Tag Archive: Camping


Glyn Y Mul Farm 2

I submitted an edited version of my first post about Glyn Y Mul farm (Lone Wolf Campsite) as a review to coolcamping.co.uk and ukcampsite.co.uk.  I was silly enough to think they would display it, but they didn’t.  I suppose it was too negative.  I suppose they couldn’t display a review by a woman complaining of sexual harassment and violence from the campsite owner.  So I’m pleased to see that my post is displayed 2 and a half pages down a Google search for Glyn Y Mul farm and hope it has some readers.  I’m not sure what I should have expected, why they couldn’t display my review.  It seems a bit unfair and inbred, I imagine they might have passed my name around the campsites as someone to avoid.  It’s only imagination, not sure how well-founded it is.

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Glyn y Mul Farm

22 months ago I was on Glyn y Mul Farm campsite for a week, in Aberdulais near Neath in Wales.  It was only a week because it went badly wrong.  I had hoped it was going to be OK, it seemed as if it might be.  I was on my own.  The first night I slept in the cabin where the staff work because I didn’t have a tent until it was delivered, then they lent me a tent which I used for a few days.  The staff seemed friendly enough, except for the fact that one of them, Mark, every time he appeared, was effing and blinding in front of me.  The old man touched me.  I kept quiet about it at first, because I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not.  Also, there was a washroom which was open to the outside in that it had nothing up at the window to shield users from people walking past, and several times when I was using it the men found a reason to walk past.

Eventually I got my tent and one of the staff put it up for me.  He was an eastern European, I can’t remember where from.  But I found at bedtime that I couldn’t zip up the flap and it was frosty, and because I didn’t want to bother anyone with it late in the evening it stayed open all night and the frost got inside.  I had a very cold night’s sleep.

When I emerged the next day I met Ian, the campsite owner, in the kitchen, and he asked me if everything was all right.  I said no, I couldn’t zip my tent up, and also told him that Ted, the old man, had touched me.  His response was that if I was saying that, I should leave as soon as possible.  I didn’t realise he meant immediately until he snatched my tea out of my hand and started forcing me off the stool I was sat on.  I had thought he might mean in a couple of days, to at least give me time to sort myself out.  I had bought a fair bit of camping equipment a day or two before and I had no transport of my own.  But he grabbed me by the arm and started forcing me out of the kitchen and into Ted, who was standing there, and he fell over.  Ian started accusing me of pushing him down, I said I had been pushed into him, Ian said he had 3 people there who had seen nothing.  He kept pushing and pulling at me, calling me a disgraceful woman and telling me not to go back there.  He said I was now homeless and owned nothing.  The things I had bought I had bought with money my uncle had lent me.

I went to the police (Ian is an ex-policeman) and they kept me ages.  All the time I was giving a statement they were talking and jeering in the next room.  I had gone to the wrong area and they found a hotel for me overnight and told me to go back to Neath the next day.  I can’t remember, I don’t think I did, not to the police station anyway.  I was too intimidated.  Ian’s handling of me left a big bruise on the inside of my forearm which took 3 weeks to fade.  I emailed them twice about my belongings but they didn’t reply.  When I called it theft to the police they said that technically it wasn’t theft.  Regardless of police technicalities, of course it was theft.  They deprived me of all my belongings which I had had with me at the time – clothes, mobile phone, books, food, all my camping equipment – because I, a woman on my own and vulnerable, told an ex-policeman that one of his staff had touched me and I had expected proper treatment instead of what I got.  That was a bent copper.  Also it was an appalling way for a commercial enterprise to deal with any complaint, let alone one of this nature.  They will have other women and children there, yet they dealt with me like this.

Another Home, Another . . .

She keeps screaming hallelujah, day and night, several times a minute during the day, they are violent . . . talk about deja vu!  I’ve written to the council.

Guess who is feeling responsible again?

Someone knocked on my door this afternoon.  Twice.  It was an official-sounding knock but no one spoke or announced themselves, so I don’t know who it was.  I’ve decided not to do deja vu on the way I treat knocks at the door.  If they don’t announce themselves as police I won’t automatically assume they are or act out of a knee jerk feeling that they are.  I’ve decided not to answer the door if I’m not expecting anyone and I don’t know who it is.  If they say they are the police I will answer, but I am still nervous.  I never know what decisions they are going to make about me and I am scared.

They can hear my radio when I have it on, a small DAB radio.  She hallelujahs at the end of every song, and every time a song mentions baby they are they conferring together saying ‘hmm, yes’.  I’m trying not to panic, but in the circumstances it is hard.  I’m more afraid of the authorities than I am of them.

I’ve got temporary council housing in Nottingham.  I’ve been in it for 2 weeks, I don’t know if they are going to house me permanently and if it would mean a change of address if they do.  I’ve been under pressure to collect my belongings for ages and have just learned that an estimate given by a removal man’s business friend in storage was very underestimated.  I was violently ejected off a campsite in Wales by an ex-police owner.  Almost 3 weeks later and the bruise on the inside of my arm is almost vanished.  My uncle lent me money which I decided to use for breathing space rather than make a decision under pressure to enter into a contract.  The campsite owner kept all my belongings and the camping equipment I had just bought, saying I didn’t own anything anymore.  I think I left with just the clothes I had on.  I had told him that one of his staff had touched me and been harassing me, and instead of dealing with it responsibly and professionally, he dealt with it that way.  I’ve asked twice for a social worker and heard nothing.  The council here knows what is happening, I have told them.

All told I feel sick with apprehension and embarrassment.  I reported the campsite incident to the police in Swansea, under the misapprehension that Neath came under Swansea.  All told I was there from around 4pm to around 11.30pm, and while I was in the interview room I was treated like a circus act and barracked and heckled from officers in nearby rooms, and they were laughing.  They were getting all the dirt they could about me and letting me hear it, and when I joked about my wellies from Tescos being a bit too tight for me because my right leg was too fat with a couple of the female officers, one of the male offcers said ‘that’s more like it, a friendly joke, not assaulting a police officer’, as though he had a right and that was the whole story and as if he did not know the abuses I have been through myself in my life.

I’m frightened of the police and mental health services, and I have asked the council for support I haven’t received or had the request acknowledged, at least I have received no letter.  My mobile phone was among the things the campsite owner kept hold of.  I can’t afford another right now.  I’m wondering if this situation is going to be used again to frighten me with mental health admissions.  I’ve already had several assessments in the last few months where it was decided I didn’t need to be in hospital, but not having any money or security and having my stuff taken from me left right and centre and another bout of 24 hour harassment is freaking me out.  Because before, in London, they said it was all in my mind and kept putting me under a section.

The woman I last spoke to at the council seemed to be trying to be understanding and sympathetic and human, but I have heard nothing and I don’t know what is happening or what decisions are being made and why.  I have told them so much which historically has been used to section me.  And people are reacting all over the place, as before.  It seems as if everyone has an expectation that I should tell them everything.  I’m thinking about the people’s courts under communism.  It is really terrifying, not least because I don’t feel free to express how offensive I find it.  If you confront people with their behaviour they can get really nasty.  They like to pretend they are not doing anything.

I think I’ve got £15 until next Thursday.  I made sure I topped up my bus pass for a week so I can get around.  I’ve got a fair amount of food.  I feel crazy with pain and fear and anger I daren’t express, and not knowing.

But my neighbours seem nice.  I feel treacherous and stupid.  I haven’t lived in Nottingham for ages, and I don’t know what is normal and what isn’t.

As I said in my letter to the council which, all being well, they should get tomorrow, I keep feeling as if it is me that is being perverse.  I’m wondering if she has learning difficulties, but sometimes it feels like a complete wind up, and as always, her timing is impeccably uncanny.  I’m not sure of the spiritual mechanics of it, but it is.

Sometimes they seem really nice, and one of the guys up there seems emotionally upset by it all.

I’ve told the council we need help and support.  I said we, not just I.  I haven’t heard a thing.  It is a week ago.  She said she ‘insisted’ that I stop reacting as I was breaching the terms of my contract.  But after agreeing with her, I now feel and believe that the terms of the contract were not written to inhibit understandable human reactions from people who are in a situation like this one.  But I did agree, saying also that if I agreed to stop then we needed support. . .

I’m frightened of the police.  I feel I have to go through a charade with them to communicate and try to get help, and it feels humiliating, because I often feel they are being deliberately ride and obstructive when I try.  I have so much anger built up, and I often hear them getting details on me and the fact that I have a history with the mental health services.  I know that is meant to help them have some idea how to assist, but it usually doesn’t feel as if that is what it is for at the time.  I always see it as a threat when they start talking in those terms, even though rationally I believe now that seeing it that way is a mistake.

But if their idea of helping me is to refer me to mental health services . . . that is what I am frightened of.  Their own conditioning which they act on without question and resent it if I question it.  I am frightened of the powers they have which I cannot resist.

I miss Max.  I’m really upset.  I liked him and felt as if I could trust him from the first time I heard him speak.  I’ve not stopped thinking about him, but it is now over a month that I walked away feeling unable to cope.  I didn’t mean to stay away at the time.

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