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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Life Experience
- Published: 03/03/2022
A quick trip to the dentist.
Born 1948, M, from Kent - garden of England, United KingdomA quick trip to the dentist.
Or how not to commute - a true story.
Eight years ago my wife and I commenced to ‘commute’ to the small but jewel like town of Rye, on the border of the English counties of Kent and Sussex. Rye is an historic town and although once an important coastal port and one of the famous south coast ‘Cinque Ports’, is now separated from the sea by about four miles of land. The sea receded many years ago. It is however still one of the remaining working fishing ports of the south coast, the harbour still connected to the sea by a tidal channel.
This beautiful small town should really be visited, should you ever venture this way. It is filled with wonderful and ancient buildings along its cobbled streets, which travel up and down haphazard inclines, narrow here, wider there, and all enclosed within ancient walls, from which the vista of two counties can be seen. Rye has wonderful independent shops, antique markets and antiquarian book stores, as well as charming and comfortable pubs and tea shops, where one can while away a pleasant afternoon, slowly enjoying a scrumptious afternoon cream tea.
But that was not why we were travelling to Rye, we were making an emergency visit.
For a few days my wife had suffered a slight tooth ache, but as it was nearly Christmas our own dentist had closed down early for the holiday. We use a private dentist who along with normal dentistry also offers the option of Homeopathic dental treatments, something which we use as a family and which works very well for us.
My wife discovered that in Rye there was another Homeopathic dentist who was willing to see her as an emergency, as the pain had increased and was now becoming unbearable. The appointment was for the twenty first of December, just three days before Christmas Eve.
We live in a small Kentish village about thirty five miles from Rye, and during the spring and summer months it is a charming drive across the flat expanse of the Romney Marsh, a flat but curious area of about twenty five miles long and five miles wide, which was also once beneath the sea. This lonely and bleak grassy plain has an history of its own, going back to the medieval period, but punctuated by interesting events over the hundreds of years of its existence.
Now largely inhabited only by sheep, there are few houses or farms, the fields being bounded mainly by ditches and narrow waterways, which are crossed by slim and ramshackle bridges to give the animals access to fresh pasture. On the seaward side a tiny railway runs, every day, just as it has done since 1929. This is a steam railway, but the seventeen engines which daily ply its tracks are only one third the size of their full sized counterparts. This is the world famous Romney, Hythe, and Dymchurch railway, the RHDR as it is known locally. This diminutive rail service runs daily, taking children to school and back and local people to their work in the villages on the way from its terminus at Hythe, out to the bleak shingle and nuclear power station at Dungeness point, a distance of over seventeen miles, traveled in the tiny but comfortable carriages, pulled behind the splendidly tidy and beautifully smart old engines.
The landward side of the marsh meets the mainland at low cliffs, towards the fine castle at Lympe which stands prominently overlooking the landscape towards France, just twenty odd miles across the English Channel. In the eighteenth century, when the threat of invasion by Napoleon and the French was at its height, a wide and deep canal was dug from Sandgate, a seaside village to the east of Hythe, and winding its way across the marsh to Rye. The road runs along the side of this waterway, The Royal Military Canal.
Romney marsh has a rich history of smuggling. For over four hundred years the men of Kent and Sussex have made a living by either exporting, or importing goods illegally to and from France, brandy, lace, tobacco, wool, silk and other commodities of value have passed over this barren part of Kent. It still happens today, but now it is drugs, weapons and human beings, fleeing for their lives from war and famine who pass this way in the lonely darkness.
To get to Rye, we travelled this lonely and windswept road.
The weather was not on our side, as the light flurries of snow of the day before, had become more intense during the night. It gave a fairytale aspect to our small village, the black and white timbered houses shimmering under the dazzling snow.
Realising that the snow would be likely to make the long drive up to our house impassable by the morning, I had moved my wife’s car out into the village high street the evening before.
We woke up to see a deep covering of snow across our garden, and my wife’s toothache had become more severe.
After breakfast we made our way to the car, slipping and sliding on the now freezing snow underfoot. I had realised that we needed to allow more time for our commute to Rye, and under my arm as we slipped and slid up the village high street to the car, I carried a wooden broom head, to clear the snow from the car and to sweep the road in front of the driving wheels before we drove away. The wind and cold was biting as I cleared the car, feeling warm and snug in my thick leather jacket. As soon as I could I opened the passenger side door of my wife’s Honda Jazz, and she and our newly arrived dog, Angel, got into the car.
Angel was a rescue dog from a London dogs home who had been abandoned on the street, and she was still suffering from a recent injury and subsequent operation to her leg. We had only had her for three days, and she still wore a wide plastic collar to stop her licking at the fresh surgical stitches. We hoped to give her a better life in the country, living with us.
Carefully turning the car round in the snow, after running the engine to warm the interior, we gingerly made our way to the main road which runs past the village. Here it was better, the road conditions improved by the road having been cleared by a snow plough earlier in the morning. We started down the road, confident that we could reach Rye in plenty of time for my wife’s appointment. All went well. We passed through Ashford with no problems and continued on to the edge of the marsh below Lympe.
Onwards we travelled, the snow covering the surface of the marsh like an unbroken and pure white blanket across the flat expanse towards the sea. Here and there small flocks of sheep waited by food troughs, and the small bridges and fence posts were accented by their deep blue shadows, cast onto the snow.
We had gone about five miles across the marsh when we came to the only really raised part of the narrow winding road. We were travelling slowly, as the wind coming from across the marsh from the sea was blowing up a mini blizzard of fresh snow from the pastures, and the windscreen wipers were continually sweeping it across my view of the road. At this part of the marsh the canal is about thirty feet below the level of the road, down a steep grassy bank to the waters edge. In the summer I had often driven this way, but in summer the grass and foliage at the side of the road was both tall and thick, and I had only glimpsed the canal below.
My wife glanced at her watch. ‘Can we go just a bit faster’ she said ‘otherwise I will not make the appointment in time, and I cannot go on any longer with this pain’. I looked over to her, wrapped up in her thick coat with Angel laying on a blanket on the floor between her feet. Despite the big collar, Angel had made herself comfortable and looked to be asleep. I increased the speed a little, but was still driving carefully on the snowy road, the surface was now wet with a pile of slush built up between the lanes and to the near side of the road where it was as black as soot from the passing exhausts of cars and lorries. Soon we came up behind a small truck going slowly along in front of us. It seemed too tricky to overtake in the winter conditions, so I dropped back to avoid the spray from its wheels, and just followed along.
After a while my wife again looked at her watch. ‘We are not going to make the appointment’ she said, ‘please try to overtake this lorry if you can, he is holding us up too much and we were already going slowly before’.
‘OK’ I replied ‘ I will overtake him on the next long stretch if there is nothing coming from the other way’.
Two or three minutes passed, and I was aware that she was becoming fidgety and a little distressed, but coming up was a long straight stretch of road, and I could easily see about a half of a mile ahead with no oncoming traffic.
I carefully pulled out onto the other lane and easily passed the small truck without having to put on much speed.
Clearing the truck, I gave him a good distance behind me and started to pull in again to the correct side of the road.
As we crossed the centre of the road, I felt the steering wheel go light, we had no steering ability at all!
The Honda plunged out of control across the road, whilst spinning around. I had instinctively just lightly touched the brake pedal and all hell had broke loose. The car went sideways up the curb and turned onto its side. It slipped across the snow and tipped over onto the steep bank of the canal. As it slipped down towards the ice covered water, it hit something and went completely upside down. I can still vividly recall watching the snow and ice rushing past the top of the windscreen, exactly where the sky should have been.
On its roof, the car slid down onto the ice until it suddenly crashed through, and then, like some lumbering large animal, it slowly turned upright in the cold water and promptly started to sink, engine first, into the depths of the canal. In all this must of taken only ten or fifteen seconds, but it had seemed to go on forever.
The car bobbed about, with the surface of the murky water just about an inch from the top of the windows. I can remember how blue the sky looked, above the green swirl below.
My wife was kicking at the door frantically and tugging on the handle, but it would not open.
The car was fitted with electronic locking doors, these automatically locked as soon as the seat belts were clicked in and the car was travelling at five miles per hour. A small button on the dashboard would in normal times release the lock as long as the car was stopped.
But this was not a normal time.
I pressed the button several times until it occurred to me that the car battery was now underwater, and therefore was not working, no electrics, no opening doors.
We both sat shocked for a few seconds, in which time the car went nose down in the water.
I released both of our seatbelts, remembering that we were firmly strapped in with thick coats on.
My wife was now in panic, and the car was beginning to sink, although I could see little water inside.
One of the best features of our version of the Honda Jazz was that the seats could be easily adjusted and the backs flattened down. I had often dropped the drivers seat down to have a quick rest in the motorway services, before continuing long journeys.
Almost without thinking, I pulled the lever to release the seat back, and climbed into the back of the car. I elbowed the rear window several times but it would not break. Then I remembered the wooden broom head which I had put into the boot of the car.
I smashed out the leather fabric boot shelf below the window with my fist and reached down for the broom head. The car rocked about in the canal as I struggled to pick it up.
Now with the broom head in my hand, I pulled my hand up the sleeve of my leather jacket to protect it, and smashed out the glass as fast as I could, then scraped the lower edge of the window to clear as much of the remaining glass as was possible. Water rushed in instantly as I pushed my way out into the icy water and the fresh air. The car bobbed around, filling with a big waterfall over the rear window frame, as I clung on to the car.
I reached back in, just as the car went completely underwater and started to sink, and finally felt part of my wife’s winter coat under my hand. I do not to this day know, where I got the strength to do it, but I pulled my wife through the back window and clear of the sinking car as it went down. She struggled to the surface fighting against her now soaked clothing.
Sadly, there was no way that I could rescue the poor dog, Angel, although I did keep feeling around inside the car as long as I could hang on, as it disappeared into the depths of the canal.
My leather jacket was now completely soaked, and felt like it was made of lead, I could hardly move in the freezing water as I tried to paddle my way to the bank of the canal.
The car was gone, only an iridescent patch of oil could be seen on the surface to show that anything had happened, the canal is twelve feet deep. No French attacker was going to wade across here!
Luckily the truck driver had seen what had happened. He stopped his truck and ran back to the canal with a stout rope. My wife was struggling in the water, and apparently he managed to get her to grab the rope and then he pulled her out onto the snowy ground.
At this time I was still trying to reach Angel, so I saw nothing of this.
I do not expect that the whole event had taken more than maybe three or four minutes.
My wife was pulled up the bank and attended to by two ladies who had been following along in their car, probably returning from shopping. They very kindly wrapped my wife in a brand new duvet quilt which they had just bought, to keep her warm.
I never had the chance to thank them for their kindness and to this day still wish that I could reward them in some way.
I had struggled out of the water on my own, and crawled up the canal bank, It was impossible to stand under the weight of the now sodden jacket, and very difficult to take off.
The adrenaline had obviously cut in on me, and I did not feel the cold at all, my only concern was for my wife and the loss of the dog. A group of people were now looking down at us from the road, stopped to see what the excitement was. I saw that one person was on her phone.
Going over to my wife I could see that she had been cut above the hairline on her head, the water made it look a lot worse than it turned out to be, but the poor duvet was now streaked with blood, thick black river weed and mud. My wife had lost a shoe, but I found it close to the water.
An ambulance had been called, and whilst we waited for it to arrive, I looked at the road where we had come off so unexpectedly.
Black ice covered the surface. Quite obviously the freezing wind coming across the marsh and from the sea, had whistled across the raised road surface keeping it frozen, despite the vehicles which had passed that way.
Where the road had been wet at the lower level, here up higher it was glittering with frost on the surface, just waiting for the wrong move by a driver.
The ambulance finally came, and we were both taken to the local hospital, where we were carefully looked after, as hypothermia had quickly set in on us both. Thank you hospital staff.
All of our valuables were in the car, including house keys and money etc, as my wife had had no chance to find her handbag, which was on the floor beside Angel when we had the accident.
Luckily, our son was home from Oxford Uni at the time, and he quickly took charge of the situation, bringing warm blankets from our house to wrap us in for travelling, and arranging a taxi and train journey back home for us, as soon as we could be discharged from the hospital. He was and always will be a hero, as will the unknown truck driver and the two fine unknown ladies who took charge of my freezing wife.
The story could carry on, as things took another turn when we informed the dogs home of our loss of Angel, but if I tell that now it will make me cry, so we shall leave that for another day.
We spent a quiet Christmas, thankful that we were still here to do so.
An Angel , perhaps even Angel the dog herself, had been looking over us that day.
The car was not recoverable, and is, as far as we know, still there to this day.
Now and again I put flowers there for Angel, who we hope rests in doggy peace.
This is an absolutely true story, and it is the very first time that I have told it in detail.
I dedicate it to those wonderful ladies who so carefully took care of my wife.
So much for commuting!
Copyright - Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022
No reproduction in any form without
full written permission of the author.
A quick trip to the dentist.(Ken DaSilva-Hill)
A quick trip to the dentist.
Or how not to commute - a true story.
Eight years ago my wife and I commenced to ‘commute’ to the small but jewel like town of Rye, on the border of the English counties of Kent and Sussex. Rye is an historic town and although once an important coastal port and one of the famous south coast ‘Cinque Ports’, is now separated from the sea by about four miles of land. The sea receded many years ago. It is however still one of the remaining working fishing ports of the south coast, the harbour still connected to the sea by a tidal channel.
This beautiful small town should really be visited, should you ever venture this way. It is filled with wonderful and ancient buildings along its cobbled streets, which travel up and down haphazard inclines, narrow here, wider there, and all enclosed within ancient walls, from which the vista of two counties can be seen. Rye has wonderful independent shops, antique markets and antiquarian book stores, as well as charming and comfortable pubs and tea shops, where one can while away a pleasant afternoon, slowly enjoying a scrumptious afternoon cream tea.
But that was not why we were travelling to Rye, we were making an emergency visit.
For a few days my wife had suffered a slight tooth ache, but as it was nearly Christmas our own dentist had closed down early for the holiday. We use a private dentist who along with normal dentistry also offers the option of Homeopathic dental treatments, something which we use as a family and which works very well for us.
My wife discovered that in Rye there was another Homeopathic dentist who was willing to see her as an emergency, as the pain had increased and was now becoming unbearable. The appointment was for the twenty first of December, just three days before Christmas Eve.
We live in a small Kentish village about thirty five miles from Rye, and during the spring and summer months it is a charming drive across the flat expanse of the Romney Marsh, a flat but curious area of about twenty five miles long and five miles wide, which was also once beneath the sea. This lonely and bleak grassy plain has an history of its own, going back to the medieval period, but punctuated by interesting events over the hundreds of years of its existence.
Now largely inhabited only by sheep, there are few houses or farms, the fields being bounded mainly by ditches and narrow waterways, which are crossed by slim and ramshackle bridges to give the animals access to fresh pasture. On the seaward side a tiny railway runs, every day, just as it has done since 1929. This is a steam railway, but the seventeen engines which daily ply its tracks are only one third the size of their full sized counterparts. This is the world famous Romney, Hythe, and Dymchurch railway, the RHDR as it is known locally. This diminutive rail service runs daily, taking children to school and back and local people to their work in the villages on the way from its terminus at Hythe, out to the bleak shingle and nuclear power station at Dungeness point, a distance of over seventeen miles, traveled in the tiny but comfortable carriages, pulled behind the splendidly tidy and beautifully smart old engines.
The landward side of the marsh meets the mainland at low cliffs, towards the fine castle at Lympe which stands prominently overlooking the landscape towards France, just twenty odd miles across the English Channel. In the eighteenth century, when the threat of invasion by Napoleon and the French was at its height, a wide and deep canal was dug from Sandgate, a seaside village to the east of Hythe, and winding its way across the marsh to Rye. The road runs along the side of this waterway, The Royal Military Canal.
Romney marsh has a rich history of smuggling. For over four hundred years the men of Kent and Sussex have made a living by either exporting, or importing goods illegally to and from France, brandy, lace, tobacco, wool, silk and other commodities of value have passed over this barren part of Kent. It still happens today, but now it is drugs, weapons and human beings, fleeing for their lives from war and famine who pass this way in the lonely darkness.
To get to Rye, we travelled this lonely and windswept road.
The weather was not on our side, as the light flurries of snow of the day before, had become more intense during the night. It gave a fairytale aspect to our small village, the black and white timbered houses shimmering under the dazzling snow.
Realising that the snow would be likely to make the long drive up to our house impassable by the morning, I had moved my wife’s car out into the village high street the evening before.
We woke up to see a deep covering of snow across our garden, and my wife’s toothache had become more severe.
After breakfast we made our way to the car, slipping and sliding on the now freezing snow underfoot. I had realised that we needed to allow more time for our commute to Rye, and under my arm as we slipped and slid up the village high street to the car, I carried a wooden broom head, to clear the snow from the car and to sweep the road in front of the driving wheels before we drove away. The wind and cold was biting as I cleared the car, feeling warm and snug in my thick leather jacket. As soon as I could I opened the passenger side door of my wife’s Honda Jazz, and she and our newly arrived dog, Angel, got into the car.
Angel was a rescue dog from a London dogs home who had been abandoned on the street, and she was still suffering from a recent injury and subsequent operation to her leg. We had only had her for three days, and she still wore a wide plastic collar to stop her licking at the fresh surgical stitches. We hoped to give her a better life in the country, living with us.
Carefully turning the car round in the snow, after running the engine to warm the interior, we gingerly made our way to the main road which runs past the village. Here it was better, the road conditions improved by the road having been cleared by a snow plough earlier in the morning. We started down the road, confident that we could reach Rye in plenty of time for my wife’s appointment. All went well. We passed through Ashford with no problems and continued on to the edge of the marsh below Lympe.
Onwards we travelled, the snow covering the surface of the marsh like an unbroken and pure white blanket across the flat expanse towards the sea. Here and there small flocks of sheep waited by food troughs, and the small bridges and fence posts were accented by their deep blue shadows, cast onto the snow.
We had gone about five miles across the marsh when we came to the only really raised part of the narrow winding road. We were travelling slowly, as the wind coming from across the marsh from the sea was blowing up a mini blizzard of fresh snow from the pastures, and the windscreen wipers were continually sweeping it across my view of the road. At this part of the marsh the canal is about thirty feet below the level of the road, down a steep grassy bank to the waters edge. In the summer I had often driven this way, but in summer the grass and foliage at the side of the road was both tall and thick, and I had only glimpsed the canal below.
My wife glanced at her watch. ‘Can we go just a bit faster’ she said ‘otherwise I will not make the appointment in time, and I cannot go on any longer with this pain’. I looked over to her, wrapped up in her thick coat with Angel laying on a blanket on the floor between her feet. Despite the big collar, Angel had made herself comfortable and looked to be asleep. I increased the speed a little, but was still driving carefully on the snowy road, the surface was now wet with a pile of slush built up between the lanes and to the near side of the road where it was as black as soot from the passing exhausts of cars and lorries. Soon we came up behind a small truck going slowly along in front of us. It seemed too tricky to overtake in the winter conditions, so I dropped back to avoid the spray from its wheels, and just followed along.
After a while my wife again looked at her watch. ‘We are not going to make the appointment’ she said, ‘please try to overtake this lorry if you can, he is holding us up too much and we were already going slowly before’.
‘OK’ I replied ‘ I will overtake him on the next long stretch if there is nothing coming from the other way’.
Two or three minutes passed, and I was aware that she was becoming fidgety and a little distressed, but coming up was a long straight stretch of road, and I could easily see about a half of a mile ahead with no oncoming traffic.
I carefully pulled out onto the other lane and easily passed the small truck without having to put on much speed.
Clearing the truck, I gave him a good distance behind me and started to pull in again to the correct side of the road.
As we crossed the centre of the road, I felt the steering wheel go light, we had no steering ability at all!
The Honda plunged out of control across the road, whilst spinning around. I had instinctively just lightly touched the brake pedal and all hell had broke loose. The car went sideways up the curb and turned onto its side. It slipped across the snow and tipped over onto the steep bank of the canal. As it slipped down towards the ice covered water, it hit something and went completely upside down. I can still vividly recall watching the snow and ice rushing past the top of the windscreen, exactly where the sky should have been.
On its roof, the car slid down onto the ice until it suddenly crashed through, and then, like some lumbering large animal, it slowly turned upright in the cold water and promptly started to sink, engine first, into the depths of the canal. In all this must of taken only ten or fifteen seconds, but it had seemed to go on forever.
The car bobbed about, with the surface of the murky water just about an inch from the top of the windows. I can remember how blue the sky looked, above the green swirl below.
My wife was kicking at the door frantically and tugging on the handle, but it would not open.
The car was fitted with electronic locking doors, these automatically locked as soon as the seat belts were clicked in and the car was travelling at five miles per hour. A small button on the dashboard would in normal times release the lock as long as the car was stopped.
But this was not a normal time.
I pressed the button several times until it occurred to me that the car battery was now underwater, and therefore was not working, no electrics, no opening doors.
We both sat shocked for a few seconds, in which time the car went nose down in the water.
I released both of our seatbelts, remembering that we were firmly strapped in with thick coats on.
My wife was now in panic, and the car was beginning to sink, although I could see little water inside.
One of the best features of our version of the Honda Jazz was that the seats could be easily adjusted and the backs flattened down. I had often dropped the drivers seat down to have a quick rest in the motorway services, before continuing long journeys.
Almost without thinking, I pulled the lever to release the seat back, and climbed into the back of the car. I elbowed the rear window several times but it would not break. Then I remembered the wooden broom head which I had put into the boot of the car.
I smashed out the leather fabric boot shelf below the window with my fist and reached down for the broom head. The car rocked about in the canal as I struggled to pick it up.
Now with the broom head in my hand, I pulled my hand up the sleeve of my leather jacket to protect it, and smashed out the glass as fast as I could, then scraped the lower edge of the window to clear as much of the remaining glass as was possible. Water rushed in instantly as I pushed my way out into the icy water and the fresh air. The car bobbed around, filling with a big waterfall over the rear window frame, as I clung on to the car.
I reached back in, just as the car went completely underwater and started to sink, and finally felt part of my wife’s winter coat under my hand. I do not to this day know, where I got the strength to do it, but I pulled my wife through the back window and clear of the sinking car as it went down. She struggled to the surface fighting against her now soaked clothing.
Sadly, there was no way that I could rescue the poor dog, Angel, although I did keep feeling around inside the car as long as I could hang on, as it disappeared into the depths of the canal.
My leather jacket was now completely soaked, and felt like it was made of lead, I could hardly move in the freezing water as I tried to paddle my way to the bank of the canal.
The car was gone, only an iridescent patch of oil could be seen on the surface to show that anything had happened, the canal is twelve feet deep. No French attacker was going to wade across here!
Luckily the truck driver had seen what had happened. He stopped his truck and ran back to the canal with a stout rope. My wife was struggling in the water, and apparently he managed to get her to grab the rope and then he pulled her out onto the snowy ground.
At this time I was still trying to reach Angel, so I saw nothing of this.
I do not expect that the whole event had taken more than maybe three or four minutes.
My wife was pulled up the bank and attended to by two ladies who had been following along in their car, probably returning from shopping. They very kindly wrapped my wife in a brand new duvet quilt which they had just bought, to keep her warm.
I never had the chance to thank them for their kindness and to this day still wish that I could reward them in some way.
I had struggled out of the water on my own, and crawled up the canal bank, It was impossible to stand under the weight of the now sodden jacket, and very difficult to take off.
The adrenaline had obviously cut in on me, and I did not feel the cold at all, my only concern was for my wife and the loss of the dog. A group of people were now looking down at us from the road, stopped to see what the excitement was. I saw that one person was on her phone.
Going over to my wife I could see that she had been cut above the hairline on her head, the water made it look a lot worse than it turned out to be, but the poor duvet was now streaked with blood, thick black river weed and mud. My wife had lost a shoe, but I found it close to the water.
An ambulance had been called, and whilst we waited for it to arrive, I looked at the road where we had come off so unexpectedly.
Black ice covered the surface. Quite obviously the freezing wind coming across the marsh and from the sea, had whistled across the raised road surface keeping it frozen, despite the vehicles which had passed that way.
Where the road had been wet at the lower level, here up higher it was glittering with frost on the surface, just waiting for the wrong move by a driver.
The ambulance finally came, and we were both taken to the local hospital, where we were carefully looked after, as hypothermia had quickly set in on us both. Thank you hospital staff.
All of our valuables were in the car, including house keys and money etc, as my wife had had no chance to find her handbag, which was on the floor beside Angel when we had the accident.
Luckily, our son was home from Oxford Uni at the time, and he quickly took charge of the situation, bringing warm blankets from our house to wrap us in for travelling, and arranging a taxi and train journey back home for us, as soon as we could be discharged from the hospital. He was and always will be a hero, as will the unknown truck driver and the two fine unknown ladies who took charge of my freezing wife.
The story could carry on, as things took another turn when we informed the dogs home of our loss of Angel, but if I tell that now it will make me cry, so we shall leave that for another day.
We spent a quiet Christmas, thankful that we were still here to do so.
An Angel , perhaps even Angel the dog herself, had been looking over us that day.
The car was not recoverable, and is, as far as we know, still there to this day.
Now and again I put flowers there for Angel, who we hope rests in doggy peace.
This is an absolutely true story, and it is the very first time that I have told it in detail.
I dedicate it to those wonderful ladies who so carefully took care of my wife.
So much for commuting!
Copyright - Ken DaSilva-Hill 2022
No reproduction in any form without
full written permission of the author.
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Kevin Hughes
09/20/2022Aloha Ken,
That gave me the shivers reading it a second time, just like it did the first time. Wow. No wonder it garnerd a "Story Star of the Week" Award. It deserved one. I think your cats will be nervous that you spent one of their lives for them.
Amazing.
Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
09/20/2022Hi Kevin, nice picture, save a slice for me. Thanks for the comment.
Strangely enough I could not find my iPad when I decided to check my emails. Lucy our white tabby was comfortably asleep on it! Happily she still seems to retain all of her nine lives. She is an affectionate little thing and likes to be close to us, she is gazing at me whilst I write this, it must be love!
Best regards, Ken.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
03/15/2022Oh Ken, what a horrible experience! How blessed you and your wife are to get out of that alive. I am truly sorry you lost Angel. Thank you for sharing that nice story. Congratulations on short story star of the day!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Lillian Kazmierczak
09/18/2022That was a harrowing experience! Congratulations on short story star of the week!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Gerald R Gioglio
03/15/2022Whoa, Ken, that's quite an experience and tale. It was brave of you to share it with us. So glad you and your wife were able to fight your way through this. So sorry for the loss of your dog. All the best moving forward, Jerry.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Shirley Smothers
03/15/2022Your story made me cry. A traumatic experience for both of you. Thank you for sharing. Sometimes writing about these experiences does help.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Gail Moore
03/05/2022Oh my goodness, A terrible experience, You told your story well. Great work :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
JD
03/03/2022What a terrifying experience! And such a tragedy for little Angel who was just starting a new life with what was meant to be his forever family. Totally heartbreaking. But thank heaven you both survived. Thank you for sharing this true 'commuting' story with us, Ken. It is unforgettable.
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
JD
03/14/2022I'm glad you found another needy doggy to give a loving home. I like Kevin's idea that maybe angel was somehow a real angel to you both in this situation. Happy short story STAR of the day, Ken! :-)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Ken DaSilva-Hill
03/04/2022Thanks for the comment. Angel was a lovely if somewhat shaggy and unkempt looking lady. Sadly we did not have time to get to know her as she was with us such a short time and with a leg injury too.
The one thing which I took from this experience was to always keep a hammer in a modern car, just in case!
But Xinha and I have now put it all behind us, and we now share our home with Millie, slightly disabled, just as old in dog years as me, and a friend who also started out with a very hard life, living on the streets of Eastern Europe. Along with Lucy, a cat who just walked into our house as a kitten and decided to stay, Millie is now enjoying her life in a safe space.
Best wishes, Ken
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Kevin Hughes
03/03/2022Ken,
OH. MY. God! What a harrowing experience...and I so hope that your wife did get her tooth fixed. I think you may be right with all the Angels in this story...and perhaps that was Angel's mission in this life...to save you and your wife. I can't imagine, and don't even want to try to what it must have been like.
I am glad that you didn't blame your wife...and I am glad you are taking the "psychological road back to the present". I have had some experience with "Survival Guilt" and "If only"...so ride those out when they come out of the blue...and they will. Nobody can drive on black ice...so forgive yourself.
A truly harrowing story and I am glad you survived.
Smiles, Kevin
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Ken DaSilva-Hill
03/03/2022Hi Kevin, thanks for your nice message, and I apprecia you reading the story. I look forward to reading yours. I must read mine myself too, as it was just written without editing before I submitted it, so I expect there are one or many mistakes of one sort or another. Anyway, writing it gave me a break from another writing job which I am struggling with, writing a screenplay of one of my stories and condensing it down to be seen as a short film. Mind you, with the present crazy situation, it is good to get one’s mind off of the news for an hour or so - when will these crazy people stop being put into power?
Well wish you all the best, we have never made it to Hawaii so your descriptions should have us there after all! Ken
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