Queen
“Mum, please dont worry, but after the New Year, we might run into some, lets say, financial difficulties. I mean, we wont exactly starve, Im sure, but things will be tight.”
“Daughter, get to the point. You know I cant stand long-winded stories.”
“I know, Mum. Long story short: I quit my job. Thats it.”
“What? Was it your choice or did they push you?”
“My choice. I like to make my own decisions.”
“Yes, just like your father. I can only imagine what hed say if he were here now.”
“Mum, look, see those beautiful robins in the tree just outside the window Dad would have had a saying for this: It’s not where you are, its who you are that counts.”
“I was so happy for you, daughter. I was proud the job, the salary, the standing. Head of the towns cultural department. You were on telly all the time. People looked at you like you were the Queen, listened to you, respected you. Youre pretty, elegant, with such style.”
“Mum, really there, youre getting teary. My looks arent going anywhere. Theyll stay with me.”
“At least tell me what happened. Why this sudden decision? Step away from the window its draughty sit next to me.”
“You know, Mum, I just have a different outlook from the higher-ups. They only care about the reports being in on time, only mention people when theres a crowd or a camera. I cant do things that way. Like they say in divorce court, irreconcilable differences.”
“Every boss everywhere wants their numbers and paperwork. So are you telling me you wont be taking part in your special winter events this year, now?”
“I will, Mum! We planned everything together as a team. Ill just be watching as a guest, thats all. Itll be fun.”
“Fun? The towns Head of Culture just standing around by the Christmas tree. At least take me with you, for moral support!”
“I thought you were tired of all those Christmas trees at the nursery: one for every class, one for the staffs kids, one for the staff themselves, one for the branch nursery…”
“You forgot the baby home we sponsor. Its all targets for us too, dont forget number of children reached by cultural events. But cultural, mind! And I actually wouldnt mind coming to your family Christmas event in the big Town Park, see what youve come up with this time. You organise family Christmas trees but dont have your own family. And now, no job either. Lydia! Youre nearly forty! Still carrying a torch for your Paul? Paul the First and Last! The one who never left our town. Was always dreaming of moving to Vienna, playing in the Vienna Opera! Your saxophonist, honestly!”
“Saxophonist, Mum. Adolphe Sax, Belgian inventor, nearly two hundred years ago made the first one.”
“And youre telling me a music teacher! Lydia, Ill never forgive that saxophonist of yours; he scrambled your brain so you cant think of anyone else all these years. Now look at you, my Queen, getting older. Mum wiped a tear away, Queen without a throne now! An ageing unmarried Queen! Wonder what your father would say now?”
“Mum, hed say a womans like wine only gets better with age. And dont cry itll all be okay.”
“Ah, your father did love women.”
“He loved you more than anything, Mum. He never let go of your hand. I saw it in hospital”
“I know, Lydie. I regret I didnt tell him how much I loved him often enough. I figured he just knew.”
“Mum, he did, always. When you sang for him he couldnt take his eyes off you.”
Mum broke into song, brushing away her tears:
And the snow falls, and the snow falls,
And all the world awaits,
Beneath this snow, this gentle snow,
I want to say before all,
My dearest one of all,
Look with me at this snow,
Pure, like the thoughts I hold,
The words I want to say.
“Mum, this song always gets me. Every year on my birthday, end of April, I wish itd snow and someone would sing it for me”
“Daughter, what about your job now? With all your talent! What will you do?”
“Ill be a bus conductor, Mum.”
“Oh, dont be silly! Talk to Nicola from flat thirty-six, she knows everyone council, tax office, legal, housing she can put in a word.”
“Im serious, Mum. Ive decided bus conductor. Do you ever take buses?”
“Not often, but yes.”
“And what do you think of conductors?!”
“Well, what can I say? Nothing special! Some wear a hundred layers and sandals with woolly socks, then shout Tickets please! Move right down the bus! and then again: Tickets please! Round and round. Not exactly a creative job, is it?”
“You say it exactly like they do! Remember when Dad came home tipsy that once, after opening the new flats with his team? You said you never knew how funny he was drunk. He told that joke about the drunk on the bus. Ill never forget it.”
“I cant quite recall, Lydie, what was it?”
“A drunken man gets on a bus, swaying at the back, barely holding onto the rail. The conductor barks, Sir, ticket, please! The man, holding up his fingers like a glass, goes, Oh, a toast to tickets!”
“Ah, Lydia, if your dad were here now Id pour him a drink and have him tell all his jokes, just to have him back.”
“Mum, he is with us. I hear him all the time, saying, Girls, its all in your heads. Change the tune inside and life will play you a ballad, a serenade, anything you like!”
“You never changed the tune for your Paul, though, did you? He couldnt stand you being the queen while he was just a court musician. Like Gosha in Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears. At least that film had a happy ending! But, thats not for now. Tell me properly, daughter where will you really work?”
“I told you, Mum: conductor on the buses. Soon as the holidays are over, Im starting.”
“No, Lydia! Thats just nonsense. Youve always been a bit eccentric, a dreamer, but this is just too much! Every dog in town knows you, you were on TV, and now a conductor Heavens, what would your dad say?”
“Im following Dads advice, actually. Remember the card he gave me for my eighteenth? I know it by heart: No one can decide for you you must choose your own life, take charge of it. Otherwise, life will keep knocking at your door and never find you home you’ll always be somewhere else’.”
“And somewhere else is… a town bus? Whats that meant to say to society?”
“Its not for the world, Mum. Its for myself! My cultural supervisor told me I need to take off the crown, that Im too much of a dreamer and dont know real life, never use public transport, far from the people! He forgot, my company car driver broke his leg, so I was riding the bus and the tube for two weeks before New Year I saw plenty of the people!”
“My word, after all youve achieved in public service and now conductor?!”
“Yes, Mum Im going to bring some culture to the city buses.”
Mum slumped onto the sofa, rubbing her temples.
“Youve floored me with that, daughter. A proper New Years shock.”
“Someone wiser than me once said: If God didnt knock us down now and again, wed never look up at the sky. Look, the winter suns come out, the kids put up the bird feeder, the robins and tits are feasting, and there, its snowing again!”
Lydia sang:
And the snow falls, and the snow falls.
And all the world awaits
“Our crazy Lydia. Bus conductors wage is about a fifth of what you used to earn. At this rate, Ill have to say yes to Colonel William from the second floor sending sponsorship.”
“Mum, hes actually a good man. Retired colonel. Widower. Solid, responsible, generous I know no one will ever match Dad. But dont compare; Dads always in our hearts, but its nearly ten years now, Mum.”
“Olive! This isnt about me, its about you! Youll be bored stiff as a conductor nothing creative! Mind you, Dad always said you could find something to liven up any job. Maybe youll take a week in Dubai? After all, youll get a big payout for unused leave. You could think about life while you unwind.”
“Shall we just have a trip to Brighton on that money, Mum, instead?”
Lydias phone rang. Mum sat up, listening in.
Her daughter confirmed, “Yes, fourth of January, Ill be on the route. My paperworks already in HR at the bus company. Thanks.”
“Mum, sorry forget Dubai, forget Brighton!”
*******
Bus number 7 finished its first journey of the day, from the western suburbs to the far east of town always a busy route. The end of the line.
“Mr Peterson, would you mind if I use your microphone? Just for a bit like a tour guide?”
“Up to your old tricks again, are you? Decorated the bus for Christmas, tinsel and baubles everywhere. Even hung up colourful notices above me. Whats todays quote for passengers?”
“Quote, Mr Peterson!”
“Yeah, yeah, quote.”
“Its bliss being on the road you chose yourself!”
“Youre a treat, Ms White. Were lucky to have a conductor like you. Mind you, old Samuels cant get used to you. Claims he darent even look at you, got all jittery when you gave him that folder with the town crest for his paperwork. Said it was a New Era. Made his wife order him two new t-shirts with the town logo. He says, Sure, the bus may be a bit tatty, but its our people were ferrying! Only you, Ms White, could pull that off. And your kit, always looking smart. Samuels swears hes seen you on telly. I keep telling him, Shes like a celebrity! What got him most, though, was you writing our own sayings next to our names! Never saw that coming. For a laugh, now I feel like Aristotle.”
***
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***
“Mr Peterson, you and Samuels are local Aristotles! To think how you can joke and be so deep at once.”
Olive White, relaxing in her conductors seat next to the driver, read aloud the plaques under Thoughts for the Day from Our Drivers:
“Use your phone quietly or make your call interesting! Mr. Peterson, Transport Services No. 1.”
“If you dont give that pensioner your seat, I will Samuels, Transport Services No. 1.
Truly, everyday philosophy,” Olive said.
“And now we quote you! Mind if I say you? What is it you always say? Its all in our heads. Change the tune and youll have a merry song.'”
“Thats my fathers thing, Mr Peterson.”
“Why the past tense? Is he gone?”
“He died. He was a respected builder, built estates, schools, bridges – died after an accident on site. In hospital, holding mums hand.”
“Sorry, love. Life, innit. Your mum still around?”
“She is. She still works at the nursery as music lead. What I wanted, Mr Peterson, is music on the bus just ambient, to lift the mood. Id say a few words on the mic and then play something nice for the passengers.”
“I dunno, love, passengers are all sorts. Someonell say its too loud, or not to their taste…”
“Ive checked the Transport Rules, Mr Peterson. Theres no rule against music in the passenger area or about volume as long as its not annoying. Music should set the mood. Mozart proved it in his day. Ill pick songs everyone likes, youll see! And announcements, but not at rush hour, I promise. Ready? Can I have the mic?”
The bus rolled out from the terminal. Passengers filed onboard, paid, and took seats for the journey from the east to the town centre. Olive White sat up front, microphone in hand, and projected clearly:
“Dear passengers! Youre riding the longest and most popular route in our town, which starts at Forest Lane. In the Forest estate, the air is the freshest families come out from the centre on the number seven just to walk there. The heart of our route, fifteen stops away, brings you to Light Street which truly is lit up in winter with Christmas lights and snowy pavements. Our town is a wonderful place. Over the holidays, be sure to visit the Christmas market in the High Street, catch a show with the kids at the Puppet Theatrejust get off one stop before the centre. Visitors should see our unique timber museum; its just two-thirds along the route on Village Road. And most of all, dont miss the family New Years tree at the Main Town Park on Garden Street. Enjoy your ride and have a wonderful break!”
As Olive handed back the mic, a cheeky young man piped up, “Why not tell us whats on at the Phoenix Cinema too?” Without missing a beat, Olive replied, “Sadly, this bus doesnt go that way head to the centre and change to the number 1, ten stops down. Theyre showing Christmas Trees 15 there tonight. But Id recommend the Star Cinemaright on our route three screens, three films: Christmas Trees 15, an adult fairy tale about Old Jack, and the romantic New Years Parcel.”
Mr Peterson nodded in approval. “Ill take the wife to the family tree event in the Park, thats sure. Is it true therell be a prize draw and mulled wine?”
“Absolutely,” grinned Olive.
“You wont stop at that, will you, Ms. White? Dreaming up something new again”
“Would love to have live music on the bus, even if just for Christmas. Maybe the Bright Folk trio could hop on? Great singers. And for Burns Night, Ill invite Ivan superb guitarist and singer. Cant resist a live tune. And I know a brilliant accordionist perfect for Shrove Tuesday!”
Lydia called her mum: “Mum, sorry Ill be working double shifts, so I cant come to the family tree event. But its all on you go with Colonel William. Hell be thrilled, and I think you will too! Love you, Mum. Were off on the route.”
On every round, Olive White would ask for the mic, enlivening the journey with tidbits about landmarks and invitations to cultural events. She was always professional, never too pushy, upbeat and polite. Within a month, regulars were already spreading news of the remarkable conductor on route seven.
***
Three months on, word of the unusual route and its eccentric conductor had reached everyone, including management.
“Ms White,” said the Transport Companys boss, Mr Andrew Smith, in a stern voice. “I asked you in for a chat because Im not sure youre in the right role here. The conductors job is to take fares. What is this singing and chit-chat, entertaining the riders? Well be getting complaints soon!”
“Mr Smith, I appreciate the chance to discuss the quality of our service. I must thank you for excellent drivers, Mr Peterson and Samuels theyre exemplary, deserving of every award. Thank you too for letting me not just collect fares but bring a little culture onto the bus. Consider my little talks and concerts a pilot project for the company.”
Mr Smith, a stocky, shapeless man, fidgeted, mopped his brow and stammered:
“Admittedly, receipts along route seven havent dropped in fact, theyre up. But everyones different. Some hate noise, some hate music, and now theres live performances on the bus! Its not… prescribed.”
“But its also not forbidden, Mr Smith. In the company handbook, it says conductors not only check tickets, but ensure passenger safety and comfort.”
“Comfort is fine, but other conductors are starting to complain.”
“They dont know me; Ive been working double shifts and havent met anyone.”
“Exactly. The two oldest conductors rode with you incognito theyre shocked. Rushed to HR to complain. Apparently you dont physically take payments, just announce it on the mic. They say you sit by the driver like a queen and show off, maybe just bored so you run a tour! Youre not a tour guide, youre a conductor!”
Olive hummed under her breath, “While its not yet too late, lets press the brakes, conductor” She gave her boss a slightly indulgent look, then replied:
“Mr Smith, with respect, according to the handbook, conductors cant force passengers to pay, or even check tickets only to sell one if asked. Its the passengers duty to pay straight away. And yes, maybe they call me Queen, but none of my colleagues mentioned that weve got a system in my bus everyone likes: only board at the front, Im right there, so they pay me and pass into the bus. If its busy, the payment or card gets passed along, and I reassure them over the mic that their card will come back, as we have a CCTV camera. If anyone tried misusing it, wed know right away!”
“But there are no cameras! Are you lying publicly as well now, Queen?”
“Im imagining things. Hoping. All for the sake of collecting fares efficiently. But, you know, cameras are pretty standard now.”
Pensively, Mr Smith asked quietly, “You never walk through the bus?”
“Sometimes, if I need to help someone with a stick or a mum with a pram, or offer a tissue to a crying child, or provide first aid. Generally, though, ‘the mountain comes to Muhammad’. Sometimes, after my announcements, the fare-dodgers get curious and come up to see the queen by the driver end up paying after all. Mr Smith, if I may do you love this town? Have you lived here long? I could find nothing of you online.”
“I just moved back after my divorce, came home where I grew up. Things have changed so much I hardly recognise it!”
“Exactly. Lots has changed for the better. People dont always notice. Im not a tour guide, I just point out things for a bit of local pride and wellbeing. By the way, you should see A Man’s Divorce at the local theatre. Bit of comedy, just to cheer you up.”
“Ms White, forgive me, Ive got a meeting. But if you ever invite me to the theatre, Ill say yes…”
********
So, the Queen Conductor project continued into February and March. Olive White even got a bonus for International Womens Day from Mr Smith, who received a theatre invite for two in return (but Olive couldnt go double shifts again). The legend of the Queen Conductor spread but no-one followed suit. Most colleagues just gossiped about bus seven, tapping their temples and calling the Bus Queen a bit loopy why try anything new for that kind of pay? Some spread rumours of secret sponsorship, but in fact the Queens only help came from Colonel Williams on the second floor, who admired Lydie and loved her mum dearly.
********
April 28th. Saturday. Olives birthday. Mum encouraged her to take the day off but Olive wanted to work her beloved route, where her regulars awaited. Early, she walked to the depot, the chill more wintery than springlike, thinking how she actually liked the melodies and rhythms in her head after leaving her high-profile job. Suddenly, she saw white flakes floating down snow, in late April! Her childhood dream. The flakes fluttered, then melted as they touched the ground, utterly magical.
Filled with joy, Olive boarded her bus, decked out with white snowflakes by the drivers. Samuels (on duty that day) handed her a box of chocolates and a new microphone with, “Our Queen deserves the best!” She responded with health tonics and the book My England.
It was a quiet Saturday, only really filling up at the town centre. Then, onto the front step, came a familiar face that sent shivers down Olives spine her Paul, the only man shed ever loved. He carried his instrument case aloft and couldnt pay immediately. For the first time, Olive broke tradition and, without her mic, nearly shouted, “Tickets, please! This bus is on CCTV! Move right down!” She rushed to the back, as if hiding from her own heart. Suddenly she heard a live melody. Pauls saxophone filled the bus, and the Queens heart, with the tune: “And the snow falls, and the snow falls”
