April at Pat & Brian's

My story, all true, won this time. Four votes.

In this country

In this country? Which one though?  England perhaps as in my case it's the only one I know apart from my sally into Wales many years ago when I was about twelve. If it is Wales then in this country my first and second impression was not very good. The first visit in 1946 came about when a friend of our family lets call him Tom, took his family there by train to visit his wife’s relatives in Cardiff Don't know why but my parents agreed I could go with them although I don't remember wanting to go. Perhaps they wanted me to go and with luck not come back, who knows.

Again I can't understand why no one knew what the sleeping arrangements would be. As there was no room in the proverbial Inn. I had to go into a neighbouring house and share a bed with a man I had never met. Could that happen 2016 without an uproar but the night passed without me being molested as far as I remember. On the second day I didn't feel that wonderful and when we went out together that is Tom, his wife and their two girls by bus, the conductor, they had them in those days, peered at me I think he said, You're covered in spots, as his accent was as clear as BT Indian help line. Indeed I was covered in spots, subsequently I was told it was the water. Not sure I believe it.

All in all it wasn't a very good holiday. It didn't end that well either A train journey back nobody had cars then and a walk home I found the house locked up. My brother was outside and seeing me he said Mum is next door with Mrs Turner I'll tell her. He left me standing outside with the suitcase while he climbed over the wall separating the two gardens and disappeared inside.

I waited and waited and waited thinking they don't care if I'm back or not and it seemed a very long time when from around the front of the house mum appeared having only just been told that I was home. My dear brother forgot to tell her.

The second bad time was when we took a short break to that bleak cottage with the axe in the outhouse that had rusty stains on the blade that and the constant rain we made the short break even shorter. I've just remembered it was three times not twice when I ventured into this rain swept country

The third time was much better it was when we took our son to St Donat's a medieval castle in the Vale of Glamorgan, overlooking the Bristol Channel. Now an international secondary school called Atlantic College. He wasn't going there to take a baccalaureate but to enjoy the experience for two weeks. The facilities available for those privileged to go there for their education in those glorious settings gave me an impression of something out of this world. It was actually bathed in sunshine too. Maybe Wales isn't so bad after all.

Next month "up to much"

Pat wrote the winning story

Have to be

We were on our way to the airport, and the traffic was stop-go especially on the M25. Where are they all going I wondered, we have to be there by 10 am. At last we arrived at Heathrow. KEEP LEFT for TERMINAL 4 the sign flashed at us. “get over” we chorused. “if you want to drive, take over” our father shouted back. There was silence until we found the correct long term parking. “Now let's all remember where we have parked the car”, he cautioned. We each took our luggage and went down in the crowded lift. What a to do. We all flopped into the only available seats as there was 30 minutes to wait till check in. It was rather exciting watching other travellers staring up at the signs bumping into each other.

The tannoy kept blaring incomprehensible information. What did it say? We were sipping our airport tea when a smartly dressed young man asked our father to watch his suitcase for a while. Of course we would, and off he went. Shortly after there was another announcement that we could actually hear “ DO NOT LEAVE YOUR BAGS UNATTENDED OR THEY MAY BE DESTROYED”. Now this was in the 80's when the Irish were intent on blowing things up. All eyes flew to the suitcase, then to our father. “is it ticking”? My brother asked. No one laughed.As time went on we became more paranoid. Then it was time for us to check in and as we began to gather our belongings the young man reappeared smiling and thanking us for being so kind. We all breathed a sigh of relief and joined the long queue, shuffling our bags along.

Then I spotted him. A gentleman wearing long robes ahead of us. “ he has no luggage” I whispered to my father in a nervous voice. We all watched him as he inched closer to the desk. He boldly walked up and chatted to the attendant, who then directed him to another check in. He had been in the wrong queue all along! Phew!

Finding our seats on the plane, I found myself in between my brother, who had the window seat and a young man. As we taxied out of the airport onto the runway, the engines began to race, I noticed the young man gripping the arms, and stealing a furtive look at his face, noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. Panic and suspicion was setting in again and I was gripping the armrest too. We took off and he glanced at me “J sis defray” in French (pardon my spelling) then ,in English, “its my first flight” he said with a lovely smile. Mental not to self, stop being suspicious of strangers.