Esther Rantzen writes on the inspiration and motivation for her giving.

“There are those who give to huge, ambitious causes, and I respect them. Richard Curtis sets out to make poverty history, Bill Gates aims to save the world from disease, and there could be no higher ideals. But for those of us who lack their vision, their resources and their renown, it may be more practical to support small niche charities. And personally I prefer them.  I suppose it’s in my genes.

I was born into a matriarchy; my beloved maternal grandmother had four daughters, all of whom were passionately devoted to helping very specific causes. My aunt Jane, my wonderful godmother, was a probation officer working with children and young people. My aunt Marion, the wise guide and mentor of the family, supported the patients of a psychiatric hospital. My aunt Nancy, who became not just an aunt but also a dear friend, worked in a settlement in the East End. My mother Katherine until she was almost 90 was a governor of a children’s day nursery in Tower Hamlets; it is there to this day. Mother had a way of raising money for them with a bric-a-brac stall which miraculously converted rubbish begged from her friends’ lofts into gold, admittedly very small amounts of gold, but it all added up. So not only was she a philanthropist, but come to think of it, she was also a recycler before we had ever heard the term. These four women created the framework of our family, so the idea of service was part of my family’s DNA.

I can’t remember exactly why I decided in my early twenties, with a group of friends, to create a charity, The Out and Abouts, offering meetings and outings to disabled people. It taught me so much. Climbing the heights of local tower blocks I learned how terribly isolating disability can become. For some of our members our meetings were literally the only moments they spent outside the prison of their homes. Things have improved since then, but there are still unseen, unheard prisoners. Now I am a patron of Vitalise which offers disabled people and their carers holiday breaks, I take their message wherever I go, that respite is vital.

In my late twenties I  became aware of child abuse,  partly through the horrific stories that throughout my life-time have burst into the headlines, and partly because Aunt Marion’s youngest son, my cousin Roger, rang me one evening to ask me to visit some children in residential care. He was working in a children’s home in Camden. I was a very new television reporter, and I warned him that I had such an erratic working life that it might be difficult to visit them regularly. He brushed my worries aside. “Come when you can, Esther, at the moment they have no-one to remember their birthdays, to take them out to tea, to wish them luck at exam time.” I visited them for seven years.

From those children I learned another crucial lesson which has stood me in good stead ever since, that you always get back far more than you give. I still remember the fun of our Christmas lunches, the trips in a friend’s battered sailing boat, the teas of egg and chips at the end of an outing. Years later I met one of the boys and he told me that a male worker in the home had abused 10 of the boys there. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked in shock.   “Because”, he said “The times we spent with you were the only happy memories of my life, and I couldn’t bear to spoil them.”

I rang my cousin Roger when I got home and he was as shocked as I was.  “Why didn’t we guess?” I asked him. “Because that idea wasn’t even on our horizon as a possibility,” he said.

It is now. In 1986 after one edition of the consumer show That’s Life! we opened helplines for the children in our audience, and the lines were jammed with children disclosing abuse who had not been able to ask anyone else for help. Clearly they too were living in a prison, condemned to silence by fear and shame.

That discovery gave me the idea of starting ChildLine as a helpline that could be permanently open 24 hours a day, every day of the year. Since then two and a half million children have been helped, ChildLine has been copied in 150 countries around the world, and it has become the centre of my life.

Indeed, it has changed the whole fabric of my life. Because of my work with ChildLine as a volunteer counsellor, trustee and fundraiser, many other niche charities regularly come to ask me to help by speaking on their behalf, making contacts for them, offering them support and advice.

So now I am working daily to support charities working with disabled children, hospices, schools, anti-bullying charities, ranging from Hearing Dogs for Deaf People to The Red Balloon learning centres which recover badly bullied children.

All are niche charities that do exactly what it says on the tin. Is this philanthropy? If that implies sacrifice on my part, or altruism, or unselfishness, no. The reverse is true, my motives are selfish, for I have received so much more than I have ever given. By donating my time, and such skill and experience as I possess, although the knowledge I have gained is sometimes painful, the rewards are fantastic.

I often recommend people, particularly retired people who have the time and the skills to offer their services to the voluntary sector. It’s never too late. Hillel put it best two thousand years ago, “If I am not for me, who will be? If I am only for me, what am I?  If not now, when?”

http://www.childline.org.uk