak of his experiences in the Anstruther life-boat as a member of her crew, I saw at once that this was making good listening, and he was holding his audience. He also held my attention as I realised the story of R.N.L.I. rescue work is worth speaking about. Apart from a couple of amusing mistakes, which rocked his audience, he was a success. Our great thrill was then to see a spontaneous collection taken up, and handed to us for R.N.L.I. funds.

That began it. In no time we were 'On the circuit' as R.N.L.I. speakers—and, we hoped—fund-raisers, for a gift of excellent slides from one of our R.N.L.I.

men in Anstruther, followed by a gift of a projector and screen from my husband, gave me the necessary tools. The slides are of The James & Ruby Jackson and our present boat The Doctors, and it is a great pleasure to show them and to tell their story. We go out as a team—but if duty calls the coxswain to sea, then his mate just has to sail off on her own.

SPLENDID SUPPORTERS For my part, I have tackled young mothers' clubs, speaking against somewhat fierce opposition from the younger ones. I have learnt to 'keep the heid" but raise the voice. The young mums are splendid supporters.

Occasionally an outstanding experience comes along as it did to me when I spoke at a large primary school in one of our new towns. They were doing a project on 'Fish and Snips', and the R.N.L.I. was included. With my son's model of The Doctors and my doll dressed as a life-boatman, I found myself facing a lively audience loaded with some very pertinent questions. We all enjoyed it—then the children held a 'mums' and grannies' day' to raise cash to visit the life-boat. Two bus loads—and that was a memorable day for the honorary secretary, mechanic, myself and our engineer inspector who happened to be on the spot. They gave the R.N.L.I. a donation from their takings. Catch 'em young! My pleasure came on reading over seventy 'thank you' letters from the bairns. Here are some extracts: 'Mr. Jack is Cockroach in the Life-boat'. 'Cum again. You made me forget it was Monday.' 'Thanks for helping me with my "Fish and Chips" project.' 'I hope the life-boat doesn't get a dunt from a big wave. It would turn over.' VERY PROUD All this is the pleasurable side of speaking. We hope to raise funds, but being slow at the actual asking, we try a few discreet hints during our talks, hoping for a spontaneous collection, a donation, or to be remembered when funds are allocated. We always acknowledge everything with thanks and are very proud to have joined the many people who go out to tell the story of the life-boat service. Our ambition is to have someone come up and say, 'I'd like to donate the cost of a life-boat' (well, an IRB isn't too pricey). Whether it's a boat or a few bob, it will be received with thanks and gratitude.

Our warm thanks to all the organisations which have welcomed us. To those who may yet invite the coxswain and his mate, we shall be happy to come—-and meantime it is 'two lumps, please' in that welcome cuppa..