VISION IN THE VALLEY

The annual team meeting/office-get-together had dragged on a lot
longer than anyone had envisaged. Long enough for the weather to
deteriorate from below average for the time of year to awful. The
unusual venue would have afforded a pleasant walk home but under the
circumstances, it just made everything that little bit more
difficult.
Louise lived in the same direction as Richard so he had agreed to give
her a lift home.

As they ascended the incline of the motorway footbridge Louise adjusted
the hood of her anorak and tightened it around her face as the breeze
washed the fine, misty rain of summer against the bright blue fabric,
dappling it with glimmering, jewel-like droplets. Clutching Richard's
arm a little tighter, she leaned into what was fast becoming a deluge.
Behind them lay the old nineteenth century farm museum. Ahead, was what
had been the location of expired mine workings, which had long since
been landscaped into a leisure and recreation park area. Immediately on
their right, once we were clear of the bridge, was the original sand
well, which, in the Middle Ages had served as a source of drinking
water for the community of a recently excavated priory.

The inclement weather had drawn the evening in prematurely. A seasonal
mist had mixed with the rain to activate the photocell controllers of
the street lamps causing them to sparkle in the hazy distance.

Passed the well was a narrow tree-lined path that meandered along the
side a series of duck ponds on the left, and all the way to the tarmac
road, where a small lay-by had been cut into the verge as a car park
where dog walkers, cautious of over-exercising, could leave their
vehicles. The work colleagues' destination was the much larger golf
club car park, which lay on the other side of the road. It was where
Richard had left his car to take advantage of the earlier good weather
and urban scenery by ambling to the farm along what is marked as 'The
Hawk's Trail'.

The rain was getting steadily worse and, although they were less than a
mile from the nearest dwelling, the atmosphere gave the impression that
they were caught, totally alone, in the silence of some strange alien
world.

Suddenly, out of the mist the glimmer of a flashlight caught Richard's
eye. "Now there's a man who comes out prepared," he commented, on
seeing the solitary figure bearing the light advancing through the
gloom in front of them, "I bet he was in the Boy Scouts."
"There's no accounting for some people, is there?" Louise chuckled,
"Who the hell would think of carrying a torch with them on a summer's
walk?"

"A weather forecaster," Richard suggested. Her grip tightened on my arm
and he sensed her teeth chattering. "What's up? It's not that cold, is
it?"

"I'm bloody freezing!" she jabbered.
The flashlight man was gradually drawing nearer.

"Bloody strange that," Richard observed, "What's he doing around here,
on his own, in this weather? He isn't even walking a dog."

Louise wasn't really listening. "It's just getting colder," she
shivered.

"Well," Richard laughed, "they reckon the temperature drops in the
presence of a presence, if you get what I mean. And there have been
numerous reports of those old monks walking up and down the motorway.
Come close to causing accidents they have. It's not just imagination
either. A lot of the sightings have been by people from out of town,
just passing through, who have no knowledge of the archaeological
findings here."

"Don't be daft," Louise giggled, "what would one of those old friars be
doing with a battery powered torch?"

"Ahead of their time those lads were," Richard persisted, "they
invented a lot of things, brandy, beer, fish 'n' chips, you name
it."

"Fish and chips!" she exclaimed, "Now you are being stupid!"

"Yeah," he tried to sound convincing, "They were done by a deep friar.
Anyway, if you don't believe it's the ghost of a monk, have a good look
when he gets closer - I'm sure he's wearing a hood."

She gave his shoulder a thump. "So am I, you prat!"

"So, what's he doing then?"

"What the bloody hell are we doing?"

"We're coming from an office meeting at the farm and there are two of
us!"

Louise shook her head. "Well I know this is a bit a monkey run for gays
and rent boys, but trying to attract attention by flashing a light is a
bit O.T.T., isn't it?"

"I don't know," Richard shrugged, "On a warm day I've seen them
flashing more than little winking lights."

"And what have you been doing up here to see that?" she
smaned.

"Walking the dog."

"Was that before or after it died?"

The conversation was getting silly and, due to Louise's chill rubbing
off on him, Richard was beginning to lose concentration. "Hey, you are
right. It is getting bloody cold, isn't it? And look at your man. If
he's wired up right his lamp isn't. From here it looks like it's
shining out of his head."

"Perhaps he's got headlights for eyes," she quipped.

"No, there's only one."

"Must be crossed with a Cyclopes or something."

"Yeah," he agreed, worried that she must have been spending too much
time with him.

"You don't think there's been some kind of accident or something, do
you? I mean the poor bloke might be looking for a child or somebody
who's gone missing," Louise suggested in a more serious tone.

"You could be right," Richard agreed, " Look! What's he up to
now?"

As they watched the figure disappeared into the shrubbery at the side
of the path. When he reappeared a short time later he was leading out a
small horse by its halter.

Louise breathed a sigh of relief, "Well, that solves that mystery. The
pony must have wandered off from that riding school down by the
motorway. You and your bloody monks!" She gave Richard's ribs a
dig.

The pony walker had approached to within a few yards of them and the
temperature was still dropping. Soon he was close enough for them to
see that although he wasn't wearing a hood, Richard was right about the
light being fixed to the front of his hat. What's more, his face was
gaunt and dirty. "You got him, then?" Richard said, as a way of
encouraging an exchange of pleasantries.

The walker looked through Richard as if he didn't exist. The man's eyes
stared straight ahead, following the beam of his lamp

"Picked a nice night to go for a canter, didn't he?" Louise's attempt
was about as successful as Richard's.

Then the figure was passed them. Richard glanced over his shoulder with
the intention of telling him what a miserable sod he was, and that it
wasn't their fault his animal had got out, but the figure and his horse
were gone.

It was while Louise was browsing through her younger sister's local
history project that she learned the details of the 1946 pit disaster
at Wasson Colliery. Almost the entire shift of twenty-three men
perished when an underground explosion caused a roof fall. The only man
not to be killed was Horace Jones. He had been sent to search for an
escaped pit pony.

Horace only survived long enough to be fatally injured by a runaway
coal wagon the following year.