Day Ten (Wednesday)
‘Are you still finding plenty of things to keep you occupied in Swansea?’ Alan asked, over breakfast.
‘It’s not been a problem so far,’ Edward replied, happily. ‘I’ve even found places to visit I didn’t even know were here. I should have been aware of them, after three years, but a few escaped me, like Swansea Botanical Gardens and Cwmdonkin Park. I went there yesterday.’
‘Nice places,’ Alan nodded. ‘I suppose you have to be a real local to know everywhere though.’
‘Yes, as students, we had other priorities,’ Edward agreed. ‘When we weren’t in lectures, it was mainly about going to the pub, I’m afraid.’
‘All students are like that, or most are anyway,’ Alan said.
‘They were in my day. Perhaps a little less so now,’ Edward commented. ‘Being back here now as an older man, it makes me realise we didn’t make enough of the area’s natural beauty. I suppose our only excuse was perhaps we were generally home in the summer months, when we could have done more sightseeing and that kind of thing.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re making up for it now,’ Alan said.
‘I certainly am. I thought I might head over to Neath today, to have a little look about. It’s only a short train ride, one stop,’ Edward explained
‘Not a lot of people choose to go to Neath. It’s not the usual destination for holidaymakers,’ Alan laughed.
‘I know,’ Edward said. ‘That’s why I’m going there.’
In his student days Edward had mainly restricted himself to Swansea and Cardiff. They were the most regular shopping destinations of choice. On Saturdays in his first year, he’d often gone to football or rugby matches, depending on which team was at home. It could have meant a trip to the nearby St Helen’s Rugby and Cricket Ground or further afield to the Vetch Field, then home to Swansea City. After he met Angela, he went to matches much less often. Frequently, they got the train into Cardiff, where they shopped in the pleasing historic arcades or visited Cardiff Castle or Cardiff’s National Museum. Once or twice, they’d visited the Aberafan Shopping Centre in Port Talbot, or gone as far as the shops in Newport or Bristol further down the rail line, just for a change. He never recalled stopping at Bridgend, though it was possible he had done at some point or other in time.
Edward only recalled going to Neath once, when they’d visited The Gnoll, to watch Swansea play rugby, although he might have been more than that. He recalled it as being a not disinteresting, minor, provincial, Welsh, market town. He could see it wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it had shops, cafés, a nice park, and the ruins of its Norman castle. Edward would enjoy looking about. It would be a real, Welsh, small town community and not the picture postcard beauty of the Gower, Snowdonia, and the Brecon Beacons. Edward was often slightly perverse and contrary in his choices. He liked to go to places others wouldn’t bother with. He found interest and pleasure in the kind of grey, former industrial towns others found unattractive. Perhaps he was spoilt living in Oxford, with its history and elegant buildings. It made him seek out places that were the opposite, but still had their own humbler, basic charm. Edward had read Neath had experienced trouble with rowdy teenagers on the streets at night. He trusted he’d be safe in the daytime hours and wouldn’t see that side of the town.
‘Well, have a nice time anyway,’ Alan said.
‘I’m sure I shall. It will interest me, even if it wouldn’t others,’ Edward said. ‘By the way, I’ll definitely be here until the weekend. Beyond that, I don’t know. I may have to think about heading home and sorting a few things out.’
‘No problem,’ Alan said. ‘You can stay as long as you like. You are an impeccable guest.’
‘As you and Gwen are hosts,’ Edward said, returning the compliment.
After breakfast, Edward pottered about in his room for a while, catching up on one or two jobs before heading off. Shaving was one. He realised he’d gone a few days without. That wasn’t really like him. He was normally most particular about such things. He’d had to be in his job. To his surprise, a bit of stubble on his face quite suited him. He might let it grow again. Perhaps he’d even grow a beard. That would be a shock for Alice, just as she’d shocked him with her announcement about Paul. At work, Edward had always been immaculately dressed. It had served its purpose, creating the impression he meant business. Since coming away, he found he was slowly dressing more casually, some might even say scruffily, as least by his usual standards. Gone were the stiff collars and suits. He was favouring T-shirts more than formal, collared shirts under his sports jacket or raincoat, and why not? He was on holiday, not going to work after all.
As always, Edward checked the weather forecast before setting out. It would be fine until early afternoon when rain was expected. By evening, it would be moderately heavy. Edward planned to be back by then. He took his usual early morning bay walk down the Oystermouth Road. He always preferred to cross over to the seaward side, where he had a good view of the beach and the waves, as they gently lapped the sand. He guessed the tide was on its way out, as it was still quite high now. In a few hours, it would be out a good mile or more, so flat was the bay at this point. As on most other days, Edward stopped at Meredith’s coffee shop. He’d have a coffee and cake there and a little read of his book, before heading up the High Street to the railway station. He hadn’t checked times of trains, but he knew they were very regular to Neath. Just about everything heading east stopped at Neath first. Even if he just missed one, he wouldn’t have long to wait for another.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got anything special for you today,’ Meredith told him sadly, when he walked in.
‘That’s OK, as I know what I’m having anyway. I’ll have two of your lovely Welsh cakes and a latte, please,’ Edward said, opening his wallet.
Edward realised he hadn’t had a single traditional Welsh cake since being back in Wales. Today, he’d change that. He used to buy them quite regularly in Swansea Market as a student. They brought back fond memories of visiting his long-deceased grandparents in Cardiff as a child. His grandmother had almost always bought Welsh cakes for him and his younger sister when they visited. He’d loved them. It had always been a source of regret that they couldn’t get them back in England, though his father had often tried. It wasn’t as if they were difficult to make. There just wasn’t much call for them in the Home Counties’ town where they lived as children. There wasn’t much call for them in Oxford either. Edward had grown up largely in Buckinghamshire, where his father had commuted into London, just as he himself had during his working life. It was that proximity to Oxfordshire that had eventually led he and Angela to settle there. It was a good compromise, not too far from either of their families.
Edward’s Welsh relatives had gradually died off. No doubt, there were some distant cousins and nephews and nieces still there somewhere, but none he was in touch with. He hadn’t kept in contact with enough of his more distant relatives, he realised. He’d been too busy in his working days. Angela’s illness and bringing up two teenagers by himself had rather occupied him. Perhaps that was something he could now rectify in retirement. Perhaps he could trace those still living when he got back home. He knew one branch of his family had come from Yorkshire to Merthyr during the 19th century, to take advantage of the growing industrialisation of Wales. Having made their money, they’d eventually settled in Cardiff, although branches of the family had spread out across South Wales. It was possible some were here in Swansea, although Edward wouldn’t know them, even if they passed him in the street.
Edward got out his book and began to read. He was now three-quarters of the way through The Rum Diary. It wasn’t a long book and it had been a good read. He’d found it most entertaining. Edward had read quickly and turned the pages eagerly. He was keen to get to the end, for all the right reasons not the wrong ones, not because it was hard going. It was the opposite. The action had gleefully skipped along at a pleasing pace, as Paul Kemp had got himself in some new scrape immediately after extricating himself from the previous one. Disaster was never far away, as he just about kept his head above water, living each day by his wits. Edward had been a much more considered person. He’d also lived by his wits in a manner of speaking, but in a much more orderly fashion.
After finishing his coffee and Welsh cakes, Edward closed his book. He’d be starting a new one very soon. He said cheerio to Meredith and continued on his way. He walked to the end of Oxford Street and past Castle Square, where he turned left onto the High Street, towards the railway station. It wasn’t very far. It wasn’t one of those annoying out of town ones he often encountered, where it was still a two-mile taxi ride into the town centre. The whole point of taking the train was that it should be convenient. It wasn’t that if it stopped miles away from anywhere. Luckily, that wasn’t the case in Swansea, and it was conveniently located at the top of the High Street. The railway station was also conveniently located in Neath, only a short distance from the shops. Edward remembered that much, even if he didn’t remember much else about the town.
When Edward got to the railway station, he checked the timetable. A train was leaving in just over ten minutes. He knew he wouldn’t have long to wait. It would just give him time to get a ticket and visit the toilet, to relieve himself. At his age, tea and coffee went straight through him. Perhaps he’d buy a newspaper from the shop. He’d rather lost touch with what was happening in the world. It was time he caught up. The weather was still fine when Edward boarded his train. It was only a very shirt distance before he got off again. There would be no time to get his book or paper out. Travelling by train, it was very hard to see where Swansea finished, and Neath started. They just seemed to run into each other. There was no clear divide.
When the train made its first stop, Edward got out. Just a couple of locals joined him. One was a young woman who Edward guessed from her look was returning from a night out. Perhaps she’d stayed overnight in Swansea, probably with a young man. With her short skirt, dyed, blonde hair and multiple tattoos on display, she looked unashamedly sexually driven and not afraid to flaunt her physical attraction. Such things were very much beyond Edward’s limited knowledge and experience, he chuckled wryly to himself, but not really minding one bit. He’d had his time once. Young women looked very different in his day, he reflected. They perhaps dressed rather more modestly. They certainly didn’t go in for piercings and body art. Times had certainly changed a lot.
At Neath Station, or Castell-Nedd as it was known in the Welsh language, Edward headed down Alfred Street and then along Orchard Street past Victoria Gardens, towards the shops and Neath Castle. He was keen to get his bearings, before visiting anywhere in particular. He thought he’d take a look at the castle and river first. Afterwards, he’d look around the shops and perhaps get a bite to eat. He might wander down to The Gnoll, home of the mighty all-conquering Welsh All Blacks rugby union team of the late 1980s, early 1990s, before finishing in the park, where he planned to read for a bit.
To his pleasant surprise, Edward found Neath Castle not only open but free to enter as well. He’d fully expected it to be closed, in which event he’d planned to take a couple of photographs of the outside walls, to add to the numerous snapshots of his holiday he’d already taken on his phone. That wasn’t the case, and he was able to look around at his leisure, viewing the historic battlements from both inside and out. Only one other middle-aged couple shared Edward’s interest and were also taking the trouble to explore the site and subject it to further investigation. Edward had the feeling that passing drivers were viewing him with mild suspicion. The castle was a piece of living history, around 900 years old. Why shouldn’t he wish to take a closer look? To Edward, it was the most natural thing to do in the world.
He then took a few photographs looking down onto the slowly flowing waters of the River Neath. No doubt that would also have seemed odd to some folk. This wasn’t the most attractive point of the river’s winding course from its source in the Brecon Beacons National Park. Edward didn’t really care. It was one of the joys of getting older. You could do odd things without attracting much attention. People just presumed you were either a little eccentric or perhaps had the early stages of dementia. Edward wasn’t yet in either category. He wasn’t overly concerned if people assumed he was.
The other joy of getting older was of course being able to complain and feeling you had the right to do so. Edward didn’t complain about trivial details, but part of him enjoyed complaining that things weren’t as they had been in his day. He liked to insist to anyone who’d listen, like Alice or his children, that everything had been better when he was a young man. In reality, he realised that wasn’t entirely the case. Some things had changed for the better, some hadn’t. He just preferred to view the past through rose-tinted spectacles. He’d quite enjoyed playing the role of grumpy old man to his younger wife. On holiday, perhaps that was changing a fraction. He was finally moving a little with the times. He was getting hip, he might say. Whatever happened with Alice, he’d still go back a slightly changed man now. He’d eaten a vegetarian meal. He’d befriended a person who was pansexual. He’d made friends with a dog. He wasn’t quite ready to be a vegan but was even willing to give that a go if Jill ever wanted to eat out with him.
Edward then walked back into the town’s shopping centre. He’d remembered it as being modest. Compared to Swansea and Cardiff, of course it was. But it wasn’t so bad. There was plenty to occupy Edward’s interest and more shops than he recalled. There was a pedestrian part running down from Wind Street, quite different in feel to Swansea’s famous one, which was busy with weekday shoppers. Many were middle-aged or elderly, but Edward also spotted a few young mums, pushing toddlers in pushchairs. There was no sign of the juvenile delinquency he’d read about with alarm in Wales Online, though he observed some empty business premises and vacant buildings. Edward wasn’t expecting Covent Garden, so all in all he was pleasantly surprised. He even popped his head in one or two shops, as he wandered from street to street with quiet, understated pleasure.
Edward was impressed to pass a number of small independent cafés and coffee houses with distinctive and stylish outside décor he hadn’t really expected. He was sure they hadn’t been there on his last visit, when there had been more cafés of the greasy, all-day breakfast variety. Edward’s eye was drawn to one particular café, where he stopped and went inside. There, he ordered a gourmet toasted sandwich, followed by a crepe for dessert. He didn’t generally bother with puddings, but he was working on the possibly false assumption the toasted sandwich might not be that big. Edward got out his book and newspaper to read, whilst he waited for his food to come. He wasn’t disappointed. The food was very good. He needn’t have worried about it not being enough. He left feeling very full indeed.
Leaving the café, Edward walked out of the shopping centre towards Neath’s famous, old rugby union ground, The Gnoll. It was easy to find and only a short walk from the shops. In fact, Edward had already caught sight of it in the distance, as he wandered around the town. The Gnoll had been an iconic sporting venue in the late 1980s, early 1990s, when Neath had been not only one of the strongest club sides in Britain but in the whole of Europe. Domestically, they swept virtually all before them then. Crowds of 15,000 or more eager fans had packed into the famous old ground, to see them rout their local rivals and many visiting touring teams. It was truly a sporting fortress in those days. Now it was just home to the local amateur or semi-professional Neath side. The main team had merged with Swansea to form The Ospreys and played at the Liberty or Swansea.Com Stadium. The Gnoll still had its place in history, that could never be taken away.
Edward had taken a special interest in that team, as several of his former teammates from his Swansea days had gone on to play for them. Of course, they’d been much better than Edward and had played a part in his giving up rugby, to focus more on football instead, not that he was much better at that. He’d still followed their progress with pleasure and was pleased when several former Swansea students he remembered had eventually made the Welsh national team. Edward by comparison was barely good enough to play for the university thirds or fourths back then. It didn’t matter. He’d enjoyed the playing that he’d done. Sometimes, taking part was what mattered most. Besides, sport wasn’t the big priority to Edward that it was to some. He just played a bit of football, rugby, tennis, and badminton when he could, purely for fun. Angela had been his main concern. That and drinking and going out and at least finishing with an adequate degree that would land him a decent job at the end of all that. Edward took a few photographs of The Gnoll before heading on.
His next destination was the picturesque Victoria Gardens. He’d already passed it once. Now, he was going back for a proper look. He’d read the gardens were very pretty. They came highly recommended in one of the guidebooks Edward had glanced at in the guesthouse, when he’d been looking for places to visit. They were described as a must if visiting or passing through Neath. That was recommendation enough for Edward. Like his lunch, the gardens didn’t disappoint. They weren’t huge but were ornamental in nature and pleasingly laid out to the eye, with attractive floral beds to admire and enjoy. A traditional bandstand stood as the centre point. Edward sat on a nearby bench and got out his book to read in the sunshine. Others were sat on benches too, some eating late lunches, or making the most of the sunshine whilst it lasted.
Edward stayed in the park for nearly an hour, until it started to cloud over. The skies above him began to darken. Rain had been forecast for later in the day. It was evidently coming. That was his cue to get moving again. He closed his book and made his way out of the park, back through the shopping centre, towards the railway station. Edward knew he wouldn’t have long to wait before a train was heading in the direction of Swansea. When he got there, he found he’d only just missed one. It didn’t matter. When he checked the times, he didn’t have long to wait for another one.
Edward read his newspaper, The Guardian, on the platform whilst he waited. There had been another high school shooting in America and a number of students had been slaughtered. Edward had been totally oblivious in the solitude and seclusion of his holiday for one. It was a tragedy that such things took place and would continue to do so, as long as people were allowed to own guns. Edward could never understand the logic of private citizens bearing arms, but that was America for you. It was a country that had always mystified him, with its strangely contrary take on liberty. He viewed the USA as a mixture of both good and bad, the best and worst of what democracy had to offer.
In other news, the lead singer of a band Edward had liked as a teenager had died from complications of pneumonia. It struck a chord in Edward. It made him realise he wasn’t getting any younger, although the singer had been a little older than he was and not in the best of health. Edward had seen the band in concert once many years earlier. They’d been excellent. Thinking about it now brought back the memories of excitement and flowing adrenalin that attending gigs and watching live music had generated at the time. He’d loved it then. In his teens and twenties, he’d watched every band going. He seldom went these days.
On occasion, he’d been to see some of the gentler rock acts he liked in his youth, like Van Morrison, Elvis Costello and Squeeze. Anything more than that he now considered too noisy. At home, he often listened to jazz and classical music. He had been to see the veteran sixties’ Scottish singer-songwriter, Al Stewart, when he’d played locally, and very much enjoyed that. Al Stewart had once been a controversial act, one of the first to include swear words in his recordings. Edward was now pleased to see he dressed very much as he did himself, like a bank clerk. Gone were the psychedelic clothes. He wore a collared shirt, and sensible, grey trousers. Like Edward, he was the epitome of British decency and respectability. Edward had always had a fascination for history. Most of Al Stewart’s songs which weren’t about love concerned historical events and famous factual figures.
By the time Edward’s train arrived, it had begun to rain. By the time the train pulled into Swansea ten minutes later, it was raining quite heavily. Leaving Swansea Station, Edward decided to take shelter in the nearby Glynn Vivian Art Gallery, whilst the worst of the rain passed over. He’d been there once already, but he knew there would always be more to take in and appreciate. One visit to a gallery or museum was never enough in Edward’s mind. He could always manage another, without undue feelings of boredom and repetition.
Before looking around, Edward treated himself to a pot of tea in the café. He remembered from his previous visit that the gallery didn’t shut until 5pm, so he had plenty of time to look around. Whilst he sipped his tea, he got out his book. He’d nearly reached the end of The Rum Diary. He’d be ready to start a new book the following day. He tried to remember what others he’d brought with him. He couldn’t immediately recall. He’d just flung a small pile into his travel bag, as he’d hastily made his escape. He was sure to have included something interesting. He only bought quality fiction and reference books as a general rule. When he wasn’t reading an acclaimed novel, he wasn’t averse to a well-written biography or autobiography, if it was about someone he admired.
Edward reflected quietly on his visit to Neath. He’d very much enjoyed it. Some would have seen it as a slightly depressing, shabby market town, best avoided. It wasn’t in Edward’s eyes. It was quite the opposite. With the increase in independent cafés and small, boutique businesses, he could see the seeds of rebirth and the potential and possibilities of growth. It was a town of contrasts. It reminded him a little of Paignton in Devon. He’d stayed there a few years before, whilst attending a business conference in adjacent Torquay. Some viewed Paignton as squalid and rundown, with its best days very much in the past. In fact, it was full of little gems and buildings and sights of interest and character for those like Edward, who took the trouble to look beneath the surface decay and poke about a bit. He’d found much to enjoy in Paignton, including the harbourside, the gardens of Oldway Mansion, the medieval Kirkham House, the Victorian Palace Theatre, and a bounty of small, independent cafés. In the same way, he’d enjoyed Neath and the modest attractions it had to offer.
Edward left the gallery shortly before closing time. He didn’t want to outstay his welcome. He always considered it impolite to remain anywhere until he was asked to leave. It was good manners in his mind to leave before that. He was fully aware staff would be ready to lock up and depart by then. He disliked selfish people who didn’t appreciate that and only began to make their way to the exit when requested. Edward would never be one of those. He was back outside a good five minutes ahead of time. Unfortunately, it was still raining quite heavily. It would take him about twenty minutes to get back to the guesthouse. He was likely to get rather wet, he realised, even more so if he took the coast road, where he’d be additionally exposed to any breeze blowing across the bay. At least the buildings of the inland route along St Helen’s Road and past the Brangwyn Hall would provide some cover.
When he got back to his room, Edward had to immediately change out of his wet clothes and put fresh, dry ones on. He hung the wet ones up to dry. Gwen had kindly offered to wash a few of his dirty clothes for him and he was anticipating their return imminently. He felt like he was almost a resident of the guesthouse. He was aware some elderly folk did that. They sold their houses and moved into a small hotel for their final years. Perhaps Edward would end up doing just that. It wasn’t a total impossibility. He could give the house to Alice and live out his days travelling from town to town.
Later that evening, Edward sat in a nearby pub eating his evening meal, with a large glass of Rioja in front of him. Football was on the big screen behind him. It was the Europa League Final, one of the last games of the season. Edward was only half watching. He wondered how long he’d remain in Swansea. He’d told Alan and Gwen he planned to stay at the guesthouse until the weekend at least. After that, he was uncertain. He’d reassess his situation then. Perhaps he’d return to Oxford on Sunday and face Alice. He’d have to have it out with her eventually and decide if they had a future together or if it was divorce.
Edward wondered what he’d do with his last few days in Swansea. He still hadn’t visited Clyne Gardens. That was one thing on his list. He also recalled Brynmill Park as being very pleasant. He used to walk through it almost every morning on his way into campus from one of the student houses where he’d lived. It would be lovely to go back again. If he remembered correctly, there was even a small coffee house on the corner at the bottom end where he could get a light lunch. He’d stop at the bookshop on his way, to see Jill and offer to take Beti with him. He could also take the dog when he visited Clyne Gardens, he realised. When he got back to the guesthouse, Edward had a quick nightcap with Alan and Gwen, as he had done on most nights since arriving, before heading up to his room. He got inside the soft duvet on his bed, finished reading The Rum Diary, before turning off his light and falling asleep.
