Diaries of a (London) Bus Driver - Vol.1.12 January 6th, 2004   

Dear friends,

Happy New Year! My two-month 'adventure' in The City is over, but I am quietly confident that my next IT job will be rather less of a wait than the 20 months I endured until November. The folks at Mellon want me back - my boss's boss said he hoped to see me there soon - and will call if project funding comes through. But I feel that, 3-months short of my year as a qualified bus driver, if I resume my driving career, I must stay that long - or get an offer that can't be refused!

My journey to work was simple and healthy - train from Silver Street to Liverpool Street, with 15-minute walks on either end. In the mornings, I'd knock 3 minutes off the walk by cutting through Pymmes Park , complete with its Guard Geese! Three or four will watch the passing walkers - one has a broken wing tip to prove his battle credentials - while upwards of a dozen mill around in a disinterested gaggle, ignoring the other birds and squirrels. Further along, on sunny mornings before the night drew in a little too far, the trees act as a funnel, creating beautifully diffused sunrays. At the far end is a family of ducks - all the more captivating because of the one among them with a snow-white neck and head.

And so to The City... I realised on my first morning that I'd never actually worked in the square mile before! My previous jobs in England had been in the West End and the suburbs. My walk began on Old Broad Street, at the end of which is the London Stock Exchange. I continued along Threadneedle Street, past the Bank of England, also passing the curiously named 'Poultry', before reaching Queen Victoria Street, where I worked. Although I enjoyed it, the job would only sound interesting to a computer geek, so I will spare you the details! Suffice to say, the people I worked with were great, and I'd be very happy to go back there.

And so, back to the buses! And back to writing. I have, what have been described to me as, some formalities to go through before reclaiming my job, but will hopefully be back behind the wheel in a week, presuming an IT job doesn't fall into my lap in the meantime. There will be new stories. Here are some old ones:

In the couple of weeks before my October holiday in New Jersey, I worked a lot of overtime, including consecutive evenings on my least favourite route - the W16 - the ugly route! A brief description of one section, in Highams Park , when approaching from Chingford, towards Leyton and Leytonstone: There's a level crossing ahead. I turn right into a dimly lit, very wide street with a large bus stand and shelter to the right and some shops on the left. Very dreary! One of the shops is a Chinese Restaurant, rather inappropriately named Great View! I thought I could open my own place and call it Reduced Expectations!

On one of the nights, a man in his 40's gets on. You could instantly see that he was learning disabled. He pointed to his bag, and said in a deep nasal voice, with childlike tones, "I've got a pass." I said "I'm sure you have," and let him go, knowing full well that he didn't. On his way out, he pointed again: "I have got a pass!" "Sure you have! I believe you!" The look that came on his face before he had a chance to turn away was absolutely priceless! He had fooled me! Very sweet!

Another enjoyable moment came when I had switched onto the W15 for a few days at the end of the summer. There's a place on Hoe Street, close to the Bakers' Arms, that sells only Pakistani fruit, including an amazing array of truly delicious mangos. Each journey for the first 3 days, I had hoped for a traffic jam to stop me either alongside or across the street from it. I chickened out of my only decent opportunity. So on the 4 th and last day, I stopped the bus in the middle of the road, allowing room for other vehicles to pass me on the inside, and called for someone from the stall to bring me a box of the honey mangos - £6.50 for a box. I gave him £6. He protested meekly, but accepted, as I knew he would. I lightly apologised to the passengers for the slight delay, explaining that if they knew how good these things were, they'd do the same thing! By the way, as I found out upon trying them, Honey Mangos appear to be named after their flesh colour, and have a more mild flavour than the regular ones. My preference remains the large regular variety, from specialist shops.

While I was away in The States, there was an ongoing saga regarding my job at Mellon. I had a telephone interview the afternoon that I left England, and a more informal chat with Kevin, who became my manager, while on holiday. The job was verbally given to me. The next day, I had 3 emails from different agents, each with an urgent req. they felt I might be interested in - the job I had just taken - for 1/3 more than I had accepted. I had hoped to resign the buses over the phone, and start my new job on my return, but a lot of internal politics and HR roadblocks meant that I had to drive for another 2 weeks.

Most of that time was very enjoyable. I told all of my 382 regulars that I was leaving, and was wished well and told I'd be missed. The last few days, I carried my camera and had a couple of corny pictures taken for my metaphorical book of memories, of me behind the wheel. I also took a couple of pictures. I think it was the Wednesday. I was unusually running on time approaching Finchley Central. I stopped the bus, told everyone that I was leaving in a couple of days, and asked if they'd mind me taking a couple of pictures. They were all up for it. That was a special moment.

Try as I might, I couldn't trade my last shift with anyone. Not too surprising, as it was Halloween night, and nobody in their right mind would volunteer to work it. I was to finish at 1:15am and would have to deposit all of my stuff in the vault chute before my final departure. As the day approached, I guessed that this would be no fun at all! Centrecomm had been requesting that drivers stop jamming the radio with calls of eggings, saying we should only call if fireworks had been thrown on board and done some damage. Before describing the evening, I must step onto my soapbox.

First time through the Palmers Road estate: A group of youths numbering perhaps 15-20, stood in and on both sides of the road. A volley of eggs showers the bus. One was thrown directly into my field of vision. All the same louts we all have to deal with, but this time feeling that they have society's blessing to misbehave. They live in an underprivileged enclave within a mainly middle class neighbourhood - not an excuse. I got a couple more eggs on my return through there, and one or two more during my first 2 round trips. Each time the bus was hit, passengers were startled. Some wanted me to call the Police, but the reminders for us to ignore eggings were being regularly broadcast.

The worst incident was on Parkside Gardens, and the kids involved were the wealthy ones. An attractive young white woman of, I guessed 19 or 20, had got on the bus, proclaiming: "I've seen you before!" I said, "yes you have, but you may not see me again!" She joined me at the front, talking. From halfway down the hill, I could see them. A couple of them were in the street, hailing the bus. Others were on either side of the road. It didn't look right. As I approached, the two who were in the road, stepped to the entry side of the bus. I sped up. My companion said that one of them had fireworks.

And so we chatted - about her options for college and beyond. She said she had left school. She's fishing, but I continue to relate to her as an interested adult. She's that close to Hannah's age that I can only think of her as somebody's daughter. Hollywood Bowl, East Finchley: 3 young black guys, maybe in their late teens, all dressed up for an evening out, get on. They like the girl I'm talking with, and one comes over and starts chatting her up. He says I can't talk to her and drive. She says that I've been doing just fine. As they chat, she tells him she's in Year 11 (10 th Grade), and is fending off his advances. She says her goodbyes at Finchley Central. As the lads get off at Mill Hill East Station, the outgoing one joked: "You've got the old skool (sic.) chat. I've got the new skool chat!" We touched fists against the protective panel, smiles all-round.

Nice moments aside, we have a problem that isn't being addressed! Apart from the odd fancy-dress party, Halloween is relatively new 'festivity' in this country. Yet already, as the streets clear of the young trick-or-treaters and the youth appear, it seems that the evenings are closer to a Detroit Mischief Night than to anything approaching a party atmosphere. And already it seems as if people are resigned to this evening of lawlessness. A few remedial suggestions spring to mind. First, give the kids things to do. Have lightly supervised parties in schools, Community Centres and where possible, on Estates. Cancel Police leave for the evening. Arrest troublemakers. If what they are doing is against the law on the other 364 days of the year, there should be no blind eyes on October 31 st or the lead-up. Perhaps buses could have side-view CCTV cameras - not only to catch hoodlums, but also to help with investigating accidents. And last, but not least, Community Service and detention for the next 5 Halloweens for all offenders.

What does the future hold in store for me? The worm continues to wiggle and turn. I very much hope that I can get a job in the NY/NJ area to be back with my kids. The last 2 months can't have hurt my cause! I think I have enough material now to edit and package. Who knows? This could be the year of the biggest turn that worm has ever taken. And I'm ready! Forgive me for mixing my metaphors, but the shore is a distant view. A large wave approaches. I am prepared with my surfboard, which I barely know how to ride. I can see a few possible places where the wave might deposit me, or maybe it will take me beyond my current horizon, but I will mount the wave.

That's all for now.

Love, Andy

About the Author

I am an Englishman who has spent most of his adult life in the United States. In 2001, I moved back to London, thinking I would remain there for the rest of my life. But things didn't go as planned. And instead of finding a job in IT, I became a bus driver. This is my memoir, written from 2003 to 2005.

Now back in Brooklyn, I have a blog I currently enjoy writing: sceneandheardinny.blogspot.com