The West Winford Incident

by John Parker

  “Can we count on you tonight?” Geoff stuck his head around Dave’s door.

  “What’s that?”

  “Skittles, eight thirty.”

  It was mid-afternoon, and Dave was still at an early stage in his planning.

  “Not very convenient. I’ve masses to do here.”

  “Oh! Come on. We really need you. It’s against the ‘Roaring Lions’. They’re top of the league. We have no chance unless we get our best team out.”

  “It’s no good trying flattery, I know you must be getting desperate if you need me to play.”

  “You may be cynical but, fair play, you’re correct. I’m afraid a couple of our stars have had to go off to Thornton and I’m down to five, so you must come,” coaxed Geoff.

  “Well OK, but put me on first, then I can leave early. Sue will kill me if I’m out late again.”

  At home, Sue was preparing the evening meal. She was going through the motions of a regular recipe, which was just as well as she was thinking of what to do about Peter’s invitation for a tour of Bath. She had enjoyed his company but was undecided about accepting. Certainly he was charming and interesting but, no, she ought to refuse. Dave arrived home and, kissing Sue, remarked that the meal that was in preparation looked appetising. Would it be long, he wondered, as he had to go out. Only for an hour though, he added. Sue was not pleased, after another long day at home. She had imagined that now Dave had settled into his job and that the work in the department was almost back to normal, he would be spending more time with her. However, this was far from being the case, now that he had been thrust into the Winford inquiry work.

  “Well, dinner won’t be long, but I hope it will only be an hour. You’re seldom home these days. Is it important?”

  “Well, Geoff tells me it’s vital as he’s short for skittles.”

  Sue resisted the temptation to take the discussion further.

  The game was away at a pub near Devizes. Gritty had offered Dave a lift. The skittle alley was at the rear of the main building. It was dark, but they were aided by the shafts of light streaming through the windows as they made their way to the door. The room was full of noise, smoke and the smell of beer. Dave hadn’t played for the team before, though he had joined in an informal game at a lab social evening. In the West Country, skittles was played on short, narrow wooden alleys and not anything like the ten-pin bowling alleys that were so popular in the USA. In fact there were just nine pins and the bowling balls were plain wooden ones and smaller than their transatlantic cousins.

  Dave was greeted eagerly.

  “You’re on first old chap,” said Geoff encouragingly. “Just take it easy, nice and straight, don’t force it. I’ll get you a pint. What about you Gritty?”

  “Only shandy, I’m driving.”

  Dave and Gritty were due to play the first pair, but the plans had to be changed at the last minute when John Bolton rushed in and announced that he had to get back home early, as one of his kids was ill. This necessitated a reorganisation of the team order, with the result that Gritty was moved to play in the middle pair. Geoff and Ian would be the ‘anchor’ pair.

  John went first and scored a respectable seven and Dave was pleased and surprised to do the same. Their opponents scored eight and six, so all even. The next five rounds were eagerly contested with John and Dave coming out the unexpected winners, by one pin. Dave had been spurred on noisily by Geoff and his other team mates.

  “Forty Two, that’s terrific,” cried Geoff excitedly, “I’ll get you another pint.”

  “No. Beginner’s luck. I’ll get the drinks as I’ll not be around long. Just as soon as Gritty’s finished,” replied a very relieved Dave.

  Dave collected his round of drinks and returned to find the middle pair in action. As he drank his pint, he chatted to a couple of chaps from the ‘Roaring Lions’ team. Their conversation was interrupted periodically by cheers or groans, as one side or the other gained or lost an advantage. This middle match was also evenly balanced and high scoring with several ‘spares’ being posted. The sticker-up was certainly earning his fee. Eventually the ‘Lions’ edged in front. This gave them a two pin lead in the match. Very close.

  Gritty came off the alley looking pleased with himself. More beer flowed as the opposition’s last pair were preparing themselves. The final game began and the spectators became more animated. Cheers echoed around the alley – ‘Spare’.

  “Great stuff, Ian,” Geoff roared. “Make the last one count.”

  Ian steadied himself as the sticker-up reset the pins. He took a careful aim – five. Gritty cheered, the highest single total so far.

  “Oh! Come on Dave. You can’t leave now. Did you see that, fourteen?”

  Dave succumbed to the general revelry and agreed that another pint to celebrate would be fine. He shouted encouragement to Geoff, who was about to bowl.

  Against all the odds, ‘The Boffins’, the SSD team, won. In spite of their defeat, the opposition were hospitable; it had been an excellent match, they agreed, and they bought a round of drinks for the victors.

  It was late when Gritty dropped Dave off. He was happy. He was pleased with himself. He was late. How late he was not sure, but certainly if Sue hadn’t been asleep she would have been keen to let him know!

  *

  Sue called Pam early the following morning to say that she would like to take up her offer of a lift to Bath when Peter was available. Pam was pleased and said that she would be meeting Charles in the next few days and would see if Peter was free.

  Following the call, Sue experienced a mixture of emotions. Her first reaction had been bold defiance. Should she be the little wife to wait around and accommodate her husband’s work and social interests? No. She had learned that she could not be content to accept the confines of the village either. Pam was her only established conduit to the real world, and Peter? He was so different from most of the men she knew. This resolute mood was, however, undermined periodically by the whispers of convention. Family life, in her experience, generally accorded with the traditional ways of her parents and siblings. Nice, safe, settled. The thought of her sister going to a pub alone was unthinkable and to meet a man. Oh God!

  By the following Tuesday, Sue’s nervousness was gaining supremacy over her defiance as she awaited Pam’s arrival. Perhaps a little car sickness she thought as, leaving Corsham, she gazed briefly on the panoramic view of the sunlit By Brook valley.

  Pam and Charles were, Sue learned, due to meet up at the car park and then travel on in Charles’ car. They would leave Peter and Sue to do the tour and they would all meet back at the car park. Greetings were exchanged and Charles and Pam drove away.

  “I’m so grateful that you could find the time,” said Sue. She was amazed that now she was here with Peter her doubts had disappeared; she felt comfortable. Peter said that he had been looking forward to seeing her again and that the good weather was an added bonus. He suggested they begin in the lower part of the city and perhaps, after some refreshment, tackle the stiff climb northwards.

  The Pump Room and the Roman Baths were first on their tour and Sue was surprised to find, even at this early time of year, plenty of other tourists crowding around their guides or strolling in small groups, cameras at the ready. A couple of buskers were already settled, entertaining a crowd of French schoolchildren in Stall Street, as well as a pavement artist. As they made their way through the narrow streets, Peter exchanged a word here and there with acquaintances. Sue was impressed by Pulteney Bridge and the weir. The design of the bridge, Peter told her, had been inspired by the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. Their next stop was the Abbey with its impressive Eastern window, illustrating scenes in the life of Jesus. Sue gazed for some time at this sunlit, colourful display, attempting to interpret which biblical incident was being depicted in each of the various segments. Exiting into the startling brightness of the Abbey courtyard, they found an odd mix of people sitting around on the benches. Amongst the tourists taking a res
t, schoolchildren filling in their question sheets and a romantic couple, were two elderly ladies feeding pigeons, plus half a dozen, bobble-hatted, rough sleepers hugging their bottles of beer. Across from the courtyard Peter led the way along a narrow passage to a pub. The Crystal Palace, though less spacious than the Francis Hotel, seemed more appropriate today; more compatible with their tourist mood, though it would be a few weeks before the main season began.

  They chatted together with an ease which surprised Sue, given her earlier misgivings. Peter added more detail about the city and what they had seen so far. She asked, without any self-consciousness, what he did for a living. He smiled and said he assumed she could guess that it was nothing physical, such as on a building site or down a coal mine. Actually, he said, it was nothing very definite, but rather he dabbled and for the past few years he had devoted a great deal of his time to genealogy. This, he continued, began as just a hobby but now, although not lucrative, was almost a full time job. He related to Sue some of his experiences with evident enthusiasm. It sounded fascinating.

  “I’ve often wondered about my own family history,” said Sue, “but we’re just ordinary folk.”

  Peter replied that that was no barrier.

  “Everyone has a family and just digging around is usually very rewarding, not financially by any means, but it gives one a sense of local history and one’s place in it.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start. I suppose you need professional help.”

  “Not at all. There are books, but be careful to choose one that’s simple, straight forward and, most importantly, up to date.”

  “Could you recommend one?”

  “Ah! I can do better than that,” smiled Peter, drawing a small package from his shoulder bag. “For you.” Sue was startled. She opened it and found a small book inside. ‘Family Trails’ by Peter Fenner. “I’ve just collected a few pre-release copies,” Peter explained. “That’s what my short meeting was about when we were at the book shop last month.”

  “Oh! No, I’m sorry Peter, I can’t accept it.” Though Sue was surprised and discomforted at this development, her reply was decisive. She was conscious that since becoming involved with Pam and Peter, she was in danger of becoming beholden to them and this she would resist. Peter sensed this immediately and did not press the matter.

  “Very well, Sue, but I’m sure you will not object to borrowing a copy.” He took from his bag another copy of the book which showed clear evidence of having been used. “You will find a few pencilled comments here and there, but it should suit your purposes, I’m sure.”

  “That’s very good of you, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

  Peter, glancing at his watch, suggested that they should make their way northwards.

  Sue recognised Queen Square as they passed through, taking the pleasant route along Royal Avenue. Although most of the trees were bare, there were plenty of evergreen bushes and the odd conifer lining the route. And then the view. To the right, the grassy slope upwards with the imposing sweep of the Royal Crescent at the top. This was the impressive scene that most people associate with Bath. They walked along the cobbled way past the row of houses stopping mid-way to gaze over the city at the view to the south. Rows of houses climbing up the far hillside. Another architectural delight was the Circus. Sue was impressed. Although having no special knowledge of architecture, she could appreciate the wonderful symmetry of the colonnaded buildings circling a huge grass-covered island. In the centre of this were five towering plane trees which, she imagined, when in full leaf would add to the whole, awe-inspiring, effect. After dwelling briefly around this upper area they descended, in the gathering dusk, towards their 4pm rendezvous.

  Pam and Charles were waiting and they said their farewells. Sue assured Peter that she was looking forward to reading his book and that she would be sure to return it.

  8

  The usual morning routine – a scampering irritability of girls disrupting the more measured approach of the adults.

  Clatter, scrape, bump, slam – silence.

  Sue hurried through her chores and settled down with Peter’s book. After reading a few chapters, she had to agree with Peter that it was very straight forward. It gave an easy guide into tracing one’s family history and was interspersed with interesting and informative examples. Sue found the subject fascinating and was surprised that it had not occurred to her to ask her parents about their family background earlier. Some of the anecdotes in Peter’s book were compelling and made her wonder why so few people were interested in genealogy. She supposed that it could be time consuming, but in her own case that was part of its appeal. She was particularly struck by Peter’s suggestion that for anyone beginning a quest, speaking with elderly relatives was the first and most urgent task. Documentary evidence was particularly useful. Birth certificates, photographs and family papers were a bonus. Following the information obtained from family members, one should attempt to draw up a speculative family tree. This should enable the researcher to see what information was missing from their recent past. The next step would be two-fold. Firstly, attempting to confirm the information given verbally and secondly, endeavouring to fill in missing items. This normally entailed obtaining evidence from civil registration sources in the form of birth, marriage and death certificates, which usually required a visit to Somerset House in London.

  “Hmm.” Sue put the book down. Goodness, was that the time already? She went up to make the beds. She reflected that almost all her living relatives were still in the Birmingham area, as far as she knew. She would phone her mother. During the rest of the day family history matters dominated her thoughts. The obvious thing to do was to make a trip to her family home. The thought came to her suddenly; half-term was only a few weeks away, which would be a good time. It would be nice for Jo and Katy to be with their cousins again.

  *

  The second meeting of the Corrosion Sub-Committee was set for the eighteenth of February. Dave felt that he must make some progress before that. A store had been set up at a sub-station close to the Winford site where the failure debris was now being housed. He arranged for Gritty to collect a sample from the failed LP disc material.

  *

  “Dave, that’s just so annoying,” was Sue’s response when she learned that he had to go to London during the half-term break. “Surely you have a say in when the meetings should be held. You are one of the members, not the filing clerk.” Dave winced. He was still not confident of having paid off his bad debt associated with the skittles match. Sue was right. He should have an input when meeting dates were decided, but he still felt in awe of his fellow sub-committee members, as well as feeling favoured by his own department in choosing him to represent them. He was prepared to accept any date that was proposed, rather than rock the boat or to have a meeting take place without him. These people had international reputations; their time was valuable. He was a comparative novice from Fisher’s Tubes who had trained at the Birmingham College of Technology, for God’s sake. He was flustered.

  “Of course I’m consulted. I was happy with the date. How did I know you were planning something?” He hoped that he sounded convincing.

  “Half-term? Surely that’s the most likely time we’d want to do something as a family,” Sue snapped, also a little guiltily, as her own planned research was hardly something the rest of the family would enjoy. “I’m surprised that the other members don’t wish to spend time with their own families,” she added. Some might feel that the catastrophic failure at a nuclear power station was a tad more important than a stroll around the Bull Ring, Dave thought, but sanity prevailed and he just agreed that, indeed, it was surprising. Sue was not to be easily placated and trusted that they could rely on him for transport.

  The following morning, Sue was still feeling aggrieved at Dave’s selfishness. Since moving here she believed that he had changed. In Birmingham he had struck a happy balance between family life and work. As far as she knew he had been conscien
tious in his job, but this had not prevented him being pleased to be at home and actually having fun with her and the girls. Nowadays his work was clearly his main priority, perhaps his only priority, if you didn’t count skittles. No, that wasn’t quite fair, she wanted him to have a social life, but it did seem that she and the girls were seen as, more or less, obstacles to his ambitions. Maybe it was just a phase and things would eventually return to how they used to be. In the meanwhile she had to get on with her own life.

  She made two phone calls, the first to her mother to make arrangements to visit. She thought it best if, whilst she stayed with them, the girls could go to Velma and Barry as it would be much more fun for them to be with their cousins. This suggestion seemed to be accepted. Sue mentioned her intention to do some family research and would be glad if her mother could think of who she ought to visit whilst she was there. There was evidence of teeth being sucked at the other end of the line. It might be tricky, her mother thought. Some of the family were still of the opinion that such matters were nobody’s business but theirs. Sue left it with her mother to think about. Her second call was to Pam, partly for a chat, but primarily to see when she was next seeing Charles or Peter, when she could return Peter’s book for her. Pam said that she was going to be in London for a couple of weeks – ‘the bloody DIY can wait’. She had Peter’s telephone number if Sue wanted to arrange something directly with him.

  Her mother rang back just before lunch to say that she had made the arrangements. As far as her queries on family history were concerned, her mother guessed that, since Auntie Clara had died, her best hope, on her father’s side, would be her Uncle Stan, her father’s brother and for her side of the family, she probably knew as much as anyone. Uncle Stan lived in Sparkbrook, which wasn’t far. He wasn’t on the phone but she had his address.