Rosie McPherson, like me, was a ‘Fresher’, a first-year student at Edinburgh University in the mid-nineteen-seventies – and we were both studying mathematics. I was an ‘Incomer’, an Englishman just landed in Scotland, whilst she was a local girl with a pretty face, big smile, bubbly personality and large… well, ‘bottom’. Her nickname, which I discovered after we’d been going out for nearly two weeks, was ‘BB’, which stood for ‘Big Bum’. Yes, really. In that respect, Rosie did tend to stand out in a crowd. But I was eighteen, new to the city, and very glad of the friendship and intimacy she offered within the foreign land I now found myself. 

We met at a music gig organized by the university for us Freshers. Music had been a big passion in my life ever since The Beatles bounced onto the World stage; and that particular evening, we danced and jived to ‘Earth Band’, a group led by R&B icon Manfred Mann, who was a household name in the UK in the late nineteen sixties and early seventies.

After the gig, Rosie offered me a lift home in her car, a beige-coloured Austin mini which looked pretty cool on the outside, but rather utilitarian and basic inside (the inner door handles were just pieces of string!). She didn’t mind… the car was her freedom from home, and enabled her to socialize with her friends outside in the evenings and at weekends, without the pain of taking endless local buses home.

Before long, BB and I became a bit of ‘an item’, a real couple who sat together in lectures, and went out and about in Edinburgh every weekend – and even some weekday evenings. Then, one Friday, she asked me if I’d like to go to see an opera. The idea took me aback. Yes, I loved music, and had recently purchased a cheap guitar from a local shop to enable me to compose and play my own songs (and so emulate the Beatles, perhaps?). But Opera? Rosie dismissed my image of stuffy people performing outdated music, and I agreed to give it a go. It would be an interesting experience, if nothing else.

She parked her mini close to Edinburgh Castle, and we walked to the nearby Lyceum Theatre, famous for music, plays… and opera. Inside, it was smaller than I expected, with a lively atmosphere, and smiling faces. Perhaps opera wasn’t going to be as bad as I had feared? In fact, there was plenty of humour, as well as passion, in their performance of The Magic Flute, and I was left feeling that maybe I’d go down the opera route again one day, if the opportunity arose.

In a very good mood, and reliving some of the moments of the performance, we returned to where BB had parked the car. But we couldn’t find it. Our search soon turned into mild panic, and then total disbelief as I found myself running up and down the road, hoping that my recollection of the exact parking place was faulty. But it wasn’t. I turned back to face her, shaking my head and waving my arms in non-comprehension.

“I don’t get it… I saw exactly where you parked it… it must be here…”
“It’s gone, Steve, stolen,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.   

“It can’t have! You put the Crook-Lock on… I saw you do it!” This device was popular with motorists in those days – a simple way of locking the steering wheel to the accelerator so that the car could not be driven. It was also very popular with criminals because it was dead easy to disable it.

“It’s gone,” she repeated, walking away.”
“Where are you going?”
She stopped and turned back. “To phone Dad… then I’ll call the Police.”

* * *

Weeks passed quickly by, with little word from the Police about the stolen car. Despite Rosie and her father calling the Edinburgh Police helpline practically every day, all they would say was the thieves were probably ‘joy riders’ and the vehicle could have been dumped anywhere in the city, or even driven to Glasgow, or further afield.

Then, after about four weeks, Rosie asked to meet me at a pub that evening, close to the University Halls of Residence where I stayed. I was desperately hoping she had some good news for me.

“They’ve given up,” she said, her voice cracking. “They say they canna devote any more Police time looking fer it… they’ve ‘more serious’ crimes to solve. So, it’s over…” She broke down and cried on my shoulder. There were a couple of other people in the pub who looked our way for a moment, then turned back, respecting our privacy. She swallowed hard. “Mum and da say they’ll save up and buy me anither… da’s hoping for promotion in the Civil Service, which’ll gae them a bit more dosh.”

I nodded, and wiped the tears from my own eyes. We both felt lost for words, and just wanted things to go back to how they were – but it was too late for that. The Universe had already moved on. I finished my pint, she left hers, and I accompanied her to the bus stop for her long trip back home on two local buses. After a hug and a wave goodbye, I walked slowly back to my student room, wondering what on Earth I could do to help find her treasured mini car. It meant so much to her… and me.

That night as I lay in bed, tired from the emotion, but pleasantly relaxed by the alcohol, my mind began to drift gently towards sleep. I was still aware of the room, and particularly conscious of the wall I faced. I felt like I was in some sort of mesmerized state, lying within what I can only call a ‘twilight zone’ – not fully awake, but not asleep either. My eyes were transfixed as an image appeared on the wall… as if growing out of it; very faint at first, but gathering in intensity as I became accustomed to the dark. It was clearly a map; and as I continued to stare, I could see it was a map of Edinburgh – no doubt about it. I recognized various features of the City, such as Castle Hill, Princes Street, and the parks. Looking more intently now, I could make out where we had parked the car, and then what appeared to be a reddish line, showing the route where the car had been taken. And then I drifted to sleep.

*  
The next morning, I awoke to a new day – with bright sunlight streaming through the curtain edges – and my first thought was about the map. To my utter amazement, although the map of the night before was no longer on the wall, it was still within my consciousness. There was no question in my mind about what I should do next: I must follow the red line.

I dressed quickly, grabbed some biscuits I had in my room, then headed off to find a bus that would take me to the city centre. I didn’t have to wait long, and I was soon on my way downtown.

One particularly bus stopped in Lothian Road, close to the Theatre, so I alighted there… walking purposefully towards Castle Terrace, where the car had been stolen. In my mental map, I could still make out the general direction I should walk; no road names, but I knew the landmarks. As I walked, hope pounding in my heart, my mind was keenly alert, scanning for the car in every possible direction along the route. I was an explorer, searching for the treasures of a lost Pharaoh; or a mountaineer, climbing towards the summit of an unexplored mountain. Or, perhaps, an astronomer searching for an undiscovered planet. After walking for about twenty-five minutes, I arrived at a major road junction.

The map had now all but disappeared from my consciousness, and I stopped at the crossroads, wondering what to do next. I shrugged my shoulders, and chose one direction; but it felt ‘wrong’, so I went back and chose the other route. I applied the same ‘hot and cold’ feeling to the next junction, and continued in that vein. ‘Hot’ took me into a street called Dalry Road. I’d seen the street name before, but never travelled this route. As soon as I began to walk in that direction, I knew it was right. I walked carefully, slowly, methodically. Dalry Road is a main throughfare, with many side roads as you travel out of the city – most of them being on the right-hand side. It was now around forty-five minutes since I got off the bus, and as I travelled further and further out of Edinburgh, I began wondering if I was ever going to find the car this way. Maybe this was all just wishful thinking?

But then, just as I was about to give up and go home, I looked down a side street called Downsfield Place, and there was the car! I knew it was BB’s mini, even before I got up close and personal to see the registration plate. The car was parked halfway down the street, on the right-hand side, and it seemed okay. The street is a cul-de-sac, a dead end, and very quiet just then. I looked across the road at the five-story tenement buildings facing the car, and noticed a curtain being carefully pulled to one side, and then closed quickly when someone sees me looking up. I need to phone Rosie right now, I thought.

In those days, there were no mobile phones, and we all relied upon the red telephone boxes located on just about every street in the city. Fortunately, there was a phone box just a few meters away from the car, so I could call BB and still keep an eye on the vehicle. Her dad answered the phone.

“I’ve found it!” I whispered.
“Is that Stephen?”
“Yes… I’ve found Rosie’s car! I’m standing very close to it now!
“Where exactly are you?” I gave him the address.
“Downsfield Place? I know it! Don’t move, we’ll be there as soon as we can!”  

Mr McPherson and BB arrived about thirty minutes later. Her father shook my hand warmly, whilst BB checked out the car. She had a spare key with her, but the doors were unlocked. I noticed a pack of beer on the back seat… twenty-four cans of lager! We watched as Rosie drove the mini away, waving and smiling as she left. After she was safely away, Jim McPherson drove me back to the student halls of residence. As Jim drove, he glanced at me and smiled.

“She’ll have to marry you now, Steve.” I just smiled knowingly back. There were other, bigger things on my mind just then, and marriage could wait.

Meanwhile, there was relief – and joy – in the McPherson household when Rosie returned with her treasured possession. Her mum was overjoyed, but a little miffed that I hadn’t been invited over to celebrate with them. They put that right later, with an invitation to have dinner with the family.

*
Back at Pollock Halls of Residence, I wanted to broadcast what had just happened to the World. But the World was empty. It was the summer holidays, and very few students stayed in the halls during that time. Eventually, I found someone I knew in the Student Common Room.

“What’s up?” he said.
“Something really amazing just happened!” 
“Oh… what’s that then?”
“I just found my girlfriend’s car… the one that was stolen!” 
“Oh, that’s nice… she’ll be dead chuffed then. Would you like to play table tennis?”

***

Finding Rosie’s car changed the direction of my life that year in Edinburgh. The discovery propelled me to search for whatever had provided that mental map and that vision. It was a catalyst for a deeper understanding of my life’s true purpose, and led me to find purpose and meaning to my life. 

END
(Note:  Rosie McPherson is a pseudonuym).