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One weekend morning, I joined my mother to the local market for our regular fruit and veg shop. My mother continued browsing when I offered to bring the groceries back to the car, which was stuffed into a little red trolley. It resembled a Mary Poppins bag – quite a small thing, but it was astonishing how much you could load it up. Or so we thought.

With the trolley straining under the load of an packed load of supplies, my mum rested a carton of honeydew melons on top. She cautioned me to be careful getting it back to the car.

All was going well as I made my way through the throngs of people and out of the market. But as I was crossing the chaotically busy main crossing 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 ground. They scattered, dramatically tumbling out towards pedestrians and waiting cars.

As the little walking man changed from go to stop, I was stunned, mouth agape, trying to process how I was going to collect the melons shooting in six different directions.

Out of nowhere, a group of several older women came to my rescue. Silver-haired, scarves and one with a walking stick – they looked like they had stepped out of the same babushka doll. They didn't hesitate by the cars creeping their way towards us. Completely brave, they just raised their hands to stop the vehicles, in each direction. They collected all the melons for me, retrieving a single one, as I repaired the box to hold them.

I thanked them and they remained silent, just grinned and gestured me goodbye. I never consumed the melons – I was never a real fan of honeydew – but I share this story all the time because I adore it so much.

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