“A woman walks into a bar wearing a mask. She goes up to the barman and asks, have you got a phone I could use?” It sounds like the start of a joke, but yesterday this was me, after I found myself very much in need of a stranger’s help.

How have we become so dependent on our mobile phones? It wasn’t so long ago that we went to a phone box to make a call and searched for someone’s number in the paper phone directory hanging on a chain from the shelf… not anymore!

Yesterday afternoon the sun was shining, it had been the end of a lovely day spent with my daughter and her four-month-old baby. We’d walked by the sea, enjoyed holiday story catch-ups and iced coffee. I was smiling as I waved goodbye to them both in the station car park. 

Trotting up the steps I rummaged in my bag for the dreaded face mask and increased my pace as I heard the station announcer and the approach of my train. Mask in place, I unzipped my bag to take out my phone, which also had my tickets on it. The zipped compartment was empty. I stared down at it as the train slid alongside the platform. In my head I could picture the phone plugged in and resting on a radiator in my daughter’s house – my heart sank. The carriage doors were squeaking open and I hesitated. Should I risk getting on the train without a ticket and get my phone another day? I decided against it.

Back in the station car park it began to dawn on me that I had no way of contacting anyone without my phone. My daughter would be on her way back home – a 10 minute drive from the station – but quite a long walk through the New Forest. Glancing down the street I was looking for inspiration and saw people sitting in the sunshine outside a pub with glistening pints in their hands. I hadn’t got a plan, but thought if I could find a phone maybe I’d be able to reach someone.

Hesitating at the beer garden entrance, I began to put on my face mask, was I supposed to wear one to go into the pub? A member of the bar staff saw my confusion and asked if she could help. I explained I’d lost my phone and needed to use one – she directed me back to the station where she thought there were phones on the platform. A post work group of men sitting at a nearby table, had heard my dilemma and one of them leaned towards me (in a socially distanced kind of way) and slid his mobile across the table. 

“You can use mine if it helps!”

I felt very relieved. The barmaid disappeared and the three beer drinkers, expressed sympathy about the missing phone which I explained had also contained my train tickets.

“We can’t manage without them,” one of them chipped in.

I stared at the stranger’s phone and realised this was very true. I had the use of a phone, but I didn’t know any of the numbers I wanted to call – they were all in my phone!

It seemed I‘d hit another dead end. 

“What about your husband’s number do you know that?”
I shook my head. “It’s his work phone.” I’d never taken much notice of the numbers.

“Can you google his company?”

No that wasn’t possible either. The army wasn’t good at giving out their numbers … We tried looking up my son in law via his company and sent him a message. No response.

I was on the verge of going back to the station to catch a train back to Lymington. In desperation I searched in my bag for any numbers I might have written down – nothing!

“I know my own number!” I said in exasperation. And seconds later it dawned on me, that was the solution.

I keyed in my own number and all of us listened in while the ringing continued until it went to voicemail. The friendly beer drinkers all took another sip and shook their heads. I wished I’d ordered a pint too – they were making me thirsty.

“It isn’t on silent is it?” the phone owner asked.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

He pressed the redial and moments later a voice answered. I’d made contact at last!

“You left your phone here, Mum!” said the voice at the other end.

Some hours later I was back on the station platform with my phone heading home a little later than anticipated. 

Things hadn’t gone to plan, but it’s been good to know that ‘Good Samaritans’ still exist and even in this world of pandemics, face masks and social distancing, some kind people are prepared to risk helping a stranger and even lending them their phone. 

It’s also made me think about writing down the odd essential family phone number on a piece of paper and keeping it in my handbag – after all what use are handbags if they can’t offer help in an emergency?