English school teacher accepted only by complying with their term

What kind of story can a sixty year old retired school
teacher have to tell that would interest a modern adult
audience?

A true one, perhaps?

The year was 1968 and I was twenty-six years old,
married to Jim who was also twenty-six. He came from a
modest family background in a small midland town. I
came from a middle class professional family in London.
We met and fell in love whilst at university in London,
and were married within six months of graduating at the
age of twenty-one.

We lived in a large house in the midlands countryside,
and Jim ran his own engineering business from a
workshop on our own land. I worked as a school teacher
at a local village school, and was very active in the
local church, reading the lesson, singing in the choir
and organizing fundraising events.

By 1968 we were well established in the local
community, and Jim�s business was doing well. We
decided to buy a holiday home, it had to be near the
seaside, but not commercialized. We found our dream
home in a North Wales Valley near the coast. We were
stretching our financial position to the limit, but
after seeing this five bedroom cottage nestled into the
welsh hillside, we were both smitten.

From the start we loved the welsh countryside, with its
hills, valleys and wonderful coast line, but found the
people somewhat reserved and difficult to make friends
with. This didn�t stop us going down there every
weekend, and joining the local activities such as
church, boating and fishing. We had bought the place in
January, and by June had our first crop of fruit from
the garden.

Our house was situated on a lane that led from Mill-
Farm (Pandy in welsh) to one of Mill-Farm�s stock yards
and shearing barns, therefore it was a common sight to
see the old farmer Mr. Jones or one of his two sons
walking past our gates either going to or from their
barn. The old man was always surly, and rarely smiled
or even replied when you said hello to him.

The two boys were both about the same age as me. One
called Morris who was pleasant, but would never stop to
past the time of day. The other was Bryan, who was
surly like the old man, but you would often find him
stood motionless starring with a look like he was
undressing you, he made my flesh creep.

One day in June, I can remember sitting in the orchard
looking up the hill and seeing old Mr. Jones standing
on top of a stone platform about fifty yards up the
hill, he was waving. As I studied him I could make out
he was standing sideways to me, holding his penis and
having a pee. I thought how disgusting doing that in
public, and especially attracting attention to himself.
I turned away, and ignored him, when some time later
Jim came out I told him what I�d seen. Jim asked where
Mr. Jones had been standing, and when I explained, he
said, “But that�s our water tank!” Our water came
direct from the filter beds on the hill, to a stone
tank and then it was piped to the house.

As soon as Jim told me that was our water, I realized
what that funny taste was in our water. I�d been
thinking for several weeks now, that the water didn�t
taste quite right, and had put it down to the lack of
rain. I immediately felt sick, but at that very moment
Mr. Jones came walking nonchalantly past, and waved a
friendly hello.

I sprung to my feet and raced to the orchard fence,
“What do you think you were doing up there!” I shouted.

“Same as I�ve bin doing for the last six weeks. We�ve
gotta keep that tank topped up for you,” he replied, as
he walked passed and went on his way not stopping. I
looked at Jim, but he said that there was no point in
arguing, we must go and report this to the police.