jml297

My sister and I headed into the city for a concert at the Opera House on a Friday afternoon. It was a mild spring night, with enough of a bite in the breeze to make me glad I’d packed a light jacket and a scarf.

When the bus pulled up, we waited for a couple of passengers to disembark and were greeted by a friendly young driver. We found seats on the mostly empty bus and chatted away as it headed against the flow of traffic into the city. The driver was playing music which was just loud enough to carry into earshot when the bus was idling. It was a mix of rapid electric guitar riffs, a song by the Seekers, and when we made it into the city, some Crowded House. It lightened the mood, and we bid him farewell as we left the bus at Lang Park.

A walk along Circular Quay is always an experience, being caught up among the swirl of a perpetual parade of pedestrians. Along the foreshore, groups gathered, looking for a ferry to catch, or checking out the restaurants. We had a delicious meal before heading into the Opera House. There were knots of tourists taking photos and selfies with the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the background, which is such an iconic backdrop.

The concert was incredible, and along with the rest of the concertgoers, we were swept along as we headed en masse to the buses, ferries, and trains that would take us home.

It wasn’t a long wait at Wynyard, but the bus was standing room only by the time we boarded. No matter, it would empty at Lane Cove.

There was a group of coworkers sitting in the front section of the bus. They were in good spirits, and may have been at a farewell or celebratory dinner as there was a gift bag or two visible. As a couple of them boarded, there was a cheer from the others, and as the bus headed off they continued to talk animatedly between themselves. They weren’t overly loud, and not offensive by any stretch, but it was difficult to ignore them.

Before the bus left the stop, the driver called out, asking for people to move away from the doors in the middle of the bus, and to keep the noise down. People shuffled about, and the noise reduced a little, but once the bus headed off, the chatter and laughter resumed. Night roadworks resulted in a very slow, stop/start journey across the bridge. Once the knot of traffic cleared, we made good time, and as expected, many passengers left the bus at Lane Cove. A little further along, after a few more passengers had disembarked, the bus stayed at the stop on Longueville Road, idling. People continued to chat and laugh. Then the engine stopped. A minute or two passed, and people were looking around, wondering if there was a problem with the bus. Had the bus driver come to the end of his shift? Was someone about to take over to finish the journey? Finally, there was a moment or two of unsettled silence.

’32 years.’

It was the driver’s voice, clear through the now quiet bus.

’32 years. That was the jail term that a driver received after an accident, caused in part by the distraction of noisy passengers on the bus.’

The silence continued as passengers looked at each other.

‘Now I hope you understand.’

And with that, the driver started the bus, and continued along the route. This wasn’t the end of conversations, but voices were softer now, and whilst there were some surprised expressions and quiet protestations that they weren’t making so much noise, the rest of the trip was uneventful.

When we disembarked, we thanked the driver. Quietly, of course.

Postscript: at the time I wrote this, I wasn’t aware that the driver was referring to a horrifying bus accident in the Hunter Valley where 10 people lost their lives in a bus crash.

Photo: a Sydney bus