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One Saturday morning, I joined my mum to the nearby market for our regular fruit and veg shop. My mother continued browsing when I offered to take the shopping back to the car, which was stuffed into a small rolling cart. It resembled a Mary Poppins bag – quite a small thing, but it was surprising how much you could load it up. That's what we believed.

With the trolley straining under the load of an packed load of groceries, my mum rested a box of sweet melons on top. She warned me to be cautious taking it back to the car.

All was going well as I weaved my way through the crowds of shoppers and out of the market. But as I was navigating the chaotically busy main intersection into the market, the trolley became lodged on the traffic island in the middle of the road, and the crate of melons fell to the pavement. They scattered, dramatically rolling out towards passersby and stationary cars.

As the little walking man switched from green to stop, I was shocked, speechless, trying to process how I was going to collect the melons rolling in six different directions.

Out of nowhere, a group of several elderly ladies came to my assistance. Silver-haired, head scarves and one with a walking stick – they appeared as if they had stepped out of the same babushka doll. They didn't hesitate by the cars inching their way towards us. Completely brave, they just held up their hands to stop the traffic, in each direction. They collected all the melons for me, retrieving a solitary melon, as I fixed the box to contain them.

I thanked them and they didn’t say a word, just smiled and waved me goodbye. I didn’t eat the melons – I was never a real fan of honeydew – but I tell this anecdote frequently because I love it so much.

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