Pines Way
Our first report comes from Andi, the friend of the woman we met in the pub. Andi asked that we publish her first name only. She is a primary school teacher, and did not want anything weird attached to her online. She does not live in Bath anymore, but assured us this relocation had nothing to do with what happened.
A: Bath is a safe old place. I used to wander around at all hours of the day, and never had any trouble. In my last six months of residence I reached a point of unconscious incompetence. My wallet was always in my back pocket, and my phone lit up dark alleys like a mugger’s lighthouse. But that creepy old bridge near Pines Way was the one place I still worried about crossing.
The bridge is the ratty old metal one near the Supermarket and the big DIY store. There isn’t anywhere obvious to run to, and there are dark pockets ideal for storing dangers all the way across. If I had to go down there, I whipped on a hoodie, flung up the hood, jammed my hands in my pockets, and motored on through.
On the night in question I had to walk across to visit a friend in one of the flats opposite the bridge. The water beneath was dark and hidden,as were the corners of the walkway. Head down, straight across. No problem. I was about to cut across the car park, when I spotted a lady by the canal bank, her feet dangling over the edge, in a dress way too smart for a damp Tuesday evening.
My stomach dropped.
Even if the weather was not on the grim side, the far side of the bridge is a weedy, grubby mess. Definitely not the place to sit and chill. I had to assume she was drunk, in shock, or thinking of going in.
I advanced towards her with my keys gripped in one palm. She had such a piercing face, attentive almost, like someone waiting to serve you at a bar. She spoke to me before I spoke to her.
‘Nothing to worry about. I am collecting,’ she said.
In her left hand were three metal squares, tiny lines carved into each one. These should have sliced open her palm, but it was smooth and blemish free.
‘They still leave them here.’
I did not know how to respond. My brain looked for the correct social response for a woman near a canal near midnight carrying shards of metal. Nothing emerged from this search.
My old housemate was a doctor, and once told me that if you were ever worried about someone in a dangerous situation, it was always better to get the professionals in as soon as possible.. That way you never have to worry that you could have done more.
‘Please stay away from the river. I’ll give someone a call.’
I uttered words to that effect a few times over. She smiled, like I had told a paramedic to be careful near a pelican crossing with no cars around.
If she had remained there, my next move was a triple nine. But she hopped up, and walked away down a path towards the back of the car park. Only later did I realise that is a dead end.
Hindsight is easy. This was a bizarre situation, but by the time I was eating pizza in my friend’s living room, the event was a funny anecdote, and nothing more.
Until I saw an advert for the Baths. One that showed off the head of Sulis Minerva. And I am convinced that was who I saw that night.
I am glad my mate passed on your details. It is so cathartic to get my story out. If only I had asked her better questions.
The bridge near where the incident took place.
