My first fundraising job was at a very small charity and I was the first fundraiser it had had in its 70 year history.
When I arrived I sat through various inductions with different staff, and asked them what they knew about our donors. As the days went on, I realised that the charity was lacking in-depth knowledge about its supporters – who they were, where they lived and how they liked to donate. And I saw this as an opportunity.
A few weeks went by and I asked how our donors were thanked. I was shown the emails and letters that the charity sent to supporters and felt it was not very special – it often was an automated message stating the amount given and a brief sentence below saying thank you.
Sorting out my thank you cards.... #fundraiser pic.twitter.com/M012Sd3aPn
— Laura Croudace (@alwayscolour) September 26, 2015
I thought that our supporters would want to receive something more personal so I called as many as I could and wrote to more than 300, thanking them, in bright fountain pen ink.
After a few weeks I started receiving letters, with donations. The donors were writing to thank me, for thanking them. There is one that I will always remember – a letter from a lady called Mary thanking me, with an enclosed cheque for £750. I was so moved that I wrote back to her. In the letter I explained how her donation would be used.
Three days later, Mary sent in another cheque for £1,250. I felt wracked with worry. I kept asking myself “What do I do with this cheque?” and “What if Mary had a neurological disease, such as Alzheimer’s, and didn’t remember sending me the first donation only five days prior?” I had visions of Mary’s care workers going into her house and seeing all my thank you letters on the mantelpiece. Perhaps they would think that I was some kind of money-grabbing monster.
After a week of trying to work out what I should do with the cheque, and trying to find more information about Mary through social media and online records, I discovered that she was in fact a high-flying lady in her 30s who cared deeply about our cause. I banked the cheque and photocopied and framed Mary’s letter as a reminder that the action I had taken was the right thing to do.
Since then the letter has become my moral compass, and I look at it on a daily basis. When working at a larger charity, which had many more supporters than my previous organisation, I have tried to maintain the attention to detail and caring nature I started out with as a sole fundraiser.
Colleagues have sometimes joked that I care too much about donors, and a couple of them decided to nickname me Bob (after Sir Geldof in his Band Aid years). When they comment, my reply is always: “A fundraiser can’t care too much, because the donors care so much about what our charities do” – often it’s a penny-drop kind of moment by the look I often receive in return.
* Names have been changed.
Confessions of a charity professional is the Guardian Voluntary Sector Network’s anonymous series where charity workers tell it how it is. If you would like to pitch us an idea, click here.
