Our hitchhiking memories show the depths of human kindness | Letters

As I recuperated from surgery, my spirits were much lifted by the memories evoked by Hilary Bradt’s article (Confessions of an 82-year-old hitchhiker, 27 April).

As a hitchhiker in the 1960s and early 70s, I, like Bradt, experienced wholly positive interactions with those willing to offer a lift: interesting conversations over the course of a few miles, company over a shared meal in otherwise soulless service stations, occasional overnight hospitality with the driver’s family, and even offers to set up my first lift of the next day with a “friend of a friend” who was heading in my direction.

This was all done on the basis of mutual trust, rightly flagged up by Bradt as integral to positive hitchhiking experiences.

It was only after rereading Bradt’s article that I appreciated that I had just completed a different type of hitchhiking journey through the NHS, where the key factors identified by Bradt had also played out: my having no idea who I would meet or where I might end up, the innate kindness of most human beings and the strength of mutual trust throughout the whole process.

On the other hand, as a more realistic family member said: “OK, Dad, maybe that was just the good drugs!” Either way, hats off (and thumbs up) to Bradt as she continues her hitchhiking odyssey, and thanks for her help on my road to recovery.
Phil Murray
Linlithgow, West Lothian

What a joy Hilary Bradt’s article was. So many memories. At 17, I set off with my sister and two LSE student friends to Greece. It was 1963. We had been inspired by Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday and The Guns of Navarone. It seemed easy until we got to the unmade roads of the Dalmatian coast at Zadar.

We hitched a ride on a boat carrying concrete to Dubrovnik. We didn’t know that bedbugs on board had led to the legs of my sister’s friend swelling to twice their size. We had to get to Greece fast. After tortuous lifts in lorries over scary mountain passes we got to a train at Titograd, now Podgorica. It stopped at Skopje, which had suffered a terrible earthquake weeks before. The station was ruined, but we had burgers and beans on white tablecloths in a makeshift tent. We flew our swollen friend home from Thessaloniki before hitching back.
Wenda Clenaghen
London

Hilary Bradt is indeed not slowing down. She’s a regular at our local parkrun in Seaton and is always keen to outrun any other over-80s. Good for her. Be more like Hilary!
Lesley Adams
Seaton, Devon