A small kindness makes a big difference (London)

 

Went to the veg stall just outside Turnpike Lane Tube station (Piccadilly line) to get some ginger and other veg for my 80-year-old student and her 83-/84-year-old husband.  

    She can’t carry heavy food items (like apples and pears), so I’ve taken to getting them for her and delivering them.  

    Gives me the exercise I wouldn’t undertake otherwise, as I’m so bad at self discipline.  As a loner, I can stay at home all day, so I need the external motivation: going out to do massage and Long G (Longevitology energy adjustments) for people in pain, shopping for old people, and (during the growing season) helping out at the vegetable allotments watering and weeding.

    It was a grey-as-grey-can-get day, with a light drizzle (my iPhone weather forecast only said “Cloudy”, with no mention of rain), so I was glad that I was forced to go out for my exercise.

    In addition to the asked-for ginger, I ended up buying garlic, okra (ladies’ fingers / bindhi) and Brussels sprouts, all adding up to quite a few kilos.  Oh, plus items I’d bought a few days earlier for her: oranges, French beans and spring onion.

    Lugging my loads (one lot in the rucksack on my back, one lot in a big supermarket strong bag), I started to walk down the steps for the Tube.

    Saw an old lady (West Indian, I felt; my age or so) laboriously coming up the steps, with a big supermarket strong bag: hauling the bag up one step in front of her, putting it down on the step, then climbing the step, hauling the bag up another step, putting it down, then climbing the step.  No, she didn't have a walking stick.

    I went forward and offered to help her with her load, in spite of the two I already had.  I commented on how heavy her bag was.  

    At the top, I asked her how far she had to go, thinking I might make a detour and go with her all the way home.  She said the weight was just from the books in the bag, which she was going to drop off at the charity shop the other side of the crossroads, so I left it at that, as I had my own delivery to make.

    She thanked me, and said, “You are an angel.”  Then, she added, “You are MY angel!”

    Brought tears to my eyes.

    Takes so little to bring a bit of sunshine into someone’s heart — me making her feel so blessed to have someone come along to help, and her making me feel so useful and glad I’d decided to step in rather than just walk by.

(London, 2024)

The brain works in wondrous ways: 03 (Joseph the bus conductor) (London)

When I was living in Highbury (where Arsenal Stadium is), I used to take the No.19 or No.38 bus on the journey home. They both go via The Angel (an area not far from Kings Cross) where there is a big supermarket.  No.38 doesn’t go to my area, which meant changing to No.19 at The Angel, so I’d nip into the supermarket and do some shopping, then catch the No.19 home.

There was a bus conductor on that late (9pm / 10pm) No.19 bus — a black chap (not sure if African or West Indian) in his mid-/late-30s(??).  [I’m very bad with age: I see the soul, not the shell.]  

He always looked sad and tired: shoulders drooping, head lowered, eyes down, as he stood at the entrance/exit door.  

I don’t know what their wages were like (probably higher than my half salary as a half-post teacher), but it must be tiring working those shifts, moving up and down the bus — both decks — to collect the fares.  (Those were the days of the open back Routemaster buses, with a conductor.)

Being someone with a soft spot for the underdog (and old people), I offered him an apple from my shopping.  His face lit up.  

The next time, I asked him for his name as I offered him another fruit.  People feel less invisible and more valued if they’re remembered, and addressed, by their name, I think.  (I always make a point of asking, wherever possible.  The result is always rewarding.)  As I got off the bus at Highbury, I was able to add “Joseph” to my usual “Good night, safe journey!”  Another smile.

Thereafter, I’d get on the bus with “Hello, Joseph, good to see you!” and get a smile.  I’d offer him a fruit, and get another smile.  Then, I’d get off at Highbury with “Good night, Joseph, safe journey!”, and get a smile AND a wave.  All for just one apple!

Gone were the tired slouch and the sad face.  He looked younger, less tired, more perky.  A bit of kindness goes a long way.

All this time, he’d only say “hello” or “bye”, so I didn’t get a lot of sampling of his voice — “slightly husky” was my most vivid impression.  There was really nothing that we could talk about, anyway.  

My upbringing as a Chinese girl also means that one doesn’t talk to strangers, and almost certainly not to male ones.  It’s not really proper and befitting of a young lady to be too talkative and too familiar.  It’s not very feminine.  (It’s a sure sign of old age that I’m more ready now to talk to strangers, haha…. See blog series You know you’re old when… .)

Then a gap of at least five years without seeing Joseph.  I can’t remember now why.  Maybe because I’d moved house and started to take another route.

One day, student Abigail and I were walking along Pentonville Road (of board game Monopoly fame) from The Angel to Kings Cross.  There was a small supermarket on the way, she said she wanted to get some mineral water, so I waited just outside the entrance.  Then I heard someone go up to the doorman standing inside the entrance (where I couldn’t see his face) and ask him about something.  When he replied, my brain went, “Joseph!!”  This was without seeing his face.  I only heard his voice.

Funny how the brain registers and remembers such things, even from minimal exposure.

Yes, of course I went in to say hello and shake his hand.  His face lit up when he heard his name called and turned round to find me there in front of him.  He remembered me, too, and gave me a smile, even though I didn’t have an apple for him this time.

(London, 2002)

You know you’re old when… blog series:

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2011/12/you-know-youre-getting-old-when.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2015/09/you-know-youre-getting-old-when-02.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2015/10/you-know-youre-getting-old-when-3-london.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2018/11/you-know-youre-getting-old-when-3-london.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2020/02/you-know-youre-getting-old-when-4-london.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2021/02/you-know-youre-getting-old-when-03.html