What I got wrong and what I learnt through volunteering as a child

My first day volunteering

Filled with nervous excitement, I spent the whole car journey to St Pio’s soup kitchen imagining

what the day would hold. At 10 years old, this was the first time I’d be helping alongside adult

volunteers, and I’d already decided my job would be simple: making soup, maybe sandwiches.

After struggling to find the actual entrance, marked only by an inconspicuous, handwritten paper

sign listing opening times, we were eventually greeted with wide smiles and hurried into a flood

of voices, laughter and a steady smell of coffee.

In the kitchen, five volunteers worked confidently at their stations (one stirring a huge pot of

pasta, another cutting cake), somehow organised comfortably into a small space overflowing

with crates of donated food. I remember worrying if my presence would cause more hinderance

than help. Whatever rhythm they’d found, it seemed to have been perfected over years.

Desperate to be helpful, I asked: ‘What would you like me to do?’

Barely heard over the noise, an older volunteer told me to take the biscuits out of their packets,

put them on a plate, hand them round, and go find someone in the next room - Linda? Lisa? I

hadn’t quite caught it, so I focused on arranging the biscuits instead, and didn’t think to ask

twice.

Cautiously, I carried the plate into the next room and discovered the faces behind all the noise.

Homeless visitors and volunteers sat together, consumed by conversation - listening, laughing,

engaged with interest.

Aware that I’d been tasked to hand round the biscuits, I felt a flush of embarrassment as I

struggled to tell who was volunteering and who had come for help.

However, as I moved through the room, dipping in and out of conversations, I realised it didn’t

matter. The line between helper and the one receiving help had been blurred - purposely,

intentionally forgotten.

At the end of the day, a volunteer explained why.

Their mission went far beyond addressing physical hunger. Yes, of course, that was often what

first brought someone through the door. Yet, the real work involved building a space where

connection and community could grow, where shared laughter and dignity created a sense of

belongingness strong enough to break the cycle of social isolation that so many who visited

carried with them daily.

The lessons I learnt through volunteering

When people ask me why it’s so important for young people to volunteer, I think of days like this

one.

If I hadn’t witnessed the power of meaningful conversation within an environment of equality

between people, I’d probably still believe that soup kitchens exist only to hand out as much food as possible, or that visiting a care home is just about making someone’s afternoon a bit brighter.

Of course, those things matter, but they’re not the whole story.

What I learnt that day, about perceived isolation, about listening without judgement, about the

sense of belonging, wasn’t something anyone sat me down and explained.

It was through witnessing the joy that conversation brought to both others and myself, that I truly

came to understand the meaning of being a volunteer.

That’s exactly what TimeGivers is built around: giving children the chance to discover for

themselves that volunteering runs deeper than the task in front of them, by letting them feel,

first-hand, the difference they can make by giving their time to their own community.

The time you give doesn’t end when the task does. The impact you make continues to linger

after you leave. Whether they realise it or not, each child contributes to strengthening a

community, forms meaningful connections, breaks cycles of isolation and sparks a quiet

confidence in their own agency and power to make a difference. That confidence and desire to

continue helping others only grows as they do.

This is why volunteering as a child matters, and why it should always be a natural part of

growing up.

TimeGivers Volunteer Writer: Evie Tempest | September 2026