Let the Sunshine in
I’ve just read a heart-warming article in the paper about a plumber who lives in Burnley and has now closed his profitable business to spend all his time helping less well-off people with their plumbing and heating problems.
It seems his interventions are literally changing people’s lives; the article reports how he frequently gets called out to resolve problems that have only been exacerbated by unskilled or unscrupulous tradespeople who have taken payment and left the fault unrepaired.
He works for no fee at all – aware that the people he is helping simply do not have the money to pay for repairs. In his words: ‘I’ve been on the holidays, had the nice car and eaten in the fancy restaurants. I don’t need to experience those again. It’s my pleasure and duty to help those who are less well-off.’
In my view he should join Dame V’s canon of good guys forthwith.
It is extraordinary that with so much grim news everywhere a shining example of human kindness should lift my spirits so much. Yet even a smile from a stranger can change my mood; I keep bumping into my local postmistress when nipping out to the shops; she is a smoker, and we have a running gag where if she is actually smoking when I pass by, I make a friendly comment about stopping the habit real soon, and she assures me it will be a) next week b) after her birthday c) after Christmas. I’m not holding my breath.
The kindness of strangers: I am reminded of a holiday in Spain when my son was around 18. We were in the north, in a remote rented house. We went to an informal local restaurant outdoors one warm summer evening; excited beyond belief my son ordered lobster while the rest of us had less exotic dishes planned. The lobster arrived first and we encouraged him not to wait. He tucked in happily, with the result that he had nearly finished eating by the time our food arrived.
We had barely taken a mouthful when we realised that he was in the throes of some form of anaphylactic shock. He fell off his chair and was shaking and sweating on the floor, groaning and whimpering, somewhat out of character I hasten to add. The restaurant owner took one look at him and called the local emergency services. For the next agonising 15 minutes all of us were crouched around him alternately mopping his brow and trying to shield him from the other diners, aware that his behaviour was hardly conducive to a relaxed meal, but terrified of moving him.
The paramedics arrived, got him onto a stretcher, took him into a mini ambulance, and gave him a massive shot of adrenalin. I am not sure whether my relief at seeing him return to normal was primarily due to the knowledge that he was out of danger or the fact that we were no longer a source of acute embarrassment to the restaurant.
Despite my son’s apparently miraculous recovery, the paramedics insisted we took him to a nearby small hospital to be checked over. Some of the party returned home, and the anxious parents drove him to the hospital. I there experienced a waiting room like no other I had seen before. As we walked in, feeling rather foolish with an apparently perfectly healthy teenager, each group of people greeted us cordially, smiled and asked if we needed any help. My Spanish is passable, but my son’s is excellent, so soon he was chatting away to people happily. At that point I realised the experience had taken more of a toll than I’d realised. Their kindness let the sunshine in.
Postscript: we never found out what caused my son’s collapse.
The heart cockles are well and truly warmed by this article, Barbara!
The kindness of strangers has never been so valued.
Thanks Joyce!
Dame B