My only regret was not having asked for his name.

[Archdemos]

I spent the entire day on Saturday acquainting myself with me new niece Hannah over at my brothers house in Langley. On the way home i decided to take the coach instead of the train. Oddly the coach meant a quicker journey.

 

I boarded the coach and proceeded to take a seat. The coach only had 4 people on it. As i sat down i noticed a badly scarred man sitting in front of me. I wouldn’t have noticed him to be honest had it not been for the truly awful scars on his head and the massive BARCELONA letters emblazoned on his jacket.

 

In retrospect i feel an incredible sense of shame for having pre judged this man as some sort of low life, football hooligan, no good, generally dodgy fella in short someone you would avoid. He had a massive scar that cut his head into two, like someone had taken a machete to his head. He also had this puzzled look on his face like he was a bit ‘slow’.

 

Anyway as we entered London and approached Hammersmith, the driver without warning took a diversion that took us straight to Knightsbridge. We both leapt from our seats to remonstrate with the east european driver. It was at this juncture that i first heard his staggered speech. He spoke with incredible difficulty but with some enthusiasm. I waited my turn and spoke to the driver and me and the scarred fellow both agreed to take it on the chin and we would have to add a few extra minutes to our journey once we got to central London.

 

The coach approached Knightsbridge and we both got off the coach. It was raining cats and dogs at this point. As soon as i saw his very large umbrella i decided to make contact and offered the jovial;

 

Me: “you off to the station mate”!

 

Him: Yeah sure, (extends his reach to keep me dry)

 

We then proceeded with small talk about the rain and our diversion. I noticed straight away that he had this positive outlook. In short he was like a beacon emitting positivity. We got to the southern entrance of the station to find it closed.

 

Can it get any worse i said out loud, to which he replied ‘come on its only a few more metres to the main entrance. It was actually at least 300m away.

 

It turns it he was on his way to Bayswater, to which i replied I’m on my way to Ladbroke Grove. His face changed. I had reminded him of a terrible thing that had happened to him. He then spent the next 10 minutes recalling what had happened to him. It turns out in the autumn of 2009 he was on Portobello Market road in Ladbroke grove having a cigarette outside a pub, when he was attacked without provocation. Two men leapt upon him and one punch is all it took to fracture his skull. He lay in the pavement bleeding whilst his buddies were inside enjoying the party. The assailants took his wallet and phone. He was taken to hospital where he needed severe brain operations for a few months. He spent the best part of a year in hospital and rehab. The scars were from the surgeries.

 

Before the attack he was a painter decorator, a father with a loving long term partner. He also spoke Brazilian dialect Portuguese fluently. Now having left hospital 2 months ago, he is physically challenged with the right side of his brain being slightly affected. However more disheartening is the lasting brain damage to his left side. He can longer recall some of the name of family members, he has lost Portuguese, and his speech is impaired to say the least. The emotional damage far outweighs the truly horrific scars. However he is slowly regaining his strength, and he has an unflinching can do attitude, which i found endearing.

 

This was totally unprovoked and i struggling to come to terms with what this man has had to endure. His partner left him whilst he was in hospital. She feared the old him was gone forever. So he now visits his daughter as often as he can.

 

We changed the Piccadilly line to the circle and later to the central line, all whilst talking to each other like old pals. I was listening attentively to what he had to say. To summarise his wonderful attitude was down to him being thankful to god for still being here.

 

We got to Notting hill; this was where i had to depart. I extended my hand and wished him heartfelt goodbye. As i left he cheerfully shouted, you never know might run into you again. Smiling i waved goodbye. This is a reference to his mum who lives in Ladbroke Grove.

 

My biggest regret was not having shared names. But i felt like i knew him by now.

 

Additionally as i was immersed in what he had to say i noticed a few odd stares in the carriage. He spoke in an odd way, he walked with a limp, and he looked like he had survived a war. If only those glaring at us had known what this man had to go through and still come out the other end smiling. They were making the same mistake i was. It says allot about our society doesn’t it.

 

A truly inspirational character, and although his beloved Liverpool lost today, something tells him he’s still smiling. I don’t think I’ll ever look at individuals in a stereotypical way again.

 

I don’t think I’ve done our random encounter justice in retelling it here. It had so much more depth and humour, but I’m tired and i have to get ready for work tomorrow

[Rain]

thanks for sharing this moving story.