On the Buses (My version)
By The royster
Before I get going I would like to point out that it was the lovely Linda Wigzell Cress who got me into this. (Bless her) No doubt she will feature somewhere along the line in my attempt to be informative and hopefully a little amusing. We’ve known each other since the age of 8.
You will have to forgive my, at times, poor punctuation as I never really studied such. In fact I was pretty useless at school. Unlike the instigator of my writing.
It was never my intention to be a Bus driver. However, trying to live on a stockbrokers’ clerks wage with family on the way meant I just had to earn a realistic wage.
This came in the way of a London Transport add for drivers, which offered double my current wage and excellent facilities for their employees. So, off I went to Griffin House in Marylebone for an interview and test drive in a Ford escort. Mmmm I thought, don't look much like a bus to me. But hey ho, I’ll give it a go.
There were 2 other guys also being tested for their driving ability which became a bit of a laugh. The first in the driving seat was a Scot. The instructor (I think that's what he was) couldn't understand him and vise versa, but he got on ok in the end. Second up was an Indian fella. No, Not with headdress, feathers etc, but a turban. Now that was funny. Nice guy though. When told to take the next available turning on the right, he did so. Trouble was the next right wasn’t available; this one was a NO ENTRY. Yep you got it. He didn’t make it.
Ok, now it’s my turn. I think the “Instructor” was a Londoner as we got on like a house on fire. He just said ‘have a drive around wherever, as long as we end up back at Griffin House'. So that was it. Back to base an interview with another bloke who said ‘make sure you get your hair cut before you start next Monday’. OH NO!! My lovely Beatle hair do!
In a bit of a quandary now! Do I take the job that I’ve been offered without any problems or do I keep my hair? Well actually I managed both. After a thorough medical (Christ her hand were cold) cough, she said.
So that was it. Report to Chiswick on Monday week to commence training and don’t be late.
I wasn’t late; in fact I got there with enough time to grab a fried breakfast and the customary cuppa. These were to become standard feature for the next 6 years of life on the Buses.
A few tales to tell, but I’ll post this as a starter and get on with some more when the missus lets me back in the Den to play.