Bruar's Rest

desperate situation, she took hold of the stout lady and physically thrust her aside, pushing up to the clerk and pleading in her ignorance, ‘Someone has stolen my bag with my ticket for that train over there, can you give me another one?’
    Several people, including the chubby lady laughed loudly and told her not to be ridiculous.
    ‘Pull the other one,’ sneered the man behind the rabbit wire barrier. She’d obviously embarrassed him by drawing attention to his lack of hair.
    Megan was desperate, these people’s ways were strange, she grew anxious. ‘I’ll pull whatever one you want, I’ll pull the whole damn lot if you like, just give me a ticket.’
    ‘That train has gone; there won’t be another until tomorrow. If you want a ticket it will cost you three shillings and sixpence.’
    Her heart sank, she had nothing. Pleading and begging made no difference; eventually she was asked to leave by an apologetic station porter.
    ‘What a disaster—how can I find my man now?’ she thought, before slumping down outside the train station on a similar slatted bench to the one on which she’d been so foolish enough as to put her bag earlier. Thinking on how she’d been duped by the man in the torn coat, panic at the unfamiliar surroundings and her lack of money took a grip. ‘What a sleekit, fly bastard of an excuse for a man!’ she cursed him for the tenth time, then thought on what he’d say on finding a grey tweed skirt and an elbow-patched funeral cardigan when looking through his ill-gotten booty. Everything became painfully clear in the full light of day. Tears welled in her eyes, though not for the loss of her bag, clothes or train ticket. Only one thing mattered to her—the wedding photo was in the case!
    The more she thought about the serious situation she found herself in, the more curses were piled on the thief. ‘You will never see a full belly again,’ she screamed at the top of her voice. People, startled by the incoherent outburst, hurried past, probably thinking she’d lost her senses. ‘What am I to do now? Here with the whole stretch of England ahead of me, and not a penny to pay my road?’
    ‘I need to eat,’ she thought as she walked away from the train station in the busy city of Newcastle, with its wide river and splendid bridges.
    The aftermath of the dreadful war saw to it that there were not many pennies to be got. To date she’d managed to sustain herself in Scotland, she had never become completely destitute, so that when she came across folks begging on the street it confused her. ‘Are you tinkers?’ she asked two men sitting on the pavement of a broad street corner, cloth-caps at their feet.
    ‘What’s a tinker?’ enquired one.
    ‘A bloody gyppo!’ answered the other, ‘she thinks we’re filthy pikeys.’
    ‘You calling us gyppo, you flea-ridden bitch?’ He lifted a stick and brought it hard down upon her toes. She kicked him hard on the leg before spitting at the other one’s face. It was obvious Megan had been sheltered and secluded in her nomadic life. If she had been a bit more streetwise she would have rushed past such shifty-looking beggars.
    Some beggars wanted money to feed a hungry family, but there were those who did it for nothing more than a bellyful of cheap alcohol. Perhaps these lads were drunkards? Suddenly they were on their feet and chasing after her. Up and down and round and on she ran, as if the devil himself was at her heels, taking right and left turns and not knowing where she was running, until no sound of them could be heard. They might have caught her, had she not had the speed of a hare and the lightness of a deer. Not even Bruar could run at her speed, and she was more than grateful for that. She kept up a fast pace until the city was a fading memory behind her.
    By nightfall a long stone dyke appeared on her shadowy horizon. Behind it she found shelter, curled up and fell into an exhausted sleep. Already her search for Bruar was looking in danger of ending, and it was only three days into it.
    Next morning her bones ached and her stomach rumbled. Where could she find food? More to the point, where would she get money? If another train ticket was needed to continue her journey then money had to be earned. This positive thinking took her feet a faster pace upon the narrow winding road. For the next two days she lived off berries and wild nasturtium. The scenery left her breathless, with miles of heather moor followed by