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THE STARING MAN

One of the familiar sights to be seen in the valley was the daily appearance of the Meals on Wheels van. It was a small white van with a big green apple painted on the side that conveyed the message that the food that was being delivered was fresh and as unadulterated as was commercially possible. Inside the van were two middle-aged ladies who delivered a two course hot meal for £2.60 to those who subscribed to the service that was provided by the local council. Usually, but not always, these tended to be elderly and infirm people who lived on their own and who found preparing a hearty midday meal a difficulty. But delivering the meals was only part of the service. For those customers who were housebound it meant that, for a few minutes while their food was being served, they had someone to talk to which explained why many of the customers subscribed to the service seven days a week. In the winter, Meals on Wheels is especially useful as not only does it guarantee that the most vulnerable in the community receive a well-balanced hot meal, but it also means that the customers also have a visitor who might be their only human contact every day who is able to identify any problems encountered by the client and relay that information to social services. It’s a valuable service.

The vans that are used to deliver the Meals on Wheels are not especially adapted for their purpose. The food is kept hot using thick, insulating boxes. If the food is loaded onto the van at 10:30 in the morning it is still piping hot at 3 in the afternoon when the last deliveries take place. The insulating boxes just sit on the floor of the loading area and are stacked up. When driving conditions become tricky due to snow or ice the vans that are normally used have to be replaced by four-wheel drive vehicles that are driven by their owners who volunteer their services free of charge, although they do get remunerated for the fuel used. Using the volunteer drivers over snow covered roads means that the delivery time is longer than usual, but it ensures that the service is kept running at a time when a hot meal can mean the difference between life and death for a frail elderly person who lives alone.

Bobby Williams was an accountant who worked in the office of the one remaining colliery. He was not a chartered accountant but had accumulated a string of book-keeping qualifications that had seen him progress through the office hierarchy and he was now the senior accountant responsible for ensuring that the men were paid their wages accurately and on time. He was 53yrs old who, secretly, loathed his job. His mother was responsible for his misery. Over thirty years previously she had chosen for her only son the career that she had secretly wanted for herself – an office job. Bobby was a lonely child, his short stature and his inability to make decisions for himself meant that he found solace in his own company from an early age and would often disappear into the mountains that circled the valley where he was born and grew up. He came to love nature in all its forms. From the age of 10 he could identify every tree in and around the valley, he could identify wildlife from the tracks left in the mud or snow, and he could identify every bird from its call. Often, when not having to study what his mother used to call “vocational subjects” he would disappear into the surrounding hills and forests for a whole day at a time. He read everything he could about the flora and fauna of his native land, and then, as he grew older he read about the nature of more exotic lands. The highlight of his week would be the wildlife documentary that was shown on BBC2 on Sunday evenings. From early on in his life he had wanted to work in the outdoors. His mother had other ideas. She was an assembly line worker in a factory that made electrical insulators and her work was mundane, and boring – very boring. She envied those women who worked in the offices of the factory. They would sometimes be seen on the shop floor carrying an important piece of paper to the supervisors who had forgotten to sign it or had miscalculated. They wore nice clothes and shoes and walked with the air of authority and grandeur – looking very glamorous and important. That was what Mrs Williams wanted for her son. He was going to be an office worker and command the respect of these women whose world revolved around papers and signatures. And this made Bobby Williams very unhappy as a child and resentful as an adult.

Bobby used to fantasise about owning land and farming it. He had to settle for a large allotment that he spent all of his spare time at. He found the little terrace house where he lived with his mother oppressive. It was like a great big coffin he would mutter to himself. He had never known his father who had left his mother soon after he was born. Ironically he had run off with a secretary from the factory where he worked as a supervisor – a supervisor of a production line of electrical insulators. And because he was a solitary person as a child the only male contact he had was with the other allotment owners who wondered at his ability to grow a variety of foodstuffs that were usually only able to grow in climates different to that of south Wales. “What the hell are you planting now Bobby” they would exclaim as he transferred some unusual looking seedlings from the seed trays where they had germinated in his greenhouse in his back garden into the damp brown earth of his allotment. “Oh just something I’m trying” he would say cheerily back. “They might grow – you never know.” They would always grow. And then he would hand the harvested produce around to his allotment neighbours and take the rest home for his mother to distribute to whoever was in her good books at the time. If the vegetables were one of the many unusual and novel plants that Tommy had grown he would also have to tell the recipients of the plant how best to cook it. Tommy had green fingers. And Tommy had something very special that allowed him to live out his fantasy alter ego as a farmer; Tommy had a Land Rover – a great big long wheelbase Land Rover Defender and it was his pride and joy. His mother didn’t understand why he wanted a great big ugly machine like that, but she had been unable to convince him to buy a more serious and sensible vehicle – like one of those small well-built Japanese cars; she would only ride in the beast (as she called the Landy) only if she absolutely had to.
II
Glyn’s real name was Peter but everyone knew him as Glyn. This was because Peter’s surname was Neath and they called him Glyn after the place called Glyn Neath. Glyn was 34 and worked as a refuse collector for the local council. He drove the refuse lorry and he enjoyed his work. He was tall and well-built with muscles that were well defined that were the result of years of completing circuits three times a week at the local leisure centre’s gym. He had blond hair that was expertly sculpted by his wife every two weeks so that, whilst it was nearly shoulder length, it never looked scruffy. He had deep blue eyes that were always wide open which gave him the appearance of being continually surprised. His chin was rather larger than most and his mouth was almost always smiling which made people feel that he was open, approachable and honest – which he was. His work colleagues were a rough assortment of men who could always be relied on to dispense a joke or ten throughout the day and the gang shared a camaraderie that is often found among men who are sometimes derided for the type of work that they do. Glyn was married to Ceri who worked for the council’s Meals on Wheels service. She was also a part-time hairdresser working three evenings a week at CrazyCutz hair salon that was owned by her sister. They were a happy couple who liked nothing better than going out for dinner twice, sometimes three times a week; comparing the quality of the food and service at the many pubs and hotels in the surrounding area. They were hoping for a family but that hadn’t yet happened although the doctors had assured them that ‘everything is in order’ and that it would ‘only be a matter of time’ before something happened. They had rejected any help in helping Ceri to conceive – though only Ceri’s sister knew this.
On boxing day it had started to snow which meant that as far as the bookmakers were concerned it wasn’t a white Christmas as it had arrived 24 hours too late; but as a raw blustery wind blew over the eastern mountain of the valley it deposited a thick carpet of snow that turned the valley into a landscape straight off a Victorian Christmas card. The day after boxing day, on Wednesday the 27th of December the snow had stopped but it lay everywhere where the icy temperatures meant it wouldn’t thaw for another few days. And it was on the following Saturday – the 30th of December that Glyn Neath made his first appearance at the Kidney Flush, his face red from the effort of climbing the last steep path to the spring where Gerald Seise was already sitting with his fleece zipped up to his chin and his face surrounded by an old-fashioned grey balaclava that made an annual appearance at Christmas time every year much to his children’s annoyance. He looked like one of the soldiers in the winter trenches that you see in photographs taken at the time.
“Hello Glyn” he said, genuinely surprised at his visitor. “You’ve braved the cold then” he went on noticing his visitor’s red cheeks.
“By Christ it’s cold!” replied Glyn, looking around for somewhere to sit.
“Aye – and the stones are cold too” said Gerald letting out a little laugh.
Glyn cleared some snow away from a large stone and sat down gingerly.
“Bloody hell, this stone is so cold I’ll have piles like a bunch of grapes hanging from my arse” he exclaimed. Gerald let out another little laugh.
“Who else are you expecting?” asked Glyn, his eyes scanning the immediate surroundings to identify any potential sitting areas for any other visitors.
“Oh the Price brothers will be here – they aren’t fair weather visitors” answered Gerald before adding – “even I haven’t tried any kidney flush though – it’s just too cold”.
The air was pure and clean; and very cold, yet both men felt elated about having tackled the steep climb in such conditions. It felt good to be in the outdoors surrounded by sleeping nature and clean bracing air that somehow made all of the senses much more alert. Gerald got up and walked to the edge of the spring and looked down the valley. A hundred yards down the path the two Price brothers could be seen making their way up the snow covered path following the footprints that had been made by Gerald and Glyn. Further on, a hundred yards beyond the twins was another figure. Short and stocky and wrapped up well against the cold the figure was struggling with his footing as he walked awkwardly up the steep incline. Gerald returned to where he had been sitting and plumped himself down heavily.
“The Price brothers are on their way” he told Glyn before adding “and someone else who is also making his first appearance here”.
“Who” asked Glyn
“I think it’s old Bobby Williams” said Gerald with a puzzled look on his face.
Glyn said nothing; he was, after all, expecting Mr Williams.
“I’m sure it is,” replied Gerald just as the two Price brothers appeared.
“Morning all” said Jacob removing his hat at the same time. Glyn and Gerald responded with their own greeting.
“Old Bobby Williams is following us” Joseph informed them.
“Never seen him up here before” said Gerald and then pointing to Glyn commented “and he’s not the only one”!
Both the Price brothers said hello to Glyn but didn’t ask what they wanted to ask – which was what he was doing there. And then the round face and similarly shaped figure of Bobby Williams appeared. In unison they all greeted the short little man with the bald head. Bobby took off his homburg hat and scarf as he shuffled over to where one of the large stones lay returning the little party’s greetings as he did so. He cleared away the snow on the rock and sat down heavily, panting all the time.
Although Bobby Williams spent a great deal of his spare time tending to his large allotment where he could be seen digging, planting, thinning and weeding with the enthusiasm and determination of someone who was enjoying what he was doing, the years spent huddled over ledgers full of figures meant that the majority of his time was spent in a sedentary fashion. His round face was red and he kept taking large gulps of air. His face was furrowed and his eyes dark and deep set. He had a bulbous nose upon which rested a pair of thick framed black spectacles that he was now busy polishing with a crisp white handkerchief. He was stocky rather than fat and he wore a Harris Tweed jacket on top of a white grandad shirt that was unbuttoned under which could be seen an old fashioned vest that was at his throat. His legs were covered by thick brown corduroy trousers that were turned up at the bottom and on his feet he had a pair of strong walking boots.
“What a place to be on a morning like this” said Bobby, as much to himself as to the others. The others just nodded. It was Gerald who asked what they all wanted to know.
“What brings you here Bobby” he asked in a cheerful way. “We’ve not seen you here before”.
Bobby said nothing for a moment and then, after he had finished polishing his glasses, popped them back on his nose and looked at them each in turn.
“I’m here” he said as if he was as surprised as the others at showing up at the spring, “for the same reason as Glyn is here” he concluded.
The others looked at Glyn who was sitting quietly without the customary smile on his face. He returned the others glances and gently nodded as a hint of his perma-smile returned.
The Price brothers looked at each other and both let out a gentle whistle anticipating a strange tale that they were about to be told and sat on two stones next to each other. Nobody took a drink of the cold water that was flowing faster than was usual due to the melting snow. Nobody noticed the cold made worse by the gusts of Siberian air that fell down the east side of the valley where the kidney flush was found.
“You start” Bobby said to Glyn, nodding his head as he did so.
III
Glyn shifted his position to get as comfortable as possible, took a deep breath and glanced at the faces of those gathered there. He nodded his head in acknowledgement as his eyes met Bobby’s.
Glyn cleared his throat as he stared at the ground. There was a sense of foreboding in the air; a sense of anxious anticipation. All that could be heard was the incessant bubbling and gurgling of the kidney flush. Glyn looked up at the small audience and began his story.
“Well this all began at 7o’clock on Wednesday morning – the day after the snow.” Nobody asked what ‘this’ was – all of those knew that ‘this’ was going to be something very strange indeed. Glyn went on.
“Ceri got a call from the Meals on Wheels people. They were going to use volunteer drivers using their 4X4s to deliver the meals that day as the roads were so bad. They were so bad that they told her not to attempt to get to the kitchens and that they would send around a volunteer in his 4X4 to take her to the centre. And the volunteer was him” – he pointed to Bobby Williams who sat expressionless opposite him.
“Bobby picked her up at 8.20 in his Landy. And the next time I saw my wife she was a different woman” he said, as he looked at first at Jacob, then Joseph then Gerald before resting his gaze on Bobby who just stared back. There was no hint of malice in his voice. He simply spoke with no emotion; spoke with a calm flat voice that held a hint of menace – as if he was still quite unsure about the events that had taken place the previous Wednesday that had caused such a change in his wife.
“Bobby had better carry on” he said.
All of the eyes turned to Bobby who sat staring at Glyn. His little black eyes were bright and unblinking behind the heavy spectacles. He said nothing at first. He was no story teller. The Price brothers and Gerald were enthralled. Neither Glyn nor Bobby were story tellers; neither of them were excitable. And here they were, the two of them, telling a story as if they were professionals. The three of them knew that what was about to be told to them was true; there was no need for any dramatic emphasis.
Bobby spoke next.
“I pulled up outside Ceri’s house as I had been told to. The Meals on Wheels people telephoned me at about 7:30 so see if I was available. I told them I was and then they told me to pick up Ceri and then go on to Maes Fawr Farm to pick up Mair Jenkins. I had some breakfast and packed some extra warm clothing, a shovel and other stuff into the back of the Landy before setting off. I already had a tow rope and some salt in the back”. He paused and collected his thoughts.
“Well I got to Ceri and Glyn’s at about 10 past eight and Ceri got in the front and we set off for Mair’s farm. The snow was thick on the roads. They had managed to get a snow plough up the main road but the side roads were almost impossible. The road up to Maes Fawr was ok though – it had snow on it but it wasn’t very deep because it is on the east side where it escaped most of the wind carrying the snow. We got to the farm at about 9 but instead of Mair joining us her son Stephen took her place. This often happens apparently – both mother and the boy knew the round and were on the books and so if one couldn’t make it the other would take his or her place. Mair had decided to stay indoors in the warm and so Stephen got in the Landy. Ceri had worked with him before so saw nothing wrong in this”. Bobby looked at Glyn who nodded to signal that this was the case.
Stephen Jenkins was 23yrs old and had recently completed a degree in Astrophysics the previous summer. It was while he was a student that he had started delivering meals on wheels. It was not an onerous job and he enjoyed the flexibility that came with having his mother also working for the service. Sometimes they both worked but if he needed the money his mother would often let him take her place if she, but not he, was called on. He was 6’2” and well-built though not fat. He was in impressive fast bowler and had played for his university and had trials for the county. He was also an enthusiastic cross-country athlete and these pastimes ensured that his body was in tip-top condition. His face had a swarthy complexion with high cheek bones, a prominent nose that sat below his big brown eyes that always had a sparkle of mischief about them.
Bobby continued his tale, “The only other vehicle that we passed was the Police Landrover and Stephen’s father who was taking two nurses down to Bridgend Hospital on their tractor”. He paused again and contemplated drinking some of the water but thought not. He carried on in a monotonous voice, speaking clearly and slowly.
“We got to the kitchens at about 20 past 9 and we all went in and had some tea and coffee.
“Ceri went off to find out how many dinners we would be delivering and when she came back she told us we only had twenty two to make as they had had a lot of telephone cancellations – lots of the old folk don’t want us to risk driving in the snow you see”.
He paused and looked thoughtfully at the sky. “I remember Ceri saying that this was going to be a fun shift – because of the terrible driving conditions. Fun – it turned out to be a day of anything but fun” he said, looking again at the group assembled in the bitter cold of a Welsh mountainside in December.
“Well, Ceri and Stephen finished loading the boxes of food into the back of the Landy and then they climbed into the front with me – there’s room for three in the front of the Landy – and strapped themselves in. The Landy was starting to smell of roast lamb and vegetables and the windows were steaming up. I think it best if Glyn carries on”.
Glyn continued; “well Ceri was well impressed with the way in which Bobby managed to drive them around without any problem even in the deep drifts; they delivered the last of the meals at 2pm and they headed back to the depot.”
“And that’s when it all started to go wrong” interrupted Bobby whose voice was now a little more animated than before. Glyn let Bobby continue.
“We got into one small skid but apart from that I managed pretty well. Snow lay everywhere, and the route that we took back was picturesque as the sun glimmered on the white blanket. We turned off the main road and headed down a lane that would save ten minutes on our journey. As we gingerly made our way between high hedges we noticed a farm tractor ahead that had stopped next to a gate and the farmer was offloading bales of hay for the sheep that were in the field. We couldn’t pass the tractor as it was a narrow lane and the farmer hadn’t pulled into the little recess just in front of the gate. The atmosphere inside the Land Rover changed and Stephen suddenly turned very angry. And then he started shouting things”, he paused, recollecting exactly what had happened.
‘Why oh why here of all places?” he shouted, startling both Ceri and me. ‘I hate this lane, and I hate this gate – why didn’t he pull in? How long are we going to be stuck here; here of all the places to have to stop?’
“He suddenly leaned across Ceri and locked her door before quickly locking mine at the same time as I brought the vehicle to a halt. He just stared ahead. ‘Look’ he said as he held out his thick arm and rolled up his sleeve. I couldn’t believe it. The hairs on his arm were standing completely upright. His eyes were wide open and darting from side to side.
‘What is it Stephen?’ Ceri asked.
‘I can’t tell you now’ he answered in a voice full of panic. His shoulders were hunched; his breathing was shallow and rapid. He was extremely tense and nervous. This was a different man to the one who had been so cheerful a minute earlier.
“The vehicle fell silent whilst Stephen twisted and squirmed in his seat.
‘I hate this place’ he shouted, then kept repeating in a lower voice to himself; ‘I hate this place, why here, I hate this bloody place’ he kept saying”.
“It seemed like an hour but in reality, no more than four or maybe minutes had passed when the farmer closed the gate, waved at us, and got back in the tractor. We followed the tractor out of the lane and back onto the main road where he pulled in to the side to let us pass. Stephen let out a huge sigh and we both noticed that his shoulders relaxed and he started breathing normally again.
‘I’m sorry’ he said as we got out of the Land Rover and walked into the depot. Both Ceri and I mumbled something about it not mattering. Stephen hadn’t said another word on the way back to the depot. This was the first time he had spoken since the incident with the tractor. ‘Sit there and I’ll get you a mug of tea’ Ceri told him, and Stephen walked slowly to the table Ceri had pointed to.
‘What the hell was that all about’ I said to Ceri as we waited to be served.
‘I don’t know but he was absolutely terrified’ she replied. ‘I have never seen anyone behave like that before’, she added.
We carried three mugs of hot tea to the table where Stephen was sitting alone.
‘You deserve an explanation’ he said, staring into the mug. Neither Ceri nor I said anything. We certainly didn’t argue with his statement as we both wanted to know what had happened to turn this pleasant, easy-going young man into a frightened and unpredictable neurotic. We waited whilst Stephen continued to regain his composure. He shuffled uneasily in the chair and, without looking at either of us related the events of two years earlier that had been the reason for his sudden change in behaviour. He began to speak very clearly and calmly.
‘It was just after Christmas two years ago – The 27th of December 20011 – two years ago to this day. It was a Monday and it was a beautiful clear night at seven o’clock. I was driving home after taking my girlfriend shopping in Cardiff in the winter sales. I had dropped her off at her mother’s house and was on my way home. It was the day after boxing day’ . His voice started to tremble but he checked himself, took a deep breath, sipped his hot tea and carried on, in a slow determined manner.

‘I had had two mugs of tea at my girlfriend’s house and was driving home through that lane – the one we were stuck in. I needed to take a pee really badly but thought I would make it to the pub just opposite where we left the lane and re-joined the main road. It soon became obvious that I needed to go before then and so I pulled into the little recess where the gate was. The gate that the farmer emerged from’, he paused, and for the first time looked up at Ceri and I before returning to stare at the table. He took another sip of tea and continued.
‘I went through the gate which was closed but not locked, walked a few paces behind the hedge so nobody could see me from the lane – although there was no traffic around – and did what I had to do. I closed the gate as I strolled back to my car and got in and suddenly felt uneasy. I looked to my left and there, in the passenger seat, was a man – a thin white-haired man in an old black jacket who just stared at me. He just stared. Didn’t say a word – just stared’. Stephen’s eyes were wide open and his shoulders were once again hunched.
‘I know this sound crazy but he was talking to me just by staring. He was saying ‘just drive, just drive, don’t ask questions just drive’. I drove. Oh yes – I drove like a madman. I didn’t care for danger – I just wanted to be with other people. I wanted to drive as fast as I could to the pub at the end of the lane. In less than five minutes I was screeching to a halt in the pub car park. The windows of the bar had no curtains and so quickly did I drive into that car park that a couple of regulars at the bar looked out of the window to see what the commotion was outside. I got out of the car as quickly as possible. I was away from the glaring man. I was so relieved. I wanted to confront him, ask him what he thought he was doing. My heart was pounding, my legs were weak but I was going to scare the life out of that miserable creep just as he had frightened me. I waited for him to get out. He didn’t. I bent down to the driver’s window to tell him to leave my car.

There was nobody in there. The car was empty. The staring man had gone’.

‘That is so creepy’ blurted Ceri. ‘Oh my God- that is so creepy’ she went on. No wonder you were spooked earlier’.

Stephen said nothing but stared at the table as he drank his tea.

“Oh well, we’d better be starting for home” I said. Ceri started to put her coat on then Stephen said ‘There’s more’. Ceri sat back down at the same time as me. We watched Stephen. Stephen talked a little quicker.

‘I was so astounded that I went into the pub and ordered a whisky. I took it to the table nearest the fire and stared into the fire. Had I imagined it? No way. Had I been dreaming? No way. I tell you that man with the stare that could speak was in my car. How he had got out I didn’t know. I wanted to go home as fast as I could then. I downed the whisky and headed for the door. As I was passing the bar a man came in through the door in a terrible state. He blurted out to the men at the bar – ‘I’ve just run over a woman. She went right over the roof of the car’.
The men at the bar immediately stood upright. One of them said ‘Where is she now?’
‘I don’t know’.
‘What do you mean you don’t know? Did you stop?’
‘Of course I stopped.’
‘Is she hurt’ demanded one of the men.
‘I don’t know’.
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I stopped the car and got out to help her – but there was nobody there’.
The bar went silent. The landlord spoke. ‘Did she run out of a field through a gate?’
The man looked stunned.
‘Yes – but the gate was shut’.
‘That’s when I left the pub and drove home very slowly’ Stephen added, getting up and reaching for his coat.
I drove the both of them home concluded Bobby.
IV
Gerald shifted uneasily on his cold stone chair. “It’s happened again” he said. The others turned to him.
“What?” asked Bobby.
“Oh – it’s happened before, replied Gerald before adding “you may be interested in this”.
Gerald spoke in a clear voice that was devoid of any emotion. He was not telling a story – he was simply stating facts.
“There was nothing on television that evening” he began, “so I sat in my favourite chair to read The South Wales newspaper. All the sports had been cancelled because of the atrocious weather, so I found myself reading columns I don’t normally read. Headlines caught my eye. ‘Mystery of Body found In Country Lane Solved. The body of Mrs Jones, the local blacksmith’s wife, has been found in the lanes between Beddau and Pencoedcae villages. In December 1944 she was found by her husband when she didn’t return home after going to fetch milk from a nearby farm. The weather was very bad, the snow which had fallen had frozen in ruts on the lanes, but she insisted the she would be alright. Mr Jones didn’t want her to go. The inquest recorded death from multiple injuries consistent with a collision with a vehicle. Extensive enquires followed by Pontypridd police whose numbers were very much depleted at the time, because of the Second World War. The vehicle and driver were never found. January 2011 Miss Gwendoline Williams had the sad task of clearing out her father’s house after his recent death. In a beside cupboard drawer she found her father’s old army documents, amongst which was some pages torn out of an old diary. She read them with tears streaming down her face, when she saw references to her birth and how he longed to see her and her mother but couldn’t because he couldn’t get leave from his army camp near Cardiff.
“Then, luckily him and his mate Ginger got detailed to drive a lorry loaded with radar equipment to Bristol. Although they knew they risked being put on a charge if they got found out, they decided that they could use the opportunity to first go to the valleys where Williams could visit his wife and new daughter and Ginger could go and see his girlfriend. Any delay in getting the equipment to Bristol could be blamed on the weather.
It was risky but it would be worth it and both agreed to spend no more than an hour with their partners.
Private Williams dropped his mate Ginger off at Beddau to see his girlfriend, and he continued on through the back lanes to see his wife and new daughter. It had started to snow again and visibility was bad, he was wishing he hadn’t taken a short cut. Swearing to himself at the narrowness of the lane he vaguely saw a dark shadow, felt a bump, swore again thinking he had hit some poor farm animal. Within a few short hours him and Ginger were on their way to Bristol, with no one any wiser.
“He eventually heard the news about Mrs Jones and for the rest of his life was tormented by his own thoughts. Gwendoline checked on the internet for any fatalities at that time, and handed her father’s documents to the police. For years travellers along that lane have reported unusual happenings, perhaps these incidents will stop now”.