I don't believe in ghosts. I can't see them. Silly old ideas. But I remember, perhaps I cannot remember it well. When I was a young man, 21 or was it 22, I went for an interview for a job in Edinburgh. I took the overnight sleeper from Kings Cross to Waverley. The interview was in the morning, I did not get the job.
My afternoon was free, I would be taking the sleeper back to London. I walked along Princes Street, up the Golden Mile and discovered the Grassmarket. I decided to climb up to the castle. The way was steep and it was bitter cold; it was January.
I was joined by a young mother, perhaps younger than me. She had a very young baby in her arms, though it was so cold. The way spiralled up to the top where the castle is. She spoke to me and told me of her life, she spoke differently than I. She was dressed in an old fashioned way. Her husband was a soldier in the barracks at the top. She was going to meet him.
It was very cold, it started to snow. We reached the top and I looked around and she was gone. There have been no soldiers in the barracks since 1915.
