He reached out his arm and together they battled against the lashing rain and blustery gale. As they headed for the river, they came across others, heads stooped low against the wind. They tumbled along together over Magdalen Green towards the signal box on the shore.

The wind continued to howl furiously as Ann and Baxter slithered down the slope towards the path. She lifted her head and stopped, peering ahead. She could see the huge signal post was bent over like a bowed willow branch. She pulled Baxter’s sleeve and shouted in his ear. ‘I shall remain by this lamppost. Go and ask at the signal box.’

Baxter cowered low and took careful steps across the Green.

‘Hurry!’ she shouted, wrapping her arms round the post. Shoulders stooped, she listened to the almighty roar as waves higher than houses crashed against the shore, throwing great sprays of water over the gathering crowd. It was impossible to see the bridge through the dark; Ann tried to put aside visions of the train plummeting into the murky, cold depths of the Tay.

Some ten minutes later, she looked up and saw a hunched figure approach, arms held out at either side for balance.

Baxter came right up to her and shouted, ‘A man climbed up to the signal box. Signalman told him he’d got the usual signal from the other side as the train entered the bridge. Since then, nothing. No more telegraphic communication, he said.’

Ann stared at him. ‘But what’s to be done?’

‘No one can do anything right now, Mrs Craig.’

She pulled back the hair that had blown over her face and yanked it behind her ears. ‘We shall continue at once to the station. They must know more there.’

Baxter began to protest about the gale, that a lady should not be out on a night like this, it was much too far to walk, but she struck out her elbow for him and said, ‘It’s barely a mile, Baxter.’ One glance at the resolute look on her face and he realised he had no choice. He took her arm and off they staggered through the howling gale towards Tay Bridge Station.

* * *

As they approached, Ann saw crowds of bedraggled people standing outside, huddled round the gates. Even over the moan of the wind she heard wails of anguish. Ann looked up at the large clock over the entrance: it was just before 8 p.m. and the train was well overdue. The crowds parted a little as she headed for the station gates, which were firmly shut and padlocked.

‘Come, let us continue,’ she hissed to Baxter.

She leant through the bars of the gate and rapped on the wooden door and some of the throng turned to her.

‘They’ve locked us out.’

‘Station’s closed.’

‘Flung us all out.’