In 1965 I was a civilian driver in the motor transport section of RAF St. Athan, in the Vale of Glamorgan [Wales]. I was often on the road for weeks, staying overnight in various B&Bs.
That summer, I took a load to Cheltenham, arriving in the evening and spotted a B&B sign and stopped. It was set back in well-kept grounds. It was dusk but all the curtains and blinds were drawn. I rang the huge bell at the rear entrance and almost immediately the door was opened by an elderly lady dressed in male gardening clothes.
Her manner was abrupt to my request for a B&B. 'For how many?' she saked. 'Only me,' I replied. 'You have a car?' she said. 'No, I have a lorry [truck].'
Her manner changed and she took me to a large room with a huge bed with a child's toy doll propped up on it. 'How much?' I inquired. 'Oh, we'll settle that in the morning,' she replied.
I collected my overnight bag, and as I returned, I was startled as the woman stepped out in front of me from a willow tree.
'What will you require for breakfast?' she asked. 'I'm not fussy,' I said. She glided away.
I settled in and made for the bathroom, where I found a most antiquated rasied lavatory, ornate pipework and the bath supported on feet. Back in my bedroom I noticed a pile of comics and magazines - Film Fun, Chips and Dandy, Hotspur.
I awoke the next morning to the sun shining in and immediately my brain kicked in - the curtains were drawn when I fell asleep. Then I realised all the comics were pre-Forties. I dressed quickly, opened my bedroom door and called out 'Hello Hello!' Nothing.
In the drawing room all the furniture was covered in dust and had evidently not been used in years. I stuffed my gear into my bag, left £3, raced to my lorry and drove like a bat out of hell.
I did not mention my experience for many years, until I was detailed to drive two RAF officers to Cheltenham and told them the story. They asked me whether I could remember the location of the bungalow, so I later tried to find it, but a modern housing estate had been built which changed the area.
I eventually recognised the lane and asked a local newsagent about the neighbourhood. He told me it had been the site of an ordnance munitions establishment during the war and a huge explosion had flattened the area. He had never heard of a local B&B.
William John Morris,
Pontyclun, South Wales.
