WHEN our cousin, Joan, died, we decided to attend her funeral, to be held in Kerang, about a five-hour drive from our home.
When we realised we could travel by train, we made the decision to do so and, as it necessitated an overnight stay, I booked us into a motel in Kerang.
As we approached Kerang, we gathered our luggage and headed for the exit door, which unfortunately would not open.
Fellow travellers noticed and came to our assistance, but it was electronically locked, so one kind lady ran off to find the conductor.
By the time she arrived on the scene, the train had started to move again and we realised with horror that we would not be able to alight until we reached Swan Hill – 45 minutes away.
We told the conductor that we were supposed to be attending a funeral in Kerang, which aroused the sympathy of all the other passengers in our compartment, who offered helpful suggestions.
The consensus seemed to be that we should catch a taxi back to Kerang, and the kind lady – who had found the conductor for us – slipped us $20 towards the cost of this before we could stop her.
She refused to have it back, so we had to accept it graciously.
When we arrived at Swan Hill, I first tried Uber but, after a search, no driver could be found and, as no taxis were visible, we joined a queue at the enquiry booth to ask where we might find one.
By this time, it was becoming doubtful as to whether a taxi would get us back in time for the funeral, so, learning it would cost $150-$180 dollars, we were debating whether to risk it or just catch the train back to Kerang and miss the funeral.
The gentleman, who had tried to open the door for us on the train, now got out his wallet and wanted to give us $50 towards a taxi. We were able to persuade him not to do so but I was overwhelmed by the generosity of these wonderful people to total strangers.
On the trip back on the train, I suggested that we should go to the funeral, even though we would be very late, so that we could at least catch up with the relatives, so I squashed into the small toilet cubicle and changed into my funeral gear.
Arriving back in Kerang, we set off to walk to the funeral parlour, when a lady, whose car was parked at the station, ran after us to ask if we would like a lift.
We gratefully accepted and soon arrived at the parlour.
Getting my case and myself out of her large 4WD was a battle, but we made our way quickly into the chapel, just as the service was concluding.
We watched the coffin being brought out, then started to walk into the refreshment area, when I realised I had left my handbag in the lady’s car.
We had no idea what her name was nor where she lived, so I was in a panic in case she would not discover the bag in the back seat.
She had said she was going to shop at Woolworths so my husband hurried off to find the supermarket and try to locate her, while I borrowed a mobile phone and tried ringing mine, in the hope she would hear it, but it just rang out each time.
In between calls, I stood outside the entrance, in the hope that the lady might pass that way.
When Keith returned empty-handed, we couldn’t really think of anything else to do so we went in to greet and chat with Joan’s family.
As we didn’t know anyone else, we were just about to head off to our motel when our kind driver arrived on the scene, brandishing my handbag, which she had discovered when putting her shopping in the back seat of her car.
In one way, our trip was a disaster but what struck me most was the extreme kindness of the people we met along the way, and that will stay with me for a long time.
Sheila McAllister
Blackburn South
