I had to fight not to lose control of the car. I was in my early 20s and driving home from a fancy dress party when bang – my tyre suddenly blew. I managed to wrestle my Toyota Corolla to a stop without crashing and sat there, heart pounding, as I wondered what to do next.
It was 1982 in Canberra; a foggy, bitterly cold night in the middle of winter. I was wearing a silly flapper dress and high heels – I’m not sure I’d even packed a jacket! I had a spare tyre in the back, but little idea how to change it. My options were to make the one hour walk home alone or wait to see if another car passed and could offer me a ride. For 30 minutes I sat in the driver’s seat helplessly, unsure what to do.
The roads in Canberra were always empty at that hour. There was nothing in the way of public transport and taxis were rarer than hen’s teeth – New York City this was not! So it felt heaven sent when I eventually saw a taxi approach, light on to signal it was available.
I flagged the taxi down and asked for a ride home, explaining that I’d call a tow truck and come back for my car in the morning. He had another idea – and offered to change my tyre for me.
So in the middle of a freezing winter’s night, this cheerful, older taxi driver hopped out to change my tyre. He waited to see me drive off safely before leaving and refused my offer of payment for helping. I believe his words were: “Don’t be ridiculous, love!”
If I ever see that taxi driver again, I’d love to give him a great big hug.
