This is a Lost and Found story, but, even more than most such, it is a Happy News story too...
The stranger and the ring
By Tim Butcher Cape Town
When my father died he left me a ring which had once belonged to his father. But before long I was thrown into a panic - I had lost it. Racked with guilt, I tuned to a stranger for help.
Gold drew many to South Africa and it was gold that has just reaffirmed my faith in this muddled, mosaic nation.
...
[The ring] must have been on the beach, an area stretching 200m from the car park - the ring, a very small needle in a very large and tidally wet haystack.
I was out at first light the next day but with no luck, spirits dimming. My only hope was this - the wind had been so strong the ring could have been buried. It might just still be there, somewhere.
I contacted local metal detector users. Two came to help, one even lending me his gear. "Take as long as you need," he said. Days of searching passed forlornly. I found an old mobile phone, circa 2001, a 50 cent coin and a lot of bottle tops.
Eight days later, a third metal detector user, Alan, arrived to help...
Alan surveyed the search area. He talked about the wind, the tide, the currents and then he got to work. Up and down he ploughed, earphones on, criss-crossing dry sand, wet sand and even the approaching surf.
His gear was so good, he was picking up something every three or four paces, ring pulls and other metallic junk so I rather gave up watching closely every time he started to dig.
And then, a miracle. From a hole 40cm down, Alan had heaped wet sand and his eye, tempered by years of peering into briny swill, had seen something. Calling out for me to come over, calmly he said the best of words: "There's your ring, Tim."
This could not be happening. My eyes, prickly with tears and blurry with expectation, couldn't see straight to begin with. And then there it was, dad's ring, his dad's ring, 90 years of accompanying the Butcher boys on life's journey and lost by me on a beach in Africa after a few weeks' custody.
Alan grinned, the kids capered, the dog joined in and for a moment all was madness. I hugged this big, bearded stranger.
And private though this miracle was, there was a greater miracle at work. My saviour refused all reward. He was firm, he was insistent. No he would not accept a fee, no he did not want petrol money, no he did not want a celebratory drink nor fish and chips to drive home with. He wanted nothing more than to give something back.
I went down to that beach that day to find a ring. What I actually found was more valuable still - that there remain some decent souls out there. Now, at last, I can call mum.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-34360805
Alan must be a saint to refuse fish and chips! 
