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TETE A QUEUE
Page 87
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"Early for Bluebells, Mrs. Johnson ?"
The stout lady in the salad hat didn't answer. She had turned with a loud sigh to glare balefully down the trafficchoked street, her transparent parcel of plastic flowers brushing the moustache of the well-groomed gcntleman next to her in the queue.
We felt a nudge from behind. A middle-aged woman with a pointed nose addressed us vehemently. "Fed up, she is. An" no wonder. Dj'you ever see such a scandal as this bus service?"
That set us thinking. Was it really the service in this lively provincial town with its bustling Saturday street-market crowds of coast-bound cars—or was it he traffic? Could we really blame the bus company for failing to put on more of its big, comfortable AEC double-deckers when none of the vehicles already in service could manage more than 10 m.p.h. across town anyway? There was one now on the other side of the road. Stuck fast in a smoking sea of motionless cars.
3 x 4 = 75
The driver glanced across at us despairingly.
His 75-seat bus looked half-emptya big new AEC Renown with its handsome bodywork designed to let it slide under country bridges that would seop any normal-height double-decker. We thought of the tempers of the would-be passengers around us (Mrs. Johnson was already complaining loudly to her neighbour that it was all the Nazis' fault ; infiltrators left over from the war had sabotaged the service).
"The sooner they make that Buchanan chap Prime Minister the better," the man with the moustache muttered ruefully. Together we visualised a town free of holiday traffic its shopping centre by-passed, its main street a pedestrian precinct, feeder roads flowing with a bus every few minutes and a shelter on every block.
Our friend was enthusiastic. "Could the bus builders respond with a vehicle that would hold all those hundreds more carless shoppers?" we wondered.
"Of course they could," he told us. "Look at AEC—they've been building 100-passenger single-deckers for export for years now. And they don't take up any more road space than three minicars."
"You seem to take the subject seriously."
"I do," he said. "You see, happen to work for the bus company and even I can't get a ride ! "
Salad days
Just then a murmur went up in the queue. A Renown was sweeping in towards the kerb, its powerful 140 b.h.p. direct-injection diesel engine beating a welcome tattoo.
A hiss as its power operated doors slid open and we stepped aboard.
The driver saw a gap in the traffic and we accelerated smartly away in airsuspended comfort. The Renown's efficient Monocontrol transmission took up smoothly but fast. We put out a hand to help a stout lady with a large. transparent package. .
"Early for bluebells, Mrs. Johnson we remarked again, gently.
She turned on us, salad-hat bobbing furiously.
"Can't you see they're foxgloves she snapped.