Trains, Planes and Compassion

Sometimes a lot of pain and suffering can be taken away with a kind word or thoughtful deed—even when the two (trial and solicitous service) are not connected in any way. A trial loses its sting when tempered by someone’s charity. 

I recently learned this personally when my husband and I had one of those “worst days of your life” when everything went wrong; then, a compassionate act made at the end of the day seem a funny tale to tell instead of a bitter memory.

Ed and I were on a once in a lifetime, 50^th year anniversary family history trip to Europe. Our schedule was as tight as a rubber band, with no time for error or waste. We were traveling from Manchester, England to Dublin, Ireland on a Sunday morning early morning flight. We had been traveling on the train a lot on our trip, including into the Manchester Train Station. We knew that the train went from Manchester to the airport about every five to ten minutes, so we arrived at the train station about two hours earlier than our flight was due. It was a short trip on the train to the airport and we thought there was no problem. 

However, we didn’t realize that on Sundays the trains only run every 45 minutes to an hour, and we’d just missed the last one. We still didn’t worry. However, when the train we were on had engine problems, we began to worry. Normally the distance between the train station exits and airport entrances were close or had shuttle service, but not in Manchester—it was a long, winding distance between them. As we finally reached the airport, we saw taxis dropping people off right off at the airport gates that had taken us ages to reach. Ed said, “We should have taken a taxi and been here hours ago.”

We contacted handicapped assistance which we had arranged for in advanced in all the

airports because of Ed’s emphysema and lung transplant which makes it difficult for him to walk fast or very far; they had no record of our requesting it, but they said they could arrange it. That took longer. By then we knew we’d missed our flight and we had. 

They booked us on the next available flight to Dublin which was 12 hours later and would cost us $360. What choice did we have? Nothing more fun than hanging around an airport for 12 hours. What they didn’t tell us was that there was a lounge especially for handicapped passengers where we could have sat down in comfortable seats, at least. So we walked around with our entire luggage and stopped in at cafes for hours. Ed had had problems at times on our trip with nausea and this was one of those days. So he didn’t dare eat anything and only sipped at bottled water. He read from my kindle and I read my kindle book on my tablet. It was one time it came in handy to have both. 

Finally it was time we could check in our luggage anyway, and not be burdened down with it. We went back to the gate and they weighed our luggage (which I had used my portable weight to keep it down to .4 kilos within the 20 kilo limit). Then they informed us that this airline only had a 15 kilo limit (and only 8 kilos for carry-ons) so our luggage (which we had paid for in advance) was overweight and would cost us $150 each more for overweight charges. We left the gate and were wondering what to do when the lady at customer service suggested we go downstairs and purchase a small $15.00 duffle bag in one of the gift shops. It folds up into the size of 12 inch book and yet holds a lot. We could then put the five kilo excess luggage from each of our bags, plus, our excess carry-on in it and pay for an extra bag, which was less than $70.00. We did that and rearranged our luggage. We must not have been the only people unprepared for the unusual weight limits as there were long shelves there for “repacking and rearranging luggage.” 

Finally at 8:00pm, we climbed aboard a small airplane and headed for Dublin. The seats were so close together that although Ed is a small person, his knees were touching the seat in front of him. Ed was finally so weak from not eating that I was happy when he ate some crackers and did not get nauseated. 

As we disembarked at Dublin, we asked if there was someone from Handicapped Assistance to put Ed in a wheelchair and take him through the terminal to the exit. Everyone we talked to said, “No.” Finally after everyone departed the plane, and no one was left, we began the trek through the long, lonely, deserted terminal. For some reason (probably his weakness), Ed was having problems with walking very far with stopping to rest. Even though he leaned on my shoulder to balance and make it easier to walk, I began to count in my head, walk 10 steps, rest; walk 10 steps, rest. It took us well over an hour to get to customs, who barely looked at our passports and waved us through. We never saw anyone who could help us or who we could ask for Handicapped Assistance.

Everything was so deserted.

At the luggage carrousel our luggage had been taken off and placed by customer service so it was easy to pick it up and get a taxi to our hotel. 

It was about 10:30pm or later when we arrived at our hotel and we were totally exhausted. We had gotten up at 3:30am to get ready for our flight and with all the problems, we were emotionally as well as physically wiped out. I was relieved to find we still had a room (I was waiting for some last cosmic jinx that had somehow interfered with it). 

We got our keys and were ready to go, when the manager (who was having trouble

speaking English) said, “Wait. We have a voucher for you.”

I looked at him strangely and said. “We didn’t pay for a voucher.”

“Yes, it gives you two full meals in our restaurant with appetizer, main course, desert and a

bottle of wine.”

“We didn’t order that,” I again denied.

“Markson gave it to you,” he insisted.

I looked at Ed puzzled and said, “Markson?”

He pulled out an envelope and gave it to us. Inside was an elaborate voucher. 

The manager was grinning all over that we finally understood. “Markson called and paid for it. We expected you here earlier and were all prepared to serve you a special meal.”

We then realized he was talking about our son, Marc, in Washington, D.C. who had called and made the arrangement. I felt like crying that even though we were half a world away, without a cell phone (because it was not compatible), our children were thinking of us on Mother’s Day and wanting to make it special for us.

That one act from our children wiped out all the frustrations of the day; I will always remember that as one of the most special Mother’s Day of my life.