THE HAUNTED BUS

Greymouth Evening Star, 18 April 1928, Page 9

THE HAUNTED BUS

VETERAN DRIVER’S CAREER. Known to every man in the bus service as “Pop” Keen, Mr A. T. Keen recently retired from the service of the London General Omnibus Company, at the age of 65. In an article in the London magazine he writes: — “After 36 years on the road, I have begun to understand that machinery can be almost human. Treat a bus well and she will do almost anything, but. drive her carelessly and there is trouble in store. 1 remember one bus that we all declared possessed an evid spirit. Its mechanism was constantly examined and pronounced perfect. Yet that bus never left the shed without some misfortune overtaking it. On separate occasions it killed three men before it finally smashed itself against a wall. 1 am not. usually superstitious, but I admit 1 heard of its wreck with relief. “On the other side. I have known buses with perfect tempers. In heat or cold, they were as docile as lambs. One in particular was driven nearly io.ooo miles in London’s busiest streets without even a pane of glass being broken’ “Mr Keen .joined what is now the London General Omnibus Company as far as back as 1891, and he has followed its amazing growth since those early days of horse buses. Drivers used to do five journeys a -day, and had 11 horses for the purpose---two for each journey, and a “spare” Mr Keen says: — “My first trip was from Starch Green Io Liverpool Street. It took 90 minutes, but to-day it could be covered easily in less than 50. The main difference between the old and 1 the now bus systems ; s that whereas the horse bus ran straight from < point Io point. Hie modern vehicle ‘ tours Hie busiest thoroughfares. s “The old buses, too, had names, not numbers. Who remembers the ‘John Bull.' ‘Adelaide,’ 'Green.' ‘Red.’ ‘Royal Blue,’ ‘Victoria Tavern,’ and many more? I believe it was only x

because the names ran out that numbers began. “My starting wage as a driver was two guineas a. week, which, in the ’nineties, made me comparatively well off, but. there was no eight-hour day then; 15 or 16 hours, including Sundays was nearer the mark. Then at Christmas time, there were tips from passengers; big ones if you were lucky ; I recall one elderly man who travelled every morning on the driv-\ ing box beside me. He used to tell me of his intimate family affairs, and for 10 years on Christmas Eve. never failed to give me a box of cigars and a five-pound note! “That was a time, too, when no real l;;dy was supposed to ride on top of a bus. But, bless you, they did! There was one beautiful girl. the daughter of a peer, who used to clamber up the stairs regularly once a week, and on one occasion confided to me r/.rnt this was the only way in which rhe could get a glimpse of her forbidden ’over, who worked in an upper office in Oxford Street. “The girls have not changed much, you see. You hear a lot about the way Hie modern girl-jumps a'i passing buses. C'” ! 'kcr than a man, 'key say, Bat in I hat she’s no different from her grandmother. In the days of the horse buses Cu re used to be a little o’d woman of Holborn, who, when he Ims rpnr->ach f, d, fnr’ously ’•'aved it on. and then, gathering up Imr ample ski’ - ts. took a flying leap nt the footboard. She never missed, and if a diivi r nulled up for her she threatened to smash him with her umbrella. Every Ims driver in London knew her.”