A Latter day good Samaritan

Mrs Amy Kinnaird

2005

It was a lovely April Saturday in 2005, and as usual, my friend Hector and I were doing a walk. We walk every Saturday, come rain or shine, and despite being labelled elderly pensioners, we are lucky in that we are healthy 'wrinklies'.

I often think that, if boots could talk, our boots could tell many an interesting story. In the past twelve years we reckon we have covered most of Ayrshire and beyond. Various locations in The Boarders, Fife, Argyll and the Central Belt have been tramped in our treks.

However, Muirkirk, a post-industrial moorland village on the Ayrshire/Lanarkshire border - provides many of our favourite walks.

On the Saturday in question, we had been walking in an area which includes part of the old disused Ayr-Edinburgh railway line. The whole area is criss-crossed with the remains of long abandoned mine workings, tar kilns, bell-pits and branch 'puggy' lines - interesting walking territory. (In June 2006, the River Ayr Walkway - 44 miles which stretches from the source at Glenbuck Loch and ends at Ayr harbour, was officially opened by Fred MacAulay of BBC Scotland fame.)

However, on that Saturday, the track, which is now part of the walkway, had not been upgraded. Sloping embankments of the old railway line remained bare and raw, especially where the old railway bridges had been demolished. This left some very steep rough inclines where coal slag and grit formed the foundations.

We were coming to a very tricky slope from where we intended to cross to Tibbie's Brig (Tibbie of Tibbie Pagan - poet-fame). The slope had been made worse by quad-bikes gradually grinding deep trenches in the black 'spoil'. I, as I had often done in the past, stepped out confidently down the tracks. Somehow, my feet seemed to gain momentum and I found myself running. Hector told me later that he had sounded a warning but I have no recollection of that.

I cam to - face down in a horrible sharp grit with an aching right shoulder and side. Hector helped me to my feet and led me cautiously to a grassy area near the foot of the slope. I remember being aware that I couldn't clearly think about anything. I felt dizzy, disoriented, with my thinking processes totally disorganised. What did seep into my mind was the thought that we were booked to travel to Canada four days later. I think I groggily voiced those thoughts.

As we sat resting on the grass, I was violently sick. Blood had gone down the back of my throat from my bleeding nose. At that point, I realised that my glasses were twisted out of shape, but not broken. My cheeks and forehead were scraped and studded with grit and earth. I felt rotten! Poor Hector was trying to clean up the mess with wet-wipes from my rucksack.

At that point, in this fairly remote area, came a man walking two dogs. He asked if he could help or if we needed a mobile. We thanked him, but didn't think there was much he could do.

I lay back in the grass, beginning to realise that I didn't know how I could manage to walk back to the car, parked in a lay-by on the main A70 road, about 2 miles away.

Shortly afterwards, a woman came along with her dog and asked if we needed help. Again we declined, stubborn to the last, and explained that my own mobile was in my rucksack, and that we would manage once I had rested.

After I sat/lay for about another 10 minutes, Hector thought that we had better start trying to make our way back to the car. He helped me up and my head continued to feel odd. The thought occurred to me - 'Maybe we'll need some sort of vehicle like a tractor or trailer, or even a helicopter to get me out of this situation.' Despair was settling in when we heard the sound of a car engine. Round a bend behind the embankment came the lady who had offered help as she passed earlier. A true Samaritan - she had gone home, but had worried about the state I was in, and had brought her car out to come to our aid. There isn't a road there - only a muddy farm track rutted with puddles.

She was kindness itself and drove carefully back to our car with this bleeding elderly female who should perhaps have had more sense. Our gratitude to this lady is measureless.

Hector drove me to Ayr Hospital (A & E). There I was treated very well. When the nurse, who was cleaning my facial injuries, let me look in a mirror, I gasped in horror - what a mess! Fortunately, X-rays showed that I had no fractures - just bruising. I was very lucky! I had to rest in A & E for the evening, and I was allowed home provided I wasn't at home alone. The Nursing Sister assured me that I would have two 'keekers' for a fortnight or so, but that the skin would heal, in time, using the prescription of cortisone cream.

I was very lucky - I don't dare think about what injuries I might have had. The embankment has now been 'stepped', and although steep, forms part of the River Ayr Way.

I did travel to Toronto four days later with a face which aroused comment and questions wherever I went. My skin recovered remarkably - the only reminder now is a small blue/black mark near the centre of my brow which I cover with a flick of my hair.

Needless to say, we still walk - that's what these boots are made for, after all!