3November2025 Diary
I dropped an elderly gentleman off at the little village of Ashford on my way home. He turned out to be the founder of the construction firm where Ive been on the payroll for years BuildCo Ltd.
The day had started with a sharp outburst from Emma Harper in the supply office. Its not fair, Mrs. Harper! she cried, her voice echoing down the corridor. Ive been here longer than anyone, and they promoted Jane!
The HR manager, Ms. Clarke, adjusted her spectacles and sighed. Mrs. Harper, the decision came from senior management, not from me.
Cant you put in a word? Emma pleaded. Ive been grinding away for five years without a hitch. Janes only been here a year!
Jane has two university degrees, Ms. Clarke replied.
And I have realworld experience! Emma snapped, turning on her heel and almost colliding with my colleague Tara.
Whats the news? Tara asked.
They bumped Jane up to senior manager.
Seriously? Tara whistled. Shes climbing the ladder fast.
Too fast, Emma muttered, tossing her bag onto the chair. Am I not good enough?
Youre a solid worker, Tara said, laying a hand on Emmas shoulder. Probably Jane just has the right contacts, or maybe just plain luck.
Emma settled at her desk, powered up her computer, and the mornings mood was already bruised. I sit in the procurement section of BuildCo, handling orders for cement, steel, and timber. The work is routine, the pay modest but reliable, and a promotion would mean a decent raise and a bit of prestige.
The day crawled by. I sorted invoices, phoned suppliers, and filed paperwork until my head throbbed by lunch.
Olive, fancy a bite in the canteen? Tara called.
No thanks, Ive packed a sandwich and Im not hungry.
Dont worry, your moment will come.
When, at my age? Im 48, retirement isnt far off, I replied.
Tara shrugged and headed to the canteen, leaving me alone in the quiet office. I brewed tea, nibbled my sandwich, and let my thoughts drift.
I married young, at twenty, and we had a daughter, Natalie. My husband left when Natalie was five, claiming hed fallen in love with someone else. I raised Natalie alone, working hard, scrimping on everything. She grew up, got a degree, married, and moved to Bristol, calling only occasionally.
I stayed at BuildCo, a dependable job with little room for advancement. Management valued my reliability but never looked beyond that.
When the evening rain began to patter, I slipped on my coat and grabbed my umbrella.
Olive Harper, could you hold off a little? Victor, the department head, called from his office. We need that invoice processed immediately.
Im already about to leave
Itll only take twenty minutes, please.
I sighed, shrugged off my coat, and lingered. Twenty minutes stretched into an hour. By the time I finally stepped out, darkness had settled and the rain was pouring. I hurried to the bus stop, only to watch the last bus pull away. The next one wouldnt arrive for another half hour.
I muttered, Just my luck, and took shelter under the shelter, shivering. I remembered a notice from that morning Simon, a colleague, was selling an old car cheap. Maybe it was time to stop relying on the bus.
When the next bus finally squeezed in, it was packed. I clung to the handrail, thinking that I would definitely buy a car.
The following morning I met Simon. Take it, Olive! Ive bought a new one, so I dont need this old clunker. £1,000, yours for free.
I had saved exactly that amount, intending to put it toward some home repairs, but a reliable car seemed more pressing. I accepted the deal, and Simon helped me with the paperwork. I hadnt driven much since I got my licence in my teens, but I was eager to learn.
The first week was nervewracking; every horn made me jump. By the second week the old Ford ran like a champ, despite its tenyear age.
On Friday I decided to drive to my mothers cottage in the countryside. She lives alone, over seventy, in a modest house about eighty miles from the city. The roads were damp, the wipers slapping furiously. About thirty miles out, I saw a figure huddled beside the road. An elderly man, soaked to the bone, was trying to flag a bus that never seemed to arrive. I slowed down, feeling guilty that I could have just driven past.
I pulled over, rolled down the window and asked, Where are you heading?
He shuffled closer, his thin frame wrapped in a worn coat and a battered cap. To Ashford, love, he replied, his voice hoarse. Just a few miles more.
I opened the passenger door. Hop in, youll stay dry.
He thanked me gratefully, settled into the seat, and wiped rain from his cheeks. Sorry for muddying your car, he said sheepishly.
Ill dry off later, I replied. Where are you from?
From the city, just went to my granddaughters birthday. Missed the bus, so I decided to walk back and vote at the polling station.
He chuckled, Rain makes it dangerous to linger on the road.
We drove in silence for a while, the rain blurring the fields. He commented on my careful driving, noting that many people now zip past without a second thought.
I only recently got back behind the wheel, I admitted. Im still a bit nervous.
He nodded, Its wise to be cautious. A car is a potent source of danger if youre not vigilant.
He told me his name was Peter Hughes, born and raised in Ashford, later moved to the city to be near his son, but his heart always stayed in his hometown. We talked about the countryside air, the quiet that the city can never match.
He asked what I did for a living. I explained I work in procurement for a construction firm. He smiled, Construction is solid work. I spent my whole life on sites, first as a labourer, then as a foreman.
I introduced myself as Oliver Harper. He shook my hand, Pleasure to meet you, Oliver. Im Peter Hughes.
When we reached Ashford the rain had eased. He handed me a crumpled note. Take this for petrol.
I waved it off. I was heading that way anyway.
He persisted, Just a token for your kindness.
I smiled, No need, Peter. Thank you, and safe travels.
He got out, thanked me again, and walked toward the village shop.
My mother greeted me at the doorstep with a bright smile. Olive, my dear! Youve finally come.
We shared tea, caught up, and I delivered the groceries and medicines Id brought. She complained about her health and the neighbours, and about how rarely I visited.
Im busy with work, I explained, theres never enough time.
She sighed, Work, work life slips away.
That night I rested in my modest bedroom, the rain still pattering outside. The next morning I helped my mother tidy the house before driving back to the city.
Passing Ashford again, I wondered whether Peter had made it home safely. He lived not far from the shop, I thought.
Sunday was spent doing chores, laundry, and preparing meals for the week. I called Natalie.
Hey Mum, how are you? she asked, distractedly.
Doing fine, love. How are the kids?
Both under the weather, so were stuck at home.
I can bring over some soup if you need.
No, well manage. I have to run, so Ill call later in the week.
She hung up. It seemed my daughter was always busy, her own life leaving little room for me.
Monday returned to the office. The usual paperwork, calls, and meetings filled the day. By evening I was exhausted, barely making it home.
On Tuesday Victor called a meeting in the conference room.
Attention, everyone, he announced. Today we have a special guest Mr. Peter Hughes, the founder of BuildCo.
Tara looked puzzled. Whos that?
He started the company thirty years ago, then handed it over to his son. Hes been away for three years due to health, but hes coming back to inspect things.
Jane, the woman who had been promoted over me, asked, Do we know him?
Victor replied, The older staff will remember him.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Could it be the same Peter I had given a lift to? The thought seemed absurd, yet the coincidence was uncanny.
When the clock struck eleven, Victor entered the room, followed by a man in a faded coat and cap exactly the same Peter Hughes Id helped that rainy afternoon. He scanned the room, then his eyes landed on me. Recognition lit his face.
Oliver Harper! I remember you well, he exclaimed. You stopped for me on that stormy night and drove me to Ashford. Thank you, truly.
The room fell silent. Victor raised an eyebrow.
Do you know each other? he asked.
Of course, Peter replied, stepping toward me. Shes the kind soul who didnt ignore a stranger in need.
I stammered, I didnt realize you were the founder.
He chuckled, I never told anyone because I wanted to see the kind of person you truly are. You proved yourself generous, and that matters more than a title.
Victor smiled, Well, Oliver, lets give you a tour of the company, and perhaps we can discuss your future.
After the tour, Peter invited me into his office.
Tell me, how do you feel about your work? he asked.
Its stable, but Ive hit a ceiling, I admitted. Ive been here five years, solid performance, yet they chose Jane, whos only been here a year, for promotion.
Why? I pressed.
They say she has better qualifications.
What about you? he asked.
I have a technical college diploma, nothing fancy.
Peter tapped his fingers thoughtfully. Would you consider further study? Age is no barrier.
I hesitated, Im 48, it feels late.
He laughed, Nonsense. We could sponsor a parttime economics degree for you. Your experience is valuable; education is just a tool.
I was stunned. Really?
Absolutely. Youve shown integrity, and thats what we need in leadership.
He stood, clapped my shoulder, and said, Ill speak with Victor about arranging the tuition and a salary raise.
Later that evening Victor called me into his office.
Congratulations, Oliver. Peter has arranged for you to start a parttime economics course, and youll receive a twentypercent raise effective next month.
I could barely contain the joy. Thank you, sir.
Victor added, Kindness and reliability are as important as any skill. Youve earned this.
I called my mother that night, bursting with excitement.
See, dear? Good deeds do come back around, she said, tears in her eyes.
Natalie called later, Mum, Im proud of you! You always said youd make it.
I replied, Just a bit of luck, I guess.
Over the next weeks I juggled work, studies, and caring for my mother. Peter never appeared in the office again, but he sent a handwritten note praising my progress. He wrote, Remember, true wealth isnt measured in cash or titles, but in the goodness you spread. I keep that note in my desk drawer for tough days.
Six months later I topped my first semester with top marks. Management noticed and awarded me a bonus. Jane, who had been promoted before, approached me one afternoon.
Im jealous of you, she confessed.
My why? I asked.
Youre bright, everyone likes you. Im stuck chasing the next rung.
I told her, You have a conscience, Jane. Listen to it; it will guide you better than any promotion.
She seemed to think on that, then left.
Another halfyear passed. Victor summoned me to his office.
Were opening a new branch in Leeds. I want you to head the procurement department there.
I havent finished my degree yet, I argued.
Youve proven yourself dependable and capable. The board supports you.
I accepted, feeling the weight of responsibility but also the thrill of a new challenge.
That evening I drove to my mothers cottage again, sharing the news. She wept with joy, repeating her favourite saying, A good deed never goes unrewarded.
On the drive back I passed the spot where Id once stopped for Peter. I pulled over, stood on the roadside, and thought of the dozens of cars that had sped past that rainy evening. I had been the one who stopped. That simple act altered the course of my life.
It wasnt the fact that the old man owned the company; it was that I followed my conscience. The world repaid me in ways I never imagined.
I sit now in the drivers seat of a new car, heading toward Leeds, ready for fresh duties, fresh studies, and fresh chances to help others. The lesson is clear: real riches lie not in pounds or promotions, but in kindness and a clear conscience. And that, I now carry with me every day.
