Did you know, angels swear, scratch their backsides and smoke roll-ups?
On September 24th 1984, our twins were born.
On September 25th, my American employers announced that the following week they were going to move me from Aberdeen to London.
With a two-year-old in tow, and now twins on her hands, it was a testing time for my wife when I headed south.
"But I’ll come back every weekend…" was my plea. And so I did. Rather ingeniously and cheaply, I thought.
On the Friday night, as soon as possible after five, I would catch the tube from Hammersmith to Heathrow – and once there I would make my way to the British Airways desk and buy one cheap hand luggage only standby ticket to Aberdeen.
After that, at maximum speed, I would make my way to the departure gate – always fingers crossed that I would be the first standby passenger to get there and thus be at the head of the queue for any no-shows or empty seats.
Minutes before the gate closed: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have one standby seat that has become available, do we have any standby passengers?"
"Yesss!"
It worked every time. I have never enjoyed the complimentary hospitality – gin and tonic, hot meal and red wine – as I did on those weekly journeys. Though they weren’t, it still felt as if the food and drink was free. And there’s nothing quite as good as that. "Another glass of wine, please." I have heard myself say that. Many times.
The return journey on the Sunday night was not in the same league. Not one wee bit.
Several years earlier, Brian Souter’s new bus company Stagecoach had started offering return trips from Dundee to London and by the time the twins were born, he was doing the same from Aberdeen.
My wife would drop me at Aberdeen bus station near Union Street, I would pay my cheap as chips fare, collect my tartan rug and special Stagecoach baggie containing a bar of chocolate and a cheese sandwich and settle down (as best one can sitting up) for the long night run back to London.
It wasn’t at all the same as the glamour of in-flight gin, but this form of travel worked too. Except that once it didn’t.
It was the winter of the miners’ strike (as immortalised in the piano firewood scene in the movie Billy Elliot) and on this particular Sunday night the coach was only a quarter full – and when we stopped for fuel on the M90 somewhere in Fife it became very evident that our driver was highly sympathetic to the miners’ cause.
"Aye, boys – plenty empty seats – jump up and I’ll gie yous a run down the road," and with that a couple of dozen burly miners climbed aboard.
Was it all a pre-fixed arrangement? Why were they going to London? To harangue 10 Downing Street? Who knows? I never got round to asking. But they were a cheerful enough crew. (Ever since having done my TA recruits course with a bunch of miners, I have had a soft spot for them.)
Hours later, at two or three in the morning, we pull up again for a quick comfort stop, this time on the M6 somewhere in the darkest north of England.
Fatally, post loo, I go and buy another bar of chocolate: and when I return to the bus park – horror of horrors, my coach has gone. I am without my coat, my book, my bag, my ticket, my wallet – and it is raining and it is December. OMG! Whatever am I to do? (Remember this was long before the advent of the mobile phone.) I didn’t even have enough change in my pocket to call home. It was a black moment.
"You all right, son?" "Is your bus away without you?" "Here, step up on board. I’m taking her back to Victoria ’cos the heating’s no workin’ – but I’ve plenty rugs. We’ll be there afore yer ain bus."
In case you didn’t know, angels swear, have stubble, scratch their backsides and smoke roll-ups (Barlinnie Specials, to be exact). This man – wherever you are today! – I am so grateful to you.
Exactly as predicted, I was waiting at London’s Victoria bus station when my own coach drew up. "I think maybe you forgot me…" I said to the driver. He replied that he was very sorry and that he had got confused counting people on and off, what with an extra passenger or two.
Strangely enough years later, at a very posh dinner in Edinburgh Castle, I sat opposite Brian Souter.
"Do you know anything about Stagecoach?" he challenged me, obviously as a prelude to telling me all about his empire.
I replied that I had used his coaches when he first started. But I went no further than that.
At the back of my mind lurked a thought: if I had been the driver that December night, perhaps I too might have given the miners a lift to London…
