Relative connection

I live in a relatively obscure Leicestershire village, not one that anybody would normally pass through. One Sunday afternoon, about 15 years ago I was walking my dog along a local footpath. The path concerned widens out into a cul-de-sac which was formerly the medieval archery butts of the parish, running between the church and present cemetery. i became aware of a car which was slowly approaching and moved to one side. It was driven by an elderly lady who was looking rather confused. 'Can you help me?' she asked. 'I'm trying to find the road which will take me to the East Coast.' 'Where have you come from?' I asked. 'Birmingham' she replied. 'I'm not terribly familiar with the Midlands and seem to have gone wrong somewhere.' I realised that she must have come down the A5 (remember - the motorway system was not as facile as now!) and must have missed the turn for the A47, through Hinckley. The next turn would have taken her down the B4114 adjacent to our village. 'Oh, I can direct you, I said ' there's a straight road out of the village which will eventually connect you - but where do you come from if you're not familiar with the Midlands?' 'Well - she replied - before we moved to Birmingham we lived on the Isle of Wight'. 'How strange' I said, 'I had an uncle who was a schoolmaster on the Island for his entire working life. He had originally come from Shropshire.' Oh, she said - I lived in Ryde for many years' - 'So did my uncle,' I said. 'What was his name?' she asked 'Bob Wilcox' I answered. 'Good heavens - he was a dear friend of mine. He taught me all i needed to know about the Scouting movement.' We shared a few memories about my uncle Bob, who had also been my godfather and she eventaully got in the car and drove off. I never saw her again, so I presume she must have found her way to the A47!