At first sight it could have been mistaken for a large, crumpled, army-style kit bag, haphazardly tossed into the corner seat of the railway carriage. But, no, it was its usual occupant: a mystery man wrapped in what could best be described as an oversized waterproof poncho, regardless of the weather. Unlike the other regular commuters, he was always there when the others alighted. However, while the majority would at least greet one another with a ‘good morning’ and a reference to the weather, our mystery man remained silent, hunched almost double over a computer tablet. He made no sound and, if playing a computer game, displayed no reaction to either success or loss. From time to time, he did go missing for three or four days but if it was for holiday or business his fellow commuters never knew. He never said a word.
From his appearance, it might have been thought that the hygiene of our mystery man could have been questionable. However, when one of the women commuters was obliged to sit next to him, she detected the delightful aroma of an expensive aftershave that she had bought for her husband.
Equally incongruous were the highly polished formal shoes that peeked out from below the tatty edge of the giant poncho when it occasionally rose from the floor.
Guardsman shoeshine, refined after shave! Just who was this man? Usually, he just cowered over his tablet in the corner seat except when, one day, he suddenly shot up from his seat and started to pat himself all over where one might have supposed the garment’s pockets to be. To say that he was agitated would have been a gross understatement. What was wrong? He rejected any enquiries or offers of help then, suddenly, brought forth a tiny bottle of pills and, with clear relief, hastily swallowed one without any water. As he sank to his traditional pose, he quickly covered his head and upper half of his face with the cowl of his poncho. There was just time for one of his fellow commuters to note a beard and very bushy eyebrows.
His husband, Simon, a university lecturer in applied mathematics, knew that the beard covered scarring from a serious accident suffered many years ago during military service. Although recently given a clean bill of physical and psychological health, Simon knew that his life partner from time to time still felt psychological pain for which he believed he needed to self-medicate. Simon dared not ask what the self-medication was or from where it was sourced but if his husband was content, that was all that mattered. Together, they lived relatively isolated lives. People in that part of Sussex still felt uncomfortable about two men living together. But they were happy and in addition to preferring classical music to what they described as syncopated din, shared a passion for growing cacti. In the back garden of their immaculately neat garden was a 12’ long greenhouse. You can get a lot of cacti in that space.
Indeed, it was a cactus heaven - full of the kind of small plants sold in many garden centres and displayed on many kitchen windowsills. But here, in front of each one, was its correct name and a mixture of special liquids and composts to help even the most humdrum of plants to flourish plus notated details of their progress or remedial treatment. Unsurprisingly, they thrived, which is more than can be said for many a set of unloved spikes on many a windowsill! The partners were especially proud of growing rare species such as the Lophora Williamsii. Ranking amongst North America’s unique cacti species, this it is unlike the general perception of cacti, featuring small spineless globular shapes and a distinctive crown. It grows slowly and traditionally thrives in specific geological areas of Mexico and Texas. There, it has seemingly flourished for thousands of years but now faces major challenges. Botanists and conservationists have therefore been drawn together to ensure its future sustainability. Simon and his partner have been at the forefront of the British contribution to this quest, equipping their greenhouse with special lighting and computer-controlled heating and feeding in an attempt to replicate the cactus’s natural habitat - a narrow strip of land near the Rio Grande where they still grow well. They even imported special shrubs and loam from Mexico. Such was their success that our mystery man claimed that they had won the most coveted cactus award in Europe. Simon, of course knew this not to be true but if it pleased his husband to think so and it gave him pleasure, what was the harm?
Whilst both men made sure that the garden was kept in immaculate condition, their approach to housekeeping could not have been more of a contrast. Simon was a great cook but the state of his kitchen, even after cooking a fairly basic meal, looked like Armageddon. Mystery man almost shuddered on the rare occasions he was obliged to see it. The difference in standards of tidiness were even more apparent in their jointly occupied study. Their desks faced one another and, on Simon’s side, piles of course-work submitted by students were seemingly strewn in haphazard heaps. How individual assessments got back to their rightful owners surely required advance quantum physics thought mystery man. By contrast, what paperwork he had was neatly sheafed in Perspex wallets with clear descriptive labels on them and restricted to just one filing basket. Wherever possible, documents were stored in a sophisticated and ultra-secure computer. Behind him on open shelves were hundreds of books on gardening (and especially cacti) or chess, each meticulously labelled with codes recorded in the computer for easy referencing.
Sometimes, late at night, the two chaps would still be in the greenhouse tending their charges. If not, our mystery man would almost certainly sprawl himself along a sofa with his labrador, on whom he doted, beside him. At night, after a ‘necessity walk,’ the dog would receive almost constant ear rubbing and if there was just a momentary pause (or should that be ‘paws’!) a nudge of the head would quickly remind the dog masseur to get back to the job in hand. However, it was in the mornings that the dog really received the kind of treatment for which the majority of canines would envy him. At six a.m. sharp, he would be taken on a long country walk. Sometimes he wondered whether it was for his benefit or that of his master! To protect himself from brambles, thickets and especially inclement weather, his master would clad himself in what seemed to be a giant tarpaulin. Often there was little time for him to do much more than change his shoes before Simon had to race him to the railway station in his car to catch his train.
Meantime, the regular commuter group were becoming more and more frustrated with not knowing who their mystery companion was and why he appeared to be so solitary and, to them, strange. Then came a lucky break, an opportunity. Andrew, one of their number, was able to get into his office late one morning. He therefore planned to follow mystery man to try and get some idea of what he did. Fortunately, Andrew’s quarry left the station on foot, so he was easy to follow.
After crossing Waterloo Bridge, mystery man took a sharp left turn. He wove his way through a labyrinth of narrow streets and lanes behind Whitehall and then disappeared into a faceless building protected by a surprising number of armed military guards. Even Government buildings usually manage to protect their Civil Servants with just one or two old soldiers adorned with epaulettes and medals. However, the building into which mystery man disappeared was clearly more than just a resting place for pen pushers. Passing as close to the building as he could without rousing suspicion, Andrew managed to glance at a nearly obscured notice board. He made out the words SECURITY PASSES MUST BE DISPLAYED ON ALL MOVEMENT IN AND OUT and further down CYBER SECURITY but that was it. He and his fellow commuters were unlikely ever to learn more or to understand exactly what mystery man did. To be fair, even Simon only knew a little. ‘All you need to know’ said mystery man. After success in a job testing how commercial organisations might be hacked and making recommendations to minimise risk, he had been head hunted for work, he was told, ‘of top-secret National importance especially in the light of intensifying world-wide tension’.
Whilst he had lied about his contribution to growing cacti, he did ultimately receive recognition at the very highest level. To maintain secrecy, the King personally presented him with his MBE for services to protection of the State in a one-to-one meeting at Windsor Castle. Naturally, he did not wear his poncho, just the immaculate formal garb that he usually wore beneath it and even the king commented on the super sheen of his shoes.
Sadly, despite the immense pride that he felt for his award, mystery man knew that he could tell no one. However, perhaps enlivened by the honour, in his on-line chess match with one of the Russian Grand Masters on the train the following day, he won. But of course, he displayed no emotion and told no one.
Clive Stokes
August 2025