It was several years ago now;
My son was about 10 years old. We lived in the Southern suburbs of Sydney and during the children’s school holidays, my son and I drove down to Jamberoo Recreation Park for the day. We had a fabulous time. I think it was the Easter holidays.
On the way home driving along the Princes highway at about 3pm, I noticed a yellow van with several people inside and a man waving cars down as they approached his stationery vehicle. As the man waved me down, I decided to stop and help him. When I got out of my car to speak to him, he was walking towards my car, and I noticed the people in his car were his children. He thanked me for stopping and told me he had been waiting for the NRMA for several hours, he had no water for the kids, and that his car had completely broken down. I asked him how I could be of help. He asked me to go to a garage that was situated at the top of Bulli Mountain and check with them if they had contacted the NRMA from there. According to the man, a few people had stopped to help him before me.
I agreed to do this as I felt sorry for his circumstances and I was also worried for his wife and children being stuck in that car all those hours
I hopped back in my car. My son sitting patiently in the car asked me what had happened. I explained to him as I drove to the garage at the top of Mount Bulli.
To my shock, the highway direction had been modified since, and I could not turn into the garage as before. That would mean crossing the highway. I had to drive around to the Helensburgh turnoff and then head back south. Arrrgh! So I did an illegal U turn instead. I went to see someone at the garage for help. When I spoke to the guy at the front desk, when I told him the story about the guy in the yellow van, his response was aggressive and agitated: ‘Oh no not another one! I have rung the NRMA! Haven’t they turned up yet?’
I told him no, and I expressed my concern about the children and the wife sitting in that car that long on a hot day! He seemed disturbingly reluctant to make another call to the NRMA so I asked if I may use his phone, to call the police to assist in the situation, and maybe they could intervene. I even was happy to pay for the phone call. This got him to make the call. Once I knew the call was made, I again got back into my car, and again to shock horror I was unable to continue my journey home in the direction north, and had to travel all the way down to the Picton turnoff! I was really upset as it was already after 4:00pm and the sun was starting to set. On my descent down the mountain, I noticed the NRMA had found the yellow van. That gave me much joy.
Reaching the Picton turnoff and driving up the mountain again, I noticed the yellow van was gone. Feeling satisfied about my good deed for the day, I heard a snap and a clunk, and then my own car died!
I had no acceleration and I quickly moved off the highway while the car was still rolling to a dead stop. What do I do now? I was stuck in a ditch at the lower end of the mountain, maybe 50 metres from where the yellow van was. Go figure! I had to think quickly! I told my son not to get out of the car, as the huge semi-trailers were gushing past us at a furious speed, and I carefully got out of the car to lift up the bonnet in the hope that maybe I could alert someone for help. As I was walking back to the front seat of my car, I noticed a burgundy coloured falcon stop about a few metres in front of my car. I rushed over to the burgundy car, and a man sitting in the driver’s seat had a mobile phone in his outstretched hand on the passenger side.
Without looking at me he said:
‘Call who you need to call’. I had never used a mobile phone before. I was wondering how to use the phone when, not looking at me again, it was as if he could read my mind, he said ‘press the numbers, and then press the green button’. Following his instructions, I called the NRMA, and then my dad to let him know what had happened to us. As I was talking on his phone I wondered why the man was not looking at me. He just sat in the driver’s seat like a robot. I noticed he was quite short for a man, and he had blond white hair. What stood out to me was his peaceful calm presence, and his very pale, almost white skin.
Finishing the calls I gave back his phone, and thanked him for his help. He nodded, didn’t speak to me, and again didn’t look at me. I thought that was really strange, but at the same time I felt assured.
I closed his car door, thanked him again and walked toward my own broken down car. In gratitude for my rescue, and the help I was given, I turned around to watch the burgundy coloured car ascent the mountain, and to my astonishment, there was no car! What the? There was no way a car could drive to the top of a hill in such a short time? Where was the car? I instantly felt goose bumps, and my heart started to pound. I could not understand this! I was dumb founded. I questioned what had happened, I turned around again to be sure. No cars, and for that matter no trucks either at that moment. It was silent.
When I got back to my car door, and sat in the driver’s seat, I said to my son ‘ well, that’s done. I’m glad that man stopped. I rang Opa to tell him we will be late….and the NRMA is on its way. We may have a bit of a wait’. My son looked at me in a quizzical way, and responded ‘What car Mum?’ I looked at him and said ‘oh come on, the burgundy coloured car that stopped just in front of us’.
‘Oh Mum’, he said. ‘There was no car that stopped, I don’t know what you are talking about.’
To this day, I have never understood this event that happened. If you were to ask me if I believe in angels, I would have to say yes! I believe with all my heart that I was helped by an angel that day. Thank God for angels!
If you are wondering how I got home, the NRMA showed up and my car had to be towed to a Wollongong depot. My son and I were picked up from Sutherland station, and we were home just midnight.
I retold the whole story to my Dad, who always encouraged me to ‘see’ beyond the ‘normal’. The event changed my life. I now work as an artist, a shaman, and healer teaching others of the existence of Angels, and of the possibility that we are not alone. Never alone. Maybe that’s what a Creative Heart likes to believe? Or is there a greater truth. What do you feel?
True story by Wanda Grein