Paul Bura - Poet, Broadcaster, Writer

(A true account)
I did a series of taxi rides to and fro from North Wales to St Thomas Hospital in London a few years ago, stayed overnight in the hospital, then got a taxi to take me all the way back. Luckily I didn’t have to pay! As it was about a five hour drive I got to talking with most of my drivers and as I got to know each driver individually I posed the same question to each of them: “Has anything strange, or odd, ever happened to you that you couldn’t explain or rationalise to your own satisfaction?”
            This particular driver was built like a barn and literally filled the cab with his bulk. He wasn’t fat but just - well big!
            “You a bleedin’ writer of somefin’?” he asked.
           “Well as a matter of fact I am,” I said smiling, “Why, does it show?” “Naw, but only a writer or journo would come up wiv a bleedin’ question like that!”
            “Well?” I prompted.
            “Well,” he said, and took a deep breath, “Well I ‘ave as it goes, and I’ve never been able to explain it away; oh, and, by the way, if you’re goin’ to write about it don’t for gawd’s sake mention my name as quite a few of me mates experienced it too, an’ if they ever found out…!”
            “Ooh, witnesses,” I said, rubbing my hands.
            “Now look…!”
            “Don’t worry. Not a word. Only teasing you, mate,” I said, “Only teasing!”
            He nodded and began:

          “Well, it was in the midlands and me and the lads ‘ad gone for a weekend’s fishing. We chose a part of the river that we’d been before and ‘ad a fair bit of luck. We set out at five in the morning in a camper van and arrived about eight. The wevver wasn’t exactly ideal, know wot I mean? There was a bit of rain about and it was blowin’ a bit. Anyway, we set too with the rods and tackle and ‘ad a fair morning’s fishin’. But wiv the wevver a bit dodgy we got a bit cold, know wot I mean?
            Now ‘ere’s the bit wot was a bit strange: on the way down there was no sign of a pub – bearin’ in mind that we’d done this route before, know wot I mean? – and in packin up our tackle one of the blokes went off for a pee. Well, ‘e came back and said that there was a pub or hotel just off the road. We all said that ‘e must be dreamin’ ‘cos we’d ‘ave seen it! I mean it was quite flat, apart from a few trees near the river, and we would all ‘ave SEEN it! But ‘e insisted that the pub was there!
            Anyway, we piled all the gear in the car an’ drove to this ‘ere pub. And sure enough, there it was in all its glory. The car park was dead empty and there was no other building in sight!
            “What was the name of this pub?” I asked.
           Well that was a strange fing in itself. We just couldn’t remember the name!
            Anyway, we all piled in and the place appeared INSIDE brand bloody new, as if it ‘ad just ‘ad a makeover! We were hungry and a thirst on us like a piece of salted cod and ordered five pints of lager and five ploughmans. Within seconds the food was there and the barman must ‘ave put ‘is skates on because ‘e pulled the lager up in seconds flat! I said to the barman, I said “That was quick, mate?” To which he replied: “We don’t hang about here, sir!”
            Anyway, the ploughmans was the best ploughmans that we’ve ever tasted. ‘alf a Baggett each wiv lots a butter and an array of cheese: there was mature cheddar an’ a blue cheese, and brie that was just goin’ soft, know wot I mean? I mean PERFECT!
            Then a strange fing ‘appened: the Barman said to me: “You play the piano, don’t you?” I was taken aback. I said ‘yes’. Now ‘ow did ‘e know I played the piano? “Then how about you give as a tune, sir?” ‘e said and proceeded to lead me to a piano that was brand spanking new!
            Wiv encouragement from the lads I opened the lid and began to play. Suddenly it was as if the whole pub immediately filled up with people. They were laughin’ an’ talkin’ an’ ‘avin’ a really good time. Where they came from I shall never know. They were throwing requests at me, most of which, fortunately, I knew.
            I played for about two hours wiv pint after pint coming my way, which, of course, I didn’t refuse. Well you wouldn’t, would you?
            Suddenly the bell rang for last orders and with that all the people seemed to disappear! I don’t mean vanish as such but they might just as well ‘ave.
            The barman thanked me and the lads for a cracking session and saw us out.
            We all piled out thinking to see the car park full, at least cars being driven away, but there was nuffin’, bleedin’ nuffin’! Not a car in sight, apart from our bleedin camper van! We even tried to get back in to ask the barman, but it was as if the whole pub was empty!”
            “Did you ever go back…fishing, I mean.” I said.
            “Yeh, we went back. And could we find that damned pub? Could we ‘ell! Now you tell me, guv, was that real or was that real? We all saw it; we all experienced it!”
            “Probably a parallel universe,” I said, “I’ve heard of similar stories.”
            I then proceeded to tell the driver of a tale that happened on the Isle of Anglesey a few years ago where two archaeologists were excavating a standing stone. They had driven from the Menei Bridge on roughly a straight road – if any road in Wales could be straight. They worked on the stone until early evening. One of the two men had brought his dog with him. They clambered back in the car.
            They got a little lost and found themselves outside a small pub. They stopped and decided to have a pint and a bite to eat. The dog was playing up and whimpering and didn’t want to get out of the car, so they left him to it.
            They ordered two pints from the barmaid and a round of ham sandwiches each. These ham sandwiches turned out to be the best ham sandwiches they had ever tasted, so tasty were they that one of the men thought to take some of the ham home.
            When he made his request the barmaid said that they didn’t do takeaway and all food must be consumed on the premises!
            Anyway, they accepted this explanation, drank up and went out to the car and found the dog still acting strangely. They drove off and soon recognised the road that they had come in on.
            The next week they went back to the stone and did a little more work on it and then remembered the little pub. Now the road to the stone was a straight one and the road back was a straight one. There was NO WAY that they could have got lost! Now the pub was on a little bend, and could they find this pub that served the finest ham in the land? They could not!”
            “Parallel universe, you say.” said the driver, “Bleedin’ bloody ‘ell; Bleedin’ bloody ‘ell!”
            “I’ll drink to that,” I said, “I’ll drink to that.”

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