When driving, my husband has a habit of always trying different routes just to ‘ring the changes’. Living where we are in rural Lincolnshire, there are often several ways of reaching the same destination. So, returning from Crowland on Saturday afternoon, heading back to Holbeach, Dougie decided to take some of the back roads, to avoid being in a queue of lorries heading up the A16 towards Spalding. Sneaking down Stonegate, Cowbit, his great idea was scuppered as the road ahead was blocked by a large articulated lorry, the likes of which he had been hoping to avoid.
As we slowed down and neared the vehicle, we noticed its Spanish registration plates and a rather agitated chap urging us to stop. In hindsight it’s a wonder our first thoughts weren’t of impending doom, becoming victims of some clever ruse to get us out of the car so he could rob us of our little bag of change we keep in the glove compartment for car park machines. This didn’t cross my mind. Instead, Dougie wound down the window:
‘Finlay Flowers?’ asked the Spanish lorry driver as his mate proceeded to wave through other drivers so they could go on their merry way.
Neither of us had heard of Finlay Flowers.
“Stonegate?”
“Yes, this is Stonegate”
“Wes….wes…”
“Weston!”, I chirped from the passenger seat. “You want the village of Weston?”
“Yes, Wes..ton!”, he smiled.
“This is Cowbit, not Weston”, I replied, before having a brainwave.
“Have you got your invoice….delivery note….bit of paper?” I asked him, in that slow, exaggerated way we Brits employ when speaking to foreigners, accompanied by ‘Give us a Clue’ style mimes, mostly describing a rectangle with squiggly lines.
Our flower delivery man rushed back to the cab and returned with a pink delivery note. As we suspected, Finlay Flowers was in Stonegate, Weston, a different village entirely, some 10 to 15 minutes away. Thankfully, due to many years of travelling the back roads visiting patients and his habit of ‘ringing the changes’ on normal journeys, Dougie knew exactly where Stonegate was. Although Finlay Flowers meant nothing to either of us, Dougie surmised that it was probably a new name for a flower/bulb storage building, formerly known as Lingarden.
“Can you draw a map?” our flower friend asked, his English being hugely better than our Spanish.
Dougie contemplated this for a moment then announced;
“FOLLOW ME!”
As the two Spaniards clambered back into the lorry, Dougie executed a U-turn in the road and we began the journey to the new Stonegate. With Rory in the back seat, issuing commands to his father to slow down or wait, to make sure the lorry had seen which road we were taking, particularly at each of the several roundabouts we had to negotiate, we lead our lorry through the roads of South Lincolnshire to his destination.
A final turn into Stonegate and we pulled up outside the building we hoped contained Finlay Flowers. As one of the chaps took the delivery note to the security guard operating the barrier, our friend came over to the car. Dougie jumped out of the car and much manly hand-shaking and arm-squeezing ensued, with relieved and joyous exclamations of ‘Happy Christmas’ from our new Spanish amigo.
Feeling very virtuous we carried on home, having done our good deed for the day.
I decided to mention it on Facebook over the weekend and was quite delighted at the reaction from people, who all agreed we had done a very generous thing and that it gave people a warm feeling, so perfect for Christmas. Dougie’s cousin, who is a florist in Edinburgh, was full of praise for what we had done, in ‘getting the flowers through for Christmas’ then wondered whether Dougie had access to a flashing light he could have popped on the roof of the car, imagining an emergency dash through the streets, leading the way for the precious cargo behind.
But such good deeds can always be trumped and this one most certainly was. My mum rang to tell me of a similar situation many years ago in an IKEA car-park in Gateshead, south of Newcastle. A Scandinavian couple (were they really shopping in an IKEA in England?) were lost, trying to find their way to the ferry at North Shields so they could get home. My dad, just like my husband, had said, “Follow me!” and proceeded to lead the couple back over the river and along the Tyne to the ferry. Unlike our gesture, which, truth be told, didn’t involve a big diversion from our route, my father’s rescue mission took him and my mum miles out of their way. They were rewarded with similar handshakes and thank yous and entente cordiale.
Just when I was feeling proud about these two warm-hearted men, my mum rings me today to say her sister’s husband, my Uncle Alan, had, just a few months ago, been asked for directions to the North Shields ferry by a couple who were lost in Wallsend, east of Newcastle. Alan had been on foot at the time but decided to fetch his car and then lead the hapless couple to the ferry.
I’m left wondering the following:
Is this just something the men in our family do?
Can you top this?
Is the North Shields ferry terminal not signposted?
Do people not have maps any more, let alone SatNavs?
Blimey, that's a long way from IKEA to the ferry!
In our family (well, husband and now teen son) we're always being asked for directions. No matter where we are, (even if we've never been before) someone will walk up to 6'4" husband or son and ask for directions. We've even had taxi drivers do the same. It's become a bit of a joke. Perhaps because they're so tall people think they can see over buildings?
I suppose people think if they are lost they should ask a policeman. If your men are particularly tall, they must have an air of authority about them.
My sat nav is more of a liability than a help. I need to get it upgraded because despite only being 18 months old, it's hopelessly out of date!
I have said 'Follow me' to hapless strangers before now, but nothing to compare with your dramatic dash over the Lincolnshire countryside to deliver Christmas flowers (awww).
Great stories one and all. Good to know not everyone is a mad axeman! 😀
I suspect the lorry driver ended up in the wrong Stonegate due to SatNav error or, at least, not choosing the right Stonegate in the first place.
Am most relieved we didn't end up being kidnapped by flower transporters.
Or maybe the women in your family just have excellent taste in men!
That's just what my mum said! I have to agree 🙂
Just like the AA and the RAC your men are the 4th emergency service.
I think I might check whether Dougie is available for HomeStart: I may have to pay a premium for that.
Lovely story and very chivalrous men in your family!
I cannot top your story, although I systematically get asked for directions, often when I am a tourist myself. A friend told me it is because I have an "open face" so people are drawn to me?! xx
Thankfully people don't usually ask me which is handy as I'm not much good, despite a degree in Geography (could never read maps very well).
I'm so rubbish at directions and have zero sense of direction (which drives the Shah wild) that I could never hope to top your story. But I do hope I meet Dougie if I'm ever lost in Lincolnshire!
I'm just the same (see above answer) but Dougie is very good generally at finding his way around. Is it a man thing?
I'm with wellfedfred (not literally you understand, why I hardly know him!)
You're quite safe with Fred. She's a woman 🙂
I do like this story… If only all of us could add a few more acts of kindness towards others in our lives. My grandparents now have lifelong American friends thanks to a similar incident of helping lost tourists in Salisbury or somewhere… 😀
Ah that's lovely to hear how things developed for your grandparents. Interesting how a small gesture can make both parties smile.
so that 4th emergency service comes through again! Lovely story 😀
Thanks Helen! 🙂
Your husband is a keeper. x
I think you're right. He's not bad 😉
I love acts of random kindness – they warm the soul of everyone involved and those who hear about them – like has just happened with this post. I must admit having once broken down on the motorway with a 1 year old and 2 week old baby on my own I now stop at every broken down car I can to see if I can help !
We need more random acts of kindness, I agree. That must have been scary, breaking down with two babies!
oh goodness, what a gem!! 🙂 x
I shall remind myself of this, next time we have a domestic in the car!
What a lovely story!
Husband can't see what all the fuss us all about. He's a bit shy.
Awww what a lovely story indeed!
Warms the cockles!
Oh i miss driving through the british villages.
So many streets with the same names. High street anyone?
Mum's gone to Weston!
Love this tale and yes we were helped last summer in Milton Keynes whilst towing the caravan – FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER – trying to find our destination and getting horribly lost, a very kind chap in a very swish car with a gorgeous lady by his side, showed us the way to the correct route.
I never had the chance to thank him as he very cooly waved us and pointed where we were to go but this post allows me to send him a thanks out to the universe again for being so nice and helping us in a moment that was very stressful.
Glad to have provided the opportunity for you to thank your good Samaritans, Mari. We forget how stressful it is to be lost in a strange town.
I saw you tweet a precised version of this and thought it was brilliant!!
What a great story
I wonder how long it would have taken them to find their destination if we had taken our usual route home that day?
A good deed is a wonderful thing….well done family.
Yes, it was a family affair. We all played a part!
I was once invited to offer my hard earned cash because some poor dab was visiting her sister who had cancer at a hospital and was in need of a fiver, or so, to buy petrol with her friend – the driver. I was in foreign climes and feigned that my understanding was somehwhat poor, especially the 'or so' bit. She promptly switched to an English that would not test a pigeon. I, as much as the next man, likes to give to charitee, however the word 'scam' was being mixed in my head with the word 'scram', heavily influenced by the fact she had a moustache.
I fear do not come up your standards of niceness to one's fellow man, however my olympic training regime was aided that day, by my drug of choice – adrenalin.