The Opportunities of Youth

by Donald Phillips

Chapter Twelve

  The Move, March 1983

  Tony Filton was a happy man, He had his wife back home and Cheryl Baxter was long gone from his life. It turned out that Tas had passed her training course and had been offered a promotion. The problem was that she only got it if she moved. On offer were Aberdeen or South Wales. Aberdeen was out of the question. It was cold and dark in the winter and Tas thought if she couldn’t understand a word of what Alex Ferguson said on the television then Scotland was not for her. As for Wales!

  When they had first moved to Somerset they had been quite restricted for cash. Someone had offered to lend them a tent and advised them that there were some lovely camping sites in the Brecon Beacons. They had packed the boot of the Triumph Spitfire they owned in those days with all the camping gear and crossed the bridge into Wales.

  When they had started the journey the sunshine had been bright and warm. By the time they had reached the camping ground the day was dark and cloudy. As they set about putting up a tent for the first time in their lives it had started to rain. By the time they had finally got it erected and secured properly it was teaming down. They had sat in the small cramped space of the tent staring out at the rain and they could barely make out the lights of the washrooms set at the edge of their site some hundred yards away. After ten minutes of gradually getting colder and colder Tony had had enough.

  “Its only eight o’clock. We can’t sit here just listening to the rain all night. Let’s put our jackets on and go and find the local village pub.”

  They spent another ten minutes struggling to get dressed in the dark and cramped confines of the tent and then another ten minutes finding the torch, as this area of the Brecons had no street lighting. Then they were off.

  The pub was only about half a mile from the campsite, but by the time they got there, their shoes were soaked through. Tony pushed the door open and it revealed a warm and nicely lit bar complete with roaring fire and about twenty customers, all talking away in the singsong Welsh accent of the region. People looked up as they came in, but didn’t take too much notice of them as they made their way to the bar. Tony put a fiver on the bar.

  “Can I have a whisky and soda and glass of red wine please?”

  The barman looked at them as if they had just flown in from Mars.

  “We don’t do spirits or wine. You can have draught bitter or bottled beer.”

  The bar had gone quiet. Tony noticed the sudden silence and looked around. Everyone suddenly started talking again, but with a difference. This time the language had changed from English to Welsh. Tony felt Tas tug at his arm. He turned.

  “Why are they all talking in a foreign language, Tony? I am sure they were speaking English when we came in.”

  “I know. They are giving us a message. They don’t like the English.”

  He put his fiver away and turned for the door. As they neared it the language went back to English.

  At the campsite Tony unzipped the tent and the shone the torch through the door. It was full of water probably because they had made a mistake when they were erecting it in the half light. He looked at Tas.

  “Go and sit in the car, Tas.”

  He handed her the keys and set about pulling the tent pegs out of the ground. It took him ten minutes only, because he didn’t pack anything away properly, he just rolled it all up into a ball and then jammed it all into the boot of the Spitfire along with his soaking coat and shoes. Then he closed the boot, climbed into the driving seat and driving in just his socks with the heater going full blast, headed for home through the driving rain. They were home some two and a half hours later. Half an hour more and they had hot showered and changed into dry clothes. The gas central heating was throbbing nicely and the fire was glowing. A bottle of red wine was open on the coffee table and they were starting to relax. Wales and camping were forever more, mutually forbidden subjects.

  As a consequence Tas had decided to forgo the offer of promotion and stay in Somerset. Tony was very careful not to say a word about it except to express his pleasure at having her home again. The other bonus was that Tas stopped talking about him finding another job.

  He was in his office catching up with his trainee reports when the phone rang. It was Sue Mandelow. As usual she started straight in without any Preamble.

  “Tony? Sue here. Two things I want to talk about.”

  “Hello Sue. What are they?”

  There was a pause as she was obviously reading something on her desk.

  “First thing you will be moving office in a couple of weeks. We have agreed that you will move up to the old Weston College building. Can you ring Evan Williams who is the administrator up there and go and make an appointment to visit and look at your new premises?”

  She gave Tony a number, which he scribbled down. Sue carried on.

  “Secondly we have had a cancellation here for an Adventure Week. You know what they are.”

  It was not said as a question. Tony rapidly racked his brains, but nothing about Adventure Weeks was in there.

  “Sorry Sue, sever heard of Adventure Weeks.”

  “Buggar. Look I am a bit pushed at the moment so can you ring John Jeffries and he will explain it all to you. All I can say at the moment is there is one available now and if you can find twenty trainees you can have it. Don’t forget to ring Evan Williams.”

  She rang off before he could answer.

  Tony thought about it and wondered why on earth he was doing this when they had an office manager sitting on his backside most of the week doing what appeared to be absolutely nothing at all. He decided this was going to be dropped in Malcolm’s lap. He waltzed down the stairs passing Angela’s empty desk, through the assembly hall, and into Malcolm’s office. No Malcolm and no sign of his coat or any other possessions. If fact the desk was completely clear and no one would have known that Malcolm had ever been there. He went back out to Angela’s desk. It was still empty, but the sound of a flushing toilet gave him a clue as to where she was. Angela appeared stage left closing the toilet door behind her. She gave him her usual brilliant smile.

  “Hello Tony, looking for me?”

  Tony smiled back. He liked Angela.

  “Hello Angela, looking for Malcolm actually, have you got any idea when he will be in? His office looks like the Mary Celeste.”

  "Oh. Didn’t anyone tell you?” He’s left. Got a job as administrator with some charity worried about badgers somewhere up North.”

  Tony knew his mouth was hanging wide open and made a serious attempt to close it. He was stunned.

  “But he was here yesterday morning, yesterday lunchtime in fact. I spoke to him.”

  “Yes’ I know he was. He got the letter telling him he had the job yesterday morning and spent yesterday clearing his desk and tidying up any outstanding items.” She paused. “Didn’t he say anything when you spoke to him?”

  Tony shook his head.

  “Not a bloody word. Nothing.” He frowned. “How can he just up and leave? My contract says there has to be a months notice on each side.”

  Angela smiled at him.

  “Yes I know it does, but nobody takes to much notice of that you know. After all this is not a permanent job is it? Its right that the County have to give us a month’s notice because we have mortgages or rent to pay and notice is necessary, but they don’t usually expect the same from us especially when the job is up in the north of Scotland and Malcolm has to find a house and a school for his kids.”

  “Kids? Malcolm is married?”

  He was amazed. He had never dreamt that Malcolm might be married. He couldn’t imagine Malcolm actually pulling himself together long enough to ask a woman to marry let alone imagine that one would actually say yes. And as for getting his leg over he just could not imagine Malcolm sweet-talking any woman.

  Angela was openly laughing at him now.

  “Yes. Malcolm is married. He has got six kids.”

  “Six kids?”

  Tony’s voice had go
ne squeaky. Malcolm not only married, but with six kids! Malcolm who found it hard to say good morning to people had managed to get his leg a minimum of six times. He was stunned. He turned for the stairs and his office wondering if Malcolm knew how cold it could get in the North of England. He would have to find something warmer to wear on his feet than those ratty sandals he usually wore, socks or no socks. He shook his head again as different pennies dropped. That was why was it was him that had to talk to William Evans about the new premises when he was just a supervisor, the lowest of the low. He walked to his desk and picking up the phone dialled the number that Sue Mandelow had given him. It was picked up immediately and a strong Welsh accent came on the line.

  “Weston-Super-Mare College of Further Education, William Evans speaking.”

  “Hello Mr Evans. My name is Tony Filton. Sue Mandelow asked me if I could talk to you about the office accommodation you are going to provide for us.”

  “Hello Tony, I am a bit busy at the moment and cannot leave the office. Can you come up here?

  “Where exactly are you?”

  William Evans explained how to get to his part of the college and Tony took a few notes before he realised he knew where Evans was located. It was a huge old-fashioned building up on the cliffs on the back road from Weston to Bristol. He had thought it was derelict as the new Weston College was situated about a mile from this place. He asked about parking and having been assured they had some, picked up his briefcase, and went down to his MGB. Angela was talking to Cec Goodman as he went by her desk and he nodded to him and threaded his way through the gang of trainees and out into the car park before Cec could button hole him about one of his kids who was ready for the real world.

  Tony climbed out of the MBG in to the empty car park and looked around. The building was Edwardian/Victorian and it dominated the cliff top on which it was sited. The front of the building was practically all windows, which were set in sandstone frameworks. They started two feet from the floor and went up to within a foot of the ceilings. He had been there once with Tas to go to an art exhibition and knew that the old classrooms were spacious and airy. He wondered if there was any individual office space or if everybody would be expected to share. He rather favoured the latter. He followed William Evans instructions around to the side of the building and came to a stone porch and doorway that in area was nearly as big as his current office. Through the porch was a small vestibule, which contained a set of stairs climbing up to the second floor and a door to the right with a plaque with William Evans, College Administrator written on it. He knocked. The strongly accented voice from his earlier telephone call answered.

  “Come in”

  The door was slightly ajar so Tony gave it a shove and walked in. The man behind the desk looked medium height and had Celt written all over him. He had a full set beard, a full head of hair despite the fact he was probably in his mid fifties, and eyes so dark they looked black. He stood and held his hand out.

  “Mr Filton, nice to see you. I am William Evans, but please call me Bill.”

  Tony smiled.

  “Anthony Filton, but please call me Tony”

  “Have a seat.”

  Tony sat in one of the chairs in front of Bill Evans desk, placing his brief case on the floor beside him. As he did Evans’ phone rang.

  “Excuse me, Tony”

  Tony lifted a hand to show he understood and Evans answered his phone. The conversation was about College matters and Tony allowed his eyes to wander around the walls of the office. It was quite a decent sized room at least as big as the one he shared with Roy and Sandra, but the walls were full. Right behind the desk was a large Welsh flag complete with dragon. To each side of that were some posters advertising a well know brand of beer with the legend “Never forget your Welsh” printed on them.

  One wall was dedicated to photos of the inauguration of the Prince of Wales and his following career. A third wall was covered in pictures and posters of the Welsh Rugby Union team most of them showing groups of players holding up the same trophy which Tony took to be that trophy cup of the annual rugby tournament between Wales, Scotland, Ireland, England and France. He couldn’t se the fourth wall because it was behind him and was reluctant to turn around and see. He did not realise Evans had finished his call until he spoke.

  “Greatest rugby team in the world. You a rugby fan Tony?”

  Tony knew when go with the flow.

  “Yes indeed Bill. I never miss a televised game if I can.”

  Evans went into a kind of daydream. He pointed at the wall.

  “I was actually at most of those games. I am a lifetime member of the Welsh Rugby Union Fan Club.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Evans smiled as if in fond memory and knocked his closed hand against the front of his chest.

  “Yes, makes you really proud to be Welsh when you see those boys run out”

  Tony allowed his sale office persona to take front stage.

  “You must really enjoy going back in the old country.”

  Evans smile got broader.

  “I have never missed a game.”

  Tony allowed the sales office training in him complete freedom.

  “ Now they have the Bridge it must make it so much easier to go home for the weekend and take in the game while visiting your relatives.”

  Evans looked shocked.

  “Whole weekends? Look here Tony do you know what weekends are like in my part of Wales?”

  Tony realised he had moved into an area of danger and cursed himself for giving in to the sales office persona. He went for honesty.

  “No Bill. I have to confess I do not.”

  “I will tell you then,” he visibly gathered himself. “Firtsly the Welsh Language Society have insisted that every sign in Wales should also be shown in Welsh. That I can live with except some of the silly sods then go out and deliberate spray over all the English language on the signs and as I, though a true Welshman, do not speak more than ten words of Welsh I have to ask some bugger which road to take. Secondly, where I come from they do not serve alcohol on Sundays. That means that unless you take a drink with you then you go without.” He continued. “Now I can live with that, but my mother and most of her friends are Welsh Baptist true believers so if I take as much as a half of bitter on a Sunday I get this stony silence that continues until I leave.” He shook his head. “Lastly, my wife is from Bristol. Yes I married an English girl so I will be down on all counts. Drinking on the Sabbath and married to a foreigner, so you see apart from going to Arms Park in Cardiff for the rugby I haven’t really visited Wales itself for nearly twenty years.”

  He paused and pulled himself together with a visible effort.

  “Right. Lets go and look at the accommodation so you can see if it will be enough for your staff and where you are going to put them.”

  He reached behind him and took a set of keys from a keyboard.

  “My staff?” thought Tony. “Perhaps I better just go and look at what is on offer and keep my mouth shut. I am not doing to well so far.”

  He stood and followed Bill Evans out of the door.