I could barely understand my Geordie cab driver but I’ll never forget his kindness | Canada Voices

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The day began well. Neither the rain nor jet lag could keep me from exploring Newcastle, the northernmost city in England. Beneath the arch of the Gateshead Millennium Bridge, under a surprisingly luminous grey sky, I watched the River Tyne vanish into the fog and felt exhilarated. There was no hint of the crisis about to unfold.

My flight from Edmonton landed just a few hours earlier. I was here to help my daughter with her soon to arrive baby. But that was a few days away. For now, I was simply another grey-haired tourist, ready to explore the faded grandeur of this once-thriving industrial city.

Soon, the sky deepened to charcoal and the rain-soaked sidewalks emptied. I walked back to my hotel, stopping to pick up a few things for dinner. Arranging them on the bedspread like a picnic blanket, I opened a book and settled in for a perfectly cozy evening.

Only a few bites in, my cell phone rang. I barely recognized my son-in-law’s voice through the flurry of medical terms and ominous labour symptoms that he was firing off. But his final words rang loud and clear: “You have to pack and get here now.”

Their home was a 40-minute drive away. With my heart racing, I hauled two large suitcases down three flights of stairs in minutes and asked the receptionist to call me a cab.

It arrived instantly. When the driver stepped out to help with my luggage, I began to tremble.

“This is a life-or-death emergency,” I blurted out. “We need to get to the hospital in Durham right away.” I slid into the front seat, craving the comfort of shared company. Without a word or even a nod, we pulled away from the hotel.

In the ensuing silence, I glanced at the cabbie’s profile. His thinning hair, streaked with grey, suggested he was around my age. His expression was composed yet concerned, with his eyes fixed steadily on the road ahead. It was strangely comforting; I felt I was in safe hands.

I don’t recall how I started the conversation, but his reply left me blushing. I could barely understand a word. He seemed amused by my plight and explained – words I pieced together with effort – that even some locals find his Geordie, or Tyneside, dialect incomprehensible.

But I was eager to understand Lee, as I later learned his name. He seemed as worn yet resilient as Newcastle itself, a man moulded by his city’s turbulent history. It didn’t surprise me to learn that his ancestors had toiled in coal mines. The demise of the mines, then shipyards had left invisible scars. Despite a lifetime punctuated by crisis and privation, his eyes sparkled with the promise of a wicked sense of humour.

As I began to decipher his dialect, our conversation flowed easily. By the time we left the city and entered the countryside, I knew that fate – or perhaps blind luck – had granted me the ideal companion for this unforgettable cab ride.

It turned out that we were both proud parents of ambitious and hard-working daughters, yet we came from different worlds. My family had enjoyed generations of privilege, while Lee’s daughter was the first in his family to attend university. He glowed with pride as he told me that she was running for office to champion the social justice his family had fought for.

Our conversation ended abruptly as rush hour traffic ground to a halt. Cars lined up as far as we could see. Fear gripped me; my daughter’s condition was dire. Then, Lee – usually so calm and cautious – stunned me. In a move reminiscent of James Bond, he pulled over to the road shoulder and zoomed past the traffic.

Just as this crisis subsided, another arose. I realized I was burdened with two large suitcases that I couldn’t just tuck under hospital beds. My son-in-law texted the only solution: he would hand over the house key in the hospital entrance. There was no time for words, just a fleeting embrace before Lee started navigating Durham’s labyrinthine roads.

He found the address among an endless lines of rowhouses. Averting another crisis, he stepped out to help as I stood in the wind and rain, frantically wrestling with the IQ-bending English front door lock.

As we arrived at the hospital, for the first time, our conversation faltered. I had so much to say – instead, I looked at him in stunned silence.

His next words almost made me cry. Lee requested a fraction of the normal fee or “whatever you can afford.” I paid him well beyond the fare, with extra cash for the gas and sprang out of the cab. In a moment of clarity, turned back just before he drove off to ask for his business card.

Many months have passed since that day. Both my daughter and my butterball of a granddaughter are thriving. I don’t dwell on the dramatic way she entered the world, but I often think back on Lee’s friendship. His card remains tucked away in my wallet – a lucky charm and a reminder that sometimes, in our darkest hours, a stranger’s kindness appears when we least expect it.

Agnieszka Matejko lives in Edmonton.