Archive for September, 2016

img_5622Last week there was an item of news that caused chuckles all around – a French fellow in New Zealand had lost his temper after hitching by the road in a small village, and failing to get a lift for four days. You’d think that after a while (30 minutes? Several hours?) he might have figured out that he wasn’t standing in the best spot, and changed location or tactics accordingly. I heard several seasoned hitchhikers on the radio talking about the best techniques, and how successful they had been over the years (and citing New Zealand as one of the best places for it). It got me reminiscing.

I first visited Orkney in the late 1980s, whilst I was at university. I had a new boyfriend (recently rediscovered on FB…. *waves*) who had been before, and I had just started a course in Orkney history. We were typically impoverished students. If my memory serves, we got the train to Inverness, spent the night in Inverness station, then took a bus to Thurso. We walked (laden with rucksacks, sleeping bags, tent, camping stoves) to Scrabster and sailed as foot passengers to Stromness. The bf had brought a map and the knowledge of one-who-had-trod-these-shores-before. I brought enthusiasm and a tin of Golden Virginia. We were sorted.

The pair of us had only a few days to see Orkney, and we were hampered by having no car and very little money. To save precious cash we rough-camped (always with permission), ate Primula cheese at every meal, and hitched from one place to another, meeting some great folk along the road. For various reasons it was a truly memorable trip, but my greatest and fondest memory involves going across the barriers. We had got ourselves to the Italian Chapel (and oh, how I envy those seeing it for the first time!), and were planning on spending the night at the tip of South Ronaldsay, before boarding the John O Groats ferry the next morning. On Lamb Holm we hoisted the backpacks and stuck out the thumbs. Within a few minutes we had our ride – a battered, rusty, yellow Ford Fiesta, windows jammed shut with newspaper, already occupied by three people and a boisterous collie dog. The young lady who was driving somehow managed to cram the two of us and our packs into the already crowded car, and off we went. ‘Where’re ye gaan?’ the lass said. ‘The Tomb of the Eagles’, we replied. And she drove us all the way there. Only as we were approaching Liddle Farm did we discover that the lass actually lived in the ‘Hope, and had gone far out of her way to take us to our destination. ‘Oh,’ we cried, ‘there was no need’. ‘Well, it’s worth seein’ and I wouldna have wanted ye tae miss it’.

Our hitching adventures in Orkney were so successful that I vowed there and then that if I ever got a car, I would pick up hitchers wherever I could, in order to pay back the kindness that I had experienced. In the years that followed I have tried to honour the vow, although the number of people hitching on the road has fallen away to almost nothing.

One evening a couple of weeks ago I left work at 6pm as usual, and drove out of Kirkwall. It was raining hard and I was tired and eager to get home. Just after the Ayre Mills roundabout I passed a trio of hitchers laden with soggy rucksacks. I shrugged and gestured at my tiny car, already packed with bags and boxes and other detritus. ‘No room, sorry,’ my shrug attempted to convey. I drove on. Then my inner voice kicked in……I turned the car at the next opportunity, and went back to get them. Two lads and a lass smiled gratefully as we attempted to squeeze three huge packs and themselves into a Mini One. It was a squash but we got everyone crammed in eventually, and set off. I discovered they were from Spain, and were all studying archaeology, specialising in Egyptology. They were off to see Maeshowe (from the outside), from where they were planning to walk up to the Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar. It was only a little out of my way, so I took them to Tormiston Mill. As they eased themselves and their luggage out of the car and we waved our goodbyes, the rain eased off a bit.

We all like to think we are good people, yes? I mean, when we are watching a film, or a great TV programme, or reading an amazing book, we are urging on the protagonist to great things, (mostly) safe in the knowledge that they will do the right thing, make the selfless decisions, be the better person. If they fail, we are disappointed. And we are generally confident that if that had been *us* in that position, we would, of course, have taken the right path, been a good, kind person. But it is so much harder in real life! Last week, you might have thought about sending a message to a friend who you knew was having a difficult time…..but the phone rang and the dog needed walking and the thought never became action. You may have passed an acquaintance in the street and not stopped to chat – you were busy, you had a meeting, there would have been some reason why you didn’t. A good reason. It’s not always easy to do the right thing; most of the time we don’t even realise we have missed the chance.

And so, following the car u-turn, I am trying to be a better, kinder person. I am in distress about a lot of what is happening in the world, and I don’t have the strength or energy to deal with it, so I largely avoid it. But after the EU referendum (when I spent a lot of the following day on the verge of tears), a friend said that the way to help the world was through kindness. Her words echo those of Roald Dahl, whose 100th birthday we are celebrating this year; ‘I think probably kindness is my number one attribute in a human being. I’ll put it before any of the things like courage or bravery or generosity or anything else…. Kindness – that simple word. To be kind – it covers everything, to my mind. If you’re kind that’s it’.

I’m a selfish person mostly, and I look in wonder and admiration at my friends who show generosity and grace under pressure. They are an inspiration. I might fail at kindness a lot of the time, but I am trying hard to recognise the opportunities when they arise. It’s got to be worth a shot. So if you seeing me driving by, stick out your thumb – I might pick you up!

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