Introduction
Here in London we, the general populace, are bombarded with public announcements and messages, many of which appear to assume we all have the IQ of an amoeba. This is especially so on public transport. In this story, I have taken a (non-)event that occurred recently on a train. What happened (I hope you’re sitting down) was that a woman got on, someone looked at her, and a few stops later got off. That is obviously a dead boring story, and explains why I’ve never mastered the art of fiction writing. Therefore I decided to do a mash-up of a scenario and some of the “rules” I alluded to. You might like to try to identify the announcements and rules embedded in the text. I’ve commented on some, but not all, in the footnotes.
The story
“We’re running a good service1” is barely audible above the noise of the escalator. You must stand on the right on the escalator. There are people talking, walking, running, laughing, bags rustling, a train arriving at and then leaving a distant platform.
You must have a valid ticket for travel. That is to say, there are no platform tickets. If you’re seeing someone off or meeting them, you can’t do so on the platform (unless I’m mistaken).
The noticeboards are constantly changing declaring the destination of the next train and three minutes, two minutes, one minute, approaching (stand behind the yellow line) arrived2 (as if we couldn’t tell).
Wait for passengers to get off the train first.
The trains themselves are too loud even when at rest, and even more so when hurtling through a tunnel, especially on the Central Line. (At such times, the decibel level is high enough to cause hearing damage eventually.)
Mind the gap3.
A slim woman all in white enters the carriage, looking around intently.
You must not look intently at anybody4. Maate5!
If any man looks at her in the wrong way, he’ll wish he hadn’t. A middle-aged man looks at her, not approvingly. She should be more modest6.
If you see something that doesn’t look right, speak to a member of staff.
I am concerned only with three things:
Being on the right train.
This train calls at all stations to Liverpool Street, so that’s a good start.
Getting a seat.
(I always give up my seat for people who look like they need a seat, but sometimes I’m the one who looks like he needs a seat! But I try to bear in mind that not all disabilities are visible7.)
And reading my book.
The other passengers make little impression on me, apart from the absence of animals. (Dogs must be carried at all times.)
But I am aware of the person with a massive rucksack who is standing so close to me that I am unable to get out of my seat in order to get off the train.
Stand clear of the closing doors.
I make it through the closing doors in time, but I am now running late. It’s hard to remember not to run up or down the stairs or escalator, but I think running up or down a handrail is ok8.
It’s very hot down here in the depths of the underground. (I like to carry water when it’s hot.) It’s hot despite the fact that outside it has been raining. I mustn’t run because the floors are slippery when wet.
Fortunately, there’s an empty cab just outside the station.
See it.
Say it.
“Taxi!”
Sorted!9
Postscript
This post was an experiment, involving taking something from one source and mixing it with a different thing altogether. I got the idea from a student, K, on the Oulipo course I ran in 2022. She in effect cut and pasted instructions from a washing machine manual into her story. I don’t contact students after a course has finished because that contravenes data protection rules, but if K happens to be reading this and gets in touch I’ll gladly give her credit by name for this idea.
What do you think of it?
PS If you enjoyed this, you might like my experiments in style posts. Here’s the introduction and explanation of what this is, including a link to the full list: Experiments in Style.
PPS The first iteration of this article was submitted to Sarah Leipciger, tutor on a course called Ways into creative writing, at the City Lit. Sarah suggested removing the parentheses that originally enclosed the announcements. I took her advice and I think the result was a great improvement.
This announcement is made every so often on the tube, presumably to contrast with the times there are delays. I once thought of adopting it as a motto for the department I was running in a school some years ago.
On underground stations these tell you when the train has arrived. I’m not sure why, unless it’s to say “the train to such and such a destination has now arrived, so if that’s where you’re going don’t wait for the next train”.
On stations with a curved platform there are some parts of the train where there is a huge gap between the doors and the platform. So this is a useful announcement.
This is the latest anti-sexism campaign in London.
This is an example of free indirect speech, meaning that this is what the middle-aged man is thinking, not your narrator.
I once told a middle-aged woman on a course I was on that I only give up my seat for attractive women in their twenties and thirties, and she actually believed me. She blanked me for the rest of the day.
If this notice is anything to go by:
This is a reference to the anti-terrorism announcement and slogan: if you see something that doesn’t look right, speak to a member of staff. See it, say it, sorted.
Well done Terry. I felt my blood pressure rise when the person had a rucksack so large it was keeping you in your seat! Thanks for demonstrating another writing style.
Captures the essence of the London Underground well and the mash-up (and inspiration from K, whose washing machine instruction-laced work I'd like to read) totally works.
You know, I was in Leeds last July with my brother to catch up with our aunt, and when we arrived at the station she met us on the platform and she said she'd purchased a platform ticket! I'd never heard of such a thing but she said it was a station where it was still possible to purchase one.