It doesn’t feel like it was that long ago that I was wishing you all a Happy New Year. I feel as if someone has put time on fast forward.
My year definitely got off to a relaxed start up in the middle of nowhere. We spent the first few days of 2012 in Rhayader where there seem to be a few more sheep than there are people. It’s a small village in Wales; and the two things that struck me most about this gorgeous little village was that the children in the village actually spent most of their time playing outdoors and Rhayader has not experienced any serious crime in the last 3 years. Doors are safely left unlocked without the fear of someone breaking in. It felt like I had been transported back in time. In fact, the only real crime that does occur there is, in my opinion, justified crime. A man was put into hospital one night after being beaten up by the locals. The reason? He had been assaulting his girlfriend. Well deserved I reckon, and I doubt he’ll be doing that again.
Rhayder is a place I completely fall in love with every time I visit it. I have tried to convince my husband that he should pursue a career as a butcher, or anything similar really, as that seems to be the only type of work available there. Needless to say he requires a little more convincing. Apparently I am not as persuasive as I had hoped.
My January then became a little more eventful. If anyone has read my previous post back in October titled “The 8:22 train stalker” you will be familiar with my story of the gentleman of a creepy nature who had taken it upon himself to ruin my morning commute by following me, sitting where I would sit and then proceeding to stare in a most unwelcomed fashion. Despite my tactical avoidance maneuvers I couldn’t seem to shake him. I eventually had to move to another train. My morning train journey was restored. Or so I had thought.
In the beginning of December this same man suddenly appeared on my evening train. At first I wasn’t too bothered by it. It was only when I did a complete circle of the entire platform and he followed me every step of the way that I began to freak out. I managed to evade him and boarded the train at the far end of the platform. However with a bright orange backpack I am easily spotted in a crown and, just as I was boarding the train I noticed him making a beeline for my carriage and then sat directly opposite me once we were on. Now I may watch too many Hollywood movies like Taken; but it was at this point that I had visions of being stolen and kept in a small room. I came up with a cunning plan that my husband would come to the station with me so he could take a look at this guy just in case he would need to identify him. My husband wisely suggested that I actually speak to someone at the station and if by any chance they couldn’t help me, then yes he would come and meet me at the station.
I didn’t really like this option as it involved me actually going up to someone and saying, rather shyly, “Excuse me, but I think I’m being followed,” which I found embarrassing. But I did it, and received a rather unsympathetic response; and a phone number.
I expected that when I called this number I would be told to leave my details and then contact them again if anything serious actually happened to me. What I didn’t expect was the phone call a half hour later from the sergeant of the British Transport Police. He told me that he wanted to get this sorted out that day and that two plain clothed policemen would come fetch me from work. At about 17:15 I opened the door to find too huge 6 ft plus men who would be my personal police escorts. And so began operation Dynielle. It was just like a movie. We were going to be ‘undercover’. I had to give a description of the stalker in question (I think I may have told my story about four times that day. And after the entire incident, I think I have told this story I am telling you now about six times; each version getting a little more elaborate).
I had to pretend I didn’t know these two huge martial arts experts who flanked me on either side, at a safely subtle distance. I was told to do what I usually do and they would follow me. What I usually do is wait amongst the people in the middle of the platform and with a minute left to go I walk to the far end of the platform to the front of the 12 coach train that was due to arrive at 18:12. At 18:11 I set off down the platform as I heard the words, “This train is made up of 6 coaches.” I stopped dead, as did the two huge policemen behind me. Not as inconspicuous as I had hoped.
I had to turn around as the 6 coach train didn’t reach the end of the platform. The platform was packed that night and I could see my alleged stalker in amongst the crowd just ahead. I whispered to my police escorts that he was there, in the black puffer jacket. The one PC boarded the train with me while the other followed my stalker. (At this point I would like to add that the policemen were lovely men, and although it may be their job to be nice to young damsels in distress, it has since resulted in my new found fondness for the British police.)
When we arrived at the station, my stalker was taken into the police station to be given a warning. He was basically told that if he ever even accidently bumps into me, and I feel in the slightest bit threatened, then he will be arrested.
I was surprised at how serious they took a case like this, as I say, I was expecting to have to give a report and only call again if I was attacked. I spent about two hours at the station giving a report and the stranger formally known as stalker, was only released a half hour after I had left the property. There had apparently been many similar reports from women travelling on the train - not necessarily about this same man.
I was understandably a little nervous the next evening as I wasn’t sure how this man would react. He may have been aggressive the next time he saw me. As it was a Friday I caught an earlier train; and I imagine that with the purpose of avoiding me, so did my stalker. He didn’t see me take my seat as I was sitting a couple of seats behind him. When he did eventually turn around and see me, he turned back, sat for a brief moment before rising and making his way through the doors to the next carriage. I felt very powerful!
It was quite an exciting day, although it did all happen on my husband’s birthday and I successfully stole the limelight from him that day (sorry love). It was a good story though, one that I enjoyed telling. However, a word of caution to anyone else that has a similarly cool story to tell….don’t tell your mother. For some reason mom’s don’t find the need for policemen to escort their daughters home as cool as you would expect.
