Busker On The Bus

The snow clouds filled the sky that hung over the English countryside.

Little parlour houses were lined up like soldiers from Lilliput land and the snow fell soft upon the faces of all those who like me ventured out on foot into the village. Both my feet were numb and my hands and face burnt with the coldness in the twilight of a winter's day.

The fingers of my right hand were almost frozen and my grip on the guitar case began to falter. I could no longer hold the guitar so I left it down by the bus stop.

The clock in the church tower of All Saints Church began to ring out every note in the octave including each flat and sharp along the way up and down the scale. Suddenly the church bells rung out old melodies of Christmastide.

It was nice to hear and stopped me from worrying about the bus that hadn't come. After it was about a half hour late I thought that there was something wrong. I should have asked someone but decided to remain silent.

An hour late and still the bus to London had not come.

I stood patiently at the bus stop in a queue on my own. Bus after bus had come but not the one I was waiting for. Not a sign of the National Express and no one else who looked like they were bound for London. I checked to make sure I was at the right bus stop and yes it stated quite clearly that it was and so I waited.

I watched the traffic passing by on the road and thought about those who were sitting at home in front of the fire or others who might be having a pint in the local pub or club. The cars passing me by all had their windscreen wipers going to push the snow away from the front screen enabling the drivers to see their way along the road.

It was that time of the year, good cheer and all that.

I thought about Christmas trees, fairy lights, turkey and presents.

Then I watched the National Express coach move through the top of the town and motor its way down towards the bus stop where I was standing.

At long last, thank God I said.

I raised my arm to signal the driver to stop but he thundered right past me and kept going. I began frantically waving behind the bus hoping the driver would see me, but the b us refused to slow down. He must not have seen me chasing after him with my six string under my arm. I almost slipped under the wheels of a double Decker bus as I chased after the London bound coach that disappeared out of Wellingborough.

In a mad fit, mixed with despair, anger and panic I hailed a local taxi driver who pulled in to the side and stopped.

I opened up the back door of the taxi and placed my guitar on the seat then got into the front passenger set and said

"Follow that bus on its way to London."

The driver though I was joking and said,

"Where to."

"Are you deaf or something, I said follow the bus, The National Express for London. It's left town about five minutes ago."

"Yes sir. I'm on my way."

The driver said and took off in the direction the bus had gone.

We must have hit every red light in the entire town. At each pedestrian crossing we came to a multitude of people seemed to want walk across the road in front of us. People seemed to come out of the woodwork. Carrying bags and boxes and all kinds of things. We were getting nowhere fast and just when I though we were in the clear the taxi driver said,

"Look I'm almost out of petrol, I'll just stop in here for a moment."

He drove the taxi into this small petrol station up ahead.

I tried to keep cool and said,

"I've stood in the freezing cold for three hours waiting for a bus that just rolled out of town without stopping, so do me a favour and get me somewhere where I can catch that bus as I'd like to have a strong word with the driver in question. I would like to get my seat on that bus so I arrive in London at the time I'm supposed to with the ticket that I bought here in Wellingborough.

So if you get my drift, I'd appreciate your haste to the chase driver."

He looked over my head as if I wasn't there. His eyes were somewhere far away. After a moment he took a deep breath and said,

"I'll have to get some cigarettes mate. Is there anything I can get for you?"

I never answered, I just got out of the taxi and went into the shop and bought a soft drink then retuned to the taxi and waited. The taxi driver stood talking for a while to the proprietor of the station. I could feel my temper starting to rise to the boil as I watched the meter ticking over new pence like seconds on a clock.

When he returned to the taxi, he said,

"I asked that guy in there if he had seen the London bus go past and he said no he didn't, so that means it must have taken the other route to London."

With that he sped off and turned into a side road.

I had a drink from the can and looked out the window trying to imagine this wasn't happening. I almost believed that I was in the middle of a bad dream and hoped soon I would wake up but as the miles flew past reality hit home and I realised that I wasn't in a dream at all. Each village we came to the driver got out and spoke to shopkeepers asking if they had seen the National Express but every one had the same answer, nobody had seen the London

Bus.

The driver lit up a cigarette and said,'

"Well mate what do you want me to do?

I almost told him in a few strong words but declined and said,

"How much would it be to London in your taxi?"

"About three hundred pounds."

He replied.

'Ok, is there a train station nearby where you could drop that I could get a train to London?

He replied,

"Tell you what I'll do for you mate I'll bring you to Milton Keynes. You can get a bus to London there."

I replied,

'Great, well how far away is this place."

"Not that far."

Came the reply "

We were on the main road again.

I was starting to calm down a little and said,

"What is this place like?"

He looked at me and said

"What place?"

"Milton Keynes."

I said and he lit up another cigarette and spoke though a cloud of smoke,

"It's the biggest centre around here for public transport and I know my way there like the back of my hand."

"Ok, that will do driver "

I said.

He must have had a huge hand; it seemed to take forever to get their .

I felt like the lost minstrel from limbo when we finally arrived.

As we drove into the depot at Milton Keynes it resembled the runway of a small airport. Lights lit up the place like we were about to roll into action on some Hollywood set.

The snow had stopped falling and it was raining now.

"Well mate here we are Milton Keynes."

Said the driver.

"Where do I go then?"

I asked.

"Just ask anyone in the waiting room over there is there a bus to London tonight. They'll be able to help you."

He said.

I tried to pay the driver his fare without slipping him a few right hooks.

As I forked over half of what I had he wished me a Happy Christmas.

My Guitar and me got out of the taxi and I watched him turn around and take off into the night.

With my six string and a small bag on my shoulder I made my way in the pouring rain over to the waiting room.

Taking time to settle myself first I sat down on a seat and counted how many people were waiting.

There were two of us.

I wondered were the hell I was and how the hell was I going.

I just sat there and wondered.

Taking out my guitar I started strumming a few chords.

The sound of the guitar echoed all around the waiting room.

I fumbled with the blues and found the words of a song come to me.

Suddenly in the middle of the song a young girl ran ion to the waiting room screaming. Her voice shattered the presence of where I was.

Then six other girls followed accompanied by a dozen young lads who had a lot of drink on them. They all wore leather gear and even though they seemed to be together they were far from bring friendly with one another.

Not sue if I was doing the right thing I walked over to the crowd and said,

"Do any of you know if there's a bus going to London tonight?"

They all looked at me as if I had two heads and purple skin. After a few moments one of them said,

"Yeah "

I continued,

"Could you tell me where I could catch it?"

"Yeah."

Came an answer from the pack.

They all stood and stared blankly into my face. A few more moments passed and one of the girls started to cry and scream aloud. One of the groups tried to comfort her and put an arm around her.

I had one hand on the wallet in my pocket and the other tightly gripping the handle of my guitar case.

Some the lads had flashed a blade while I stood there. I knew there was something not right. There was a tension in the air.

Two of them approached me and looked menacingly in my direction. They slowly made their way around my back, I could feel their eyes like daggers in my back almost cut me with something as sharp as a needle and as a poisonous as black widow.

I let go of my guitar and turned to face them and the danger they poised.

The closer they came the more I could see the glazed curtain that covered their eyes. Eyeballs of fury looked back at me.

One of the girls said,

"Leave him alone. A good guy. "

"Give us a song."

Said another.

I took out my guitar and played a blues rock song I wrote called

Walking On Steel.

They group all sat down on a bench in the waiting room while I played.

After I finished they asked for another and I continued to busk away. During the time I was playing two of the lads took spray paint cans out and started tagging and defacing some posters on the wall.

The girl who was crying started to shout,

"He doesn't love me anymore."

"Don't say that."

Her friend said.

'Shut the bitch up."

One of the boys said.

One of the girls growled back,

"Leave her alone, can't you see she's upset."

I continued to busk away.

Three coins were throw into my guitar case.

Outside the rain was still falling and the windows of the waiting room looked as if they were crying with sorrow for the girl who was so upset.

Two well dressed American tourists came in to the waiting room and asked,

"Is this where the London bus departs from?"

'Yeah."

Came the reply.

The American gentleman smiled and asked

"Do you know when it arrives?"

"Yeah. "

Said one of the lads.

Few moments passed and then the screeching of brakes broke the silence.

Outside in the eerie night an empty National Express coach bus sat.

The bus driver looked distant and very tired.

I got on and started the driver in the face.

I had to quell my angry tongue that could have unleashed a barrage of abuse at him but wasn't sure if it was the same bus that had passed me by in Wellingborough.

I put my hand into my pocket and produced a ticket to London.

The driver looked at it and said,

"This is from Wellingborough. "

'You must be a genius ."

I said.

"No need to get cheeky."

He said.

"Is the ticket still good?"

I asked.

"It is."

He replied.

I took a seat by the window and put my guitar above my head on the rack.

The driver waited a while in case there were any more passengers.

No one showed after ten minutes and the bus left the depot.

The driver circled the area for about ten minutes before heading out to the freeway.

I sat there and looked out of the misty coated window.

I felt as if I had just stepped into the twilight zone and was being transported back to life. I though to myself,

Maybe I had I died and not known it and was left in limbo.

As the miles went past I wondered and wondered. Outside the dark cape of night covered the English countryside and the bus moved a little closer to London. I must have been tired or stressed because delusions started to set in to my imagination. This felt unreal, like a voyage into the unknown.

Like a spaceship bound for another planet or like a mystery tour with a coach full of dead people I was on a mission.

All aboard.

We moved along at a decent pace and within a few hours the coach pulled in to Victoria Street station in the heart of downtown London.

One I got off the bus I made my way to Holborne and waited for a tube to St Paul's on the Centra Line.

As I climbed the steps from St Pauls I walked out into the street and crossed over the pedestrian crossing and headed to Carter Lane.

All I needed was a bed for a few nights until I could work out what to do and where to go.

I had arrived in London with a head full of hopes and dreams.

I just need time for the bank to open and pay me some of the dues that owed.

By Paul McCann