Catherine is 7 years old and she feels awful. She is waiting in the sheriff’s office, her hands tingling, and her insides squirming with nerves and guilt, like a monstrous writhing swamp. She has never felt this way before, and she never wants to again. The police constable in his important-looking uniform, arrives behind the desk and peers over the top of his glasses to take Catherine in.
“Well, young lady, I hear you have some information about a theft?” He arches his eyebrows. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Uncle Rob, who is sitting on the hard wooden bench next to Catherine, gives her an encouraging nod. She stands, takes a deep breath, and pulls a red flag from her coat pocket and places it on the desk. She is ready to confess her crime.
It all began earlier that day. They were near Gartcosh sitting on the embankment at the new section of the railway line. Rumours had spread around the village that there was to be a test of a new steam locomotive. The event was to be a strict secret, so naturally, half the village had turned out with picnics and in their Sunday best clothes. Uncle Rob had brought an old blanket to sit on, and her mother had sent them off with some buttered fruit loaf and sweet elderflower cordial as a treat. Very nice.
It was a peaceful scene. The sun had shone on the train spotters and wood pigeons had softly hooted from the nearby trees. But it was a long wait. The food supplies were soon finished, and Catherine had spilled half the cordial and was uncomfortable and a bit sticky sitting on the hard ground. She was getting restless and about to start whining about going home, when finally, an otherworldly hoot-hooting echoed across the fields followed by a sound like a dragon roaring to life. It filled the air with a cacophony of clanks and hisses, the noise made the wood pigeons scatter above the trees. Thick white clouds were billowing into the sky, and then around the bend it emerged: the hulking metal body of the locomotive, steam swirling around it like a magician’s cloak. Catherine had clung to her uncle's arm, her eyes wide with wonder, watching the mighty machine roll towards them. She had never seen anything like it, and she wanted to remember every second.
Catherine had noticed a man in overalls a little way down the line waving a red flag. Then the train began to slow down. It was as if the man were casting a spell, and the flag held the power to make this locomotive stop.
“Is the red flag making the train stop, Uncle Rob?” Catherine whispered, agog.
“That’s right,” he replied. “The man probably has a green one, too, which will make the train go.”
Her uncle started talking about the mechanics of the steam locomotive, which flooded Catherine’s mind with visions of bubbling liquid, roaring fires, powerful vapours, dragons, spells, and magical flags.
The locomotive had ground to a halt, and right in front of them. The crowd were cheering and pressing closer to get a better look. Men popped out of the train, their faces covered in soot. It was all rather chaotic as they yelled to the crowd to get back while trying to have a discussion about faulty gauges. The man with the red flag had jogged down the track and, with frantic gesturing and firm language, finally managed to convince the crowd to retreat up the embankment.
Amidst this chaotic scene, Catherine had noticed the red flag slip from the man's pocket and flutter to the ground, unnoticed in the commotion. Sensing an opportunity she had darted forward, heart pounding, and with nimble fingers, she had scooped up the fallen flag and tucked it safely under her own coat. She now had a token of the magical moment, and the power to control the steam creature.
The crowd had finally settled back on their blankets, a green flag had been waved and very slowly, like a dragon waking from a 100 year sleep, the machine had begun to crank into movement. It hoot-hooted on its way, and the crowd waved their handkerchiefs cheering once again.
But, as soon as it started moving, Catherine’s insides had turned to ice. What had she done? She had stolen the only thing that could stop the great steam creature hurtling down the track. Those poor men would just keep going, round and round Lanarkshire, round and round the world! As the onlookers had packed up to leave, Catherine could feel the stolen flag hot inside her coat. Terrible thoughts haunted her, rolling in her mind like the rhythmic, metallic churn of the engine. She had never stolen anything in her life, except perhaps a spoonful of jam now and then, but this was different, this was really wrong.
It had been time to go home. They had packed up the remains of their picnic and followed the crowd towards the village. Beside her, Uncle Rob had walked in silence, a funny look on his face.
"Uncle Rob," Catherine had ventured timidly, "What happens to people who steal?”
Her uncle had spoken solemnly. “It depends. It depends on what they stole, how precious it is, and what they do afterwards." He paused and looked straight into her eyes.
"Returning something that was taken without permission and offering a sincere apology takes a lot more courage than the act of stealing it in the first place. You, Catherine, are extremely courageous.”
Catherine had nodded, taking in his words. “There is somewhere I need to go," she had murmured. “Would you come with me?”
And that's how she finds herself in the sheriff's office confessing her crime, holding out her wrists in preparation for the chains.
“So, you found this on the ground?" the constable remarks. “Well done! There may be a reward.”
A reward! Catherine’s face goes red - he hasn’t listened at all!
"No," she protests. "I saw it falling out of his pocket, and I picked it up. I stole it! I'm a thief. And now people’s lives are in danger because the engine can never stop!”
The constable’s expression changes, and he shares a look of understanding with her uncle.
“Well, that’s a different situation entirely," he acknowledges. "I'll return this to the locomotive engineers, and I will expect your letter of apology tomorrow.”
“I can’t write,” Catherine whispers.
“A picture will be fine.” Catherine nods slowly. Then she asks the constable to listen carefully to something she really needs to know, because people’s lives depend on it. “Do the railway men carry spare flags?”
