John Raby's Food & Travel

Well, in this day and age, basic kindness is still alive. It started on the train when the helpful CrossCountry staff member serving food and drink apologised for not having any black coffee on the trolley but later appeared with said coffee and offered it to me. That was service with a smile, for which I was incredibly grateful.

This theme of generosity continued when I found myself on Teignmouth beach, gazing forlornly across the water at neighbouring Shaldon, and after reading the wooden sign propped up near the water’s edge stating, ‘cash only,’ With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realised my smartphone just wasn’t going to cut it with the ferryman.

I live in Bristol where card payment, Android or Apple pay is persistently encouraged, and cash payment is actively discriminated against (it all started with COVID). I don’t remember the last time I carried hard currency in my wallet or pocket for that matter, but here I was, stuck on the beach woefully unprepared for the Westcountry’s laid-back way of life. I only moved away from Devon four and a half years ago – had I really forgotten rural life that quickly?

I approached a group of guys loitering on the beach, who clearly had the obvious intention of boarding the small wooden, and now approaching ferry. Asking if they were local, they confirmed they were, or near enough as they hailed from Newton Abbot just a proverbial stone’s throw up the River Teign.

They and another chap on the beach confirmed that cash only was the order of the day for crossing this short stretch of water (in a millisecond, I calculated the alternative ways of crossing the water, including meandering around the far side of the sand bar looking for a way across, or diving in and swimming, but had quickly dispensed with those courses of action).

No sooner had they witnessed my deep disappointment that I would be barred from boarding, they told me not to worry and would gladly pay my fare (£2.50) to get me across the water. Folded £10 and £20 notes were quickly pulled from pockets and in a flash, the ferryman was paid his wage. As you can imagine, I was extremely grateful and felt eternally indebted to them.

They were on a birthday pub crawl and were off to play pitch and putt in Shaldon. One of the party confided in me that they had already drunk several pints, so I wasn’t convinced how accurate their pitching and putting would actually be. But no matter, I had experienced kindness and unexpected friendship, albeit some what fleetingly, here in beautiful Devon.