There must be dozens of times strangers have shown kindness to me but right now I can’t remember a single recent incident which doesn’t say a lot for me. My bad!
However, the prompt did bring to mind an incident from 1984 when the MOTH and I were returning home after a weekend away at beautiful Lake Taupo. It was where we had enjoyed a week’s break while on honeymoon some years previously and brought good memories to mind.
At the time of this incident, we owned an Austin Allegro, lovingly referred to as the Ninja Turtle on account of it was an olive green and squatted low to the ground. However, it was a speedy little number and the MOTH was practising a few Ninja driving moves of his own whilst I got some shut eye.
As I dozed, the miles and scenery flashed by. All was well with the world – until it wasn’t.
The Ninja veered off the road, the MOTH wrenched at the steering wheel trying to wrest back control as the front wheel sheered itself from the front axle, the car careered ploughed through the farmer’s fence and into the paddocks.
In the minutes it took to extricate ourselves from the car several motorists had slowed to take in the spectacle before flicking gravel into our faces as they sped away. But by the time we’d dusted ourselves off and agreed our unborn baby was not harmed, another vehicle had slowed and pulled over.
Six people emerged slowly and one imposing man strolled over. I don’t remember too many details but I do remember the car inasmuch as it had four wheels and a chassis and it was in pretty poor shape.
“Car’s not too good, eh bro’,” said the Maori fella with a full face moko (permanent face markings), pointing to the front axle buried in the muddy paddock.
“Yeah, you’re right, not good at all,” replied the MOTH.
“Gonna costa lot ta get that fixed, eh bro’.”
“Yep, yep, have to get it towed,” said the MOTH.
“Maybe expensive, eh.”
“Ask her how she is. How’s the baby. She’s pregnant, yelled a Maori woman some distance away.
“Oh yeah! How’s the missus,” asked the big fella.
“She’s alright. But I have to get this car back home somehow,” the MOTH worried.
“No worries, bro, I’ll take you in to Urenui and you can get the garage to sort a tow truck, eh.”
“Um, there won’t be enough room in your car for both of us,” the MOTH said looking over at the jalopy already overcrowded.
“Ah ha, plenty of room bro, we just all squeeze up eh. No worries.”
Desperate means call for desperate measures.
When the eight of us rolled into Urenui it was to everyone’s relief. The MOTH organised a tow truck and returned to the site of the wounded Ninja while my rescuers and I continued on our way. They safely delivered me home before waving goodbye and slowly bouncing down the road.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Kindness of Strangers.”