MARGINAL COMMENTS
By SYLVIA STEVENSON
1. the time these lines appear in print, the L.C.C. elections I will be decided. I have the manifestoes of the two parties before me. Labour's is hopefully flame-coloured, bestrewn with pictures of palatial model flats, well-dressed little girls queueing up for free milk (while awaiting prizes), swimming pools and sunlight clinics. Municipal Reform's is less than half the size, of a dignified dullish blue, and decorated only with photographs of the two Candidates (whose pictorial value is considerably less). Apart from these superficial differences, they both seem to be proposing to do the same things. Perusing the former, I think how dangerously easy it is, when full of an undeniably noble rage; to make promises with your hand in somebody else's pocket. On the other hand, the Blues have rather the air of providing a cheaper line in slum clearance, simply so as not to be out- done—like certain exclusive shops which have, as a concession to popular demand, installed a bargain basement.
Neither of them, I fear, will do anything to put right my own private and particular grievances as a London resident. This question of 'bus stops, for instance. Once I could quietly take my choice of vehicles at the corner of the road. Then the L.C.C. started playing a game with the little red signboards, pushing them here and there, doubling the number they first thought of, or for a nice surprise removing a board altogether. Now I never know from one day to another where the nearest official " stop " will be. Yesterday it was about a quarter of a mile from my home turning. And at that it is only a " Request " stop. Request, indeed ! When nothing short of a despairing shriek combined with a brandished umbrella and at least four parcels, will ever induce a 'bus to stop. At least, not when it doesn't want to.
This brings me to another grievance. Why do not 'buses ahead of their (alleged) schedule, which in consequence are idling and philandering along the road, carry some warning sign such as " Crawler ! " in large letters ? So that passen- gers who have appointments may catch another, if possible. As it is, you never know whether you are going to be hurtled through the air at fifty miles an hour, or trundled at walking pace on a 'bus that skulks behind every lorry and bicycle, waiting for the traffic lights to change to red.
- If there is anything more infuriating than this behaviour it is the bland smile of the conductor when challenged.
• " That's all right, Madam ! The driver knows what 'e's doing."
I don't believe it. I am convinced that our London 'buses have each an ego of its own which is independent of any human agency. Undoubtedly they possess the herd instinct, so that groups of them will travel in company, chatting of this or that, ignoring the long empty spaces on the route. But there is intense personal rivalry between individuals of the same species. This accounts for the fact that one 17, for instance, will suddenly, with a snarl of triumph, pass another—even two or three others on a reckless night. But they do not have it all their own way. Once I discovered that I had left a case, containing a unique unpublished MS. not my own, on the 'bus off which I had stepped five minutes ago. In desperation I hailed a taxi. And the zest with Which that taxi, having been given the scent, trailed 49's until some- where in the wilds of Fulham it ran the right one to earth, convinced me that a fat red 'bus is the taxi's favourite quarry.
But to return to the L.C.C. I notice that all candidates are concerned with the proposed Green Belt around our city, the idea for which is claimed (of course) by both parties. By what magic this is to be achieved I cannot imagine, considering that London appears to be surrounded azeady by a wide network of factories, housing estates and petrol stations. Even if the Green Belt can be forced through them, how long will it remain green if the Green 'buses, with loads of paper-bag- carrying, flower-snatching passengers, roam through it at will ?
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