With reference to Peter Gainsborough's letter (Croydon Guardian, January 19), I wish I had taken the driver's badge number or the licence number of the taxi I used on January 23.

It was 10pm on Sunday night, my case and holdall had somehow increased considerably in weight during the marathon round Gatwick and especially up the final slope at East Croydon station and I just didn't fancy the final walk home, which some years back, before I had retired, I wouldn't have had any qualms about.

I approached the cab rank and paused by the next taxi line, mindful of the letters in these pages and the attitudes of some drivers to short journeys expressed therein.

The driver got out and came round to me; I noticed his longish dark hair swinging. I asked how he felt about a very short run, "That's what we're here for," he said. "Can't have you walking up the road at this time of night."

He popped the case and the bag in the back with me and we reached my abode in no time at all.

I paid up, then he got out and carried said case and bag right to my door; it was so unexpected and such a joy.

No holiday could have had a more perfect ending. A knight of the road, indeed.

So why am I sorry I didn't take the driver's name or number? Because had I done so I could have followed Mr Gainsborough's advice and reported my black cab experience to the Public Carriage Office.

Perhaps they don't often get told about their good ambassadors.

Who knows it might have made their day, as he had made mine.

Peggy Nye
Turnpike Link
Croydon