1. Who Am I?
   

The man came down the steps of the shabby building - one hand placed on a rusty railing to steady himself. He stood, taking in the street. The late afternoon air was laced with so many strong smells.

All scents that he somehow felt he should recognise - all decidedly unpleasant. No words to describe these aromas as yet occurred to him.

He looked to his right: dark tenement buildings loomed on either side of the street, cobbles pitted with potholes, puddles. A distant clutch of children kicked a ball against a wall.

He turned to his left, the street looking miserable and deserted.

Which way?

He hesitated for only the briefest of moments because - he was sure of this - he had to keep moving.

He chose left.

As he walked away, he heard voices.

The urgent crying of a baby. Then an angry yell. Some loud laughter.

So many sounds and smells! His senses felt overwhelmed.

He passed a man squatting on the pavement - on his shoulder perched an animal on a leash, the creature looking up curiously. He searched for the name of that animal. Somehow it came to him.

A monkey, he thought.

The man kept walking, leaving sounds and scents behind, until he came to a larger street.

Again, he had a choice to make - go left, go right... even go back.

He took only a moment before turning to his right, and walking briskly, sticking to the pavement, avoiding the cobble-stoned road where - now and then - a speeding van would go racing by, alarmingly close.

*

He now noticed something as he walked. There was pain. Just there, his right leg, near the knee cap. Each step causing a sharp jolt.

But that wasn't the only place he felt hurt. He stopped walking and reached up to his head.

He felt a different kind of pain there, that increased as he gently touched a spot - feeling something wet, slippery.

In the afternoon shadows from the buildings, he couldn't identify the stain. But a few more steps - just a bit more light - and now he could see... a very deep crimson.

Something had happened to his head.

But what?

He couldn't answer that question. But an even larger question loomed over him, like a dark cloud.

That question...

Who am I?

*

His walk brought him to streets and junctions where - for a reason he didn't know - he didn't hesitate. Almost as if... he knew the way.

These streets, lined with shops and street traders, were busy: cars and buses and horse-drawn carts all roaring past.

And so many people jostling him as they passed.

He noticed now that people were staring at him - men in bowler hats and smart suits; ladies who glanced then quickly looked away.

Must be something about how I look, the man thought. Something unusual about me? Perhaps... something frightening?

No matter. He sailed through the sea of people.

Then, as he reached a corner, a woman came up with a basket of flowers, and said words he did not understand.

"Lucky heather, sir! Buy my lucky heather!"

He looked at the woman, then the flowers.

"Lucky?" he said. "Is it really lucky?"

"Oh yes, sir," said the woman, holding out a little sprig. "Just a penny."

Well, he thought. I think I need some luck today.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin, held out his palm. The woman looked at the coin and looked at him.

"A shilling, sir?" she said, frowning as if not sure to take it.

He smiled and nodded. The woman took the coin, bit the rim, then tucked a sprig of flowers in his lapel.

"God bless you, sir!" she said with a toothless grin, and he watched her hurry away. He looked down at the heather, gave it a pat, then continued his journey.

I wonder where I'm going? he thought. Is it somewhere I've been before?

But then, more thoughts that made him feel anxious: Where have I been? What was that place? Why did I leave?

That prompted another touch to his head. Where he noticed that it now felt less wet. Less slippery.

Whatever had caused that wound, it was not fully bleeding now. No need to have it... attended to.

Hospital.

With that word suddenly coming to him, he again had the same nervous reaction. Feeling a chill, he sensed for some reason that he must hurry.

*

After a series of twists and turns - down this street and up the next - he turned a corner to see a great bridge.

He hurried onto the bridge, as traffic flew past, and people pressed on, heads down, determined.

The bridge spanned a wide river with tree-lined avenues on each side, and in the distance he saw grand buildings, even a big domed church.

It was all somehow so familiar.

Just ahead he saw a train station dwarfing the buildings that surrounded it, the word "Waterloo" carved into its stone. And he thought: yes, I know this place too!

Feeling as if this Waterloo was important, he followed the crowd up the broad line of steps and straight into the station.

Through clouds of steam and billowing smoke, he saw massive engines waiting by the platforms. To his left, kiosks and a café. People hurrying in all directions.

But one thing caught his attention, as if drawing him closer. A giant clock with four faces, suspended high over this station from the curved arch of the roof.

Below it was an area where a few dozen people stood, necks craned, looking up at a big board filled with names, times and numbers.

Yes! Platform numbers, the man thought, as if stumbling upon some secret information just now revealed to him.

Once he joined the crowd, he too stood still, gazing upward at the board as names and times disappeared and reappeared.

He noted that now and then someone would nod, then hurry away from the board, heading through one of the open gates to a train... or to an empty platform.

This... felt important. Though he had not the slightest idea why.

As he scanned the board, one word stopped him in his tracks. A town, he quickly realised.

He said the name aloud.

"Myd-worth." Then again, more confidently. "Mydworth."

He knew somehow that that destination was his.

He searched for the platform number on the board - 14.

On Platform 14 there stood a train with its locomotive heaving great puffs of smoke into the air. Without a moment's hesitation, he hurried to the platform. The engine chugging, looking ready, even eager, to roar away from the city.

To the place called Mydworth.

*

The man walked down the aisle of one of the train's cars. Many of the seats were taken - men with their newspapers open, a pair of women sitting together, briskly chatting, pausing only to look at him as he passed.

He found a spot with two empty seats and sat down. In that sudden movement, he felt a pain in his leg, the mere act of bending making his knee fire off another sharp jolt.

But even with that, it felt good to sit. He pressed against the back of his plush seat; the cushion so soft, so comforting.

Mydworth.

He mumbled the name to himself again, as if he might forget it. Because he had, he knew, somehow forgotten so much.

And then with the blast of a loud whistle startling him, he felt that first sluggish move of the train, straining, pulling forward... and fell asleep.

*

"Excuse me, sir. You, er, hurt yourself there? Nasty bang to the old noggin?"

The man woke abruptly, to see a figure in uniform, standing over him, some kind of machine hanging from his shoulder.

Right, he thought. The words suddenly there, as if bubbling up. The ticket inspector! That's who he is.

"Noggin?" said the man. "Why, I do believe I did hurt myself somehow. Perhaps, yes, you're right... a bang to the head. Just as you said."

"Have you had it properly looked at? How did it happen?"

The man did not know at all what to say. All he could offer was a simple: "I really don't know."

The inspector didn't say anything for a moment.

"I see. Well, anyway. Your ticket, sir? Going to-?"

The man felt more confident with this request.

"Mydworth," he said. "I'm going to Mydworth."

But that only prompted the inspector to repeat: "And your ticket, sir?"

Aha! A ticket! I need a ticket. Of course!

He began digging into his jacket pockets, quickly finding that they were empty. And as he moved to his trouser pockets, he smiled at the patient inspector.

He rooted around in the left pocket, finding that also empty. When he stuck his right hand into the matching pocket, he found various coins, a pair of keys on a ring... but nothing else.

"I,...