Brecon Beacons

Brecon Beakons,1975

I was in college studying my 'A' levels, and a field trip to Shrewsbury came up, a whole week away boarded in a huge country house, it was actually a college of 'Farming and Agriculture' and quite a few budding young farm managers attended.  I was sixteen years old, and never been on a stay over field trip. I thought it might be something like the life and loves of Holden Caulfield in 'The Catcher in the Rye ' where we would get up to all kinds of exciting stuff, like finding out about migrating ducks or how to successfully store and transfer fencing foils, but it was far more awe inspiring to me than that 'first person' iconic novel..as I realised later in life.
  We went by bus to Shrewsbury, all that we were required to ensure we had was a good pair or walking boots, and some durable trousers.  On arrival we were allocated dormitory type rooms, and ours had five beds in it.   I unpacked my gear, which included a bottle of vodka.  I had been associating with two of the other pupils down 'the Frog and Nightgown' so I knew Vodka would be welcome, another girl brought a radio with an alarm clock, I thought that was  boring, we could sit and watch the huge numbers rotate, but I guess it was practical for getting up in the morning.   We all bagged our beds.  Two other girls were sharing our rooms, they wore head scarves and long over garments, they were Malasian students. In they came with their garlic aroma and brightly coloured bags, unpacking their things  I layed spread eagle on my bunk bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this week was going to be tough.  I found lectures  boring and could drift off into a deep sleep whilst sitting at my desk.  Unfortunatley this has set me up for life, when things are boring I can sleep, in any situation.  I find adventure in my dreams and always have. I never objected as a child when it was bedtime, as I could enter my dream world and play, across the universe flying through the sky to distant places...in my dreams. I was there pontificating when our teacher walked in.  She glanced around the room, and centered on me, fully dressed flat our on the bed.
" Girls, listen to me, you are Ambassadors of your country, we have two students from Malaisia  sharing your quarters and I trust you will remember to behave at all times in a respectable manner"
" Worry not, Mrs Robinson"  I said, without stirring, " They won't influence us one iota "
I wondered why they cracked out laughing, as I was deadly serious.  My god ! what did they think us itsy bitsy English girls were going to do ?  it beats me, obviously looking back our lovely teacher thought we'd be hauling in boyfriends and knocking back the liquor, oh ye of little faith.
It was Sunday, so we didn't do much that day, walked around the grounds, had dinner in the dining room. served on trestle tables, seated on long benches.  It was like school, passing down the bowls with potatoes and stuff, hoping that the ones before you were not greedy and take all the food.  Then we went to bed, set the clock radio to get up for eight in the morning.  Must have been one of the first clock radios on the market.  The numbers physically flicked over, tap tap tappp..you could hear them flicking.  As the week elapsed  I anticipated the tap until I fell into my fantasy world of sleep,  I don't want anything in my bedroom that ticks or even hums..it's annoying to my subconscious - which is more important than my conscious.  I trust my subconscious to look after me whilst I'm doing other things, like sleeping, it keeps me free from spiritual shrapnel good and bad thats flying out there in the etha, and also keeps mental health in the good realms.
The first day was boring.  I wore dungarees.  Who wears dungarees ? apart from Ellie May GJ ? I ask you who does, when you bend down the shoulder straps dig, and they're tight around the middle.  I swore i would never wear them as long as I lived after this trip.  We studied Flara and Fauna that morning.  We were going to see lots of it this week.  We were told it was outdoor activities tomorrow walking over Brecon Beacons, and we would be supplied with a Kaghoul and protective over trousers.  I didn't even know what a Kaghoul was, it sounded like an STD that required quarentine and a course of antibiotics.  I looked forward with trepidation to sunrise, and after dinner went to get some rest in the dormitory.
  My subconscious was probably on its 128 thousands notification of a figure flick when an 'alian' siren was heard.  It was a high pitched pulsating bleep.  following that, two 'creatures' appeared in white dish-dashes from their beds, and proceeded like Zombies in a pained manner uttering strange words.  Their feet were lead weights banging on the floor boards, walking a memory in their brain.  They seemed to thirst for water, but not to drink it.  The small sink in the dormitory by the door became their god.  Streams of water flew from the shrine as they washed their faces, and splashed their bodies singing in unison a strange melodic song.  I watched without moving as I did not want to attract their attention that I was there on top of the  covers, still with my boots on.  I think it was 03.00 am by the number flicker on the wall.  I dare not move.  I was frozen, maybe they were in an induced trance or sleep walking.  I felt sorry for the figures in the white linen sheets slowly preforming a ritual in the dark.  They slipped back into bed and turned off the singing.  Praise be to Allah.
We did not see the Malaisian students at Breakfast, but we did see them when we went to catch the mini bus for our outdoor excursion, only briefly as the owner of the properties dog came bounding down the drive, and made a B line for the girls...maybe it was the spicy garlic smell that attracted him, he was a huge German Shepherd with a massive tail.  I have never seen anybody so freaked out by a dog, as the two Malaisian students, they were mortified. Their hands were up in the air, they were shouting and squealing..their little legs hopping and dancing.  I was mesmorised by the dance, this early and without any alcohol it was a feat in itself,  I would say it resembled irratic  Irish jigs but with a pained expression - the sort you would see in Benidorm after ten pints of Guinness. 
" we shall have to wash"  said the little Malasian girl, her cute face peeking out from under her  scarf. 
Well I would think it didn't take long to go and wash your hands, but we didn't see them after that, nor did we see them in the dining hall.  They must have been washing all the day long as nobody saw them.  That poor sink would have been flat out, it was only a small sink hanging off the wall,  something you would find in a bedsit.  I wondered if this establishment could afford the level of water they were using.  I sure am glad that I stuck to my principles and kept my nose out of the strange practices they performed.
It was a long day, and it was muggy.  It had rained in the night , and was gently raining, but humid.  It felt like 'tropical rain forrest' weather, but how would I know that, I have not been in any tropical rain forrest's, only in my dreams.  I was wearing the yellow kagoul jacket zipped up, and matching trousers.  I would have been at home sea fishing at Whitby, out in the wrecks hauling cod and oil fish, a load of pollacks.  It was plastic, non permeable and restricted my movements.  I had my dungerees on underneath which also pinched me, the silly straps.  Basically I was a yellow blobby mess.  Up and down the Beacons we walked, up some steep slopes , up some craggy slopes which I didn't think I would get to the top , but I did.  Back then, you didn't have handy bottles of pop nor water to carry, there was nothing avialable.  I didn't drink tea or coffee, there wasn't anything provided at the home.  I was trussed up in industrial cling film and  enduring heavy exercise in wet humid conditions.  We did this all day, walking and climbing and looking at bushes and bits of earth.  It was boring, I started to sweat and get hot in this plastic hell, because of the rain, I didn't open the coat, and the trousers were making me overheat.  I started to get a headache, and couldn't wait for the day to end.  I remember going home on the mini bus, and going straight up to the dormitory to remove the yellow hell I  had been in all day.  I put on my pyjamas and got into bed. 
I was, in bed for three days, with heat exhaustion.  But I didn't know it at the time.  I lost a stone in body weight, as I never moved out of bed, and nobody brought me anything to eat or drink.  All I had was that clock radio and the constant plop plop plop of the figures rotating.  I hate big numbers. I hate them.  And of course, the manic praying of the Malaisian girls, who not only performed this ritual at 03;00 am every morning, but also during the day at strategic times.  The flailing of hands, the throwing of water, and the Arabic prayer songs.  Whilst I lay, with a temperature suffering hot sweats yet feeling cold, in a civilised country sick as a parrot in bed and nobody came to check, only on the third day, when a member of staff asked me if I wanted a doctor, and at that point I said
"no"...as I was actually feeling better.  I had missed three full days of meals in the canteen, and the members of my table had been overjoyed, as it meant more food for them. I did have a family sized bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut which I gnawed on a few times, and some paracetamol. 
I actually felt, that week, like I had followed Ramadan, with more precision than the Malaisians, as , through illness and neglect, I had fasted better then them.  For they ate during the night, the little scoffers.  Under the cover of darkness they stuffed their faces like fiends.  Maybe they prayed for me to get better, in their prayers Allah looked down and blessed this poor soul floundering on the edge of worship, maybe they did pray for me, like good Samaritans . It wasn't my time to die a student in Shropshire, killed by a first edition Kaghoul with no vent holes, and my own stubborness.