Gifts of human kindness on a Christmas Day train ride

Gifts of human kindness on a Christmas Day train ride

I travelled by train instead of car on Christmas Day 2024.
Instead of the usual two-and-a-half hour drive to the home of my children’s dad, George, in Melbourne’s eastern suburbs, I took the country train.
On Christmas Eve, in a burst of planning, my Melbourne-based daughter and her family collected a pavlova and chocolate cheesecake–my contribution to the Christmas lunch–plus gifts for the 13 family members (“Mum, you know we do Kris Kringle and you are supposed to bring only one gift”). This meant I could travel light on the train ride.
My adventure began before 8am on Christmas morning with a half-hour drive to the South Geelong train station. An ocean of vacant spaces greeted me in the station’s car park.
I walked along the platform to the booking office, where the station master cheerily announced, “Train travel is free on Christmas Day.” Yay. We wished each other a merry day, and I was soon on my way. Sitting beside the window in a quiet, air-conditioned carriage, I purred inside. I watched the towns and farmland pass by, between sending festive text messages to family (“I’m on my way”) and friends around the country and luxuriously losing myself in the latest Inspector Gamache novel, The Grey Wolf, by Louise Penny.
A little over an hour later, arriving at Southern Cross Station in Melbourne’s CBD, I transferred to the Metro line and took the suburban train to the station nearest George’s home.
Everything was working like a breeze.
A 15-minute walk completed my journey by 11am.
For the next five hours, I was absorbed in the joy of catching up with family, overeating, and watching the two youngest grandchildren, Kayla and Amelia, representing Santa’s elves, distribute the gifts from under the Christmas tree.
All too soon, it was time to start my return journey: a walk to the station, a Metro train ride back to Southern Cross in the city, a country train back to South Geelong, and a car journey for the final leg home.
Travelling by train was bliss. Instead of driving on the busy freeway and dodging unpredictable motorists, I could reflect leisurely on my outing in my diary, part of which read:

I have finished reading The Grey Wolf and am ready to start Identity Unknown, by Patricia Cornwell (another of my favourite crime authors). The train is departing Geelong Station. South Geelong is the next stop, so I will close for now. I hope to be home sweet home in the next 45 minutes, definitely by 7pm.

I shut my diary, zipped it into my backpack along with the two books, alighted from the train and walked lost in thought to my awaiting car.
Once seated, I started the engine and turned the air conditioning on (the temperature was 33 degrees Celsius) and thought, I will plug in my iPhone (I had taken many photos) to charge while driving.
That’s when my Christmas Day took an unexpected turn.
I experienced a sinking feeling of self-doubt and disbelief. Where is my phone? Surely, I put it in my backpack. My backpack has a zillion compartments—no iPhone in any of them. Not wanting to think, I tried to make a call using Siri. There is no phone connection. Aah.
My iPhone was not in the car. By now, my Apple Watch was telling me its mate had been left (abandoned) at another location.
Aah. Stay calm, stay calm. I walked back into the station, went to the station manager’s window to gain his attention, and explained my little dilemma.
“I have left my iPhone on the train that just departed this station.”
Praise the Lord, this station master was as cheery as his counterpart had been on the morning shift.
He looked at me – a grandmother wearing dangly Christmas tree earrings, a short-sleeved bright red top, a pink polka-dot hat, a floral skirt and sandals – and calmly asked where I had been sitting on the train. Could I remember which carriage and which side of the carriage I was seated on? Answering his questions as best I could was helping to quell the tsunami of thoughts (My children will think I’ve lost the plot. Will I have to cancel my bank accounts? Can I do that on Christmas Day? Can anyone access the piles of information on my phone? How can I do anything without my phone?) and then, trying to be philosophical and place this little drama in the context of my life (Worse things happen. This is not the end of the world. It can be replaced, It’s only a phone).
This station master, who shared his name was Michael, called the next station (Marshall) and told the master there that “A lady has left her phone on the train.” The Marshall station master said he would search the carriages when the train arrived. Minutes passed. The station master’s phone rang. The news was not good. No iPhone was found.
My heart and hopes sank further.
I suggested that Michael call my number, and maybe the ringtone would attract someone’s attention. He tried repeatedly, but the phone continued to ring out.
Michael said the train would make its return journey in about 15 minutes and suggested I hop on board and do a search myself. Doing anything was preferable to doing nothing, so I agreed this was worth a try.
Before the train pulled in, however, a miracle occurred.
Michael’s phone rang. He answered. A woman had noticed a phone on an empty seat while alighting the train at Marshall. Unsure what to do, she had taken it home with her.
Greta, for this was her name, offered to return to Marshall with the phone. Michael explained I would take the next train there to retrieve it. He described my appearance, and Greta said she would look out for me.
Daring to hope, but not too much, I took the next train to Marshall. The ride probably took only five minutes  but seemed to be taking ‘forever’. At last the train slowed and drew to a halt. Within seconds of alighting, Greta, in a beautiful, billowy red summer frock, appeared with my phone. We hugged. And hugged again. My relief was palpable.

There we were, strangers embracing and connecting on Christmas Day, brought together by circumstance and kindness borne of a lost iPhone.

Greta departed, and hugging my iPhone, I returned to the Marshall station platform to await a train to return to South Geelong.
The time was way past 7pm. The sun, low on the horizon, was glowing like a red Chinese lantern through the smoke from bushfires raging in the Grampians, several hours’ drive away. (Definitely, the folks living there had more to worry about than a lost iPhone).
But back to my story. Reality dawned. The train I’d alighted from at Marshall had not moved. It had not continued to its next destination. Looking along the full length of the train, I saw a young person prostrate on the platform towards the rear, with a station attendant and train driver crouching and assessing the situation.
Minutes passed. The station attendant stood and made a call on his mobile phone, gesticulating as he did so. I guessed he was explaining the symptoms and seeking medical support.
I hugged my phone and thought, I hope that young person is okay. I’ve got my phone and I’m okay—compared with that young person, my problems are zilch.
More minutes passed. An announcement stated that trains would now run from the station’s second track due to this “incident”. I joined several other travellers in taking the stairs, up and over the tracks, and descending on the other side.
Our wait continued.
We watched across the tracks as paramedics arrived, wheeled their patient trolley along the platform, and took the young person to the hospital.
Soon after, the train I’d been on resumed its outward travel. By now, the timetable was skewed. More than an hour had passed since my arrival at Marshall, but I didn’t care. Other passengers were affected, too, and as we stood waiting for the train, we began sharing stories about how we had spent our Christmas Day.
I double-checked with the station master that I was on the right platform to return to South Geelong. He explained that yes, I was in the right place and the train would come in the next 20 minutes. He said the young person who had collapsed on the platform had suffered a drug overdose and required medical assistance.
We commuters agreed that waiting for a train was insignificant compared to that young person’s plight.
We contemplated that the young person must have felt awfully lonely and in deep despair on Christmas Day and hoped they would be comforted and be okay.
Our train pulled in.
There was standing room only, and the air conditioning was not working, but nobody cared.
I alighted at South Geelong. Michael, the stationmaster, walked along the platform to greet me. I waved my phone, and we were both ecstatic that the phone and I were reunited.
Gratitude and relief flooded my emotions.
I paused before heading to my car, this time with the phone. I explained to Michael that I would write about this little adventure as a way to debrief and recover my equilibrium.
His response astounded me.
“I’m a writer, too,” Michael said.
“I wrote my memoir earlier this year.” Wow, we have a connection!
Michael, who shared that he was 62, explained that he had written his life story after suffering a heart attack. He had been amazed at the memories that were brought back to life during this writing process. I encouraged him to keep writing, for writing is a wonderful self-help healing practice.

This kind and caring stationmaster, working on Christmas Day, had made my day.

I had loved catching up with family, but the people I met on my train journey had made this Christmas extra special. Through story sharing, previously unknown people had deepened the meaning of my three favourite words: Faith, Hope and Trust.
Greta had put her number into my phone under the heading ‘Greta the phone finder’. I sent her a text when I arrived home:
Dear Greta, Thank you so much for finding my phone and handing it in this afternoon…. You are the epitome of what the Christmas spirit is truly about.
Greta replied:
You are most welcome; I’m only sorry you had to catch a train further out to get it; we would have driven to you happily! I hope you have a beautiful rest of your Christmas, especially since you’ve been reunited with your phone 🙂 …. it was my pleasure to help you. Merry Christmas, June, and have a lovely New Year.
Thank you, Greta, and thank you, Michael, for reminding me that what really matters on Christmas Day (and every day) is not over-eating or getting gifts (which we often don’t need) from under the Christmas tree.
What really matters is caring, sharing, listening, communicating, and connecting with family, friends and others in our community.
King Charles III summed this up succinctly in his annual Christmas Day message.
In summary, he said we all go through some form of suffering at some stage in our life, be it mental or physical, but the measure of our civilisation is how people are supported at such moments.
King Charles said this was because we are held together by a willingness to listen to each other, learn from one another, and find just how much we have in common…. Because through listening, we learn to respect our differences, defeat prejudice, and open up new possibilities.
My journey home took about five hours. In retrospect, the unexpected events were a gift, a lesson, reminding me to step out of my bubble more often in the coming year. We can be cosy and safe within our family structure, but we are all part of a community, and we are all richer when we participate in it. In giving to others, listening, sharing and conversing with others, we receive a reward far more meaningful than any gift under the Christmas tree.

Let’s engage in more story-sharing in 2025.