James Mumford at Euston station: “She was gone, with my bag. I’m panicking, darting in and out of people trying to spot her”
The woman came up to me as I was rushing from the Victoria Tube line to the Piccadilly, deep below King's Cross railway station. It was 6pm on Maundy Thursday and the walkways were packed.
"Can you help me?" she said.
Her blondish hair was long and unkempt; she had carrier bags underneath each arm; she looked highly disorientated. And her haggard appearance made her age difficult to determine.
"I'm trying to get to King's Cross station."
"This is King's Cross," I replied, pointing to the red National Rail logo on a nearby sign.
"What about them?" she said, of the Tube stop listings beneath.
"Forget about those," I said.
"I've got to get to Manchester."
"You're in the right place. Just follow the red logo and it'll take you to the rail station."
That this was going to be beyond her did not take long to ascertain.
"I've been walking in circles for so long."
I tried quickly to appraise the situation: the woman was clearly not with it; it was unlikely she was going to find the rail station by herself; but there were no Underground staff to be seen.
Also, I was in a rush.
"I'll take you up to the station," I said.
- How to Survive the Fourth Industrial Revolution
- The Spectre Of Mayor Khan's Islamist London
- Students Are Leading The Free Speech Fightback
- Fortress Europe Faces An African Migrant Tsunami
- Trump May Be Bad, But What Comes Next Will Be Worse
- Myth Of Stressed-Out Soldiers On The Street
- The Russian Love Affair With Palmyra Resumes
- How Russia Is Ruled By The Putin Doctrine
- The Doors Of Holocaust Memory Are Closing
- Rediscovering The Point Of Language
- The Novelist For Whom Small Was Beautiful
- A Recipe For Disaster