LONDON CAN'T TAKE IT
Benedict Glazier, a commuter, on the spitting,
cursing, punching mob that overran the buses on the day of the Tube strike
I DON'T know whether the rail unions realise quite how much hate, discomfort and even violence they caused with their ridiculous Tube strike on Monday. Suffice it to say that, if a Tube driver were to confess to his otherwise honourable calling in any pub in London, the first instinct of many would be to take him outside and quietly dispose of him.
My Monday started at 6.30 a.m. with an attempt to beat the rush for the already rare 94 bus. Most of Ravenscourt Park had the same idea, so we all marched down to the Shepherd's Bush terminus to wait for an empty bus to come out of the garage. By this time there were several hundred people waiting and already tempers were fraying.
The journey had its amusing moments. At every bus stop the conductor was greeted by scores of would-be passengers, each of whom thought the bus could take 'just one more'. Beautiful women chewed their hair and, looking coy, tried to charm the conductor into letting them on, but he was unmoved. A gentle flow of humanity trod the Roman road between Holland Park and the West End. American tourists shouted, 'Excuse me, sir!', but Londoners stood quietly, resigned to a late start at the office. It was the spirit of the Blitz.
The journey home was a lot less funny. Walking down Regent Street it was obvious from the masses of desperate people
that many full buses had passed. The only logical thing to do was to walk to the start of the route and find an empty bus. As in the morning, I discovered that several hundred people had been inspired by the same idea, but I managed to get on a bus that soon filled up.
Our bus arrived in Regent Street and at the first stop people piled on, filling the upper deck with standing passengers. For those not familiar with London buses, this is a crime worse than fare-bunking. Our polite but very quiet Algerian conductor whispered, 'No standing upstairs — only five downstairs', and then went silent, seemingly uninterested in anything that was happening. The bus stayed where it was, the driver turned off the lights and engine, and we sat, just sat, as all of London rushed past us.
Eventually, we realised that we would not be going anywhere until we did something, so with another passenger — a young black man — I forced the standing passengers off the upper deck, and then the lower. After 15 minutes my colleague and I got the bus moving. The conductor stayed motionless in the stairwell. At the next bus stop the same thing happened, and again we cleared people off the bus.
I put in a call to Shepherd's Bush garage on my mobile telephone to let the controller know that his conductor had all but resigned and was no longer operating the bus. He promised to contact the driver. As we reached Oxford Circus, however, we were raided at the lights by a group of people who had expected the Tube station to be open (fools), and I must admit that we were taken off-guard. However, within ten minutes we had again managed to clear the stairs and platform. The conductor remained motionless and mute. Having had several discussions with the garage, we informed the controller that we had taken over the bus. We took up positions on the open platform, backs turned and arms braced around the poles to repel the now steady attack of boarders.
At this point the journey got very uncomfortable. The abuse hurled at us for not letting people on reached such a level that I understood exactly why the conductor had resigned. It was starting to get violent. I felt fists in my back. People ignored the bus conductor and my black colleague but they did not know quite how to deal with me: perhaps because I was wearing a blue Barbour. As we approached Marble Arch, the conductor decided he wanted to have another stab at his job. Big mistake. The bus was immediately boarded by furious commuters. This time it took us ten minutes to clear the stairs and platform, and we had to call on the help of two other, very large, passengers. We were spat at, sworn at and threatened repeatedly, so we entered into the spirit of things and gave almost as good as we got. We swore too, but we did not spit or use violence.
We eventually got the bus to Notting Hill Gate where a relieved conductor had been ordered by his controller to terminate the journey. We relinquished our command and walked the rest of the way home.
The people we left at the side of the road on our way from Piccadilly to Notting Hill Gate had a twoto three-hour journey ahead of them. There were small fights and minor assaults along the route — and, for all I know, some quite serious brawls. There was no Blitz spirit in the evening. Mob rule took hold. Here was the newer and potentially violent side of London.
Our sense of betrayal at the hands of the arrogant unions of London Underground (who claim to be fighting for our interests) was shared by every person we spoke to, and, this time, I don't think it will go away. Nor will the anger. The unions have used the excuse of 'fighting for the interests of Londoners' for strikes in the past and we have stood by them. But through their actions on Monday they declared their absolute self-interest and that they are not 'of and for the people of London'.
If they repeat the strike next week, there will be more delay, suffering and inevitably more violence which will further damage the transport network and our economy. But perhaps next time 'we, the people' will not be so ready to accept nonsense from the unions, London Underground or Ken Livingstone. Perhaps next time we will not give them back their buses.
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