No 15 Bus LT

[Richard Quartermaine]

Over the years from 1947 when ashore in London I would call in for my mail downstairs at Cunard House in 88 Leadenhall Street EC3 and if I was working by in KGV (that was handy for extra cash) I would either take the number 15 Ladbroke Grove to East Ham and then the Manor Way bus to KGV or sometimes if we were tied up closer to Silvertown I'd get the double decker trolley bus from Aldgate East. Perched in the front seat of the the upper deck I knew every bit of Commercial Road.
I just came across this photo of the late twenties version that stirred the old heart strings.
Richard

[Braid Anderson]

Hi Richard, for a short while I was a conductor on Glasgow Corporation double decker buses. Here's a story from those days, from one of my not-yet published books 'Gunner Flag McAndrew', actually a true story:-

Saturday was a mixed day on Flag McAndrew’s Clydebank bus. Hugh was letting him handle most things, under his watchful eye. In the early evening a middle-aged couple boarded the bus in the city as it headed for Clydebank. They were quite well loaded in more ways than one. Flag guessed they had spent at least three hours in the pub since purchasing their groceries - most of which were being carried by the man. The wife carried only a small string bag besides her handbag, even though she looked twice as strong as her small skinny husband. He had two large string bags in each hand, and was having a struggle to board the bus. Flag was about to assist him, when the wife grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled.
“Oh cim oan will you, get a move oan,” she said, before releasing his jacket and pressing the bell. Flag had stepped into the aisle to give them room, and there was nothing he could do about what he knew was going to happen. The woman was blocking the aisle as the bus moved off, with her husband still on the platform, his hands full of grocery bags. He started to fall over, and stepped backwards to regain his balance. Geordie changed up, and the man swayed forwards briefly, before the bus surged, and he stepped backwards - off the edge of the platform. All this in a matter of seconds. Flag was in the process of reaching for the button as the husband stepped on thin air.
“Aw, Jeesis” he cursed as the road came up to meet him. Flag pressed the emergency stop signal, and the bus stopped less than a hundred feet from the casualty. He was lying near the gutter, where spilled groceries were still in motion.
“Oh mah Gawd, oh mah Gawd,” cried the lady, jumping off the bus and running in ungainly fashion towards her wounded spouse. “Mah eggs, mah eggs, Oh mah Gawd, mah eggs!”
Flag ran back to the man, and bent over him. He was lying face up, gazing at the stars. He seemed unharmed, but when Flag bent closer, he winked before releasing a loud groan, while flicking his eyes towards his wife. The wounded spouse preferred to lie down, rather than jump up and be KNOCKED down by the Amazon for breaking the eggs! She was scurrying around collecting groceries from the gutter and muttering
“Stupit bloody gommerel, useless prat, whit did ah ever see in you?”
Flag decided to join the pantomime. It WAS the Christmas season after all. He crouched and helped the man to his feet. “Just hang onto me sir, and I’ll get you a nice seat on the bus. You’ve had a nasty bump there, but it looks like nothing is broken,” then whispered, “except oh mah Gawd, mah eggs.”
The man started to shake with suppressed laughter, while trying hard to keep his face straight. Funny how drunks always managed to land like cats. “Oh, you’re shaking sir, must be the shock setting in, or are you just freezing cold? Never mind, the bus is nice and warm, and you can sit at the front, next to the engine.”
The other passengers fussed over the man while the missus reboarded the bus festooned with groceries - nobody helped her. Hugh had run upstairs so he could laugh in peace. Flag hid a grin, pressed the button, and they were on their way. There was certainly a lot of Christmas spirit around.
Three stops farther on, eight happy men joined the bus, outfitted in green and white stripes. Two of them carried large rattles, while a third blew a stirring note on a toy trumpet. They all trooped upstairs, where they were soon entertaining their fellow passengers with their own personal arrangement of When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, for wind and rattles. Flag waited a few minutes, until Hugh gave him the nod to climb the stairs.
“Fares please” cried Flag, as he neared the choir, with Hugh hovering behind. The largest and fattest green and white singer proffered a ten shilling note. “Eight sixpennies son, an’ keep the change.”
“But sir, this is a ten shilling note, and it’s only four shillings.”
“Well, that means you can spend six bob on your girlfriend the morn disn’t it? See, ah can still count, so you hing onto it laddie, jist gi’es the tickets, and a merry Christmas to you.”
“A merry Christmas to all of you too sir” said Flag. He dispensed the tickets with alacrity, and bumped into Hugh as he reached the bottom of the steps.
“Celtic must have had a real good win the day” was Hugh’s laconic comment.

Click a link for one of my books
Gross Britain by Braid Anderson | 9781781761960
Flag McAndrew by Braid Anderson | 9781908481931
The Castaway's Diary by Braid Anderson | 9781907986741
Tropical Trial by Braid Anderson | 9781785101137

[Frederick Lacey]

Hi Richard, you've stirred up a memory there, when I was on the Port Boats on rare occasions with
others had to go up there and cook and serve lunch to the directors when they had meetings. Fred.

PS. Looking at the photo of the tram I think you must be a lot older than I thought. !!!!!!!!!! F.

[Richard Quartermaine]

Yes Fred, My British address for my days on the Port Boats; Lowlander, Port Saint John and Port Dunedin and then SS&A; Raranga, Gothic, New Australia and the Gothic again.
That photo of the Ladbroke Grove bus was taken in 1928, it would have been in service no doubt when I was born in February 1931!!
Richard

[John Adamson]

Have great memories of the No 15 bus, when I was at King Teds doing my MAR, an easy way up to the West End and all the delights that awaited me there!

John

[happy daze john in oz]

Trams, trolley buses and corridor trains that belched sulphur smelling smoke. All good fun then , now all you get is 'mind the gap' but we do still have trams here in Melbourne.

[Braid Anderson]

Another extract from 'Gunner Flag McAndrew. Flag has just received his bus conductor's uniform.

He danced up the street once more - a waltz this time, with the Corporation jacket as his ‘legless’ partner, and the cap on his head.
“I think you’re drunk my dear,” he said, frowning at the jacket. The middle-aged couple coming the other way moved almost out to the centre of the road. They must have let the lunatics out of the asylum for Christmas, said the look on the lady’s face.
He borrowed the iron again, and pressed his nearly new uniform. Once pressed, he tried it on, and it fitted! He stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, adjusting the cap this way and that. Peak down a bit, back a bit, tilt to the left, tilt to the right, curl the sides down. He was so engrossed in admiring his reflection, he didn’t hear Fergus come into the room. The first thing he knew, was a movement in the mirror, followed by someone clutching at his legs. He looked down, and there was Fergus, on his knees, a look of utter despair on his upturned face.
“No, no, not Dachau, please spare me,” pleaded Fergus. “I’ll give you anything you want - money, gold, jewellery” - pause, as Flag glared - “Even my blonde young Aryan mistress, in my secret apartment above the tobacco shop,” added Fergus in desperation.
“Mmmmm.....vot age is she?”
“Only nineteen, and beautiful, with a long silken body sir.”
“Okay,” said Flag. “Give me ze keys to ze apartment, plus five gold bars, zen I promise I vill not send you to Dachau.”
Fergus rummaged in the chest of drawers, and returned to Flag, still on his knees, and offering his hands, palms up.
“Thankyou so much Your Holiness, please accept my gratitude.”
Flag took the old key and brass padlock, then turned towards the door.
“Hauptman! Put zis scum in chains and send him to Belsen. Ve vill vin ze var - Heil Hitler!” He dived for the chest of drawers, muttering “Vere is ze rest of ze gold?”
Fergus pointed his finger at the back of Flag’s head and shouted “BANG!” then spun round with another shot, to take out the invisible Hauptman. Blowing on the end of his finger, he looked casually around. “Didn’t know I was a secret agent, eh?”
Flag turned, and shot Fergus in the face. Then he in turn blew on the end of his finger.
“You vere not to know I vas so sick headed, nein?”
They both collapsed laughing, and it was time for dinner - as soon as Flag removed his Glasgow Gestapo uniform. He was donning corduroy trousers when Fergus piped up again.
“Tell me - before I died, did I tell you about my Aryan mistress’ beautiful, - long, - glossy, - black, - curly - teeth?” Flag threw Adam Smith’s ‘The Wealth of Nations’ and missed. The book slammed into the wall before dropping to the floor.
It can stay there, I don’t need it any more. Might need the rest of the Smith Family though, if I don’t make a go of it with the Corporation.

[Braid Anderson]

Another one to amuse you.

At ten o’clock on Tuesday morning Flag fronted the Corporation interview panel at Central depot. It was much less formal than he had expected. He filled in a form, answered a few questions, and that was it.
“Frankly, we need everyone we can get over the Christmas and New Year break” said the inspector. “You’re literate, you’re physically fit, and you can count. That’s about all we need, so you’re hired.”
“When can I start?” asked Flag hopefully.
“You just did. Give your form to the blonde lady in the office over there. Then come back and see Frank Briggs - that’s him with his jacket off over there - and he’ll show you the ropes.” The inspector held out his hand.
“Welcome to the depot staff.”
Ten minutes later Frank had him in tow. First thing was to get him a uniform that fitted, more or less. There were no new ones available, but plenty of near-new ones that had been drycleaned.
“About fifteen percent of new starts quit in the first three months probation period” explained Frank. “After three months the uniform belongs to you, plus you get a new one as well. Then you’re issued two uniforms a year for as long as you stay. But we’re not the army, so it’s only hat, jacket and trousers for a start. The rest you supply yourself, until you’ve been here a year. After that you get two free shirts a year - AND a Corporation tie, as a bonus prize, lucky you. By then you should be about ready to hang yourself with it!”
The stores clerk looked at Flag and said “Turn round slowly with your arms by your side.” Flag did as instructed. The clerk disappeared behind a screen, and reappeared two minutes later with a uniform and hat. Slapping them on the counter, he spun a triplicate book round and said “Sign here.”
“Shouldn’t I try them on first?” asked Flag.
“They’ll fit” said the clerk, “sign here.” Flag signed.
Next came his introduction to the ticket machine. Frank showed him how to adjust the shoulder strap, then how the tickets and coins were arranged. Both tickets and coins for change could be flicked out by the thumb, into the palm of the hand, with a bit of practice. At one end of the machine was the punch for punching the tickets, so you didn’t have to carry anything around in your hands. You just lined up the correct section of the ticket and hit the button, and voila, the job was done.
“You’ll be on day shift for two days with an experienced conductress” said Frank. “Then you start late shift on your assigned route. The conductor you replace will be with you for the first two days. After that he goes on early shift, and you exchange shifts monthly. Got all that?”
“Yes, I think so Frank. What hours are the shifts?”
“On the Clydebank run about four-thirty in the morning till half past two is the early shift, and two till midnight for the late shift. You work the shift six days a week, Monday to Saturday. Sunday’s a skeleton service run by relief crews. To save you the trouble of working it out in your head, you work sixty hours a week. Of that, forty hours is ordinary rate, plus fourteen at time and a half, and six at double time. On top of that, you get an extra hour a day at double time in lieu of meal break. Meanwhile, you buy what you can to eat at the terminus. Or, if you’re wise, you get yourself a piece box and a flask, and stash them on the bus. A good experienced driver will get you to the terminus at each end a few minutes early, and leave again a few minutes late, making up time on the run. But you have to help him out by being smart with your bells. That way, instead of the booked ten minutes at each end of the run, you have maybe fifteen. Are you getting all of this?”
“Yes Frank, you explain it pretty well.”
“I should, I’ve been doing it for five years now. I’m a conductor my self, but the bloody arthritis got me. I can’t climb up and down the steps all day any more. But, before I forget, don’t take my word for gospel on the shift times. Always check the notice board every day. There’s one in the bothy, and another one in the canteen. The bothy also has a bank of small lockers in it. Did that woman give you a locker key?”
“Yes, but she didn’t tell me any details” said Flag.
“That’ll be right, the bitch is always trying to catch me out on something or other. Hell hath no fury, as the saying goes. She tilted her hat at me a year ago, and I cut her cold. She’s never forgiven me for that. But I’m well contented. I’ve a braw wife, an allotment, and the amateur dramatics, that do me jist fine. On this job I work office hours, and I’ve got more time for the things I enjoy doing, so there’s no way I’m going to let Miss Goldilocks peroxide catch me out. I’ll catch HER out soon, if she keeps trying.”
Flag raised his eyebrows slightly, but thought it wiser not to offer any comment.
“Aye well” said Frank, “that’s no’ really your concern. But let me give you a bit of advice, if you’re serious about the job. Do your work as well as you can, be on time every day, and do NOT indulge yourself in ‘sickies’. Everybody hates blokes who take too many sickies, because it screws things up for the rest. Other than that, just keep your nose clean, and stay on the right side of the inspectors, whatever you might think of some of them. Do all that, and you’ll find the Corporation will look after you. Cross them up and you’re dead. I know a few conductors and drivers who should have been in management now. But they crossed up the wrong people at the wrong time. In other words, if you can keep your cool, and hold your tongue, a lad like you can go right to the top, I mean it.”
“You really think so?” asked Flag hopefully.
“I know so. There’s not a single university graduate on the Board of Management right now. Every one of them started off as a driver, conductor, or mechanic. The Chairman was my driver the first six months I was on the job, just before he was promoted to driving inspector. That’s why I’ve got this nice cushy job now. Somebody should tell THAT to Miss Goldilocks some time!”
Frank looked straight at Flag, awaiting comment, which once more was not forthcoming.
“Aye, you’re no’ so daft son. You’ve already learned the one about holding your tongue. I think you’ll go a long way. One more thing before I show you the lockers and the inside of a bus. I said you’ll be working early and late shifts alternate months. That’ll be pretty permanent. There’s not much opportunity to get on day shift and live a normal life. Most of the day shift slots are reserved for conductresses. The Corporation policy is not to have women on the other shifts if it can be helped, especially the late shift. The ‘pub shift’ as we call it, is for men to handle. You’ll hear talk about equal pay and equal rights and so on. But I’ve never once heard any of the women - including the one on the Board - complain about HAVING to work normal hours, while the men do the dirty work. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate women, but if equal pay means equal rights, it also means equal responsibilities. Until the women can be freely exchanged with the men on all routes and all shifts, then they are NOT doing equal work, so they don’t deserve equal pay. That’s my opinion anyway, for what it’s worth. Besides which, in spite of the fact they don’t have to work the awkward hours, the women have more sickies than the men. That’s not just my opinion, it’s in the official statistics.” Frank paused, looking slightly apologetic.
“So there, stick that up your jumper, Miss Goldilocks!” said Flag.
Frank’s eyes opened wide, then he burst out laughing, and clapped Flag on the back.
“You’ll do laddie, you’ll do. Did Miss Goldilocks show you the time clock, and give you a card?”
“No Frank, neither one.”
“I swear I’ll deal with her soon. Come on, I’ll get you your card now, and show you what to do with it.”
The rest of the day went quite quickly, with Frank showing Flag the ropes, demonstrating a few tricks of the trade, and every now and then inserting an amusing anecdote. He really was a good and dedicated teacher under the offhand exterior. Flag thought the Chairman must be an astute man to have picked him for the job, instead of paying him off; whatever Frank himself said about favouritism. He was paid inspector’s rate and earned it.
Flag was very fortunate to have Frank’s undivided attention. This was the first time in two weeks there was only one new recruit to be given the first day’s briefing. Frank said on busy days, like last Friday, he had as many as a dozen dumped on him at once. This did actually have a few advantages for trainees. For instance, when there was a crowd, they took turns at being the conductor, while the others acted as the passengers. Frank often made them play all sorts of roles, as he was the Director of his local amateur dramatics society. Flag simply had to imagine the other non-existent trainees crowding the aisle and so on. Frank did play some of the standard awkward customers, and gave Flag some advice on how to handle them.
“Never get in a fight with a passenger Flag, unless there’s just absolutely no other choice left. If it looks like trouble, press the bell three times as quick as you can. That’s the signal for your driver to stop the bus NOW and help you out. Two’s always better than one, and it’s usually enough to settle things down. You’ll be surprised sometimes how many of the passengers will be prepared to back you up against a nasty one. But NEVER count on it. The day you do, will be the day they all look the other way. Just remember Murphy’s Law - what CAN go wrong WILL go wrong. But if you stay alert, and anticipate problems, you’re already halfway to solving them.”
Flag thought this was good advice for a lot of things besides bus conducting, and filed it away in his memory.
“The drunks are another problem” added Frank. “Some conductors just can’t learn to handle them, and finish up quitting. Never let a drunk get too serious. If he’s being awkward or nasty, try and keep it light. Get him laughing, or interact with the other passengers, and turn his anger back into himself. Look, I’ll show you a little something of mine you’ll never find in the rule book, just as an example.”
He walked down the aisle calling “Fares please.” Then he sat down in one of the lengthwise seats. Reaching out a hand, he rocked back and forward, and said “Och, go away you, you’re jist a dumb bum.”
He stood up in the aisle, twisted round to look down behind, and felt the seat of his pants. “Aye, right enough, so I am. Fare please. Unless you canna afford it. I’ll no’ rob a poor man.”
Flag laughed at the scene, and Frank continued.
“Nine times out of ten he’ll pay, just to prove he has money. The tenth time is when you ring the bell three times. Failing all else, and only as a last resort, don’t forget the ticket machine can be a devastating weapon. Better than a lady’s handbag, and I’ve had a few o’ them swung at me in my time.”