Fakenham writer on the kindness he received on his travels around the world

In his weekly Wensum column, Fakenham writer Jim Harding discusses his travels…

I may be straying a bit off track with this column which has to do with the kindness of strangers. I've experienced this a lot since coming to live in Fakenham following a return from a few years teaching in the state of Victoria in Australia.

But the kindness which is my main concern here is directed towards the many who helped me out in various ways when I spent years hitch-hiking. This was mainly in the 1960s when hitching was a popular way of getting about and very acceptable.

Nowadays I rarely spot anyone thumbing for a lift when out in the car and society seems to have given it a bad name - perhaps for very good reason. Anyway, when I set off with a rucksack emblazoned with a Union Jack in the early sixties from my then home in Old Woking, this method of getting from place to place 'on the cheap' was something plenty of people of all ages tried to do.

In no particular order, here are a few of the encounters which meant so much to me at the time. Getting across Europe to Turkey was fairly straightforward, highlighted by the fact that my flag encouraged many drivers to stop and give me a ride. One lift on a very fast highway down the spine of Germany covered some 400 miles, which was not only comfortable but also fun - my driver speaking very good English. In fact, I found that so many people spoke our language that it was a blessing to realise its importance in country after country.

In Syria and Iraq, when these places were at peace, the generosity was almost second nature. Some attributed their reaction to me to the fact that they had served with the British Army in the past, a very surprising but welcome fact. Former members of the Commonwealth, such as Pakistan and India, generally felt a warmth towards our Queen and the fact that England had been a significant influence on their way of life.

When I was unwell, a couple collected me from the roadside and drove me down to their home in New Dehli and gave me a room to stay in for a few days. More to the point, they supplied me with a selection of pills which soon got me back to health.

Further east I made my way up to Nepal to fulfil a dream of seeing the Himalayas. At the embassy in the capital, Khatmandu, where I called in to collect a few letters from home, I was invited to stay there on virtually a bed and breakfast basis. This was totally unexpected as such generosity was way out of the normal.

Up in the foothills after a longish climb, my dream was to try and see the sunrise over these majestic mountains. Cloud spoilt that ambition when I arrived at a suggested lookout point. But after a night's rest in the equivalent of a youth hostel, I was woken early the next morning by the manager who called me awake with these words: “Sahib, Sahib (pronounced 'Saab). Get up! Himalaya clear.” I literally leapt out of bed, dressed quickly and went outside. In the distance I could see practically the whole Himalayan range in all its splendour. What a moment to cherish.

Returning south to India I carried on to Calcutta where the owner of a company there offered me a place to stay in one of his offices which was being refurbished. This was central to the city itself and an ideal base to explore from. With my own sleeping bag, I made the most of this, again counting my luck and the generosity of complete strangers.

In Thailand I was invited to the home of a family in Bangkok and when my plans included a trip by train out to see the bridge on the River Kwai, the teenage son said he would accompany me. All went well and in retrospect, I was very glad to have had the boy making sure I got there and back safely.

Perhaps the sweetest acknowledgement of my theme came when I was camping out somewhere between Syria and Iraq. I slept well but was aware of someone waiting outside my tent in the early morning. When I opened up there was a young face with a big smile and a tray bearing some breakfast. I forget the content but it certainly included some fresh bread. We failed to share the same language but I made it clear how grateful I was, knowing that it was brought about by a parent. It was a simple kindness but one that stayed with me for the rest of the day and the days following.

Finally, I was given a contact in Singapore and grabbed the chance when I eventually got that far south. This led me to the wonderful Fernandez family who showed me around their city, sat me at their table when we ate at home and generally made me more than welcome. I kept in touch and even called back when travelling in the other direction to get home to England a few years later. Has all this influenced the way I try to relate to others when I meet them on whatever basis? I would like to think so.