Two figures emerged in the lamplight, clanking towards the recently arrived Newcastle train. Their clothes proclaimed them to be railway cleaners, stoical and stocky, metal buckets bumping together as the two old women, Margaret Reid and Jenny Dunlop, reflected upon life, as they knew it. ‘Ye wonder why folk come and go,’ Margaret announced in the stillness. ‘I’ve never left Edinburgh,’ was the response. ‘Some folk though,’ Margaret winced at a sudden ache; the dampness played merry hell with her bones at times. ‘All over the world, camels and ships and the Lord knows what.’ ‘I wouldnae put trust in the sea,’ said Jenny, and then let out a shriek. ‘My God, look at the size of it!’ A large black rat picked its way carefully up the platform, oblivious to the disquietude it was creating. Margaret shook her head in remonstrance. ‘The place is rampant with the beasts – all these years and you’re still kicking up a fuss. If it doesnae have a ticket Mister Pettigrew will see it far enough.’ She had spotted the trim figure of the guard down at the front engine of the train and frowned for a moment.
