The Lure of the Megaphone

It’s not often you get to ask this question but recently I found myself asking it for the second time.
Why is it you never have a megaphone when you need one?
And why is it that the person with the megaphone never has anything interesting to say, no jokes, no anecdotes, and no confessions just bland instructions? Boring. If you’re going to say it loud, be proud and have a good rant, tell a joke, sing a song, anything but the drone of boring instructions. “Please return to the station in an orderly manner or worse still, Please do not run, it is dangerous”. For heaven’s sake how dreary can you get? At times like these I wish I had my own megaphone to engage in some witty amplified banter. “Don’t run, it could be dangerous” “This is a Fun Run you Moron” quickly followed by the classic, “What’s a balanced diet in Wigan? A pie in each hand”! Boom boom. You get the gist, I’m sure.

A few days ago I was in London with friends visiting the Art Fair and after a grand day out predictably the train was delayed. I won’t go into detail as this will only encourage an avalanche of further delayed train stories quickly followed by tortuous hold-ups on the motorway and finally capped by mammoth waits in the airport where time exists in another dimension. Suffice to say the train or trains were not about to appear in the foreseeable future.
It seemed at one point that the trains might never appear and a daunting but thrilling adventure awaited us. We would be forced to abandon the security of the bright station as the shops closed and wander into the cold dark night in search of sandwiches. There we would join a lumbering herd of fellow weary travellers also in search of the elusive sandwich. Red eyed and drawn and increasingly desperate we would cluster in gloomy doorways, our backs turned to the cold black night, the only sound a gentle murmuring mixed with the occasional whimper and broken only by the loud crack of a stale baguette. In this way huddled and pathetic we would pass the long hours of our fateful night.

But it was not to be, the thrill of our impending railway martyrdom was cut short by the muffled announcement that seemed to suggest that a train might arrive and even more startling it would also leave and take us home. This was barely short of a miracle.
Gradually this news filtered through and a frisson of excitement rippled across the huge crowd now assembled in the station. Slowly the mass began to move, not as one but as though a series of tremors had stirred different sections and gradually these movements then became seismic shifts and great blocks of people shambled towards the platform.
But there was a problem. In a foolish act of desperate heroism one small man had decided to hold his post and with megaphone in hand he implored us to, “Please return to the station in an orderly manner” and also “Please ensure all tickets and travel documents are ready and displayed prior to boarding” and finally the immortal,” Please do not run as this can be dangerous”. He continued to repeat his forlorn mantra as the baying hoard descended upon him and whilst he felt he had to persuade us of his view through the power of his increasingly useless megaphone the crowd had chosen not to listen and had decided to take decisive action.

First the surge became a push and then the push a trot, the trot then became a gallop and finally the gallop rapidly developed into an elbows thrusting, lung bursting, no holds barred, all out sprint. The lumbering hoard had turned into a full on eye bulging, stampede with everyone racing with their heads back, chins out, knees pumping and eyes firmly glued on the prize of a vacant seat.
If I’m honest it was carnage. The man with the megaphone was swept aside as the first wave of old ladies burst forward only to be callously thrust out of the way by the second wave of grey haired commuters, their bags scattering, wheelchairs unceremoniously tipped over whilst old men and young children were trampled mercilessly. I swear I saw a man of the cloth ruthlessly tackle an expectant mother just as she was barged by a large woman who then used her bulk to block the carriage doorway. Her triumph was short-lived as an athletic Chinaman bounded over the scrum and with one well placed kick felled her and leapt into the carriage to claim the last remaining seat.
The savagery and ferocious determination with which seats were grabbed was extraordinary, there were no limits and no-one was spared. People scrambled and climbed, slithered and shoved into seats as though their life depended on it and in this grand melee there was a certain medieval magnificence as though this unleashed savagery was in the service of some majestic quest. Despite the apparent fury and panic I thought seen through the filter of a slow motion camera and with a sepia tint, it would have a noble patina, a sort of Sam Peckinpah-esque feel to it. In the aftermath, back at normal speed, there was a collective sigh of relief by those seated and a collective groan by those still standing. It was musical chairs without the laughs and looking at the pained expressions of the losers you couldn’t help but feel it was no longer about seats but about wounded pride and betrayal. The hurt ran deep.
By the time we detrained (who the hell invented that aberration!) a few hours late, a collective amnesia had descended and the disgraceful episode of the King’s Cross Stampede was now forgotten in all but a few. Normality had resumed, we smiled at one another, and politely held doors open, sparing no effort in assisting our fellow passengers with large and bulky parcels. Together we had decided that the savage seat skirmish was now an anomaly, an unfortunate and yet all too understandable consequence of modern travel, a confusion, a wholly regrettable misunderstanding and probably when all is said and done best forgotten.
That is until next time when a man appears with a megaphone and the screens all say cancelled and there is one seat for ten people, than once again the beast will be unleashed and only the strongest will survive. Sadly that seems to be rail travel these days.

Footnote.

Many years ago the renowned artist and educator, Victor Pasmore was invited to visit a college at which I taught. Pasmore was a very old and frail man who although extremely deaf pretended otherwise. On the evening of his visit he was taken out to dinner by the Head of Department. The following day I asked how the meal had gone and with a pained frown he said the evening hadn’t been a great success. The problem, he recounted had been the small talk. As he said; it was difficult to find things to say to such an illustrious guest that were worth bellowing at full volume in a hushed restaurant.
I don’t know why but I remember saying,’ why is it you never have a megaphone when you need one’? It didn’t really make sense but for some reason we both laughed, and I still do now thinking of my friend bawling at the famous artist as he smiled and feigned understanding, his answers bearing no relation to the question. In its own way it must have been a brilliant and surreal evening.

Weather.

The photographs were taken by my brother, Barry Wood on a recent visit to York and show the flooding that York has become renowned for in recent years. The houses along the banks of the river are now so accustomed to it, they have achieved a kind of celebrity status, proudly showing off the various flood levels they have coped with. It’s a positive response to a potentially disastrous negative situation and the way the weather is increasingly unpredictable, no doubt we will need more positive thinking along with maybe an Ark or two!
Anyway should you like to enjoy some of this wonderful weather first hand and the lovely countryside that comes with it (see next blog for photographs of that), you can stay at Barry and Eve’s lovely holiday home, here is their website.
Crowhill Cottage Home Page

Comments

[Chris Durbin]

This seems to have been repeated at Guangzhou railway station with 800 000 people which seems hard to imagine. Sadly it did cost people their lives. I'd have been tempted to make my way to Drummond Street for a Dhosa!

The sad thing is there used to be unwritten protocols ...old folks first..and so much for adversity bringing the nation together. Bring back ticket barriers and orderly queues. Brilliant observations as usual.

[andy collis]

Hi Tom,
I enjoyed reading through all the info on this site - I've been surfing the net and checking out all your images, though I look forward to trying to see some physically when I am in the UK in July this year. It's also been good to read up on all the autobiographical details that have happened since I last saw you - which was many moons ago - also to see the wonderful painting of Elaine!!
thanks
Andy C