Wee Acts of Kindness

Glasgow traffic in the rain. Not easy for an old driver on a new side of the road.

As some of you know, I have just returned from a trip to the west of Scotland. My ultimate destination was Greenock in Inverclyde, the home of my first cousin once removed. Her dad and my grandfather were brothers. She and her husband raised their family in this historically major port and shipbuilding center. Greenock is now the administrative center for the council area and a cruise ship terminal. It was my first trip to Glasgow and Greenock and a long overdue reunion with my cousin.

It was also a wonderful introduction to my cousin’s daughter, grandsons, their partners and one wee new great grandson (as we determined, my second cousin twice removed). I was greeted with love and kindness by all, but it is not their kindness that has inspired this blog. Family is well, family. I agree with Maya Angelou who said, “I sustain myself with the love of family.”

But what brought me to the keyboard today were the numerous acts of kindness that I received along the way from the people of Glasgow, Greenock, and Oban. Here are just a few.

The first one might have saved my life.

One Way Street Glasgow

While the winter weather in the west of Scotland was far better than I feared, one of my first days in Glasgow it ‘twas “pellin’ doon” as the locals would say. I had the windshield wipers at full speed, but they were still having a tough time keeping up with the downpour. I didn’t need any further distractions added to my challenges as an American driver on the right side of the car gripping the left side of the road. Sphincter was at full flex.

As I sat at a busy intersection, I had my right-hand signal clicking away to make my next turn. Suddenly a knock came on the driver’s side window which scared me to death. With his rain-soaked face pressed close to the window, my guardian angel yelled, “That’s a one-way street mate....goooo straight.”

The light changed to green, and I followed his instructions splashing straight through the intersection without incident.

I assumed that I had been saved by a kindly-observant pedestrian. Only as I pulled away did I realize that this gentleman had gotten out of his warm, dry car behind me in traffic to run to my window with his warning.

Who does that?

My Parking Pal

After a two-day visit to Glasgow, I had one last attraction on my list as I left town for my 23-mile journey to Greenock.

I had read about the Riverside Museum and had to experience it myself. Opened in 2011 in its new purpose-built facility in Partick, it houses a wonderful transportation collection of automobiles, streetcars, locomotives, bicycles, and ships models. For a transport junkie like me, it was a must see.

The morning had dawned brightly but had spiraled into clouds and rain during my drive to the museum car park. I turned onto the crushed rock, puddle-filled lot only to find that while the museum was free, parking was not. Due to the worldwide scourge of digital parking apps, I have at least seven living on my iPhone, but alas not the one required for this car park.

With steam rising from my head, I navigated the internet to the appropriate app and went through the steps of once again baring my soul and personal information to the great unknown. When I arrived at the payment method, I hesitated but pressed on to attempt to input a credit card. After my 10-minute ordeal I hit the submit button only to have the app snap back to the starting point and ask for my surname all over again. What I said at that point is not appropriate for a G-rated blog site.

I emerged from the car and sloshed my way to the entrance of the museum.

As the automatic doors opened, I was met by a smiling, friendly museum greeter. I was neither smiling nor friendly at that point but reminded myself that this guy was just working there and not the source of my intense frustration.

“I have been utterly defeated by your parking app. What is the fine if I just leave my car unpaid?”

Smiling Sam (named changed to protect the innocent) said, “Sadly, it is currently at 50£ ($65)”

“Yikes” said I as I quickly turned to head back into the parking lot to begin app wars all over again.

Sam followed me out through the front door, and I heard him say, “Hold on there, I’ve got another option for you, Big Maaaan”

He pointed to the very end of the parking lot now barely visible through the rain and the mist. “If you drive down there, you’ll see a sign that says Buses and Staff Parking Only.” Just pull your car in there. Our cars have no stickers that indicate we are staff, so you’ll be fine parking there.”

Wow.

I thanked him and did as he had instructed.

When I came back through the door, he was still on duty and I said, “Sam, I’m gonna write a letter to your boss and tell him you are a great guy, but I won’t tell him why.”

Sam gave me a smile and a wink as he put his finger to his lips in the universal “shhh” shorthand.

Lady’s Luncheon

On a sunny but cold Friday morning I took a glorious walk along the Greenock Cut. The rural circuit takes you over wild moorland and provides a stunning view of the Clyde estuary stretching out toward the Highlands. The walk, accompanied by a 25 to 30 knot wind made a seat by the wood fire in the visitor center café a memorable sanctuary.

I struck up a conversation with two ladies who were accompanied by their beautiful English Setter and a mixed-breed Welsh Corgi. The ladies were local to Greenock, and I took the opportunity to ask for a recommendation of a good place to eat lunch. They agreed that “Scotts at the Ocean Terminal” was the best with a great view of the river and good food.

Once thawed I was on my way.

Upon arrival I was surprised to hear live music pulsing into the confines of the elevator car as it ascended to the third floor of the Terminal. As the doors opened, I was greeted by a hostess with a sad expression.

“I am so sorry, we are closed for a private event today and are not serving lunch.”

I expressed my disappointment, telling her and her approaching manager that I had come all the way from America just to eat at Scotts.

They both laughed and the kind manager took over.

“Seeing’s how far you’ve come, would you mind sitting at the bar for a drink and waiting a bit for your food? Our kitchen is slammed feeding all these ladies who are here for a charity fund raiser.”

I replied that I was already enjoying the live pop music and a beer sounded good after my walk on the Cut.

With a flourish, he showed me to a bar stool, pulled a draft of his recommended local brew, and dropped a menu on the bar for me. In what was clearly a crazy day, he took the time to accommodate a stranger and offer another dose of Scottish hospitality.

Lunch was delicious, the live auction was hilarious, and I even donated to the charity, an end-of-life cancer care facility in Greenock.

The Octogenarian Tour Guide

I was sitting in the tiny Oban Train Station awaiting my return trip to Glasgow when an elderly lady walked past me pulling her immaculate navy blue shopping trolley. She greeted me with a friendly “good day” as she passed, and I returned the greeting. When she heard my voice, she stopped dead in her tracks and asked, “from where is your accent, love?”

“I’m originally from Maryland in the States”, I replied.

“Why lovely”, she said as she sat down beside me and pulled her trolley around in front of her.

She was dressed in a lovely beige coat made from expensive wool and wore a light blue Tam O’Shanter with a matching scarf. She was an attractive lady, and you could tell that she had been a beauty at each stage of her life. Her blue eyes still sparkled, and her neat gray locks peaked out from her cap.

Her life story spilled out unsolicited.

Originally from Glasgow, she had moved to Oban in 1987 to “get away from mother and my two brothers”. She had been a teacher, but through Scottish frugality, investments, and some inheritance from her father, she was able to eventually purchase a nice retirement home on the water.

At one point in the conversation, she couldn’t think of a word and used the moment to announce her age. “Sometimes I can’t recall things, but after all I’m 87.”

The one thing that I couldn’t figure out was why at 11:00am on a Monday morning this well-dressed lady was walking through the little train station. But of course, she told me without asking.

“Do you see that metal door there?” she asked, pointing to a sheet metal rollup door at the end of the station. “That is a lovely little tea shop (my favorite in town) and I stop by most mornings for a cuppa and a chat. Sadly, it is closed today, and I don’t know why. I hope that it doesn’t mean that Ester is ill.”

After we mused on that for a moment, my new friend opened a zipper on the top of her trolley and produced three cards, each in an individual clear plastic zip-up envelope. They seemed to be color postcards with an accompanying note for each.

“Have you ever taken the ferry from here and visited Mull, Iona, and Lismore?," she asked.

I told her that I had not but hoped to on my next visit. She seemed simultaneously saddened by this news, but happy for the opportunity to tell me about each of the isles. She asked me to take a picture of her cards and her accompanying notes, and I did so dutifully.

Her verbal descriptions were priceless and one instruction I will never forget.

“There are nice beaches on the isles, but you have to be careful of the tides. You can get stranded if you don’t watch out. I have found that the best source of information about the tides is the postman. He will know the daily schedule, because he doesn’t want to take an unscheduled swim any more than you do.”

I am sure that west Scotland has its fare share of unkind souls, but I nae met a one of them.