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One Saturday morning, I joined my mum to the nearby market for our weekly produce shop. My mother continued browsing when I volunteered to take the groceries back to the vehicle, which was stuffed into a small rolling cart. It was like a Mary Poppins bag – quite a small thing, but it was surprising how much you could load it up. Or so we thought.

With the trolley heaving under the load of an packed load of groceries, my mum rested a box of sweet melons on top. She cautioned me to be careful getting it back to the car.

All was proceeding smoothly as I weaved my way through the crowds of shoppers and out of the market. But as I was crossing 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 tumbled to the pavement. They went flying, spectacularly rolling out towards pedestrians and stationary cars.

As the little walking man changed from go to red, I was shocked, speechless, trying to figure out how I was going to collect the melons shooting in multiple directions.

Suddenly, a band of several elderly ladies sprang to my assistance. White hair, head scarves and one with a walking stick – they appeared as if they had stepped out of the same nesting doll. They weren’t deterred by the cars creeping their way towards us. Completely brave, they just held up their hands to stop the traffic, in both directions. They collected all the melons for me, not missing a single one, as I fixed the box to contain them.

I expressed gratitude to them and they didn’t say a word, just smiled and waved me farewell. I never consumed the melons – I was never a real fan of honeydew – but I share this anecdote frequently because I love it so much.

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