As the train lurched forward, the elderly woman moved backwards at the same speed, then forwards, and then to the ground. She was a tourist, or at least someone unfamiliar with the London Underground tube system. I could tell by how slowly she moved; she was still standing when the train took off. I was too far away to reach out to her.
The man with her, presumably her husband, helped her to her feet. He spoke an Asian language. I could not tell what he was saying, but the look of concern on his face spoke volumes. The woman, shaken, sat down in the seat next to his. His enquiries grew more agitated.
As the woman spoke, I noticed for the first time she had lost a front tooth. She certainly had all her teeth when she got on the train. I tend to notice these things. Now there was a gap where her upper right central incisor used to be. I looked at the passengers on either side of me and across the aisle. Every one was focused on the unfolding drama. No one was moving.
"I’m a dentist," I found myself saying. "Can anyone see this lady’s missing tooth?"
I put a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm, the universal language of comfort. Several passengers rallied.
"Found it!" one of them cried, pointing to an intact, long rooted tooth on the floor of the carriage.
"Has anyone got a clean plastic bag or tissue?" I asked.
"I have a bag," a man offered, handing over his Sainsbury’s shopping carrier.
In the ultimate form of recycling, I inserted my hand into the bag and used it as a glove. I picked up the tooth by its crown, being careful not to disturb its chances of replantation by handling it by the root. I mimed mouth opening to the woman passenger. I wiped the root with the saliva in her mouth, and replaced it, the right way round, in its socket.
"You need to see a dentist," I said, frustrated by my lack of language skills. But her husband nodded, and I hoped they would seek and find aftercare.
"Thank you, every one," I said as I sat back down.
The carriage, almost mystically, lapsed back into silence. I sensed a change in atmosphere, concern for the woman injured, and a feeling of connection with each other in her cause.
When it came to my stop, I waved goodbye to the woman and her husband. They looked up as I got off.
"Take care," I said.
I reported the incident to the station staff before leaving. They took down some details.
"We will follow up," they assured me.
As anonymously as I had entered the transport system, I left. But for those brief minutes in which I had done everything I could to save the unfortunate woman’s tooth, I had experienced a little bit of truth in the phrase, ‘A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet.’
