The Great Dorset Bus Debate

Five years in London has seen me firmly convinced that travel by bus
can be one of the most frustrating experiences imaginable. I had all
but written off this mode of transport and the infamous grumpy bus
driver when I moved to Dorset and vowed to give the profession a fresh
start. There are two sides to every coin and I set out to consider both
points of view as to how good travelling bus can be in my new county of
Dorset. The stance of the disgruntled passenger is taken from my diary
I wrote after a spat with a bus driver in Broadstone several weeks
ago.

2.33pm.

I have just removed a crisp ten-pound note from the HSBC cash point in
Broadstone when a flash of red, black and white causes me to turn
sharply. A bus to Poole! Seeing as they tend to come about as often as
Haley's Comet, I tear up the road keeping my eyes locked on his right
hand indicator waiting for him to pull away. In a sprawl of asthmatic
clumsiness, I leap aboard and terrify the four old ladies half to death
with my wheezing.
'A return to Poole,' I manage to splutter between my poor attempts to
calm my breathing down. The bus driver throws me a half sympathetic,
half exasperated look.
'I don't go to Poole, you want the 132 behind me.' So, I slink off the
bus with the four pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head as they
softly tut to one another.
I will at least have time for a spot of lunch and to get some change
before the Poole bus arrives is my consolation thought. But no sooner
have I considered the pasties in the bakery next to the bus stop than
the 132 pulls up. Two buses in five minutes really is call for
celebration and a hundred iced ring donuts won't stop me getting this
one. I have to get to Poole and more importantly get a job so I board
the bus. I get out my new tenner and hand it across to the rather large
and unfriendly man sitting in the driver's seat.
'A return to Poole, please, and sorry I don't have any change.' My tone
is apologetic though I haven't had the chance to get change so I'm not
really sorry. Besides, a return fare is ?2.55 so he only needs to give
me a fiver and few pound coins. I am therefore surprised when I get a
five minute lecture on how there are shops that will give change and
it's people like me that delay the buses. Now normally, I would laugh
it off and probably apologise again to make him feel better. Not
today.
'Actually, I didn't have time to get change from the shops as I've only
this second got the money out. Besides, it's only a fiver and a few
coins.' I am not bowing to this infuriating man because he crashed out
of the wrong side of the bed this morning. Just not happening. But he's
not going to let it go either.
'I don't know why I put up with it. You'll take all my change now.'
Right, he's really gonna get it in a minute. Forgetting that he is
about four times the size of me and could probably crush me to a pulp,
I am spoiling for a fight. Fortunately, the mismatch of the century
fails to materialise as the miserable blighter turns to his coat and
extracts a fiver from a large roll in his coat pocket. How bloody
inconvenient! I snatch the ticket and flashing a vinegary smile at him,
I take my place among a bemused smattering of passengers. For the
record, the next two poor souls who chose to get on our bus were each
subjected to a verbal tidal wave. The 132 Wilts and Dorset service to
Poole was about ten minutes later than scheduled as we swung into our
bay at the station though I bit my tongue as I passed him on the way
out. 'Think I'll walk home' was my reaction as I mulled over my first
transport nightmare.
Since that eventful day, I am happy to say that my experiences of
travelling by bus in Dorset have improved a hundred-fold. True, buses
from Wimborne to Corfe Mullen might come about as often an anti-war
demonstration fronted by George Bush. In fact, it might well be quicker
to wade home through a sea of treacle. However, I have picked up on
several notable comparisons between buses in London and Dorset. In
London, people study bus timetables and mistakenly believe that the
2.23 to Hammersmith will be along any minute. It won't and if it is
then its got precious little to do with what's printed on the
timetable. In fact, neither does the brand new system that supposedly
tells you how many minutes to the next bus. Just doesn't work. In
Dorset, buses might be less frequent but if the timetable says one will
be there at 5.42pm then you can safely assume it will appear on time.
In fact, you know who is local to the area as they will only
materialise minutes before the bus arrives. You just don't get that in
London. Everything runs by schedules and timetables or someone gets it
in the neck. The one time my 133 bus to Wimborne didn't appear for a
good 90 minutes, a chap walked by at one point with a breezy, 'the 133
is running a little late today but there'll be one along sometime.'
Though I struggled to see 90 minutes as 'a little late,' something
struck me about the Dorset mentality. It is exactly this lackadaisical
attitude we need to bottle and transport to London to cure people of
their public transport angst.
In the case for the defence of the public buses in Dorset is Chris, a
driver whom I came across on the 130 Corfe Mullen service from Poole
that leaves at 8.55pm. I was the only passenger on the bus and I was
immediately struck by how infectiously friendly this man was. He was
full of quips and the fact that he was chauffeuring one person all the
way to Corfe Mullen didn't seem to dent his enthusiasm. I was tired and
in no mood for small talk but I soon found myself chatting away and so
it came to pass that I picked the brains of one of Wilts and Dorset's
senior drivers as I sought to hear what bus drivers had to put up with.
I got to ask all the nagging questions that go through your mind when
you are sitting at a deserted bus stop for no apparent reason.
Chris began by talking animatedly about the bus he was driving and how
it was a road accident waiting to happen: 'Oh yeah, this old thing will
spin around on a wet road if you even breathe on the brakes.' I was
laughing along with him by now though secretly praying that the rain
would stop. He began his career with Wilts and Dorset at eighteen by
driving buses he assured me were older than he was back then. I got to
find out about some of the things that bus drivers have to endure as
they ferry Joe public back and forth every day. Does he get much
trouble from the public I asked? According to Chris, 90\% of the time,
we behave ourselves and do the decent thing by paying, sitting down and
keeping quiet. With the other 10\%, it's a case of knowing how to
handle the situation. Offering a drunk to let him know when to get off
the bus was just one suggestion to avoid a potentially tricky customer.
It seems the problem of kids is a more common and awkward proposition.
In one of the more staggering statistics I was to learn in our 30
minutes that night, the bus company spends ?1,000 a month on repairing
glass on buses. Whether this is true or not who's to say but Chris
confirmed that kids do love to throw stones at the buses as they go by.
As I was trying to comprehend the fun factor in something so dangerous,
I was told it doesn't stop there. Apparently, some find it equally
amusing to take pot shots at the buses with air rifles. No wonder there
is a current crisis in attracting new staff to the industry in
Dorset.
Interestingly, bus drivers can refuse to let you on the bus for any
number of reasons none of which they really need to reveal. Known
troublemakers can just be left flapping at a bus stop without fear of
recrimination. My last question as the bright lights of Corfe Mullen
came into view was about giving our change. Can bus drivers not let you
on the bus if you only have a ten pound note? 'It would be frowned
upon' was the reply which led me to believe I'd been harshly dealt with
in the past back in London. Chris advocated common sense such as don't
expect to step on first with a twenty pound note at Poole bus depot and
expect to be greeted with smiles. This all seemed fair enough to me so
I bade Chris a good night and wandered off into the dark to weigh up
the argument.
These are serious times for the industry in Dorset as no one wants to
be a bus driver. Long shifts anywhere between 4.30am and 1.30am, hours
of driving the same tired routes and interaction with a difficult,
complaining public makes the job that bit harder to sell. All of which
led me to wander whether I'd been too harsh on bus drivers who glare at
my crumpled five-pound note and weak excuses. Perhaps it was time to
acknowledge Dorset bus drivers provide a valuable service and don't
have an easy time of it. After all, they are shot at.