In the past
few weeks I’ve done quite a bit of travelling by public transport.
At the beginning
of last month I went to Swansea in South Wales for a week’s walking around the Gower
Peninsula with a group of Anglo-French friends.
My journey involved a bus to Leeds, train
to Manchester and then another train to Swansea. I arrived in Leeds in good time for the
train, sat on it for an hour while, every few minutes an announcement said there had been an “incident
“ on the line” but we should be leaving sometime. Eventually we were told that this train would
not be leaving, but we could take a different train which went by another
route. So three hours or so after leaving home I passed through Bradford, some four miles up the road from my house, and
eventually arrived in Manchester, but at the Victoria Station rather than the Piccadilly Station from which trains to Swansea would leave. I couldn’t find any officials at Manchester Victor
to tell me how to get to Manchester Piccadilly, so took a taxi. ( Costing £9. I’ve
later discovered there is a free bus). I eventually caught a much later train
than the one on which I was booked, arrived in Swansea at half past eight and
so missed my dinner.
Back home, later in the
month a friend drove me to the funeral of a distinguished Liberal (Trevor Wilson)
in Elland, and afterwards to Bradford where we had a pleasant lunch
together. Then my friend went off to
play bridge and I want to the Bradford Interchange
to catch the bus to my home in Birstall.
However, the Interchange was closed* and boarded up with no official handy
to tell me where, if at all, I could catch my bus. Eventually a security guard kindly directed
me to Nelson Street, but unfortunately by the longest way round. When I arrived
I found that I had just missed a bus, and the electronic sign in the shelter
said that the next one was “cancelled”. That
meant an hour’s wait so I decided to visit the National Media Museum just up
the road. (As well as passing the time culturally It would also have the
advantage of a lavatory.) However, the Museum also turned out to be closed for renovations
and wouldn’t be open again until 2025. So
instead I went to admire the fountains in the lovely square outside the town
hall, but left in plenty of time to catch the bus, which the electronic sign in
the designated shelter said would come as scheduled. I waited patiently. Eventually the sign went off, but no bus had
appeared. After a few minutes, however
it did, sailing down the road, already half-full of passengers, and would have
gone straight past me had I not jumped almost in front to it with arms waving furiously. Having first of all seemingly refused the
driver did indignantly open the doors and remonstrated with me and let me get on, but gave no explanation
as to why the bus had loaded at a place other than the official and advertised
place at “Stand 1.”
Last week a journey
to Dorking via Leeds, King’s Cross, St Pancras, and Redhill (and back again at the end
of the week) to stay with friends passed without disruption, but during the
week, after a stunning evening performance of “As You Like it”** by the “Duke’s Theatre
Company” at Wilton’s Music Hall in London’s East End, we took a fairly long walk
to the nearest tube station in order to travel to Waterloo and from there back to
Dorking. Just as we arrived at the tube
station officials were closing the gates.
The Circle Line was out of action because of a “signal failure”. This then involved a frantic dash to another
tube station (fortunately my companions had mobile phones with maps that told
them where one was) and we eventually caught the last train, not from Waterloo
but from Victoria, and arrived a my friends’ home at one thirty in the morning.
I said above
that my journey home form London was without incident. Well it was as far as Leeds, but, after dragging
my suitcase half-way to what was the nearest bus stop to the railway station, I remembered
that, because of roadwork, the bus had been re-routed, so I dragged myself and
my luggage back to an earlier stop.
There the sign said that the next bus to my home had been “cancelled.” Happily
another bus which passed through the town adjacent to my home arrived shortly
afterwards and I took that instead. It
involved lugging my luggage (are both words derived from a verb “to lug”?) about
three times as far as normal, but I made it.
Yes, I know that
compared with the horrors of Ukraine, Gaza, Somalia and lots of other places, not
forgetting the disgraceful riots in various parts of the UK, and that a third
of our children aren’t properly fed, these are trivial inconveniences. But in
this “sixth richest economy in the world” they shouldn’t be happening. “Incidents”
will, of course, happen in the best regulated economies, but we should be able
to make alternative arrangement with the minimum of delay. And above all, we should have personnel
available to advise frustrated passengers of what the arrangements are.
* It had been built of the "crumbly concrete" which has also led to the closure of may schools.
** It's interesting that, at £24 per person, this was not only the cheapest but by common consent the most enjoyable of the five theatrical productions we saw.