0:00

The Telephone

0:24

by Mary Treadgold. Narrated

0:27

by Tony Walker. If

0:31

you would catch the spleen and

0:33

laugh yourself into stitches, follow

0:35

me, I called to Sir

0:37

Toby, and as I ran

0:39

across the stage, caught the eye

0:42

of the white-haired man in the

0:44

VIPs row. The light

0:46

from the stage streamed out over the

0:48

darkened theatre. He was

0:50

leaning forward amused, laughing, and

0:52

as Sir Toby chased after

0:54

me, I laughed back. I

0:57

had fallen in love with him

0:59

at sight, there, from the middle

1:01

of the stage of an end-of-term

1:03

dramatic school performance of Twelfth Night.

1:07

We met at the party after the show,

1:09

and met again and again,

1:11

and then we began to meet

1:13

in Backstreet Soho restaurants, and then

1:15

in my tiny London flat. I

1:18

loved him desperately. I

1:21

had never been in love before, and

1:23

Alan had not been in love

1:26

for over thirty years, not since

1:28

he had married Catherine, he told

1:30

me, in some queer little snowbound

1:32

Canadian township. I never

1:34

meant this to happen. I've never

1:36

felt like this about any woman before. I

1:39

don't understand myself, he said,

1:42

restlessly. All

1:44

through that winter I clung to

1:46

Alan. We kept the

1:48

long secret winter afternoons and evenings

1:51

together. There was so much that

1:53

he wanted to give me, the things

1:55

that I wanted for myself more than

1:57

wanted. I believed. and

4:00

fished, and the long halcyon days passed

4:02

over us with scarcely a break in

4:04

the weather. I

4:06

was blissfully happy. Free

4:10

from the conflicts and indecisions of the

4:12

past months, we turned again to each

4:14

other, discovering new

4:16

releases, a new and

4:18

deepening absorption. Our

4:21

cottage lay by the shore in a curve of the

4:23

hills, and whenever I remember

4:25

that summer it seems as if the

4:27

falling tides of the Atlantic were always

4:29

in our ears, and as

4:32

if the white sands were always warm under

4:34

our bare feet. But again

4:36

it could not last.

4:40

One scorching day in early September I

4:42

came round the cottage at lunchtime carrying

4:45

a pot roast over to the table

4:47

under our rowan tree. I

4:49

found Alan sitting, staring down at an

4:51

open airmail letter that the postman had

4:54

just delivered. He

4:56

looked up as I put the pot roast

4:58

down. His face was

5:00

dazed and his hands were shaking. Catherine's

5:04

dead, he said incredulously.

5:07

Dead? This letter's from her sister

5:09

in Toronto. She says,

5:11

and he stared again at the letter

5:14

as though they were lying words. She

5:16

says, Heart failure? Very

5:20

peacefully, she says. His

5:22

eyes went past mine to the open sea.

5:25

Then he got up and went into the house, while

5:27

I, I stayed, plaiting

5:29

the gingham cloth between my fingers.

5:33

Once more I felt like the

5:35

child who had inadvertently witnessed a

5:37

parent's distress. Shocked, yes,

5:41

but horribly embarrassed. Then

5:43

I followed Alan into the cottage and I put

5:46

my arms round him. All

5:48

that day I watched over him in my

5:50

heart as he moved about the place. But

5:53

we did not mention Catherine. Nor

5:55

the next day. And although I

5:58

waited for Alan to speak. Her

6:00

name never passed our lips during the next

6:02

three weeks. Three

6:04

weeks later, to the day, among other

6:07

letters forwarded from London by the post-office,

6:10

arrived the telephone bill for the Hampstead

6:12

House, the second demand we had forgotten

6:14

about the first. "'Damn!'

6:17

said Alan. We were once again eating

6:19

our lunch in the garden. Damn! I

6:21

ought to have had the thing disconnected before we ever

6:24

left London." I picked

6:26

up the envelope and looked at the date of

6:28

the forwarding. "'They'll probably have

6:30

cut you off themselves by now,' I said.

6:33

But Alan was already crossing the grass to collect

6:35

the pudding from the kitchen oven. "'Go

6:38

in by the hall,' I called after him. You

6:40

can find out if it's still connected by ringing

6:42

the number. If you hear it

6:44

ringing away at the London end, you'll know it's still

6:46

on.' And I

6:49

lay back in my deck-chair, staring

6:51

up at the scarlet rowan-berries against

6:53

the sky, and thinking that Alan

6:55

was beginning to hump his shoulders like an old

6:57

man, and that his skin looked

6:59

somehow as if the sea salt were drying

7:02

it out. "'Well?' I

7:04

said, still connected. Perhaps

7:06

I invented the slight pause before Alan

7:08

carefully sat down the apple pie, and

7:11

replied, "'Yes, still connected.'"

7:15

That evening I went up to bed alone,

7:17

because Alan said he wanted to trim the

7:19

lamps in the kitchen. I

7:21

was sitting in the window, in the

7:23

late highland dusk, brushing my hair and

7:26

looking out over the sea, when

7:28

I heard a light tinkle in the hall

7:30

below. I turned my head, but

7:33

the house lay silent. I

7:36

went over to the door. "'Hamsterd

7:38

96843?' Alan's

7:41

voice, low, strained, came up the

7:43

stairs. There

7:45

was a long silence, and

7:47

then my heart turned over, for I heard

7:50

his voice again. Whispering,

7:52

"'Oh, my dear, my

7:55

dear,' but the

7:57

words broke off, and from

7:59

the dark well of the hall came a

8:01

low sob. I suppose

8:03

I moved, and the floorboard creaked, because

8:06

I heard the receiver lay down, and

8:09

I saw Alan's shadow move heavily across the wall

8:11

at the foot of the stairs. We

8:15

lay side by side that night, and we

8:17

never spoke, but I

8:19

know that it was before daybreak before

8:21

Alan slept. During

8:23

the next few days I became

8:26

terribly afraid. I began

8:28

to watch over Alan with new eyes,

8:30

those of a mother. For

8:33

the first time I knew a quite

8:35

different tenderness, one that

8:37

nearly choked me with its burden of

8:39

grief and fear for him, as

8:42

he moved about the cottage like a

8:44

sleepwalker, trying pathetically to

8:46

keep up appearances before me,

8:49

his face as it seemed

8:51

aging hourly in its weariness.

8:55

I became frightened too, for

8:58

myself. I kept

9:00

telling myself that nothing, nothing had

9:02

happened. But in the

9:04

daytime I avoided looking

9:07

at the dead black telephone inert

9:09

on its old-fashioned stand in the

9:12

hall. At night I

9:15

lay awake, trying

9:17

not to picture that telephone

9:19

wire running tautly underground

9:22

away from our cottage,

9:24

running steadily south, straight

9:27

down through the border hills, down

9:30

through England. During

9:33

that week I tried never to

9:35

leave Alan's side, but once I had to

9:38

go off unexpectedly to the village shop. When

9:41

I returned I had to pretend that

9:43

I hadn't seen him through the half-opened

9:45

door, gently laying

9:48

down the receiver. And

9:50

twice more in the evening, and there must

9:52

have been other times, when I was cooking

9:55

our supper he slipped out of the kitchen,

9:57

and I heard that faint solitary

10:01

tinkle in the hall. I

10:04

could have rung up the telephone people and begged

10:07

them to cut off the Hampstead number. But

10:10

with what excuse? I

10:12

could have taken pliers and wrenched our own

10:14

telephone out of its socket. I

10:17

knew that nothing would be

10:19

solved with pliers. But

10:21

by the weekend I did know what

10:24

I could try to do, for sanity's

10:26

sake, to prevent us from

10:28

going down into the solitudes of our

10:30

guilt. On

10:32

Friday afternoon, after tea, my

10:34

opportunity came. It was

10:37

a glorious evening, golden with the

10:39

sand blowing lightly along the shore

10:41

and a racing tide. I

10:44

persuaded Alan to take the boat out to troll

10:46

for mackerel on the turn. I

10:48

watched him go off from the doorway. I

10:51

waited until I actually saw him push

10:53

the boat off from our small jetty.

10:56

Then I turned back into the

10:58

cottage and closed the door behind me.

11:01

I had shut out all the evening sunlight

11:03

so that I could hardly see the telephone.

11:06

But I walked over to it. I

11:09

took it up in both my hands. I

11:12

drew a long, deep breath, and

11:15

I gave the Hampstead number. All

11:18

that I had been told of Catherine

11:21

during those bad months in London had

11:23

been of kindness and gentleness and goodness,

11:26

nothing of revenge. To

11:29

this I clung, and upon it I was

11:31

banking. My teeth were chattering,

11:34

and I was shaking all over when the bell

11:36

down in London began to ring. I

11:38

suppose at that moment I lost my

11:41

head. I thought I

11:43

could have sworn. I

11:45

heard the receiver, softly

11:47

raised, at the far end. But

11:51

I suppose I should have waited instead of bursting into words.

11:53

Now I shall never know. And

11:58

they were not even the words. I'd planned. I

12:01

suppose I'd reverted, being so frightened,

12:03

to the kind of prayer one

12:05

blurts out in childhood. "'Please, please,' I

12:07

said, down the mouthpiece. Please, let me

12:09

have him now. I know

12:12

everything I've done's been wrong. It's

12:14

too late about that. But

12:16

I won't be a child any more. I look

12:18

after him. Like you've always

12:20

done,' I said, only, please,

12:23

let me have him now. I'll

12:26

be your wife to him. I promise you,

12:28

if that's what you're wanting, I

12:30

can get him right again, and I'll

12:32

take care of him, now and forevermore,'

12:35

I said. And

12:37

I banged the receiver down and fled

12:39

upstairs to our bedroom. Through

12:42

the window I could see the little

12:44

boat bobbing about on the sea. I

12:47

sat down in the window in the full evening

12:50

sun and I shook

12:52

all over and I cried and

12:54

cried. In

12:57

the small hours of the morning came the

12:59

crisis. I woke. It

13:01

must have been about half-past four. The

13:04

bed was empty. In

13:06

an instant I was wide awake because

13:08

down in the hall I could hear

13:11

the insistent tinkle of the telephone receiver

13:13

struck over and over again and above

13:15

it mingled with it, Alan's

13:18

voice. Somehow

13:20

I got the lamp lighted, the shadows

13:22

tilted all over the ceiling and I

13:24

could hear the paraffin sloshing round the

13:27

bowl as I stumbled out to the

13:29

head of the stairs. Catherine!

13:32

Catherine! He

13:34

was shaking the receiver and babbling down

13:37

the mouthpiece when my light from the

13:39

staircase fell upon him. He

13:41

let the receiver drop and stood, looking

13:44

up at me. I can't

13:46

get her, he said. I wanted her to forgive

13:48

me, but she doesn't answer. I can't reach her.

13:51

I brought him up the stairs. I

13:54

can remember shivering with the little dawn

13:56

sea-wind blowing through my cotton night dress

13:58

from the open window. window. I

14:01

made him tea, while he sat

14:03

in the window, staring up at the

14:05

grey clouds of the morning. At

14:07

last he said, You must book

14:10

yourself a room at one of the hotels in

14:12

Oban, only for a couple of nights. I'll

14:14

come back, probably tomorrow or the

14:16

next day. You see,

14:19

and he began to explain

14:21

carefully, politely, as if

14:23

to a foreigner, You see,

14:25

I've got to find Catherine, and

14:28

so I have to go down unexpectedly

14:30

to London. From

14:33

our remote part of the Highlands there are

14:35

only two trains a day. Alan

14:37

went on the early morning one. I

14:40

had, of course, no intention of going to any

14:42

hotel. I knew where my

14:44

promise to Catherine lay, where lay my

14:46

love. I said, Yes,

14:48

yes, to everything Alan said, and stayed

14:50

in the cottage all that day. And

14:53

then I caught the evening

14:55

train. There

14:57

was no chance of a sleeper. I

14:59

huddled in the corner of a carriage,

15:02

packed with returning holiday-makers. My

15:04

face turned first to the twilight,

15:07

and then to the darkness rushing past

15:09

the window. In

15:11

the dead cold hours, when

15:13

the other passengers sprawled and

15:15

snored, the terror for

15:17

Alan nearly throttled me. Once

15:20

I dozed off and woke, biting

15:22

back a scream because I thought

15:24

I saw the telephone wire running

15:27

alongside the train, stretched and singing,

15:29

You'll never know, you'll never know.

15:33

Euston in the morning loomed gaunt and

15:35

monstrous. The London streets

15:38

were dripping with autumn rain. I

15:40

told the taxi man to drive as fast as

15:42

possible up to Hampstead. When

15:44

he pulled up in Alan's road before a

15:46

gate set in a high wall, I was

15:48

already half out of the taxi. I

15:51

pushed the fare at him, slapped open the

15:53

gate and ran up the short drive. I

15:56

just had time to notice that the white

15:58

Regency house was more or less. what

16:00

I had pictured before I was up the

16:02

flight of steps and tugging at the iron

16:04

bell-pole. I was tired,

16:07

deadly tired, deadly

16:09

afraid. What courage

16:11

I had ever had seemed to have fled.

16:13

I promise, I promise, oh, if you've ever

16:16

really been here, please have gone. I

16:19

gabbled while the London rain poured

16:21

over me, and the

16:23

bell reverberated through the house. At

16:27

last I heard a movement inside

16:29

the house, and then footsteps,

16:33

slowly drawing towards the door. For

16:37

a second Alan and I

16:39

stood gazing at each other, then

16:41

suddenly I was over the threshold

16:43

and in his arms. While

16:46

the door swung gently too

16:48

behind us, I drew him

16:50

over to the staircase, drew him

16:52

down, knelt beside him as he

16:54

sat there on the second stair.

16:57

He turned his face against my shoulder

16:59

and heaved a sigh. After

17:02

a little while, I

17:04

raised my head and looked about me. We

17:07

were in a large white-panelled hall

17:09

with a window through which I

17:11

could see a plane-tree, its quiet

17:14

branches stroking the glass. The

17:16

only thing in common with our hall up

17:18

in Scotland was the telephone,

17:21

standing on the mahogany table against the

17:23

wall. For some moments I

17:25

gazed at it. My terror

17:28

was wholly gone, like a dream at

17:30

morning. But I became aware

17:32

of a new emotion, disquieting,

17:35

faintly, discreditable. I

17:38

looked suspiciously down at Alan. I

17:41

wanted to know. Cautiously,

17:44

I began to frame my question. He

17:47

was so still that I wondered if he

17:50

had fallen asleep, but just then

17:52

he stirred and I took his head

17:54

between my hands and, as he smiled at

17:56

me, turned his face searchingly

17:58

towards the light. It

18:00

was calm, as though washed

18:03

by tidal waters. I

18:05

knew that I could

18:08

never ask my question. At

18:10

that moment the front doorbell began to peel.

18:13

We both jumped and got to our feet.

18:15

"'You go,' said Alan, disappearing into the back

18:17

of the house. The

18:20

sharp-nosed young man in the dripping Macintosh

18:22

was aggrieved. "'Been sent to cut you

18:24

off,' he said. Bill unpaid. Nothing

18:27

done.' I turned back into

18:29

the hall. About me,

18:31

above me, the house lay quiet. Only

18:34

against the window the boughs of the

18:37

plain tree clamoured in a sudden flurry

18:39

of wind and rain. The

18:42

question I could never ask,

18:45

the answer never to

18:47

be given. Surely

18:50

both were irrelevant. For

18:52

all the tranquillity of the house I

18:55

felt my panic begin again to stir. There

18:58

was only one thing that mattered

19:00

to me—to us. "'Alan,'

19:03

I called, and I tried

19:05

not to let my voice quaver. "'It's about

19:07

the telephone. Do you—do you

19:10

want it cut off?' I

19:13

held my breath. The reply

19:15

came immediately. "'Why,

19:17

darling, we're going back to Scotland

19:19

tonight. Out of this damnable

19:21

climate. We don't want to pay for what

19:23

we're not going to need anymore. Tell

19:26

them they can disconnect it at once.'"

19:52

So that was the Telephone by Mary

19:54

Tregold. And now we come to

19:56

the part of the podcast where I discuss the story and

19:58

I say something about the author. and

20:00

say something about the story and my response

20:02

to it. If you are

20:05

just wanting stories and no commentary, then

20:08

you'll find on YouTube I

20:10

have some extensive playlists and

20:12

compilations, either

20:15

in the Sleep Stories playlist

20:17

or the full audiobook playlist, and

20:19

there are many hours of stories chained

20:22

together there that you don't have to

20:24

listen to any commentaries if that's your

20:26

particular bag. If you are interested

20:28

in the commentary, and apparently some people are,

20:32

let us go on. So,

20:35

The Telephone by Mary Treadgold was

20:37

first published in 1955 as

20:41

part of the anthology The Third

20:43

Ghostbook, edited by Lady

20:45

Cynthia Asquith. So there are a whole

20:47

bunch of these ghostbooks, and

20:50

they're really quite rare now. They're

20:53

more expensive than they were, and I've got one or

20:55

two. And they're kind of battered

20:57

old 70s, well, these are not even 70s,

21:00

50s paperbacks. And they

21:02

went on for a bit. So this story that was

21:04

later included in Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories 1983,

21:08

which has remained in print ever since. You

21:12

may know it's my project to work through

21:14

that book. There's a couple

21:16

of reasons for that. The main reason is that

21:19

I nearly have. And

21:21

then once I've read all the stories,

21:23

I'll be able to get rid of it. And

21:26

make a little tiny bit more space in order so I can

21:28

buy a new book. I've got tons

21:31

of anthologies of ghost stories. And

21:34

of course, many of the stories are repeated,

21:36

but no anthology is exactly the same. So

21:38

I'm working my way through the anthologies that I've

21:40

made the biggest dent in to see if I

21:43

can clear a bit of space. Roald Dahl famously,

21:46

when I said this when I did this, I did

21:48

The In The Tube, was it? By

21:51

E.F. Benson. And I said that

21:53

he had decided to approach somebody

21:55

to make a TV series of

21:58

ghost stories. and

22:00

nothing but ghost stories. And

22:02

he began in the 50s

22:04

to read ghost stories and he collected hundreds

22:06

of them and read hundreds of

22:08

them and was astonished to find that most

22:11

of them were rubbish in his

22:13

opinion. So I think he ended up with 24 for

22:15

the series. And this

22:18

anthology, Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories, came out

22:20

in 1983, as I've just said, has

22:24

the best of them. Now I think I

22:26

have... Now, it's

22:28

very interesting. I like this story,

22:31

The Telephone by Mary Treadgold. I've

22:33

just told you what it was, you just heard it. But

22:36

I went on to Goodreads.

22:38

Now Goodreads is notoriously harsh.

22:41

So you can find Hemingway,

22:44

or anybody who thinks any good, or

22:47

Edith Wharton, or William Shakespeare,

22:49

or Charles Dickens, or John

22:52

Cheever, or anybody, Neil Gaiman, anybody. I'm going

22:55

to go through a list of all the

22:57

authors that ever existed now. And

23:00

they will have 3.5 stars

23:02

out of 5 because somebody won't like them.

23:04

And they will write very caustic reviews

23:06

in many cases. So if you are a

23:09

self-published author, as I was, then

23:12

you find that they say, I think

23:14

my books ended up as between 4.3 and 4.5. Some

23:18

were 3.0 something. But

23:21

that wasn't bad, really.

23:23

But they're awful on Goodreads.

23:27

Amazon reviews tended to be kinder. But something about

23:29

the people who go on Goodreads, I think they,

23:32

and I've said this before, they think they're

23:34

critics. And they think

23:36

the role of the critic is to excoriate

23:40

an author. They don't think that

23:42

they, partly, the role of the critic is

23:45

to be helpful. I don't know, they've got

23:47

this persona, or there is a persona of

23:49

the critic that is an embittered

23:51

person who

23:53

just wants to pull authors down. And what they say

23:55

is, of course, the critics are failed authors. That's

23:59

right. they say? I don't know.

24:01

They say a lot of things and

24:04

we shouldn't always believe what they say. But

24:07

in this case, I think they're probably right. I say

24:11

this before, the stereophonics have

24:13

a song called Mr. Writer and Kelly

24:15

Jones had a music critic

24:17

in this case pull apart his

24:20

stories and he wrote this song about

24:22

the critic, which isn't very

24:24

kind in his wishes to the critic, but the

24:27

critic deserved it in my opinion. And I've gone

24:29

on to critics. Point was,

24:31

Roald Dahl thought this was a good story.

24:34

Goodreads don't think it's a good story.

24:37

I think it's a good story. I'm with Roald

24:39

Dahl and what I was saying is I've come

24:41

to kind of understand

24:45

Roald Dahl's taste and the whole point

24:47

of me beginning to talk about Goodreads

24:50

was to say that, you know, some people

24:52

like different things. Honestly,

24:54

some I know people

24:56

will say, oh, Shakespeare's a little rubbish.

25:00

OK, and you're so

25:02

you are you are what? Well, I'm

25:04

a joiner. Right.

25:06

OK, but I

25:08

think he's rubbish and I

25:11

think Crossroads is not anymore

25:14

is a work of literature. Well, it's all

25:16

about your taste, isn't it? Some people like

25:18

some things. Some people don't like other things.

25:20

And I've come to the conclusion that actually

25:22

there was this idea I was reading this

25:24

article about the canon and this guy called

25:26

Leavis who set out and said,

25:28

what is good literature? And the idea was

25:30

there are two views on this. One is

25:32

it's like I said, just your taste. And

25:35

the other was there's an objective standard of

25:37

good literature. There is something

25:40

that makes literature great. And

25:42

I think this still floats around in

25:45

the world of people. In

25:47

the world, let's just say. And

25:49

I actually think. But

25:52

then I think that some writers

25:54

are better than others. How

25:57

why do I think that? Do I say that's just my

25:59

taste? Well, when I'm in

26:01

a good mood, I say, yes, just my taste. And,

26:04

you know, I may think looking

26:06

at the shelf, Ray Bradbury, looking at his

26:08

shelf there is a great writer. And you

26:10

and I've honestly I've done Ray Bradbury stories.

26:12

I did The Crowd and I've done Witchdove

26:14

and various. And somebody will

26:17

comment, yeah, that was rubbish. You know,

26:19

so I make my point. Is

26:22

it taste? But some of me is

26:24

saying, like Roald Dahl. Yeah,

26:26

no, some of this is better than

26:28

others. So what is Roald Dahl like?

26:30

Roald Dahl likes a bit of character

26:32

development. When

26:34

we get our pulp. Stories.

26:38

I was reading an article

26:41

which referenced Aristotle's

26:43

poetics. So Aristotle

26:46

was this Greek dude way

26:48

back man. And

26:51

he he had a lot of influence, massive

26:54

amount of influence on

26:56

our civilization. On

26:58

Western civilization, when I say our, I

27:01

mean mine and some of

27:03

the other people listening and so

27:06

he had a massive influence and he said

27:08

basically mythos is plot. Plot

27:10

is what drives a story number

27:13

one. And he says character comes

27:15

second. Now, what we had in

27:18

the 19th century and 20th century and

27:20

early 20th century, early

27:23

mid was character

27:25

is king. So when you look at the novels

27:27

that the great and the good in

27:29

their drinking clubs in Soho, I

27:32

don't think they drink. I think

27:34

they have lattes and macchiatos in

27:37

cafes in Soho and go

27:40

to the theater. And I think

27:42

that they love character. So

27:45

to me, I think there are some

27:47

great novels that are

27:49

just about somebody having feelings. And

27:53

feelings are great. Like if you if you can be

27:55

bothered with that kind of thing, I

27:58

personally think feelings. They'd

40:00

been together for 50, 60 years and they

40:02

were in their 60s and 70s, late 60s, 70s

40:04

I think they were. And then

40:06

one particular night it occurred to her that

40:08

she wasn't really married to him at all and never had

40:10

been. So what she

40:12

did was, they were sitting, they had a coal fire.

40:15

She took her wedding ring off and

40:17

threw it in the fire amongst

40:20

the coals. This is a true story. And

40:22

he was really dismayed. Now I should say

40:25

something about him. They were a meek couple.

40:27

They weren't. When

40:29

I saw them, he was a very

40:31

gentle, retiring, defeated by life

40:33

man, you know, defeated by this particular

40:35

thing. He'd loved this woman all these

40:37

years. I even want to say that they were childhood

40:40

sweethearts and they'd been together all the years

40:42

and brought children up together. And now they were retired and

40:44

approaching the end of their lives. And

40:46

suddenly she decides not only does she not love

40:49

him, she's never loved him and she's not even

40:51

married to him. And

40:53

so remember I was a psychiatric nurse and

40:55

she was in fact became psychotic

40:57

and this belief was delusional.

41:00

And she then believed that

41:02

who she was married to was the

41:04

owner of a coach company. So, you

41:06

know, Sharabangs where they organized trips off

41:08

and this is what his company did.

41:10

And they'd go off to Blackpool and

41:12

they'd go off to Edinburgh and they'd

41:14

go off to London or somewhere on

41:17

a coach trip. And I think she'd

41:19

been on a coach trip and it

41:21

occurred to her that this was her

41:23

real husband, not the man she lived

41:25

with. So she started

41:28

basically going around this fella's house,

41:30

the coach driver, the coach owner

41:33

and presenting herself as his wife. You

41:35

know, of course we're married. Why do

41:37

you say we're not married? And he,

41:39

the coach owner, the coach firm owner

41:42

was understandably disturbed

41:45

by this and unnerved as was his

41:47

wife. And his family. So

41:50

she ended up being detained

41:53

under the mental health act

41:55

because she had no insight that there was

41:57

anything wrong with her.