Every so often somebody rings the Hub, apologises for wasting our time, and explains that they’d love to help but they’ve “only got an hour a week”. We’ve stopped being polite about this. An hour a week is not a small offer. Last year our Golden Hours visitors alone made 3,120 visits – one hour at a time – and every single one of them was, for somebody, the best hour of the week. So here’s what an hour actually does, told through four people who give one. First names only, as ever.
Sandra’s hour: Tuesday, 3pm
Sandra, an office manager from Addiscombe, spends her hour with Bill, 81, who was matched with her through Golden Hours after his social prescriber got in touch. The format never changes, because Bill likes it that way: tea, the quick crossword, and a slow walk to the postbox whether or not there’s post. “I thought I’d be doing him a favour,” Sandra says. “Took me about three weeks to realise it was the other way round.” Bill puts it differently: before Sandra, he says, the gap between Wednesday lunch club and the next Wednesday was “a long field to cross”. Now there’s a stile in the middle of it. Golden Hours visitors commit to six months with the same neighbour – it’s the most personal volunteering we offer, and the most missed when someone’s away.
Tom’s hour: Saturday, 10am
Tom sits at the back-left table of the Level 1 ESOL class as a classroom assistant. He speaks exactly one language, which he once worried disqualified him; it turns out patience and a warm manner are the actual job description. His hour is small groups and small victories: a learner nailing the alphabet, another booking her own GP appointment for the first time, a round of applause that embarrasses everyone and delights them too. Two hours on a Saturday, term time only, crèche noise drifting down the corridor. “You watch someone get their voice,” Tom says. “Name me a better Saturday.”
Amara’s hour: Friday, 9.30am
Amara joined the food bank shelf and welcome team after her own hard year, which she mentions freely because, in her words, “that’s exactly why I’m good at it”. Her hour is teas poured, shelves faced, and first-timers spotted at the yellow door and steered gently past their own nerves. The welcome team is our busiest, chattiest role and needs no DBS check – you can apply on Monday and be pouring tea by the Friday after next.
Dev’s hours: Wednesday, 10.30am
Dev is one of our minibus drivers, which is technically four hours, but he insists the actual job takes one: “The rest is just driving.” The hour in question is the doorstep hour – helping members down their paths, stowing walking frames, saving the front seat for Derek because that’s the law now, and delivering everyone to the lunch club in a good mood. We put every driver through MIDAS training at our cost. We are, as the roles page says with feeling, urgently looking for a second Wednesday driver.
The sums, honestly
Multiply it out and the arithmetic gets a bit absurd: 316 volunteers, most giving an hour or two, added up to every meal, visit, class and lift we ran last year. There is no version of Brightside without the hours. There’s also no catch in giving one: training is provided for every role, travel and lunch expenses are covered, DBS checks (where needed) are arranged and paid for by us, and you get a buddy for your first month. Most people start within two weeks of applying – the process is a two-minute form, a cuppa and a chat, and then training. No CV, no interview questions, biscuits provided.
So if you’ve been hovering over the idea with an “only an hour” apology half-drafted – send the form instead. We’ll take your hour, and we’ll put it exactly where it changes the most.
Got an hour? Pick a role – or pick “wherever I’m most useful” and let Eleanor match you.