Ida Smith sad, rather bleak stories are compulsive reading, showing a very different world to that of
pampered privilege to familiar to the residents of the big cities.
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
The old man sitting at the small green table in the crowded supermarket cafe was angry at the poor
service. Where was the coffee and bun he'd ordered ages ago? And all that was happening was
that more and more shoppers kept cramming into this little place, but not a waitress in sight.
He wasn't at all surprised when he saw the woman, who had just parked her laden shopping
trolley, walk directly over to his table with the only seemingly available empty chair.
“Would you mind?” she asked almost desperately, “if I shared your table?”
He grunted, “Help yourself.”
“This place is always so crowded,” she ventured. For a moment he wished that he could block his
ears. He knew this line of conversation so well. Her voice droned on, “I've been coming here for
years – me and my friend Maggie. She passed away last week.”
He heard the catch in her voice and suddenly felt mean that he had ignored her. “Shame,” he
proffered. “Maggie, did you say? Maggie who? I knew a Maggie once.”
“Her name was Maggie Hilder.”.
A stab of pain went through him. “Maggie Hilder – impossible.” he thought. Could it be the Maggie
Hilder he'd known so many years ago?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “How come that she never married?” he prompted. “Did she ever tell you
– I mean, the reasons why? Like, was it some guy or other who had let her down, or hurt her
badly?” The stab of pain was back.
“Well,” said his table companion. “I'm not so sure if I should discuss it – not even knowing your
name, or what ...”
The waitress brought his order and placed it before the old man, “I'll have tea and a scone,” she
ordered hurriedly before the waitress moved off.
The woman had lapsed into silence. Now he wished to hear more. This stranger, sitting opposite
him, had opened up a wound. He and Maggie Hilder had known each other for years, many years
ago. In fact, they had known each other as scholars and had regularly, in the past, caught the
same long distance train to their respective home towns on the same route, for the school holidays.
Then, toward the end of the war, they had met again, strangely enough on the train. He was going
home on leave, and she, then at university, home for the short vacation.
“You know,” the old woman spoke again, breaking into his reverie, “She told me of this soldier.
She'd been so in love with. They had met when still at school.”
“He loved with her too, very much,” he heard himself saying in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, “But
somehow, he felt he wasn't worthy of her love and lacked the strength of mind to make a
commitment. Actually, he didn't know what being in love meant.”
The old woman was staring at him. He went on, “He probably broke her heart,” she heard him
whisper,“and later, when he realised his mistake, she'd left the country. I never saw her again,” he
said in a voice filled with sadness.
Maggie's friend was staring at him. “I don't believe this ...” she said in a high-pitched accusing
voice. “You! You must be Joe! How odd!”
The, overcome with emotion, she quickly paid her bill and left. He kept his face averted as he
heard the rumbling of the trolley wheels growing fainter in the distance as the vehicle drew away.
“Maggie,” he whispered, “I never found love again.”
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