Days Like These: British Rail Included

I'm very much of the mindset that things happen for a reason. Call it fate, call it what you will, but when something unexpected happens to interrupt my day I try to look past it (however difficult that is) and look at the situation from a distance. More often than not, something else occurs during the day that I hadn't anticipated. Whether it came from 'fate' or whether something at the back of my mind ground into action because of the delay and reminded me of something in particular, I don't know. I've just come to let my anger and irritation wash over me as best I can when something goes wrong.

However, today completely baffled me.

I was due to attend a group meeting in Sheffield at half-past nine, the official start to my Ph.D. To be cautious I decided to get a very early train because I wasn't certain where I was going. All fine so far. But as we trundled to a stop before Sheffield I began to feel this wasn't going to be so easy. Sure enough, there was a blanket signal breakdown - no trains going north or south. Not to panic, I sat patiently on the floor (this was a British train after all and whoever heard of getting a seat?) and read Wilkie Collins. The guard then announced we were being allowed into the nearest station where we could switch to a tram to get into Sheffield itself.

Fine. I jumped at the chance. At first the tram was a little crammed with all the passengers from the train but we got comfortable and moved along. Then at the next stop we were packed in like sardines. Suddenly I had five people intruding on my personal space while my left arm gripped tightly at a bar just out of easy reach. When we finally reached the city centre I was forced to spill off the tram with everyone else. Then came the next problem: I had no idea where I was.

At least I had some idea of geography from the train station to the university. As it was, I stood in the middle of town squinting and checking my watch. I had to get moving and just began walking upwards through the shopping precincts. I was exhausted, hungry (having intended to grab breakfast while I meandered up to the uni at my own leisurely pace) and extremely nervous. Of course, I had no choice: I had to keep going and to do that I had to keep focused on my goal. Luckily for me, Sheffield has maps dotted around so with a bit of logic first thing in the morning I made my way to the university. (As an aside, if I ever learn the name of the idiot who decided to build it on a huge hill I'll scrawl all over their portrait in black marker pen.)

I made it in time. I even managed to look human while I sat panting in the enormous lecture hall. Once the speeches kicked in on what to expect I was ready to tune in and I suppose I was relatively calm. Having thrown all my efforts into getting there I hadn't had a chance to do my usual work-myself-up-into-a-nervous-frenzy trick.

So was that the point? Was there a point? A while ago I blogged about the coincidence of meeting familiar people in unfamiliar locations. The more I think about it the more I believe some things just are meant to be. As both a human being and a writer that's a worrying thought.

Still, I haven't grasped the point of my other adventure today. Three pharmacies didn't have my prescription, forcing me to walk about like a zombie waiting to be placed delicately back in the grave. What was the point of that one?

I just have to take comfort in the fact that days like today can provide the backdrop for a story. At least, that's what I was thinking when I began chuckling aloud on the packed tram... much to the concern of the other commuters.

The Kindness of Strangers

It was Blanche DuBois who always relied on the kindness of strangers.

A popular theory is that Blanche was delusional – strangers don’t exhibit kindness and, if they do, it’s certainly not for the right reasons. Just think, if your protagonist suddenly began depending on strangers to help her through a tricky situation you’d believe (and your reader would believe) that you were just trying to get out of a sticky situation by using contrived means. I would’ve said the same myself on Friday but I had an experience over the weekend that reaffirmed my belief in the kindness of human beings.

Note for future reference: piggy-backs on beaches with very shallow pockets should be avoided if at all possible.

It was sunny. We were frolicking on the beach; running around, paddling in the North Sea till our feet turned blue. Then on the way back to the car I checked my pockets. The one thing I’d been carrying was missing: my mobile phone.

I panicked; no other word for it. Irrational as it might seem for a twenty-two year old I was petrified about what my father would say. The better half convinced me it was in the car and we went back up the hill expectantly. It wasn’t visible but he said it was probably in there anyway. I left him in the car park and went back down to search for it myself, mindful of the fact the tide was coming in.

I’d been wandering around for maybe twenty minutes when I gave up hope. I’d combed a good stretch of beach and if it was beyond that… well, a fisherman would probably catch it in his net and serve it up in batter. As you do in such situations, I tried to think up reasons why this wasn’t my fault. Then, as I walked slowly up the beach one last time I was approached by three teenagers.

My initial feelings weren’t what you’d term positive. Then they asked me if I’d lost a phone. My relief was palpable. They explained that they’d found it down near the water and had sent my dad a text to tell him they had it and would hold onto it until he could pick it up. The fact my father was a hundred miles away was neither here nor there. The very idea that they’d had the foresight to send that message and didn’t just pocket the phone was amazing to me. Added to that, they’d actively been looking for me.

I walked off eternally grateful. However, it struck me afterwards that if I’d tried putting that incident in either my novel or a short story the reader’s imagination would probably have been tested. We don’t believe in human kindness anymore. The idea that a possession would be returned by such lucky means is laughable.

This realisation does make writing fiction a tad tricky though. How are you supposed to write honest coincidence, honest good fortune? If everything has to have a plausible route and outcome (as I mentioned last week) then where does human kindness and their unexpected natures come into things?

I’m not sure myself.