The Kindness of Strangers

I imagine some readers might wonder after my last Blogpost: “What was your story?!” So here it is. 

 

The year was 1978. Remember that? (Laughter, as most of the audience had not been born yet). My not-yet wife and I had taught 4 and 3 years respectively at a progressive independent school, she as the school’s first art teacher, me as the school’s first music teacher. One day she looked to me and said, “I’m at the age when I’m thinking about marriage and starting a family, so before that happens, I’ve decided I want to take a year off and travel around the world. You can come if you want to, but I’m going no matter what.” “Sounds good to me” I replied and we both were granted a one-year leave from the school. And we did end up returning there and she taught for 42 years and me 45. (Applause)

 

But we had no idea back then how that would go. We were simply intent on selling my wife’s Pinto after driving it across the country to my old home in New Jersey, getting tickets on the Laker flight to London ($125 each) and beginning our adventure. We had a vague sense of our itinerary— England, Scotland, Germany and Italy (both places where we had friends to visit), Greece and then across the Middle East to India, visit another friend in Java, Indonesia and end in Japan. But everything was open and even if we wanted a more planned itinerary back then, these were the pre-internet days where you mostly just arrived in a place and walked around looking for a place to stay. Not a single advance reservation for accommodation, restaurants, trains or planes. 

 

And with $6,000 in traveler’s cheques (get your parents to explain them to you!) to last us an entire year, we mostly stayed in Youth Hostels and in the beginning touring the U.K., hitchhiked from one place to another. And so after a delightful time in Scotland, we stuck out our thumbs to head down to York in northeastern England. As we got close, we got picked up by an affable man who after five minutes of talking to us, invited us to his home for tea. Now keep in mind that not only did I have hair back then (take off my hat to laughter), but it was somewhat long and I had a beard. With our big packpacks, we were on the scruffy side of appearance and here he had invited us to his home. Where his wife and two young children, ages 3 and 5, greeted us with surprised faces. He introduced us and casually told them we’d be staying for tea and without missing a beat, they welcomed us into their home.

 

We sat for a bit talking and finally his wife called us to the table. Expecting tea cups and biscuits, there was instead an entire meal laid out. “We don’t want to impose on you during your dinner time” I remarked and they seemed perplexed that I was oblivious to the fact the “tea” in England means “dinner.”So down we sat and after, played some cribbage. At some point I suggested that we should probably get on to the Youth Hostel in York. 

 

“No need for that,” the man suggested. "You’re welcome to stay here for a couple of nights. And where are you going next?”

 

“We’re thinking about Cambridge.”

 

“Perfect!” he exclaimed. "I have a short business trip the day after tomorrow and I can take you to the junction that heads to Cambridge." 

 

The next day, my wife and I visited the girls’ school and I gave a little music class and my wife a little art class. And that’s how we spent two lovely days with Jim and Karen Bold and their two young girls in the quaint little town of Nether Poppleton. 

 

Jim drove us to the junction as promised and after a fond farewell, we stuck out our thumbs and got immediately picked up by an older gentleman. Five minutes of conversation and he said, “Well, before you go to the hostel, come stop at my house for tea.”

 

And yes, tea meant another dinner and yes, he and his wife invited us to spend the night and the next morning, she knocked on our bedroom door and came in with food on a tray to serve us breakfast in bed. Breakfast in bed!

 

It was an astonishing beginning to an entire year where we put ourselves at the mercy of the kindness of strangers and time after time, they delivered. With another six minutes, I could tell you similar stories from our time in Italy, India, Bali and Japan.

 

Back in New Jersey before we started, I noticed my parents were locking the doors when we are all inside our house—in the afternoon! But elsewhere in the world, the generosity and hospitality of people who barely knew us and had no guarantee that we wouldn’t rob them or cheat them or hurt them— and didn’t think twice about it— was a wonder to behold. It is good for us to remember this in this time when everyone is distrustful and at each other’s throats. It is possible to count on the kindness of strangers and even more important, to be that kind stranger ourselves.