Chapter 12

After more than six weeks trying to find a similar job to the one I'd left I realised that it was pointless. My city was a small one and there were only limited positions and even fewer vacancies. I managed to make two interviews but as soon as I was asked my reasons for leaving my previous position I knew that was it. I told the truth of what I'd done but never the reason why for that was no longer a legitimate excuse to me. I needed to work, both for the financial side of it but also to alleviate the boredom. Somehow I ended up driving a bus around the city for PMT (Potteries Motor Traction or Potteries Muck Trucks as we'd all called it as kids which culminated in a lot of bewilderment when adults mentioned an entirely different PMT).

One man operation was only a recent development so the majority of turns still involved a driver along side a conductor. The latter was ideal for me as I was cocooned in my cab with no contact with the real world. The conductor is in charge of the bus so all I had to do was drive. To prevent a team getting stale, or more likely colluding, driver and conductor were changed every week on a thirty two week cycle. The conductors, like the drivers, all talk to each other and word soon spread that I was best left alone. This suited me as it allowed me plenty of the solitude I craved. The wages were poor and the prospects worse but I actually enjoyed it for the most part. It was mundane, yet differing traffic conditions ensured no two shifts were the same.

One amusing incident culminated in the nearest thing I'd ever had to a friend. It started with a small accident when the vehicle I was driving hit and knocked down a set of traffic lights. It was totally my own fault and I was fortunate that I was on the staff bus, which was empty at the time. Because it was four thirty in the morning my concentration wasn't what it should have been and at a crucial moment my foot slipped off the brake pedal. There were no injuries and damage was limited. However it was deemed sufficiently dubious as to warrant a disciplinary hearing. It would be my first at PMT.

Union membership was compulsory at the time so when I attended the hearing I was accompanied by the local shop steward. I was advised, well actually told, not to answer any questions but to let my representative do all the talking. At the hearing there were two management people, the Personal Officer and a junior Traffic Manager. It didn't take long for silliness to start. The union man assured management that the accident was due to the poor design of the foot brake of the Bristol vehicle I was driving at the time. As this assertion was maintained with more and more vigour I ended up laughing out loud, much to the consternation of my defender.

"You find this hearing amusing David?" Asked the Personal Manager.

"Not the hearing." I replied. "But the inane excuse. There are thousands of Bristols in use throughout the country and have been for many years. I was amused because it just seemed ludicrous to blame the design when everyone here knows it was my fault."

The union representative fumed, telling me to shut up and let him talk but I was having none of it. "If you can't tell the truth then I don't want you acting on my behalf." I told him just before he stormed out of the room.

The younger of the two men opposite said with a grin. "Well that's a first for me."

"Me too. Refreshingly honest." Agreed his colleague before he looked at me. "So what do we do know?"

I shrugged. "Whatever is normal given the circumstances."

After some deliberation it was agreed that I was given a verbal warning and sent back to my depot. The union man, along with the senior shop steward were waiting for me outside. I immediately cut off their complaints and informed them that I would not be calling on their services again and would only remain in the union because it was mandatory.

Tim Marsh was the Traffic man at my hearing and I had made an impression on him. Apparently he checked out my file and discovered my management background and qualifications. I didn't know it at the time but he began to sound me out for a move into PMT management. It was during that process that we became good friends if not best mates. Tim, a quite young looking chap, was in his early thirties and was second in command of the whole Traffic Department, not the junior that I'd taken him for.

Six months after I joined PMT I started part time in the Stoke Traffic Office, doing route planning. There were plenty of similarities between this and my old job so I settled in quickly. I found this great because although the money was only marginally better I had half as many early starts and midnight finishes. My private life was solitary. I no longer felt quite as much guilt but I still felt no desire for female company of any kind. A strange but true thing about the buses are the groupies that congregated around the bus stations. I have no logical explanation for this but it did occur and many drivers were known to take advantage. I can honestly say that I was never tempted. Nor did I succumb to any of the temptations working in an office staffed predominantly by young women. I heard more than one rumour and many more innuendos regarding my sexuality. I ignored them all.

"You working this Sunday?" My mother enquired a few months after my promotion as she called it.

"No, although I may swap with one of the lads." I replied. The majority of the other drivers preferred not to work on Sundays, either because they were married with children or just because of tradition. I was the opposite. To me Sunday was the best day to work. It was quiet with little traffic, relatively few passengers around and we had turns that took us on different routes than any other of the week. I had nobody that I couldn't see during the week so I was often approached to swap days off, which I usually agreed to.

"Well can you make sure you have the day off. Your father hasn't been out for a few weeks and you know what a bore he gets." Asked Mum.

I smiled. My Dad did love going out to the pub but rarely went on his own. He had started taking me along when I was about fifteen, teaching me the intricacies of cribbage and dominoes. Once he discovered that I, unlike my elder brother, enjoyed it then the visits became more frequent. At that time he could easily walk the mile or so up to the village of Penkhull where his local was but recently it had become too much for him. His working class roots meant that he could never justify taxi fares so he tended to be reliant on me.