40 pence for 12000 pounds...

I can still remember this small but meaningful incident which happened when I was in London during late September 2003. Having just got back to the UK from KL, and holding a new bank draft for 12000GBP which my dad afforded me, I was running low on cash and I really needed to bank that draft in for me to be able to make sure of the continuance of my survival. I had been in London for a couple of days then, staying with a really easy-going mate of mine, who's always been hospitable enough to house me whenever I'm in the British capital, and trying to look for a branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland around London Town. I tried asking my friend, but as he did not have an account with RBS, he was rather clueless.

So there I was, lingering around London Bridge for about five minutes, because I did remember there was a branch nearby somewhere. Then I decided to take matters into my own hands, or rather my own legs, and try to walk around the area and see if I can locate the branch. I walked for about half an hour, ultimately failing to find it in the midst of the labyrinthine which is London City. So I became a little desperate, and then, discarding my male ego (nah, it's not that!), I decided I should stop someone and ask for help. But everyone seemed to be on their way somewhere in a hurry, as is typical of this particular city, more so as it was then noon time.

So finally I spotted this big bloke, who was having a small stall selling newspapers to pedestrians on the street. I figured he seemed to be a nice looking chap, so I walked up to him and asked him, with full British courtesy of course, if he knew where the nearest RBS branch is. Well, he at first looked a little puzzled, with his thumb and forefinger to his chin, thinking, and then pointing toward Threadneedle Street (where the Bank of England is), said "I think it's over there, I'm not too sure but I think if I'm not mistaken it is over there!" Then before I could respond, he said, "Look, tell you what mate! Would you mind just standing at my stall here just for a minute and I'll go away and ask at those shops and see if anyone knows exactly where it is!"

So off he went, while I became a newpaper stall keeper for that particular minute or two! And I did have a customer, in fact, and she was smiling, albeit looking a little curious, probably suspecting that I was a little too well-dressed to be selling papers on the street, and gently placed her 40p on the table to have a copy of the papers. Before long, Mr. Kind-hearted came back, slightly panting, and said rather jovially, "Yeah mate! It is over there, just next to the Bank of England! If you'd just walk over to the street there you should be able to see it!"

I've got to say I was still a bit cynical at his extreme good will, lest he was expecting me to buy a copy or two of the papers from him or something! So I quickly bade him farewell and, again, much to my pleasant surprise, he even said, "Okay, good luck mate! And have a good day yeah!"

I was really touched. He didn't just guess where the bank was, he went through some trouble to ask for it for me, and without any hint of animosity in him. It is because of this incident that I'll never buy the story of people telling me that the English are snobs and racist. A Turkish barber here in Edinburgh told me last week that 98% of the English are racist. Well, if his "statistical" assessment were true, then I must've been really lucky to have met this WHITE English bloke who must, undoubtedly, be one of the rare 2%.

Humanity is still out there...there are still good people around.