Meeting RIP Ray Klinginsmith via Hässelholm

“Oh no not again! How can this train be late again!”

These thoughts ran through my head as I stood on the platform in Alvesta, the cold wind biting savagely at any piece of skin I’d stupidly left exposed to it. Flashbacks of being stranded at Kalmar station in December flooded my thoughts. Luckily then Nybro and friendly faces where only 30km’s away. Not this time.

Finally, 20 minutes late, the train arrived. In my haste and overcome with rage I climbed onto the first coach to stop in front of me. Why is it empty? Where is everybody? The train started to move. No problem I’ll just head up the train and ask the conductor to notify my connecting train that I’m going to be late. Surely they’ll have to wait for me...what! Why is the connecting door locked? Oh no...

There I was alone in the dark in a locked carriage. Only my wrist watch to keep me company. Painfully I watched the second hand slowly make its precision perfect rotation. Each minute felt like an eternity as I slowly watched my fate draw nearer. I was going to miss my connection. I was going to be stranded in...in? Where am I going anyway? Where is my ticket? Hässelholm? Where on earth is Hässelholm? Where did I put my map? Ah there it is...in Skåne? Why was I heading south west? I wanted to be going north east to Stockholm!

00:04 we arrived. With not another train in sight! Maybe it’s still coming? No. The next train to Stockholm is at 07:45. Damn, I’d missed it by 5 minutes.

I walked out of the station onto the street. Even in this little town I could hear the faint murmurs of a bar or nightclub. I suppose it is Friday night after all. I need a plan. I have no numbers to call. There is no way I’m going to phone my friends in Nybro, wake them up and tell them it’s happened again. They can’t help me anyway, I’m too far away. I need to talk to somebody, anybody! The bar? No way this time of night there won’t be a sober soul in there.

The only sober person will be a designated driver or one for hire. I need to find a cab driver. I’m at a station how hard can it be, this is their meeting point, their haven! True as bob it’s not long before I find somebody. I tell him my story, but unfortunately he can barely speak Swedish or English. I finally find out how much a cab will cost to Stockholm. 9000 SEK! Do I look like I have that kind of money?

He sees my body slump in despair and the hope fade from my eyes. Depression is a language that has no boundaries. He dials a number and hands me his phone. I must speak. A friendly voice answers the phone. Can you help me I’m stranded? I plead with her. Of course I must just give her my booking number and then she’ll book me another taxi. But I was on a train. OH. Then sorry she can’t help she is the taxi service. She gives me the number for the trains. A harsh and robotic voice answers and promptly tells me they are closed until 8 the next morning and that I should have a pleasant evening. Easy for her to say!

Perfect. Looks like I’m spending the night in Hässelholm. Please let them at least have a Hotel. I wonder out further from the station. It has started to rain and the wind from Alvesta has returned, this time with vengeance. My recovering cough looses the battle and choking for breath I head up the main street of this little town. The streets are empty. The flower beds are perfectly kept and statues litter the sidewalk. The main street ends at a majestically floodlit church. At another time this would have been a beautiful little village to explore, but not now.

I find a locked hotel on the main road and buzz the intercom. It takes awhile for someone to answer. I explain I’m stranded and would like a bed for the night. Sorry we are full, try down the road. Silence...

Ok then, let me try down the road. Locked. Buzz. Explain. Sorry we don’t have night staff. Try City Hotel. Silence.

Ok, I’ll just find City Hotel then. I start to wander the streets. I know I’ve often mocked the size of Swedish villages, but this time I was grateful they are so small. The silence was the worst though. Where are all the dogs? What happened to the nightclub?

I continue to walk and sure enough I find City Hotel. Locked. Buzz. Sorry we are full try the other two. They are also full. Sorry can’t help. Silence. What is happening in this little town that all the hotels are full?

I start to walk with no idea where I’m heading. I try to whistle, but somehow even the wise words of Baden Powell don’t seem to help cheer me up.

I don’t know if it was because my head was bowed, but all of a sudden this girl just materialises in front of me and starts asking me if I want a pancake? Pancake? Typically South African I immediately ask how much? No wait I’ll buy all your pancakes if you can tell me where to find a hotel? She says there are only three. I explain my situation and ask how is it possible that all the hotels are full. She promptly tells me that Hässelholm is like New York, there is always something happening.

But what is she doing selling pancakes this time of night? She is part of a church group who are handing out pancakes, coffee and preaching the gossip to the local drunks. They had me a freshly cooked pancake, with the cream and jam oozing everywhere.  While I’m eating I start talking to a couple of the drunks hanging around. The one explains that there is a really nice and dry parking garage I should try. I’m seriously considering it and asking him for directions when the other interrupts us. He tells me that because I don’t look like a rapist I could come stay at his place. I kindly decline because unfortunately he does look like a rapist.

Then a gentleman approaches me and says the girl has told him my story and that I can sleep in their church if I like? I stare with disbelief at this kind stranger and ask him if he is serious? Yes. He just needs to fetch a few things from his house, but it should be fine. What can I give him in return? Nothing. I must just do good to others and help the poor. He says it with such conviction that I believe every word.

So I helped them pack up and by two in the morning I was settled in the corner of their little kitchen with a blanket, mattress and even a little something for breakfast. What should I do when I leave? Just close the door behind me they say. Good night and good bye.

I spent the night in the church and the next morning closed the door behind me and caught the train to Stockholm. While travelling I was still in disbelief about the events of the previous night that I decided to write them all down. While I was typing the girl next to me asked if I was writing a book because it seemed so unreal. I told her I was just narrating what had happened to me the night before. She didn’t believe me and said she couldn’t wait to see the movie!

I finally arrived at my conference, only 6 hours late. The whole point of my trip was to attend a conference in Stockholm to meet the then incoming Rotary President, Ray Klinginsmith. He was an Ambassadorial Scholar to Cape Town in the 60's and the governor of my district, Mikael Ahlberg, thought it would be nice for me to meet him. Unfortunatley I’d missed the entire mornings programme including his speech, but I was able to listen to the afternoon’s presentations regarding using social media in the future of Rotary.

It was a very inspiring afternoon and that evening I got the opportunity to have dinner with him and some of the Norwegian governors. I had a great time and it was definitely worth all the drama of the previous night.   

After dinner I was on the road again because I needed to return to Småland to continue my visit to the Rotary clubs in the area, but more about those adventures in my next post.

Hej då