UNDERGRADUATE PAGE
The Long Way Home
By LESLIEHALLIWELL (St. Cather.ne's College, Cambridge.)
THE bus departed from the town-hall square of a bustling cotton community just west of the Pennines. It moved off every day at the same time, a quarter to five pre- cisely, and it was due to rumble over the irregular cobbles of a dreary road through an industrial valley until. after twenty- five minutes of cheerless travel, it arrived at a second town only slightly smaller and less sooty than the first. . On market- days another bus followed at five o'clock, and this was a market-day; but the incident happened on the four-forty-five. I was one of the first aboard. having arrived at the waiting- point well ahead of time. I had been sent up North rather against my will to spend Easter with a spinster aunt, and immediately on arrival I had come down with the three-day 'flu, so that this afternoon marked by first venture into the Lancashire unknown. My aunt had been worried to see me moping indoors for the fifth consecutive day. "Go to Roscup," she had said, "for the afternoon. There's the library and there's the river, and a cinema, too, should you feel so inclined. And there are buses to bring you back at a quarter to five and at five o'clock; but don't miss them, for there isn't another until quite -late." So I had come-to Roscup, and had found it wanting.
I should have found it wanting. I think, even had my head been clear of 'flu. For the river was dirty, and the cinema was closed until the evening, and the few inhabitants who patrolled the streets seemed to have strayed from Cold Comfort Farm. The grim grey skies, matching the grim grey houses, dissuaded me from exploring the surrounding moorland; I had yet to learn that Lancashire skies are grey and grim even in good weather. The afternoon's only pleasure was a large volume of Thurber drawings, practically unthumbed, which I was sur- prised to discover in the antique public library. I produced one of my aunt's tickets and carried the book away in triumph.
But the people who filled the villainous old single-decker bus brought gloom once more upon me. I sat with my back to the window, and watched them as the driver-conductor collected his fares. There was a clergyman of singularly formidable aspect, who slouched across a double seat immersed in what seemed to be the Book of Job; there was a well-dressed business-man who sat at the back with his gloved hands resting on a cane; there was an old flower-woman, still shivering with cold, for whom I had felt sorry when I saw her feebly offering primroses in the market-place; and there was a wiry middle- aged spinner who ran for the bus as it moved off, and dropped exhausted into the seat next to mine, so close that some of the wisps of oily cotton which clung to him transferred them- • selves immediately to my tweed jacket. Most of the other seats were occupied by housewives clutching over-filled straw baskets and string bags.
No one smiled; no one spoke. Only the clergyman read a book. No one was looking out of the window. Thirty apathetic faces jogged up and down with one accord. The driver turned swiftly out of the main street of Roscup, and held the brake firmly as the bus slithered down a steep hill bounded on each side by derelict mills and brickgrounds. At the foot of the hill he was held up by a traffic signal, and glanced round for a moment at his passengers. The sight did not appear to please him. There was no partition to cut him off from us, and I was sure he meant to-say something. But a petulant hooter sounded behind us; the lights, had changed; and with a curious sigh he stamped on the accelerator. We progressed in fits and spurts along the ill-kept main road which straggled the length of the valley, flanked by the steep rising outlines of the moors visible above the housetops on both sides.
Suddenly the bus pulled up with a screech, and the driver turned round. "'E's run o'er a bloody cat," muttered the man next to me under his breath. But that was not the case. The driver spoke. " Listen 'ere," he said broadly and con- fidentl■ . He was a small domestic man in his fifties. and I liked his face. "Listen 'ere. Is anybody in a rush like ? " We gaped, but said nothing. 'Cos if you are," he went on, you can get out and get on t'bus be'ind." He licked his lips to prepare himselffor a speech, and the man next to me licked his lips in sheer surprise.
" I've been on this 'ere route for thirty-two years," said the driver. -Five times a day and seven on Thursdays, Roscup to Birchbrook an' back, express. And some o' you lot 'ave bin travellin' up an' down 'ere var' near as long." A heavily made- up woman in furs quivered under his gaze. " Well, I've getten fed up o' lookin' at this mouldy road wi' its cobbles an' its gas-lamps an' its gimcrack shops an' its mucky factories. An' if you're not fed up of it as well, it's bloody well time you were." He paused to give this rhetorical thrust its fullest effect; then proceeded: it struck me this mornin' there's no need fer us t' go this bloomin' road at all. This 'ere's an express bus; it neither picks up nor puts down till it gets to Birchbrook. Now, if it were fer t' turn off at this next corner, just for a change, it could go up Scowcroft 'ill, over t'Nag and down through Thornton into Birchbrook. It'd La' nobbut four or five minutes longer, an' it'd make this 'ere trip summat t'enjoy instead of a bugbear like it is. See ? " We saw, but were still too confounded to speak. The clergyman reCovered first. "Why tell us ? " he asked gently.
"'Cos that's road as we're goin' toneet." Sensation. "I saw t'boss about it this mornin', an' e wouldn't listen. I told 'im, it'll do folks good. I says. Wot the 'ell's it got to do with you ? "e says. 'You move a yard off your route an' you're for it,' e says. A'reet, then. I'm for it. As long as we know."
He nodded his head firmly and swung around in his seat. The bus shot forward with a great lurch, and immediately hurtled round a corner into a wide but unpaved lane which mounted ever more steeply toward the heights. A woman near me gave a pathetic gasp: "He must be mad. Stop him." But the clergyman, who was nearest the driver, held up a reassuring hand, and the little spinner had lit his pipe and was chuckling. " Nay, missus," he said, "thee bide thy wind a bit. I think tha'll come to no 'urt." By now most of the passengers had passed the crisis of confusion. A few were crying outrage in loud tones, but the rest had settled back to enjoy themselves as though they were off to Blackpool for the day. They scarcely seemed the same people. The business-man puffed at a black cigar, a gleam of childish delight on his face; the flower- woman gazed enraptured at the view outside; and two of the shoppers were sharing a cream cake.
The old bus had climbed valiantly, and now paused for a moment on the very summit of the lonely windswept road. "It's a while since I were up 'ere," said the spinner to me. Far below we saw the dismal highway we had just left, now looking deceptively clean and neat. Dusk was approaching, and gas-lamps dotted the landscape like will-o-the-wisps; then Birchbrook's proud new sodium lamps were switched on, glowing a hard red at first and later deepening to orange. But up here on the Nab, hundreds of feet above those toytown streets, the sun was still struggling against the encroaching masses of dark grey cloud, and the barren beauty of the moor held us in its clutch. Black 'patches of unblooming heather and gorse spattered the massive hill-forms, and directly across the valley we could see the twinkling light of a lonely farm- house. As the bus moved on, thirty people sank into a new and unexpected contentment.
It was, of course, short-lived, for within a few minutes we were careering down the hillside towards the uninviting cluster of buildings that was Birchbrook. Soon the bus drew up at its unloading point, and with a distinct effort I brought myself back to the world of the usual, feeling, however, refreshed and ready to deal with it. Then the clergyman murmured : "You know, I really think we owe our driver a vote of thanks," and a chorus of " hear-hears " went up, hearty and sincere. The driver looked both pleased and embarrassed. He was sacked the next day.
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