Extraordinary Meeting

Ray Punt

Description

An Extraordinary Meeting is a first-person account of a newly retired businessman attending a corporate meeting only to discover that the people he meets are certainly not those he was expecting to meet. The story allows him to review aspects of his life and only at the very end does he discover the shocking purpose behind his invitation. There is more to this story than an interesting biography.

Sujets

• Lettres et linguistique

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 29 mai 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528968225
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

An Extraordinary Meeting
Ray Punt
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-05-29
An Extraordinary Meeting About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements The Invitation The Meeting The Ageing A Journey Beckons The War Years War Ends Christmas The Cinema Kenny’s Willy On My Own Sex Rears Its Head The Concert Party Teens – Out and About Dancing and Courting Death in the Family National Service Back in Civvy Street Marriage and Family Life Re-joining the Social Set Work End of Reminiscences Journeys End
About The Author
The author was brought up in industrial South Wales. He is married, has two sons and five grandchildren. His wartime state school upbringing gave way to an apprenticeship gaining him a certificate in engineering. After national service in the “sappers”, he returned to civilian life, installing heavy machinery on the continent. Following this, he spent a number of years in quality management. Later, as an independent consultant, he offered technical advice and documentation to diverse companies. This involved much specialised writing but when his grandchildren asked about his childhood, he began writing in earnest, which resulted in An Extraordinary Meeting .
Dedication
To my darling wife, Judith, who has over the years coped so well with me. Also, my sons, Jonathan and Roland, who coped to a lesser degree; and Alex, Isobel, Lydia, Thomas and Ethan, who gave me the inspiration to write this story.
Copyright Information ©
Ray Punt (2020)
The right of Ray Punt to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone and portrayed to the best of their recollection. In some cases, names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528935340 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528968225 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
During the writing of these memoirs, I have received much help from my younger brother, Leslie, who inevitably features in them from time to time. His input was vital to me getting home the context, names and locations correct, not to mention the rectifying of occasional grammatical and typographical errors.
With no family history to start with, the exercise was initially to give an insight into my working-class upbringing in the middle of the nineteenth century for the benefit of my grandchildren and their descendants by leaving them a few notes. My notes turned to sentences and the sentences quickly expanded to become paragraphs and the paragraphs required a context leading to special headings. I quickly found that one memory led to another until it was necessary to transfer all this to the computer and then link them together under subject headings that required sorting into individual chapters to become a manuscript for a book with a contents list, foreword and summary. Carrying this out I effectively lived my years all over again.
While tidying up the initial script, I found myself bringing to mind many more years as a teenager and started making notes all over again and by following the same pattern, another book was emerging, going beyond that which I had envisaged. As before, one memory led to another, and the rest of them is history, my history.
An Extraordinary Meeting
The Invitation
‘Ah, you’re back with us!’ came the bright voice of the Welsh hotel manager.
At this point, I find myself resting on a settee in the middle of the reception area of our local hotel on a damp and murky October evening. On the other side of the reception desk, a distinct Welsh voice is coming to me from behind a dark, heavily panelled half open door marked ‘Private’. Standing up, I look in the direction of the voice and I can just make out a slightly rotund figure getting up from a writing desk, which stands in the middle of the office from where he has obviously spotted me. The figure disappears from view for a few seconds but quickly re-appears in the doorway clutching a clipboard.
‘Hello Mr. Stafford, I see you’re back.’
I nod in acknowledgement at the obvious. He is looking down at a sheet on his clipboard. I see the top of his head and detect a slight balding at the crown in what had otherwise been very thick swathe of natural black hair. As I watch, he is waving a chubby white forefinger down and across the page.
Looking up from the clipboard he says, ‘Let me see now…. my goodness, we’ve covered some ground today, haven’t we?’ ending on an unnecessarily high note. I can’t help thinking that he was a bit free with the We .
I reply, ‘Yes… yes I’ve certainly done the rounds today.’ I clear my throat, ‘And I don’t mind telling you that I’m quite tired out by it all and ready to be off home. But I must say, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’ The manager returns to his clipboard and mutters to anyone who cares to listen, ‘Some people take no time at all and others, like yourself,’ pointing at me with his clipboard and looking directly at me screws his nose and nods his head and says, ‘need a bit longer,’ adding, ‘there you are then, different for some to others, isn’t it?’
I don’t answer – the question was rhetorical anyway.
Taking my phone from inside my jacket pocket, I inform him, ‘I’ll just let my wife know I’m ready to be picked up.’
***
The events that led to my being in the foyer of this hotel on this late autumn evening began some weeks earlier. I’d been invited to a business function through a telephone call from an organisation calling itself “Preterite Inc.”. It was no surprise to me to be invited to attend a business type function as my name and late business details still feature on a number of companies’ mailing lists in spite of being retired some years now. Still, I like to keep abreast of business matters and take up invitations to business promotions and management seminars whenever they come along. To tell the truth, I quite enjoy the opportunity to socialise and meet the new faces coming into the world of work and sharing an experience or two with my diminishing peers.
The lady who had contacted me about this latest gathering said the subject matter was important to people like me – whoever people like me are. She avoided giving details, but I thought I had a fair idea of the kind of person she thought I was; I let her continue, after all, so long as the function satisfied my collective needs, that would be fine. The lady further informed me that dress code would be business suit or smart casual.
***
Come the day and I have responded to the dress code by wearing fawn cavalry twill trousers, a check shirt with a green wool tie finished off with a green tweed jacket and tan brogues – with certain exceptions like weddings and funerals, I’ve virtually finished with suits. It is nine o’clock in the morning and I am in the reception area of an established city hotel viewing the Events Board. I see “Preterite Inc.” among the welcoming names – “ground floor” it informs me. Two minutes later, I am in the crowded anteroom of the hotel standing in front of the courtesy table pouring a cup of luke warm coffee from a very large thermos flask. One brown sugar cube later, sees me stirring the coffee as I wander around the room looking for familiar faces. On this occasion, there are none. Eventually, I break into a group of chattering chaps using the ploy of “listening in”, picking up on their conversation and joining in at an appropriate gap in the proceedings.
I am fully engaged within the group when I hear my name being called. The voice is coming from a smart, slightly rounded hotel management figure. He is of medium height with short black hair and a pleasant, fresh open countenance and, I guess, in his late thirties. He’s paging me from the centre of the room.
‘Mr. Stafford,’ he repeats louder this time, looking around. I raise my hand and on catching his eye, I acknowledge his call with a slight bob. I deduce there is a good touch of the valleys in his voice. He is briskly making his way to me and stops directly in front of me. I nod confirmation and announce myself, ‘Ray Stafford.’
He continues, ‘Good morning sir, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Huw Meredith, hotel manager, how are you?’ and without waiting for an answer, he shakes my free hand and says, ‘Thanks for coming – now I must tell you, we have a very interesting day lined up for you.’ At this point, I don’t know if he means just me, or me in the company of other attending delegates. I search his face for clues, but it conveys nothing. Our eyes meet for a moment when he leans his head slightly to one side to look over my right shoulder. I half turn expecting to see someone – there is no one, nothing. Perhaps he can see something I can’t. He turns on his busy heel and calls over his shoulder in a voice and manner reminiscent of a holiday tour guide, ‘Follow me, if you will.’ With head held high, he steers a course through the chattering delegates. I trail behind him over the deep pile of a burgundy coloured carpet, through a pair of large glass doors etched with the words “Corporation Lounge” in big letters and proceed toward a copious, oak panelled, smoke filled room