Queen of the Bus
Mum, please dont get anxious, but come the new year, we might have a bit of trouble lets say, financially. Not to worryI doubt well starve.
Daughter, stop dragging it out! You know I cant stand long stories.
I know, Mum. Well, to get to the pointIve left my job. Thats it.
What? Of your own accord, or were you let go?
My own, Mum. I like to make my own decisions.
Yes, you take after your father. I can just imagine what hed say now, were he still here.
Mum, looklook at those lovely robins on the tree outside our window. Dad wouldve said, The position doesnt make the person, you know.
I was delighted for you, loveproud that you had such a job, salary, status. Head of all the arts and culture in the town. You were on the telly every other week. People looked at you like a queenrespected and listened to you. Always so slim, elegant, radiant.
Oh Mum, come on, Ill always have my looks, theyre not going anywhere!
But tell me what happened? Why the sudden decision? Move from the window, youll catch cold. Come sit with me.
You see, Mum, I just couldnt see eye to eye with management. For them, its all about ticking boxes, talking about people only from the town hall stepsnever for real. I dont want to live like that. Like they say in court, incompatibility of character.
Well, management everywhere cares for reports and targets. Does that mean you wont even show up to your own winter events now, now the festive days are upon us?
Ill go, of course. The team worked hard! Ill just be an onlooker now. Itll be funny.
Isnt that a sightthe head of the whole towns culture, just standing by the town Christmas tree. At least take me with you. Ill show support.
I thought youd be tired of all the nursery Christmas parties, Mum. One for every group, the staffs children, the staff too, then one for the local childrens home…
Dont forget, love, the one for the orphanage down the road. Yes, we had our own targets too: number of children covered by cultural activitiesmind! But if youre holding a family Christmas in the main Town Park, Id come. You put on all these family festivities, but its just you on your own. Now, no job either. Lily! Youre nearly forty! Are you still pining for your Paul? Paul the Firstand, lets be fair, the Last. Still here, too, never did get to Vienna to play at the opera with his er, sexophone!
Its a saxophone, Mum. Adolphe Sax, Belgian inventor, crafted it nearly two hundred years ago.
As though Id forget, being a music teacher! But really, Lilyyour saxophonist did you no favours. He got you all tangled up, you dont let anyone else get near. Youre growing older, my queenyou are. The throne-less queen, thats you now. Ageing, single queen. What would your father have said, I wonder?
Dad wouldve told you, Mum, Women are like winethey age into nobility. Please dont cry. Everythings going to work out.
He did love women, your father.
He loved you more than life itself, Mum. Never let go of your hand, remember? Right to the end, he smoothed every finger. I saw it, that day at the hospital
Yes, Lily, dont I know. I berate myself for not saying it enough. Always assumed love was understood.
He always knew, Mum. And when you sang for him, he couldnt take his eyes off you.
Mum began to sing, brushing tears away:
Let it snow, let it snow, and the world waits in silent hope.
Below the snow, the hush and glowtheres everything I wish Id spoke.
My truest love, come stand with me, and see this snow so white and new,
Pure as all I cannot say; pure as what I wish for you.
Mum, that song just cuts right through me. Every year on my birthdaylate April, and I always hope for snow, someone to sing to me like that
Daughter, what about your job? Youve got such a gift! Where will you go now?
Im going to work as a bus conductor, Mum.
Oh, Lily, dont joke! You could ask Nina in Number 36 for help; she knows folk in Revenue, the courts, the council
Im serious. Ive decided. Do you take the bus much?
Not oftenbut I do.
And what do you think of the conductors?
Honestly? Pretty dreadful. Clashing jumpers, sandals with wool socks, and shouting across the bus: Tickets, please!over and over. Cultural, it isnt.
The way you say itTickets, pleasesounds just like them! Mum, do you remember that story Dad told us, when he once came home tipsy? He never drank, but that night they celebrated a new housing estate. He came back merry, and told us a joke about a bus. I remember it for some reason.
I dont, Lily. What was it?
A man, completely plastered, boards the rear platform, swaying all over, desperately clutching a pole. The conductor comes over, dead serious, says, Tickets, please! The man makes a gesture like raising a glass and says, Oh! For tickets!
Oh, Lily, if only I could bring your father back and let him tell his jokes, whatever state he was in
Hes always with us, Mum. His voice, his wordsI remember: Its all in your own mind, girls. Change the record in your head and life will singnot a dirge but a ballad, a round, whatever you wanttake your pick.
Then why didnt you change your tune with your Paul? It bothered him, didnt itthat you were the queen and he only the court musician. Like in that film, London Doesnt Cry. At least the film had a happy ending! But were not talking about him. Where are you really going to work?
As a bus conductor, Mum. I start after the holidays.
No, Lily, that cant be! Youve always been a bit eccentricimaginative, unique. But conductor? The whole town knows you after years on TV and now youll be punching tickets. What would your father say?
Im following Dads words. Remember the card for my eighteenth: Rememberonly you can decide for yourself. Take your life in your own handselse life will ring at your door and youll always be out, somewhere else instead.
Somewhere else? Like trundling round town on a bus? Thats what you call challenging society?
Yes, Mum. Its my own challenge! My superior said it was time I took off my crown, that I was out of touchhadnt ridden public transport in ages, not connected with real people anymore. He forgot my driver broke his leg before Christmas and I spent two weeks squashed in town buses and trolleys. I saw plenty of people!
Good heavens, all those years a leader in the artsand now a bus conductor?!
Yes! Im going to civilise the passengers and staff of the towns public buses!
Mum lay back on the sofa and massaged her temples. Well, youve floored me with this New Years bombshell. A cultural blow ringing round my ears.
I cant recall which great mind said it, but if God didnt occasionally knock us flat, wed never have a moment to look up at the sky. Mum, look outsidetheres rare winter sun, the children have hung a feeder and robins and blue tits are at it. And its started snowing
Lily began to sing: Let it snow, let it snow, and the world waits
You daft thing! Bus conductors earn a fifth of what you used to. Ill have to consider Mr. Vernons offer from the second floorhed sponsor us.
Hes a good man, Mum. Retired Colonel. Widower. Solid, responsible, generous. No one could ever be Dad. But Dads been gone nearly ten years now
Oh Lily, its not about meits you wholl find conductor work unbearably dull! Wheres the artistry in that? Though your father always said you could turn even street sweeping into something creative Fancy a break in Dubai? Theyll owe you for unused holidays, surely? A week away would clear your head.
Lets run off to Brighton instead, Mumon my compensation!
Lilys phone rang. Mum perked up, listening carefully.
Her daughter took the call, said, All right. Ill start the route on the fourth of January. All my papers are at HR. Thank you. Then, turning to Mum, she smiled, Sorry, Mum, no Dubai, no Brighton for us!
*******
Bus number 7 finished its first journey of the day to the farthest edge of the townalways bustling, always in demand. Final stop.
Mr. Jarvis! Could I use your microphone? Like a tour guide, nearly.
Up to your old tricks, are you? chuckled the driver. Youve draped tinsel and baubles in the bus, posted colourful quotes overhead. Whats todays bit of wisdom then?
Its called an aphorism, Mr. Jarvis!
Aphorism, aye.
Its grand to travel the road youve chosen for yourself!
Youre an original one, Mrs. Barker. Lucky, we are, to get you as our conductor. Not everyones so sure though. Samuels, my relief, cant get used to yousays hes a touch scared to meet your eye! When you gave him that official-looking folder for the paperwork, and then suggested keeping all fresh printouts inside, he chucked out his old one and said it was a new era. Got his wife to order two T-shirts online with the Union Jack. Says even though we drive ancient English buses, were carrying English folk, English citizens, none other! Youre unusual in this businessalways smart, even your glasses look official. Samuels reckons hes seen you on telly, Im sure of it I told him, Shes a regular performer, she is! And then those driver quotes you stuck up beside our names! Thats something.
Mr. Jarvis, you really are local Aristotles! The way you banter, its proper wisdom.
Lily read aloud the signs:
Speak on your phone either softly, or make it interesting! D. Jarvis, Bus Depot No.1 Driver.
If you dont give your seat to a dear old lady, I will. I. Samuels, Bus Depot No.1 Driver.
Philosophy for the ages, she concluded.
And now were quoting you, Mrs. Barker! May I drop the Mrs? You always say: Its all in the mind. Change the record and life will sing you a cheery tuneyour choice!
That was my fathers phrase, Mr. Jarvis, not mine.
Was? Is he gone then?
He diedhe was a renowned builder: houses, bridges, schools. There was an accident. He passed away in my mothers arms at the hospital. They couldnt save him.
Im sorry, love. Thats fate, I suppose? Your mums still about?
Yes, music leader at the nursery. By the way, Mr. Jarvis, Id like music in the bus, even just for festivities. I could say a few words to the passengers on the microphone, then play something to lift their spirits.
Well, love, passengers are all sorts. Not everyone likes a song
Ive read the guidelinesnothing bans music on public buses, nor sets any rule about volume. It cant annoy or upset anyone, obviously. The goal is to lift the mood. Did you know, Aristotle showed ages ago that music shapes peoples moods? Ill choose well, youll see. And Ill make cheerful announcements, not at rush hour. Ready to try, Mr. Jarvis? May I have the microphone?
The bus pulled away, new passengers boarding, tickets paid, heading from the borough edge to the centre. Lily sat up front, took the old microphone, and began, voice clear and warm:
Good morning, friends! Youre riding the longest and busiest route in our town, starting at Wood Lane. Freshest air in town there, so families often take the 7 for a walk in the woods. In 15 stops youll reach the centreBright Street stop. Truly the brightest spot, especially in winter: gleaming snow, Christmas lights, all the shops shining. Our town is dear, and in this season you can visit the Christmas market, take the family to a winter fairy tale at the puppet theatrejust hop off a stop before the centre. Visitors, dont miss the Heritage Woodworks Museum: alight at Village Lane, two-thirds along this route. And above all, do join us for the family twelfth-night tree in the Town Park on Orchard Street. Youll be glad of it. Enjoy your journey and your festive days.
Shed barely finished when a cocky youth piped up, Can you tell us whats at the Grand cinema tonight? Lily, without missing a beat, answered, The Grand isnt on our route, young man. Change at the centre to the 1, ten stops on. Theyre showing Fir Trees 15but Id recommend the Star cinema right on this line. Three screens: Fir Trees 15, a fairy-tale for grown-ups, and a romantic holiday film.
Mr. Jarvis whispered, Well be at the family tree in the Town Parkmy wifes keen. Is it true about the tombola and mulled wine? Lily grinned, Absolutely. Mr. Jarvis replied, You wont stop at this, I can tell! Next, well have a full orchestra. Lily dreamily mused, Wouldnt mind live music in the bus for holidays. Maybe folk singers at Christmas. And for Burns Night, a proper piper! Ivan, a friend, plays the blues so wellthe whole bus would feel it.
Lily rang her mother: Mum, sorrythe family trees without me. Im working double shiftsstaff shortage! The celebration will go ahead, but you and Mr. Vernon should go together. Hell be over the moon. Love you, Im offIm on route.
Through each round of the route, Lily borrowed the mic from the driver, announcing sights and events as they passed: always courteous, never pushy. Within a month, people were no longer surprised by the conductors waysnews of the Queen of the Bus spread throughout the town.
***
Three months in, the legend of the unconventional bus and its conductor had reached the ears of everyoneand, of course, the boss.
Mrs. Barker, the Head of Bus Depot Number 1, Mr. Andrews intoned. I invited you for a word because, frankly, you seem a little misplaced here. Youre employed to collect fares. Instead, you entertain the passengerswith songs and speeches! I sense complaints incoming any day.
Mr. Andrews, Im grateful a humble conductor gets to discuss public transport quality with the boss. May I thank you for your excellent, devoted drivers? Ive partnered with Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Samuelsfirst-class professionals who deserve recognition. And thank you for letting me help our citizensnot only with tickets, but with a bit of culture. Please, consider my mini-tours an innovative project for our depot.
The portly Mr. Andrews fidgeted, wiped his brow, poured himself some water, stood and sat, then suddenly announced grandly:
To be fair, Mrs. Barker, revenue on route 7 hasnt droppedin fact its up. But people are all sorts: some hate music, some hate noise, and youve got half the bus singing songs! Thats irregular.
But not forbidden, Mr. Andrews! Your rules state that bus conductors are responsible not only for tickets but also for the comfort and safety of the passengers.
Comfort is well and good, butother conductors have started to complain.
They dont know the first thing about meIve hardly met them, working constant doubles.
Perhaps for that very reason: you havent acknowledged them. Two of our most senior conductors, hearing of your project, rode your bus. They were shockedstormed into HR at once. You never walk the aisle, just declare from the microphone that fares must be paid. She sits there, like a queen beside the driver, soaking up the limelight! Conductors are for tickets, not tours!
Lily quietly sang an old tune under her breath: While theres still time to call for a stopConductor, press the brakes She watched her manager, who had more than enough on his plate, but decided not to apologise. Nor did she keep silent.
Mr. Andrews, youre a busy man, but let me remind you: conductors cannot demand payment, nor inspect ticketsthey can only sell if asked, not chase the money. Its for passengers to pay on their own initiative. And, as for queenmaybe you didnt hear about the system on our route? Everyone boards at the front, right where I sit, and exits at the back. Quiet times, they pay immediately; when its crowded, money and cards pass hand to hand. I assure the passengersyour card will come back; were on camera, and any funny business is caught in a flash!
But we dont have cameras! Are you openly lying? Queen!
I dream, I imaginefor the sake of full fare, as you say. And really, cameras are standard in public spaces now. Worth considering.
Mr. Andrews, thoughtful now, asked quietly, You really never pace the aisle?
Sometimes, to help a gran with a stick or a mum with a pram, to give a tissue to a crying child, help someone in distress. Usually, I dont have tothe people come to me. Those who sneak aboard, after my announcements, get curiouswhos the queen by the drivers side?and, listening to the stories and music, end up paying their fare. May I ask, Mr. Andrewsdo you love this town? Lived here long? I havent seen you about.
Im recently back. Split with the wife, returned to the town I was born in. Dont recognise the place any more.
See! Everything changes. For the better too. Why not tell people? No time for them to discover it alone. Im not a guide, just a signpost, a friendly reminder. And, Mr. Andrews, you should catch A Mans Divorce at the local theatrea comic play, does wonders for the spirit!
I must end this meeting, Mrs. Barker. Ive a council session. But should you ever invite me to the theatre, maybe I wont refuse
********
The Queen-Conductor project, as people jokingly called it, rolled on from February to March. Even Mr. Andrews gave Lily a bonus in March; she sent him a pair of theatre tickets for Februarycouldnt go herself, she was working. The whole staff heard of her, though no one followed suitmost gossiped that bus Queen must be mad to do more work for that pay. Some even gossiped she had a dozen sponsorshence her fun; in reality, Lilys only benefactor was Colonel Vernon from the second floor, fond of Lily and a true friend to her mother.
********
April 28th. Saturday. Lilys birthday. Her mum suggested a day off, but Lily wanted her routeher usual passengers were waiting. She set out on foot, the air still wintery. In her head, music and rhythms played since shed left her prestigious, well-paid post. Suddenly, white flakes drifted from the sky, landing in her hair. She couldnt believe itsnow in April, just like shed longed for as a girl! The flakes melted straight away, but their magical descent filled her with wonder.
Entering the bus, she found it decked in white snowflakes by the drivers. Samuels, it being his shift, handed her a box of chocolates and a brand new microphone, saying, Our Queen must have the best! She gave the men a bottle of tonic and a copy of My England.
It was a quiet day until the town centre, when the bus filled up. Suddenly, through the front door stepped a passenger who sent a shiver through Lilyher heart hammered, breath caught. It was himher Paul, her one and only. He held his saxophone case aloft, unable to pay. Flustered, Lily broke tradition and shouted, Tickets, please! Theres camera surveillance! Make way to the centre, please! She jumped from her seat and headed to the rear in a flurrythen
Music blossomed in the aislethe soft, romantic voice of Pauls saxophone filled the bus and the soulful chambers of the queen with the timeless melody: Let it snow, let it snow
And so, the story of the Queen of the Bus, her passengers, her music, rolled on through the town, as flakes of memory swirled in the springtime air.
