Fill up
I was driving to my aunt’s in Sussex. I ran out of petrol. I knocked on a door and the lady there gave me a whole gallon! And said ‘keep the container’. Wow!
Hospital
My husband was in hospital and when they brought the lunches around, I asked the woman serving them if I could buy something and she said no. About 20 minutes later, there was a knock on the door and the man who was also serving lunches brought me a barrier bag in which was a sandwich, apple, yoghurt and fruit juice. No charge. He had overheard me asking his colleague and took pity on me—so kind!
Wolverhampton Wonders
I was living with my boyfriend in a village near Kidderminster. Each day he’d drive me 15 minutes to a bus station in Stourbridge, where I would wait for the bus to Wolverhampton, and he’d be there again for my return journey in the evening.
I’d not been one to socialize much before university, but I soon discovered the delights of the uni bar, and the nightclubs were a real eye opener.
Our lectures on a Wednesday didn’t finish until 8pm, so we’d head to the bar after for a few beers, and I’d catch the bus home at 10pm.
One of these nights I lost track of time so had to run to catch the last bus. I knew my boyfriend would be waiting for me at the bus station in Stourbridge but in the days before cell phones I had no way of letting him know that I was going to be late. I just hoped he wouldn’t worry and would realize what had happened.
I waved my pass at the bus driver and took my seat, willing the bus to move faster, and cursing every stop.
We were about ¾ of the way into the journey when the bus pulled over, and all the lights came full on. The driver called out something, but I didn’t catch it, so stayed in my seat waiting for the journey to resume.
Everyone else left the bus and I was sat there alone. Again, the bus driver called out, but this time directed only at me. He told me, rather aggressively, to leave the bus. This was the last stop. The last bus of the night goes no further.
So, I was alone, aged 19, in an unknown town, at chucking out time. I stood on the pavement and watched the bus pull away. I had no money, so couldn’t even try to phone the bus station in Stourbridge, not that anyone was likely to answer.
I’d never been in a situation like this before. I’d not ever had to learn to look after myself. I was from a small town in Somerset, where everywhere was within walking distance, and all faces were friendly.
Here, everyone was staring at me. I wasn’t familiar with this town at all. I didn’t even know where I was. I knew I was about a 15 minute drive from Stourbridge, but how would I get there? I imagined my boyfriend waiting at the bus station in his little black Fiat Uno, wondering where I’d got to. Would he give up and drive home to get money to make a phone call to my friends? We had no phone in our home, so I couldn’t even ask to use a pub phone to leave a message.
When I saw a policewoman standing outside a pub, my heart leapt. I ran over and explained my predicament. I told her that my bus didn’t go all the way home, that I had no means of getting there, that my boyfriend was waiting to pick me up but I had no way of reaching him. In my naivety, I’d imagined that she could radio back to her station, and have them call the Stourbridge cops, so they could relay a message to my boyfriend. It seem reasonable to me. The alternative was for me to spend a night in a strange town, on a bench. The worst case scenarios had already run through my head, so I believed she would save the day.
Unfortunately, her response was, “Get a taxi”.
She walked away, and I ran after her. I wasn’t a drunk, I wasn’t aggressive. Why had she dismissed me and not even listened. I asked her, “How will I get a taxi? I’ve no money!”
But it wasn’t her problem, and she left.
I stood there on the pavement and wept. When I pulled myself together, I looked up and noticed the group of about 10 young men walking towards me. I started to casually walk away, trying to look nonchalant, but in my mind planning my next move. Before I knew it, one of the men had run ahead in front of me to block my path. I was about to run out into the road, when he spoke, “Excuse me, we overheard you talking to the policewoman. Did you say you were stuck here?”
My initial thought was that they were trying to trick me, but I confirmed that I was indeed stuck.
“Me and my mates had a whip around. We don’t know how much is here, but we think it should be enough to get you home.”
And with that he took my hand and emptied a pile of pound coins and fifty pences into it.
I looked at this young man, completely bewildered. I’d judged him and his friends so poorly, and yet they were showing kindness to a total stranger. I didn’t have any words, except, “Thank you.”
With calls of, “Take care, Miss”, and “Keep the change!” they disappeared down the road.
The fear I felt was completely dispelled, and I was left crying with relief.
If I had a time machine, that would be my destination. The fact that I never thanked them all individually, or was able to repay them, has been something I’ve often found myself thinking about.
Those chaps may have never thought about it again, but I wish I knew who they were. They restored my faith in human kindness, and are a constant reminder to me that we shouldn’t judge people by appearances. It also reminds me that the people who we think we should be able to count on, are sometimes the ones that will let us down and turn their backs on us.
But I will be forever grateful to those young men, and I’m only sad that I will never be able to tell them.
Helping hand
I was returning to my car after a busy day when I noticed a flat tyre. Feeling really fed up I got the spare out and jacked up my car replacing the flat with the spare only to find it too was flat. Really stumped and wondering how I was going to get home a friendly smiling stranger asked if I needed help. When I told him of my predicament he offered to drive back to his house and get his foot pump to see if that would help. On his return he then offered to pump up my tyre which stayed up enough to get me home. I was so grateful and thanked him over and over as I was so relieved and glad to be on my way. It was after he had helped me that he continued with his original plan which was taking flowers to his parents grave.
Mr Gooddude
I work hard, but as an artist, I don’t have much money. In fact, I was far short of cash to get 15-20 copies of my art book professionally bound. I only had money to pay for five copies, which I printed at the art university’s subsidized copy machine, which I then had to glue and bind myself. Feeling a bit defeated, I posted a video of me glue binding the spine on Instagram.
I get a message from someone I don’t know asking what size the book was meant to be. I replied. And then the same gent messaged me back saying he works in a printing and photography shop and ‘if ever there was a worthwhile reason to do a bit of printing for someone, this is probably it!’. Wow!
After a few correspondences, he sent eleven sets of the printed pages, perfectly cut to size and wrapped. I never expected someone whom I have never met on Instagram to come to the rescue with such generosity, speed and kindness.
The art book is about my journey of experiencing my brother’s sudden death, his organ donation and meeting and then losing his heart recipient five years later. Thanks to him printing the extra copies, I’m able to give copies to my friends and family who were and continues to be part of my brother’s life.
Halifax lady and scrapbook lady
A few years ago I was a full time taxi driver, which incidentally is a really good job to witness and deliver small acts of kindness. I’d always help get the shopping to the door, occasionally let deserving causes have a free ride and feel pretty good about myself for doing it.
Stupid early one Sunday morning I was waiting on Angel Hill enjoying the peace, the council had been round and cleared the debris from the night before and the pigeons were picking over what had been left. The only two souls were me and the homeless lady sat on the bench in front of the Registry Office. I haven’t seen her for some time, she used to have a camp right in the middle of the market every night, I think it was outside the Halifax. She is proper homeless, bags with bags in, 2 coats on – undefinable age. I tried to buy her a coffee one morning in Tesco garage but she didn’t understand what I was trying to do and seemed scared so I left her alone.
So we were alone, she was in my door mirror and I doubt she knew I was there. Round the corner from Eastgate Street came a lady I had known from a teaching course I failed to complete once. I was working in the prison at the time and she was delivering scrapbooking courses, one lesson was about discipline in the classroom, she had had two very disruptive ladies on one of her courses once – another lasting memory.
So scrapbook lady disappeared up Abbeygate Street. A couple of minutes later she reappeared and walked towards Halifax lady. As she got near she slowed until she was noticed. As the lady looked up she said a couple of words, gently touched her on the shoulder and handed her an envelope. She walked away before she had a chance to open it and was soon round the corner going back up Abbeygate Street – past the newsagents that she must have stopped into.
The lady with the bags was in slo-mo. The card was in her hand, she looked at the card, at the disappearing lady, at the card, at the empty street.
She opened the card, pulled out the money, read the card, looked at the money , read the card, looked at the money, looked at the corner the stranger had disappeared round. She just sat there until I had to leave, looking at the card, the money, the corner.
I will never forget it. Thank you Halifax lady, thank you scrapbook lady.