Last updated: October 2026
When I moved to Tuscany, I packed a couple of suitcases, stored everything else in a friend’s warehouse and went to start a new life in a medieval village. I had a nine-month-old baby, my daughter Lily, no friends or family anywhere near, and no grasp of the language whatsoever.
I couldn’t bring all my clothes with me. The plan was to go back to the UK for the rest. I never did.
What I didn’t have was a winter coat.
Giving, before
Before Italy, I’d lived as an expat in Saudi Arabia. When I left, there were clothes I couldn’t take with me. Some still had the tags on. Some had designer names. I was lucky enough then to be in a position to give, and I gave a lot. Black sacks full of clothes, shoes and bags went off to all sorts of charities, some local, some global.
It felt good. I never wanted anything back. I just wanted to make that extra bit of difference to people who needed it.
I had no idea that a few years later I’d be on the other end.
Then winter came
Straight after the move, I learnt all about what I call the circle of give and take.
Winter was nearing. Word got round the village that I was a single mum with a baby, and that all my warm clothes were sitting in a warehouse back in the UK. And the village rallied round. They all got together, and I swear it was the most beautiful thing I ever experienced.
First the neighbours came to my house to ask if it was true. Did I really have hardly any clothes? Next thing, a priest came to see me. He was Filipino, he spoke English, and he said he wanted to help.
Then the bags started arriving at my cottage. On different days, different people knocked on my door. Some I’d chatted to. Some I hardly knew. Some I didn’t even know the names of. Clothes, shoes and boots for me. Warm things for my daughter. Some people brought food too.
I remember sitting on my terracotta floor, staring at all those bags and crying. Crying at how beautiful that circle was, and that believing in it was working. My clothes were coming back to me. Not the same ones, but with more, because of the meaning behind them.
It was embarrassing at first. Then I learnt to be humble. I learnt two things that winter. How valuable that circle of give and take really is. And that you have to be humble enough to accept.
The stripy jumper
I’ve worn labels. Ball gowns. Expensive hairdos and perfumes, you name it. Not one of them ever touched me like the bright, stripy jumper a stranger knitted, purely for me.
To this day I don’t know who knitted it. Or the five little jumpers they knitted for my daughter. But that person will always have a place in my heart.
I kept that jumper for about ten years. It was one of my favourites. It kept me cosy and warm through the winters, and someone had made it just for me.
Because dear stranger, you kept both me and my daughter warm, especially on those freezing winter nights.
Wearing the village
It was quite comical, walking round my close-knit village in other villagers’ boots, coats, scarves and hats.
To end
In one way or another, strangers really do care. And the circle of give and take is something we’re all better off being part of.
If you ever have a bag of warm clothes going spare, you know what to do.
You might also enjoy:
- The snow and the old lady in the café
- Otello: the day I bought a Tuscan village home from a 93-year-old war hero
Susan
