Strange things may happen at sea, but even more bizarre phenomena were reported in ‘The Sunday Sport,' a British newspaper that catered for the credulous. To be sure, many bought this paper ‘for a laugh', especially since the report of the discovery of Hitler's bones washed up on the south coast of England, “with the forearm raised in a defiant Nazi salute". The story about the World War II bomber found on the Moon must have raised a smile. Another Hitler story: the late leader of the Third Reich was really a – wait for it - woman. However, one of the daftest pieces of front-page news concerned a London bus that was found “buried at [the] South Pole". Consider the choice of geographical location. Apart from the scientists who live near the Earth's southernmost point, no living soul would have witnessed the arrival of this vehicle. No account is given as to how the bus was driven to that spot. Nor were there any remains of disgruntled passengers on board. The idea of something as familiar and prosaic as a bus being found in a desolate place must have raised a smile. While few of us have experience of bomber aircraft, buses symbolise a culture of order. Imagine a Hiace bus turning up in the jungles of, say, Papua New Guinea. After several years of rusting away and allowing the tendrils to curl around the window frames, colonies of bats hang upside-down behind the threadbare curtains, and wasps have built nests in sockets where headlights once resided. After discovery, the nearby tribe might end up worshipping the vehicle as a manifestation from the spirit world. Well, keeping in touch with supra-rational ideas is one way of maintaining order, which the human race so desperately craves, especially when order appears to be crumbling and belief systems are becoming frayed about the edges. What if William Golding had introduced a bus on the island in his book ‘Lord of the Flies'? Probably nothing would have changed. The boys who were marooned on a desert island after a plane crash would have inexorably descended into barbarism since the bus would be a vestige of social and moral organisation that had vanished. Even so, while Mr Golding argues in his novel that humans cannot regulate their affairs without resorting to barbaric methods to assert and maintain authority, the humble works bus as a symbol offers hope that people can work things out for themselves and get along nicely, so leave the spears and sharpened sticks at the bus stop, thank you. Many employers lay on a bus service for staff, particularly on routes where travel by public transport entails sheer discomfort and at least one change of bus. Besides, company bosses can rest assured that most of the workforce arrives on time. Passengers are picked up at an agreed assembly point and time every morning and are dropped off at the same place after the working day, although the timing depends on the density of traffic home or on how many motorists are changing wheels in the middle of the homeward carriageway. Human beings are amazingly creatures of habit. They often occupy the same seats. Everyone is happy. Note the person who sits behind the driver. S/he is usually the person to tell the driver to fire up the engine and be ready to pull away at 0645 sharp. It is this same person who checks that everyone is present before the bus is due to set off. The self-designated leader tells the driver to stop for other members of staff at other agreed locations on the way to the workplace. If the new driver overshoots the agreed spot, he is told to reverse for a few yards. If the hapless colleague has to cross the westbound carriageway and dice with death, the driver is told to wait, while the other occupants wonder if the next addition will survive the crossing. As for the actual driving, the ‘leader' has no say. Excessive use of the horn, swerving to avoid daring pedestrians and negotiating bends on two wheels are beyond criticism, whereas the high volume of the political discussion on the bus radio is. At the end of working day, the system that is in place in the morning is tested. Other staff members who may use another bus on another route in the morning, or who do not use the bus at all, might need a ride into town, or to some spot on the main road from the workplace. Non-morning staff may take up seats, forcing some morning ‘regulars' to stand, or at least ride on the awkwardly shaped ridge behind the driver. The non-morning interlopers may attract filthy looks. There are murmurings of discontent. They have got a nerve, haven't they? Taking up places that are not rightfully theirs, well, I never! Sometimes an interloper of an obstreperous and stubborn disposition refuses to give up the seat on which someone else has a claim. His grounds for refusal: “I work for the same company, don't I? I've got every right to use the bus, haven't I?" The case is referred to the ‘leader', who advises the newcomer to stand, but he maintains his contrary stance and alights forthwith, mumbling ‘inta 7urr!' (Suit yourself!) After a series of similar incidents, stern measures are called for. The leader passes a seating plan among passengers, who fill in their names. The plan is written in second draft and sellotaped to the glass panel behind the driver. The plan has as much force as the Laws of Hammurabi. As one boards the bus thenceforth, one trembles and obeys, even though exceptions are made on the homeward journey, when a gaggle of young women want to be dropped off at the nearest multi-national supermarket or someone needs to be set down at Aasher for a bus to Bilbeis or somewhere in Back o' Beyond between the Delta and the Red Sea. The seating plan disappears as the sellotape ages, but even as a morning regular, if you decide you want to sit elsewhere because someone has used the curtain to blow his nose earlier, be prepared for resistance to change and dirty looks. Indeed, when people are left to their own devices, they can regulate their affairs within the unspoken bounds of a wider system or spiritual environment. Beats the sharped stick method of coercion any day.
