I never saw it coming. The next think I remember is checking that my wife and two young daughters were unhurt. Only then did my knee collapse under its own weight. Our holiday car had been side swiped by a large SUV on a minor Normandy road. There were two houses at the crossroads, indeed we had been pushed through the garden fence of one of them. The car was a write off and I couldn’t stand. Within seconds a crowd had arrived from nowhere, a chair was provided for me to sit on and French mothers were clucking over my two young daughters.
Police and ambulances arrived. A toy bear in full pompier uniform was produced for my youngest. The couple whose garden we had arrived in so unceremoniously offered us their telephone no. and accommodation for the night – it was a French bank holiday and we were in a very rural part of Normandy. Another couple pressed a piece of paper with their number too, “anything you need, just call.”
The hospital was a tiny village affair, one doctor, one radiologist and three nurses. The prognosis was good, no broken bones just ligament damage. However, there was a problem, like most French hospitals they keep no braces, crutches or other medical equipment. These have to be purchased from a pharmacy. But I could not walk, we had two small children, luggage and it was a French bank holiday, plus there was no pharmacy in the small town we were in. The nurses were spectacularly helpful but they could not conjure equipment from nowhere. Was there anybody we knew who could help?
I looked at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. The telephone number was printed large and clear “anything you need , just call”. Overcoming the natural reluctance to impose on others, we asked the nurse if she could ring the number. “Oh, of course, Monsieur and Madame C, they live here in the village, nearby.”
Within 10 minutes they were there. Two charming, sophisticated people of a certain age. How could they help? Yes, of course, a pharmacy. It would be best to drive to the nearest town where there was also a tgv station for Paris. Tomorrow, we can get you on the train home. But first, any luggage you need from the car? Well. Yes there was – overnight clothes, food for my allergic youngest daughter and cameras and I pads. Fine, we will drive you to the car pound.
Of course, it was locked – it was a bank holiday. No problem. A phone call to the owner and 30 minutes later, a portly, flustered man, evidently having just left a good meal, arrived to unlock the gates. Paperwork and formalities over, they helped rescue essential items from the wrecked car while I sat in Monsieur C’s impressively brand new, and fortunately large, Renault.
The nearest town with a pharmacy and railway station, Mortagne-au-Perche, was around 30 kilometres away, but it was “no problem, we have nothing to do today.” The French, of course, celebrate public holidays like we used to – everything shuts, including pharmacies. What to do? I needed a full leg brace and crutches – I literally could not move without them. No problem, after several enquiries from locals we arrived at the town’s main pharmacy – shut, but with an emergency telephone number. Another phone call and 30 minutes later, the pharmacist arrived.
Now “we must find you somewhere to stay, there is a hotel right by the station.” On arrival, it is apparent that the hotel has been shut for many years. A drive around the town, guided by the advice of the few locals on the street, brings us to the town’s one hotel. Monsieur C enters and soon we are all settling down in a spacious 4 bed family room.
“Now for your rail tickets.” Despite protestations, that we could get them tomorrow, my wife was whisked off to the railway station, returning soon with 4 tickets to London via Paris. Monsieur and Madame C were done, even they accepted there was nothing more they could do for us. Hugs and handshakes all round. As they left, I held Monsiuer C’s hand and sincerely thanked him for all they had done for us, “It is no problem, it is normal,” he says, “No” I say “it is super-normal, we could not have done this without you.” He waved me away, what nonsense. The next day, we were back home in England by mid afternoon.
What lessons do we take from this? Well, in an age of stranger danger and apparent random acts of violence and terror, there could be no better example of the kindness of strangers. In 40 years of independent travel nearly everybody I have come across , when in need of help, has been kind and generous. There are more nice people than nasty people out there, lots more. While not being complacent, it is important to remember that most people are essentially good and will help somebody in trouble. I cannot think of a better example for my children than these two wonderfully kind and considerate people who gave up most of their public holiday to help a family of strangers. Merci beaucoup!
