My message to overpaid slickers: ’Tis more blessed to give than to receive

How many of these students, I wondered, will go on to work in business and the City, to make their fortunes, and give nothing back? What was it that moved these men to behave as they did when, today, fund-raising for universities, the arts and other causes, is so difficult?

They didn't have professional development officers and charity auctions back then, and still they gave. Now, we have a whole professional class, an entire industry, devoted to trying to divest people of a portion of their cash — and, for the most part, struggling.

Doubtless, if asked, the founding fathers would have said "aye, you can't take it with you when you're gone" or something to that effect.

Perhaps, these days, our lot think they're impervious. Existing in their shiny bubbles, served by adoring advisers, believing their own hype, awarding themselves vast sums, this crop of slickers may well suppose they're different. But they should remember Jimmy Goldsmith, James Hanson, Arnold Weinstock, Tiny Rowland huge names all, and powerless to prevent the end when it came.

And I suggest they also look at James "Jimi" Heselden. He was the British entrepreneur who died at the end of September when the Segway scooter he was riding went over a cliff.

Jimi, 62, owned Segway Inc, the maker of the vehicle. Born in Yorkshire, he left school at 15 and worked down the mines. He went on strike in 1984, and subsequently lost his job.

Heselden didn't use his British Coal redundancy money to relocate to the Costa Brava. He set up his own sandblasting business. Then, in 1990, he invented a new folding design for gabion wire cages, employed by troops on the battlefield and to shore up flood defences. His devices could be transported flat to Afghanistan and Iraq, then filled with sand or soil and turned into a "blast wall".

With his company, Hesco Bastion, he made a fortune, worth £166 million, according to the last Sunday Times Rich List. But he also gave much of it away — £23 million alone to his local Community Foundation, a record for such a gift, and a further £6 million to other projects. Two years ago, he bid £1.5 million for nine people to fly with the Red Arrows display team, with the money going to Help for Heroes.

There was, though, more to Jimi than writing large cheques. His generosity took many forms. He appreciated people and their difficulties — employing youngsters who had no qualifications and seemingly no chance of gaining employment, and older people who'd been redundant and were heading for the scrap heap. His staff were paid well. Workers who quit smoking were given £1,000 and those who performed well were rewarded with a car and a personalised number plate.

"There are people out there who are making money, and when times are good, I honestly believe people have a moral obligation to use their wealth to help others," said Jimi. "There are a lot of families out there who are struggling and a lot of youngsters who have grown up without role models and who can't get jobs. Life turned out pretty well for me, but I still work in the same area where I grew up, and every day I see people who for whatever reason are down on their luck."

His funeral last month was held not at a church but at his Segway factory. His employees and in all more than 2000 mourners attended.

Giant screens showed pictures from his life. Nearby factories lowered their flags as a mark of respect.

Think on that, bruised and battered bankers, private-equity and hedge-fund kings, and the rest.