London Underground

Fun on the London Underground

　

I had spent a day at the coal face in North London learning how to mark GCSE exam scripts using Epen, an online assessment tool that would do away with the yearly ritual of mountains of scripts arriving at your house from far flung corners of the realm, and even from places overseas such as the Bahamas. Relieved to be out in the fresh air again, all there was to do was to leisurely make my way home to West Sussex via Victoria train station, so I wound my way to the Underground station via passing a building I thought looked like Arsenal Football Club, but what in fact turned out to be Pentonville Prison! 

I caught a tube back to Central London and sat down for the journey of several stops. The compartment was well populated and I found myself sitting almost directly opposite an animated character holding forth to those around him. A middle aged and friendly faced gentleman of portly frame, dressed in a light coloured, rumpled suit seemed to be talking to the whole carriage and not just to the person next to him. I soon cottoned on that we had a premier league eccentric in our midst who was giving a full blown tourist brochure talk on all the places we were passing through (or under!). From Caledonian Rd to Green Park, a full six stops and enough time to enjoy a cappuccino at leisure, we were treated to a rich historical narrative on the wondrous London landmarks directly above us. Having a great sense for the ridiculous, I had to stop myself laughing loud and long, especially as the young lady directly opposite me kept catching my eye and bursting into a giggle. It was fatal to catch the orator’s gaze, as he would start to address you as if you were the only person in the carriage; so I had to settle for frequent glances at him and everyone else to check on the impact.

‘And now we are passing under that great Victorian hostelry, the Berkshire hotel, where weary travellers from the shires would luxuriate in the handsome four posters at night and dine on our famous English breakfast before setting of on a day's sightseeing in the metropolis. The hotel is famous for its rich tapestries hanging in the main hall,’ .....'and now we are passing under the British Museum, at which you can see a splendid exhibition at present of all things Egyptian, mummies plundered from the Valley of the Kings, bracelets and jewellery from subterranean mausoleums and fine pieces of pottery dug from the desert sands; and my mother would look quite at home amongst the exhibits.’ At this he gave an ear splitting grin.

This unexpected aside prompted a reaction from the said lady sitting across the carriage from him, as bizarrely dressed as he was quaintly talking. Clothed in a colourful top and sporting a wide brimmed hat, looking for all the world as if she was teleported from somewhere in South America, she poked him playfully with a walking stick to shut him up, and aimed a light hearted comment in my direction. Out loud I wondered if the gentleman was being employed by London Transport to entertain the troops. Surely a stroke of genius to wash the weary foot soldiers of office and board room with a little subterranean humour.

…'and if you are in need of a little spiritual refreshment, above us is St James Church, a nineteenth century church in the evangelical tradition where you can seek a little solace from the surrounding hustle and bustle, and hear the angelic choir conducted by Marcus Stephens, that doyen of metropolitan musical tradition,'.....

This went on and on in the same vein, the same gentle and inflated prose exalted the pleasures of London landmarks, regardless of who got on or off. My cup of shared giggles with the young lady was truly full as she eventually alighted to tell her mates of the nutter on the tube. Her place was taken in the garden of mirth by a young couple, who let the ceaseless verbiage wash over them with the greatest receptivity.

What made the whole scene even more hilarious was the tendency for our friend to burst into song every now and again to illustrate his meanderings. Truly this was the best part of the day so far. The point arrived that everyone feared deep down, the advert to the whole carriage to join him and mother for a ‘spot of lunch,’ when even the most courageous soul would sink his head into his neck and look the other way.

Such was the union of humour established between the man and his audience that when the time arrived to say goodbye at Green Park, a cathartic moment was established. As I got up to go, I got a personal invite to lunch as mother and son joined me on the platform (together with a wheelchair for mum that appeared from nowhere!) I had to give my excuses. But the best was yet to come. As the train was about to pull away the man stood, faced the train and sang to the young couple who had resisted the temptation to get off with him; at the top of his voice and oblivious to the crowds around him, he raised his hands towards them and gave a rendering of ‘We’ll meet again’ that would have made even Dame Vera wince with pain. Entertainment extraordinaire!