Cambridge Coincidences Collection

On 24 September 2010 driving north on the A1, I stopped for a break at a roadside cafe. I parked the yellow Peugeot 107 and went straight to the 'ladies'. Later at the snacks counter I was interested by the woman being served before me. Whe she glanced round we recognised each other from forty years before when we were friends, having met at primary school long before that. We had since moved to different parts of the country and lost touch. We had twenty minutes excitedly catching up and exchanging contact details before we each had to resume our journeys. Walking out together, she said 'I must show you my car. I had fun parking it beside its twin.' She had parked her yellow Peugeot 107 beside mine.

I live in a village near Bristol and occasionally had a drink with the local decorator in the local club. In Jan/Feb 2008 I holidayed in New Zealand. Walking down street in Queenstown and came across my drinking companion with his wife. Neither of us had any idea the other was going to NZ. Quite a surprise!

I live in Sidcup, enjoy watercolour painting and am always looking for new places to paint. A number of years ago whilst on a summer break in Herefordshire visiting my parents who had retired to the picturesque village of Weobley, my husband and I decided to drive around an area on the Welsh borders in the Black Hills. After some hours, we were thinking of returning to my parent’s house. With one last look on the map, I picked out a place high up in the hills near Dorstone, which showed a National Trust site known as King Arthur’s Stone. This is a stone age burial chamber set high on a hill overlooking the Wye valley and Hay On Wye. We drove up a steep track and reached the top as another car passed us on its way down. We parked our car in a tiny clearing in front of the stone mound and looked around. We were the only people there on this late summer afternoon. I got out of the car and stepped onto a hard object which was in the long grass. When I looked down I discovered it was a ladies handbag which was in the style of a saddle bag. I picked it up out of the grass and held it for a few minutes not wanting to open it, thinking that the owner might come back any minute.

In August 1986, I was a corporal service in the 2nd Rep Paratroop Regiment of the French Foreign Legion stationed in Mayotte just off the Reunion Islands. Unfortunately I was arrested and convicted by the Mayor of Mayotte (hands up I was guilty) of assaulting a local man and was sentenced to 3 months in the Reunion Island jail as an example. On arrival, I found I was the only European white man in a jail holding 2,000. After a week, I was joined by a white German. A few days later an Irishman - Pat - joined us. When chatting with Pat, he mentioned that he had been born in Duplin but spent his Summer holidays as a boy in Carlow. He then explained that he spent his time in small hamlet called Boris. He added that through the holidays he was looked after by a young girl called Elizabeth Burne - who is my mother! My sentence was reduced (my regiment was returning home) and Pat was waiting for me on my release. We called my mother and he spoke to her and she was the same woman who had looked after him in Boris. What are the odds on meeting someone in a remote African jail who knew my mother?