Humanising Language Teaching
Year 5; Issue 5; September 03

Gerry Kenny

lostminute.com

At Victoria we want to buy a train ticket,
But there are lines of enormous queues
At all the windows, all in slow motion.

Even using a credit card is not an option,
For there are no machines to be had here,
And so we too join the silent meditation.

Later, we stand waiting near the platforms
Watching the departure boards, unable
To find our train announced until :

We wish to inform customers that
The 11.50 train from platform 2
Is cancelled due to a carriage shortage.

Is this really what we hear?
Or is there some forgotten dream-switch
Which we have left neglectfully on?

It is now 11.55 and the driver
Of the 11.53 to East Grinstead
Is requested to go to platform 10.

Somebody has lifted the stage curtain
And given us a peep behind the scenes,
Which entertains before we enter trains.

Would Driver Murray please go to platform 10
For the immediate departure of the delayed
11.53 service to East Grinstead.

And when time comes, the show, as it must, goes on
For our stopping train to Faversham is also late
And another announcement seems inevitable.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.
The stopping service to Faversham will not stop
Until Faversham in order to make up lost time.

We apologize for any inconvenience caused
To customers by this lost-minute change and
Thank you for choosing Network South East.


Determination
On the Central Line rush hour tube
On our way to Woodford, we think.
A longish halt at Liverpool Street
Is the scene for an announcement:

All change. This train terminates here.
Eastbound traffic is suspended indefinitely.

The carriage rough and rumble stirs,
Blood pressures, panic unbuttons,
Ready for the final shootout,
Until our boyish driver sounds:

I am not aware of any termination,
Ladies and gentlemen, and therefore
Invite customers to get back on
The train for immediate departure.

We alone as visitors laugh.
Our fellow riders are too used,
Too used to having such hopes dashed.
The punch line puts paid to all revolt:

This is your driver again.
Apparently there is an obstacle
Blocking the line at Stratford.
Nobody ever tells me anything.
But then I am only the driver.


The lost art of stopping

On a bus this time with heavy bags in the rush
Of all this London double-decker darkness
Numbed by the formlessness of the lights.

All the fits and starts of the heavy traffic
Leave us with absolutely no way whatever
Of measuring the distance we've travelled.

I mean, who knows if this is a bus-stop we're at
With people getting on and off downstairs
Or simply the old heave-ho of the King's Road?

All we know is the landmark where we must alight:
The Blue Dolphin Café? Are you sure, mate?
Sounds more like the Bluebird to me.

Unquestioning, we pay the mysterious ticket price,
And he says he'll give us a shout when we arrive,
Even if intuition hints that he never ever will.

Fortunately, a Chinaman behind us hears our French
And discreetly says: Everything OK. I say you when stop.
His broken English instantly mends our dismay.