Val lies still, wrapped up warm in her blankets, as watery morning sunlight seeps through the shutters of her Waggon, coaxing her awake. Her Waggon, a wagon decorated with vibrant, hand-painted white flowers and birds, had been her family's mobile home for generations, its sturdy wooden frame and covered canopy, her sanctuary from the world.
Outside, the murmur of voices is building - the miners are on their way to the first lift down the coal mine’s shaft, their footsteps and chatter signalling the start of another day for Val on the edge of the Monkland Canal. In ten hours’ time, these men will return home along this same route, crossing paths with the late shift workers. And Val will be ready to feed them.
They often talk about her. Val can’t help but overhear their mocking. They call her ‘The Monster of Monkland Moor’ and say she’s been in the oven too long. But Val has heard it all before, and as long as they keep lining up to buy her food, licking their bowls clean and paying her for the privilege, they can say what they want. The voices die down, and Val can’t put off the inevitable any longer. She pulls back the blankets, swings her legs from the high bunk and throws open the doors at the end of her Waggon. Time to get to work.
First, she heads away from the canal to the south burn, where she washes, collects fresh water and rinses out her kitchen cloths. On the way back she throws some crumbs for a little field mouse. Everyone deserves something tasty for breakfast once in a while. Then she picks bunches of wild garlic - it’ll add something special to the day’s stew. She has positioned the Waggon under a huge oak tree to give her some protection from the weather and a place to hang her wet cloths out to dry. She tends the fire pit and, in no time, has a kettle of mint tea bubbling over the flames.
Val sets to work making the day’s bannocks - combining coarse oatmeal, salt, and water in a trough, kneading the mixture until smooth. She shapes it into rounds she places on cloth-lined shelves. She repeats this until every surface in her little Waggon is supporting a tray of resting dough balls.
Val's next task is to visit the market in Coatdyke, where she can buy supplies. She hates this trip; it isn’t that far, but as a child, she was in a terrible house fire, and the injuries still affect her mobility. On top of that, the villagers can be so cruel. She can hear them, she can hear them all the time, saying, “She’d be pretty if it weren’t for the scars,” and “I hear she steals money from the miners when they pass her on the canal”, and, worst of all, “No man would want her”.
The marketplace is heaving. Chickens peck at the straw-covered cobbles, and cats paw hopefully at milk churns. The streets are lined with stalls overflowing with local produce, and stallholders are calling over each other, "Tatties!", "Get yer onions!", "Carrots and meat, carrots and meat!"
She approaches the red-faced butcher. "The usual stewing beef, please, and don't forget the bones for broth.” He waits for her coin, then grunts and thrusts the meat at her.
Next is the greengrocer, Euan. He is about Val’s age, but, unlike her, his appearance doesn’t betray childhood hardship. His skin is clear and scar-free, his back is straight, and his hair is smooth and starting to turn silver. He beams at her as she approaches.
“Val! You are the talk of the town; I’ve heard you're doing a roaring trade at the canal.”
Euan is the only person in the village Val enjoys talking to. She fills him in on business, and they discuss the vegetable yield this spring, marvelling at how sweet the carrots seem to be.
With her knapsack full of the freshest leafy greens and vibrant root vegetables, Val waves to Euan and leaves the market feeling a little bubble of satisfaction, like the woman she is - not the monster they call her.
A group of children is waiting for her on the path out of the village, hiding on the other side of the canal bridge. They are playing a game in which they throw little pebbles at her, and if they hit her square on her bonnet, they get a point.
Her little bubble bursts.
Back at the Waggon she builds up the fire and prepares the stew - browning mounds of meat, peeling and chopping veg, adding a healthy splash of whisky, the wild garlic and stock, then setting the whole thing to simmer. Then she heats the griddle for the bannocks.
As the day progresses, the smell of Val's cooking wafts through the air. She imagines it floating in tendrils underground to the miners, drawing them up, and soon enough, there is a long line of hungry men waiting for their meal.
She ladles hearty servings of steaming stew into their wooden bowls and hands out the freshly baked bannocks. The men at the front of the queue are already devouring their meals with gusto, their spirits lifted by the comforting warmth of Val's food against the chill of the canal-side air. No one ever comments on Val’s scars when they are eating her food.
But the men to the rear of the queue who haven’t been served yet are getting restless. Voices rise, and soon harsh words are hurled in Val's direction. “Hurry up, woman!” they call. Val stands her ground, her jaw clenched with determination, but her hands tremble slightly as she continues to serve the waiting miners. They start to mock her, calling her a witch. “The Monklands Monster is slow as well as ugly!” Their insults cut deep.
"Enough!" a voice declares from the back of the line, and Euan emerges, firm and unwavering. "Enough of your foul mouths. All of you men know of others who have perished in mine fires. You have more in common with her than you realise!”
The men have fallen silent and are watching Euan. “Val is a kind soul and a talented cook who deserves our respect, not our scorn. Shame on you all!" His words hang in the air. Some of the miners grumble under their breath, but most of them fall silent. Val and Euan lock eyes alongside the canal.
"Your stew smells divine, Val," he says, his eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation and with a reassuring smile. He gives her a supportive nod before rolling up his sleeves and stepping in to help. They work happily side by side for the rest of the afternoon.
