The man who
never was
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
Part 1
It was in the late 1960s and I thought it was my
destiny to travel to Brazil as I loved the music
and language with a passion.
I had worked as a travel agent for Global Tours,
then, in the 60s the third most important tour
operator in the UK but only as a temp having
returned from two months hitching through France
into Spain. My second exciting time in Europe.
I was the only British worker who spoke French
and Italian conversationally so when I heard that
someone on the reception was leaving, I
immediately asked the director Mr Green if I
could have the job. He was amused I had had the
chutzpah, without any experience on reception, to
brazenly ask!
Of course Mr Green obviously saw my potential and
agreed.
One day I thought I would be inventive and
laboriously hand wrote a letter, even though I
could type, to Frames, a leading coach Company in
London. The company had no connection whatsoever
with Brazil, if I could represent them in Rio!
I had been studying Brazilian Portuguese under
the auspices of the Brazilian Embassy and even
got a certificate for my efforts.
I immediately received a reply inviting me to be
at their office around 6.00 pm. I thought that
was odd because offices in the UK closed about 5-5.30
but I went along all the same!
I had an appointment with a Mr Roy Veysey.
Off I went at the chosen hour to meet the ugliest
man I’d ever had the pleasure to meet. He
was about 45, very English, well spoken
with a charismatic enchanting manner.
I asked him, having no connection with Brazil,
why he wanted to meet me. His answer astonished
me. He was interested in my handwriting and felt
compelled to meet me, the author. Also he felt it
was a personal letter because it wasn’t
typed and formal.
He questioned me about my age, salary, job, my
background and interests. Then he abruptly
dismissed me saying he would be in touch.
But he invited me to a gathering of people he
knew on a hill in the countryside, outside London.
I hesitated. It was then he told me he was a
Warlock. I innocently asked him what that meant
Ooh La La…….He finally asked me for a
lock of my natural rich brown hair.
I was intrigued. He had me hooked!
The plan was to meet in the front garden of the
popular pub ‘The Swan’ on the Bayswater
Road.
Written
on 20/22/8/26 at Nightingale, London while musing.
Part 2
I had met male witches previously so I was not
afraid of him. I recognised that he had an
insatiable knowledge for knowledge and power. He
had a special glazed look that I recognised.
It was his hypnotic voice that held my attention.
Time to go. I left feeling very stimulated.
The next day was a Saturday and I had to work. I
searched out French George in the rail department
because I had heard he was into the supernatural.
I introduced myself and told him about the lock
of hair and my meeting with the enigmatic Warlock.
He was very paternal and worried. However, he
promised to pray for me as he considered Veysey’s
behaviour, testing me and my innocence, as an
emergency.
Later as agreed I met my escort at The Swan early
in the Evening as it was still light and warm.
Suddenly there was a clap of thunder and the rain
appeared in torrents. It was so violent that
everyone fled inside the pub for safety.
I took it as a warning not to venture further and,
as my flat in Craven Hill was round the corner, I
suggested he come and have some tea and sympathy.
It never occurred to me that he could be
dangerous so I agreed to be hypnotised sitting on
the lemon couch.
Like a magical spellcaster, he produced two large
white wax candles from his deep pocket and began
chanting in a curious deep voice, moving one
candle back and forth instructing me to watch the
flickering flame while not taking my eyes off the
flame. Then he silently put his lips on mine and
waited for my reaction. I sat frozen, completely
still and also waited. Then he gave a little
cough and a reassuring smile.
I was off the hook.
I didn’t hear or see the stranger again. A
while later I telephoned Frames late afternoon
and was told that no one of that name had ever
worked in their company before or since…………..
Written
23/8/26 at Nightingale, London.
I recently looked up Roy Veysey in Google. There
was a real man of that name working in tourism
but there was no ‘y’. Why?
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