LONDON SKETCH.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 21, 25 January 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

LONDON SKETCH.

URBANE PEOPLE. BUS CONDUCTORS' WIT. (By J. HAMEETON.) After seven years, once more the bustle of the Strand; the fire and rush of Piccadilly; the glitter of Oxford Street; the swirl of Hyde Park Corner. The same green free parks greet you; the same bland chastening air soothes you; still those days of an ivorycoloured sky. The population still emanates an exquisite and humane urbanity. Their politeness and good temper Is amazing! They sit quietly and philosophically behind their newspapers in the buses and in the tubes. An earthquake would not excite them or hurry them. They take their time in everything; they will get there in their own way. There is a calm peacefulness in the air that is like a soothing draught. We in New Zealand have many things, but we have not this. It must be. born of the centuries. The bus conductors are still witty, kind and cheerful. They help you on, they tell you if you are on the wrong bus, they tell you the right one; in fact, they pilot you as if you were a child; their patience is a lesson to all. Even when the thermometer touches ninety they are still the same. Here are some first-hand illustrations of their wit, their kindness and their cheerfulness: — We are roaring down the Strand to Charing Cross. The bus stops, and the laconic conductor's voice is heard, "Charing Cross. Hurry along, please, hurry along, before they move it!" This for those who sigh and say: "London is changing; the old landmarks are going!" Again, an agitated female decides that she would like to ride on the top of the bus, but exclaims nervously to a friend, "I'm not too keen on climbing these stairs when we're moving!" Then she hears a voice behind her, "Never mind, I'll walk up behind you." The bus conductor. Now overseas visitors are going to gaze at St. Paul's Cathedral. "Are you going to St. Paul's? Whereabouts do you stop?" "Outside," says the conductor, so softly, and with a twinkle in his eye. "You know, we can do a lot for you, but we don't drive you up to the altar!" is what that meant! And again. We spring on "to a bus; it starts to jerk away from the pavement: "Hold tight, mother's driving," comes that cheerful cheeky voice. Yes, a race apart. Yes, still the same glorious trees; the abject beggars, the barrel organs; the milk bottles pushed in hand carts along the streets. Still grinding poverty and enormous wealth side by side; the flower stalls; the mountains of newspapers that seem to appear hourly; the miles of cement, black and grey stones, red and brown bricks, railings, pillars, steps, areas, groves, crescents, gardens, terraces and squares that make up the London streets; holding their millions of souls. Physically London will let you escape from her, but mentally and spiritually, once she has had you, never will you escape!