Morality

It was freezing inside that church. Little Jane’s thin coat barely added any warmth to her tiny body. Her shoes had worn so thin that water seeped in when she stepped on the wet ground outside, soaking her wool tights and making her feet cold and wet. She couldn’t feel her toes.

She fidgeted impatiently as she waited for the service to begin. She didn’t really understand why they were there. Both primary five classes had been marched up to the town in the bitter wind and ice for this. She would rather have stayed in the school.

She watched as a plate filled with money was being passed around the rows in front. It grew big. It was more money than she had ever seen all together like that. £5 and £10 notes were folded and tucked under heavy pound coins. Were they made of real gold, she wondered.

As the plate got closer to her, she looked to the 50p in the palm of her hand. Money that was given to her by her mother this morning. Money intended for this plate. She stared at the shiny silver coin with it’s seven vertices, flipping it over to see the Queen’s head with her fancy crown on the other side.

Jane looked around the church. In every place that she looked, she saw something golden and fancy. Somethings expensive. She looked again to the coin and at the Queen with her expensive crown and she felt something she hadn’t felt before.

It was like anger, but not anger.

50 pence was so much money. That would buy her two weeks of lunchtime milk. Milk that all the other children got, except her, because her parents couldn’t afford it. 50 pence was at least three bus fares to school. The bus she was never allowed to get because it was too expensive. Even in winter. Even when it rained really heavy or was icy and freezing.

She looked again at that plate, which was now overflowing with coins and notes and she did start to feel angry. This wasn’t right. This church didn’t need her family’s money. Her family needed money. Weren’t churches supposed to help the poor, not take from them?? Her heart began to race as she made a decision that felt brave. She wasn’t going to hand it over.

She thought about taking extra money from the plate, but she was scared that she would be seen. There were people all around her, after all. Isn’t it stealing to not give this 50 pence though? I don’t care, she thought. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. These church people don’t need money. They are supposed to help people like us, yet nobody helps us.

The corners of the 50 pence coin were digging into her sweaty palm as she was handed the heavy plate of money. She kept her fist clenched tightly and passed the plate on to the next person. Her heart was beating so hard, but she knew she had done the right thing, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it.