The wheels on the bus go round and round – unless you were with me this morning. I found myself car less when Theresa May called the snap election she had said she would never call. Getting to a meet and greet session with Age UK in Horncastle is not so easy if you are car less. Although Horncastle actually has a better service than, say, Louth or Mablethorpe it is still limited to one bus an hour. Evening services in Lincolnshire are virtually non-existent. You could travel to Louth in the afternoon and easily find yourself having to stay overnight if you miss the last bus back at around four.
Nobody who actually lives here has ever claimed that public transport in Lincolnshire is adequate, of course. Our rail services are limited and indirect, thanks to Mr Beeching, which is terrible news for our coastal resorts. Compared with London, Sussex and Kent we are undoubtedly a poor relation and an embarrassment. You can travel until midnight or even later on trains in South England. Busses run well into the evening to connect London with towns nearby. How can you have a busy city and a great night life without public transport? Well, in Lincolnshire you don’t travel far at night, to party or otherwise, unless you have a car and a designated driver. No wonder we are a sleepy lot!
So, my trip to Age UK for a meeting and coffee morning involved two busses. One to take me to Lincoln and that arrived at eight in the morning. I kicked up the dust and trialled my shooting stick – a necessary travelling accessory as there are no proper benches at Lincoln bus station. (I suppose because they don’t want to make it easy for our rough sleepers). At nine, I gratefully got on the Skegness service, which stops at Horncastle amongst other places, and sat back to enjoy the beautiful scenery en route.
We were well on schedule until, having just left Wragby, I heard a colossal bang.
“Jimminy cricket!” I exclaimed (the way you do). “What in tarnation was that?”
I didn’t think domestic terrorism had travelled to rural Lincolnshire just yet. Perhaps some oik who was bored on half term holiday had fired an air rifle at the window? A few seconds later we heard the unmistakable whine of a slipping clutch and the bus slowly ground to a halt in the middle of the back of beyond – or somewhere very farm-ish between Wragby and Hatton.
The driver was efficient, polite and tactful in the emergency, he called Lincoln and Skegness for mechanics and a replacement bus. He allowed parents with small children and a large dog to stroll along a farm track. He let me use his mobile phone as I couldn’t get a BT signal to use Skype on my notepad. Shortly after the mechanics had arrived, declared the bus undriveable, and the ten o’clock from Lincoln had passed us by, we all piled into a replacement double decker and cheerfully set off. The driver even told us to claim a refund of our fare because of the inconvenience.
A lady from Manchester led the singing. We sang “The Wheels on the Bus” and “If you’re Happy and You Know It”, much to delight of a three year old boy who had been positively angelic all through the journey. Then she launched into a cumulative rugby song about boils on noses of the women of the harem of Caractacus which frightened the little soul, probably because he was as confused as I was trying to figure out the words.
Well, they didn’t mind that I was an hour late. We joked about making this a social media opportunity about the poor public transport links in Lincolnshire. It wasn’t traumatic or stressful. There are much worse things happening in the world than a bus breaking down in the countryside on a glorious sunny day but we really, really need a decent transport infrastructure in this county.
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