'Oops' by Louise McClean

Shortly after I retired from teaching, in the early nineties, I agreed to do voluntary English teaching in Poland for six months.
The Polish people were wonderful to me, so friendly, generous and patient and I was very happy there.
Together with the Polish teacher of English, I was often asked to dine at their homes. I soon learned not to admire anything or, at the end of the evening, it would be wrapped up and presented to me as a gift. They had so little, but wanted me to have whatever I had admired.
One winter’s evening while visiting in Magda’s house, I noticed some really strong shoes by the door and remarked that these were exactly what I needed. The shoes I had brought with me were not nearly strong for the severe Polish weather and the deep water filled holes in the roads in which a small child could have drowned! I decided I would look for some similar in Warsaw the next weekend.
Later in the week Magda’s husband, Miki, knocked at my door, said something in Polish ( dear knows what) and handed me a brown paper parcel. I took it, thanked him and off he went. On opening the parcel I found the same shoes I had admired earlier. Magda was giving me her shoes. This would never happen in England where no-one would give worn shoes to another, but it was quite common in Poland, where everything was in short supply.
Now I had a problem. Should I risk hurting Magda’s feelings by returning the shoes or should I gracefully accept them and be thankful? I decided to keep the shoes.
I wore them to Warsaw the next weekend and several times the following week. They were great; the right size, waterproof and very comfortable - in fact they were perfect in every way. I was delighted with them.
One afternoon, while walking home from school, Beata asked me if I still had Magda’s shoes. I said I did and they were wonderful and wasn’t it generous of Magda to give them to me? Beata stared at me, howled with laughter and informed me that Miki had given me the shoes to pass on to her so she could take them to the menders, but because of the language problem I hadn’t understood Miki!
I hadn’t been given the shoes at all; it was a mistake! I was mortified and so contrite. Beata, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious and fortunately so did Magda when she was told. I, of-course, apologised profusely.
The story of the shoes spread among staff and pupils and caused much merriment in school and much embarrassment to me! I decided to make more effort to learn Polish, but, alas, I never did master the very complex Polish language.