Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Back on the buses

When I was a childless Londoner I used to sneer at  bureaucrats who wanted to take our beloved  Routemaster buses off the streets. Those open platforms. Too dangerous, they said. Dangerous? Hardly, I would think, hanging off the edge of the 19 as we travelled along the King's Road, a barrage of rain, wind and grime blowing in my face.

Today whenever I see a Routemaster (the one pictured left has been turned into a cafe) it reminds me of a vanished era of first jobs, flatsharing, overdrafts, friendships and early love affairs, of a time when I was unafraid of life. Of my first, often bungled steps towards becoming a grown-up. Standing on the open platforms, holding on with one hand, I felt, well, I felt free. Almost as free as the occasional bedraggled pigeon that used to fly on board  to join us. Arriving in London from provincial 1980s Edinburgh, there was a thrill to standing on the open platforms, careering through the streets of the metropolis. Able to hop on and off at will. No need to wait for officialdom to release us at a bus stop.

They phased out the final Routemasters a few months after I got married, left London for good and became pregnant. It was Ken Livingstone who got rid of them. The same Ken who once said, "Only a dehumanised moron would get rid of the Routemaster".

This weekend my husband Va-vay was in London and brought back a wooden Routemaster bus (No 43 to London Bridge) for Beanie. To her father's dismay, she was more interested in the body lotion he brought back for me, discarding the bus after a cursory inspection and spending half an hour annointing her cheeks and arms with jasmine and ylang ylang cream. As well as her eyes, mouth, hair and tongue. She gave me a pitying smile when I pointed out to her that her two-year-old skin didn't require hydrating. The same way I ignored my mother when she told me I didn't need full make-up, aged 13.

As for me, all I could think of as I looked at the bus was how hard it would be get a buggy on board one of them (an issue close to my heart). How frightening it would be if the buggy rolled back off the bus onto the road. Whether the brake would be strong enough to keep baby and buggy safe. Spiritually, you see, I have become as one with those bureaucrats.

Posted 10 March 2008 11:01

Buses Edinburgh Out and about

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