The sight of a bus doesn’t fill us with transports of delight

Published 60 years ago, the Beeching report aimed to make Britain’s rail system more efficient. On a rail replacement bus, Ian McMillan asks what went wrong?
Twisted rail tracks after a land slip from Hatfield Collery, Stainforth, DoncasterTwisted rail tracks after a land slip from Hatfield Collery, Stainforth, Doncaster
Twisted rail tracks after a land slip from Hatfield Collery, Stainforth, Doncaster

There’s a three-word phrase that strikes unease and despair into the heart of the regular traveller. No, not “leaves on line”: we’re used to them now. Not “points failure ahead” because as regular travellers we accept that certain things are beyond our power. No, the three-word phrase from Hell is “rail replacement bus”. Sorry if I’ve spoiled your morning, fellow commuters.

For the past few weeks, and for the next few weeks, rail travellers east of Doncaster have had to board these buses to get to places like Scunthorpe or Cleethorpes following the major landslip at Stainforth. The other day I was visiting Grimsby and had to go on one and, to be honest the prospect wasn’t filling me with the Barnsley equivalent of joy.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

They mostly put rail replacement buses on on Sundays, which is one of the reasons I never try to work away from home on Saturday night. You arrive at the station early on a Sunday morning. Coaches are lined up in the short-stay car park. Men in hi-vis tabards clutch clipboards. The unseasoned traveller will walk past them thinking they’re organising a school trip. The seasoned traveller will be glad they didn’t pack much luggage, glad they went to the toilet before they set off. At least there’s no class distinction on the Rail Replacement Bus: First Class mingles with Standard Class, the Barbour Jacket with the baseball cap in an almost Orwellian model of a perfect society.

At least they don’t call them Special Rail Replacement Buses any more, either. I remember being on a station once when they announced that a special rail replacement bus was waiting outside and a little boy near me got very excited. “Mummy,” he chirruped, “we’re going on a special bus!” Ah, the innocence of youth.

So there I am at Grimsby Town station in the middle of a weekday afternoon. The electronic timetable on the wall tells me that a bus will take us to Doncaster at 15.15. Trains wait in the station, but they’re either going straight to Cleethorpes or up the coast to Barton on Humber. As a collector of small mercies I’m pleased that this is a kind of Express Rail Replacement Bus because it’s taking us straight to Doncaster and not calling at Thorne or Crowle, which could add a while to the journey.

We’re a motley bunch, us passengers. There’s Nervous Bloke who keeps asking people where the bus will park. People point outside, near the taxi rank. He asks again. We point. He asks a man at the ticket office, who points. There’s Older Couple who are going on holiday, although they’ve got so many cases they look as though they’ve been evicted from a very large house. There’s Cheerful Bloke, who keeps whistling tunelessly. There’s Woman With Fish and Chips Wrapped Up. There’s Silent Man. There’s me.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

A bus pulls in, near the taxi rank. Nervous Bloke asks “Is this the bus?” We nod. The bus is fairly full, and the odd thing is that nobody gets off except the driver, who comes into the waiting area and shouts “Anybody for Cleethorpes?” We shake our heads and Nervous Bloke asks the driver if this is the bus for Doncaster.

The driver looks amazed. “Cleethorpes, pal!” he says, a little tetchily. This is the bus that isn’t on the electronic timetable, the one that’s come from Doncaster, presumably stopping at lots of stations along the way. It’s an example of the phenomenon of the Random Rail Replacement Bus, the one that just trundles into the car park when you’re not expecting it, sometimes even baffling the men in hi-vis jackets. They look at their clipboards and there’s no enlightenment there, none at all. The Cleethorpes bus leaves and another bus appears. It’s our bus! It’s not, by any stretch of the imagination, a luxury coach, but it’ll do the job.

The driver gets off and opens the luggage compartment at the side. I almost expect to see Standard Class passengers tumble out. Nervous Bloke asks everybody if this is the bus to Doncaster. Except he’s so nervous he keeps saying Train. “Is this the train to Doncaster?” We all nod.

On the bus, I scuttle towards the back. There’s a toilet. I could have had that cup of tea in the café at Grimsby after all!

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

As we roll out of Grimsby Silent Man falls instantly asleep on the seat in front of me. Nervous Bloke keeps looking at his watch. Woman With Fish and Chips Wrapped Up unwraps them and begins to eat them, filling the entire coach with the smell. Cheerful bloke stops whistling tunelessly and begins to check out all the ringtones on his phone.

Ah, the Rail Replacement Bus! Hurry up and get that landslip fixed!