Sudden illness ...now it can be told.
The village of Olveston, seven or eight miles north of Bristol, is associated with a number of my memories. As little more than a boy I sometimes used to come through here on my bicycle for a good long stare at the Severn Bridge, then under construction. I returned to Downend via Avonmouth and the centre of Bristol. Where did I find the energy? Not so very long after ...was it 1967? ...I was making a delivery to the village's general store for my first employer when the very first Concorde prototype passed directly overhead on its maiden flight from Filton.
Ten years later I was driving buses to Olveston. Here, too, there were noteworthy happenings. This duty involved leaving Bristol Bus Station at 05:42. Upon reaching Olveston the bus departed at 06:38 for Filton, being mainly patronised by BAC and Rolls-Royce workers. It returned at 07:13 from Filton to Olveston, leaving the village for the second time at 07:46 for Bristol. One morning, approaching Olveston on the journey from Filton, I noticed something odd about the trajectory of a motor-cycle approaching from the opposite direction. It seemed to be veering out towards the crown of the road ...cripes! ...on a collision course with the bus. With a tall hedge on the nearside there wasn't much I could do by way of "avoiding action". As the motor-bike got closer I could see sparks coming from underneath. I squirmed the bus up against the hedge, the motor-bike zoomed under the cab window and struck the back corner a glancing blow. The rider went sprawling across the tarmac but got up with no more than abrasions and torn clothing. He said that he had lost control when his bike's stand had dropped down into contact with the road.
On another morning when I was doing this same duty I had somehow not particularly fancied my breakfast. Throughout the duration of the two journeys to Olveston I felt progressively queasy. Back at the bus station I pondered whether or not to make an attempt on some canteen toast. But suddenly I knew I was going to be sick. I made a dash for the staff toilets and just made it, slamming and bolting the door behind me ...although hurling is a difficult thing to keep entirely to one's self. There was a hissing noise in my ears and I blacked out, coming to ...I suppose a few moments later... on my knees with my left elbow on the crapper seat. I caught a city bus home, feeling terrible. Wouldn't you know it, there was some sort of "bomb scare" in Stapleton Road and the traffic was at a standstill. I remember the bus was full of Mormon missionaries and we were eventually diverted up Thrissell Street.
This was one of four or five episodes that occurred during my thirties of "stomach upsets" involving near or actual loss of consciousness. I was careful not to mention the loss of consciousness part at work; they'd have taken me off the road, sent me to the Company doctor and I'd have spent the rest of my days sweeping up in the canteen. The scariest incident occurred on the 820 limited stop service from Gloucester. I manoeuvred down Gloucester Road in the Mk II Leyland National, in and out of the ever-present parked cars and double-parked lorries making deliveries from their tail-lifts, hardly knowing who or where I was and actually shaking my head like a dog flicking off water, in order to stay conscious. I "went sick" upon reaching the bus station.
The most embarrassing of these occurrances happened during the minibus era and culminated in a precipitate dash around to the back of the vehicle where, with both hands on the body panels and my head hanging between my shoulders I ralphed onto the asphalt of Brislington Square. I don't think I've had a "stomach upset" since.
The bus, a Bristol LH then little more than a year old, was photographed waiting to depart from Olveston (Post Office) on the journey to Filton. It was Tuesday 12th July 1977 and must have been about 6:30 in the morning. The background is remarkably unchanged. I had feared uPVC windows but, on Google Street View all the correct four-up three-across windows remain ...in fact that one above the bus's destination has had its glazing bars restored. Full marks to the owner.
Sudden illness ...now it can be told.
The village of Olveston, seven or eight miles north of Bristol, is associated with a number of my memories. As little more than a boy I sometimes used to come through here on my bicycle for a good long stare at the Severn Bridge, then under construction. I returned to Downend via Avonmouth and the centre of Bristol. Where did I find the energy? Not so very long after ...was it 1967? ...I was making a delivery to the village's general store for my first employer when the very first Concorde prototype passed directly overhead on its maiden flight from Filton.
Ten years later I was driving buses to Olveston. Here, too, there were noteworthy happenings. This duty involved leaving Bristol Bus Station at 05:42. Upon reaching Olveston the bus departed at 06:38 for Filton, being mainly patronised by BAC and Rolls-Royce workers. It returned at 07:13 from Filton to Olveston, leaving the village for the second time at 07:46 for Bristol. One morning, approaching Olveston on the journey from Filton, I noticed something odd about the trajectory of a motor-cycle approaching from the opposite direction. It seemed to be veering out towards the crown of the road ...cripes! ...on a collision course with the bus. With a tall hedge on the nearside there wasn't much I could do by way of "avoiding action". As the motor-bike got closer I could see sparks coming from underneath. I squirmed the bus up against the hedge, the motor-bike zoomed under the cab window and struck the back corner a glancing blow. The rider went sprawling across the tarmac but got up with no more than abrasions and torn clothing. He said that he had lost control when his bike's stand had dropped down into contact with the road.
On another morning when I was doing this same duty I had somehow not particularly fancied my breakfast. Throughout the duration of the two journeys to Olveston I felt progressively queasy. Back at the bus station I pondered whether or not to make an attempt on some canteen toast. But suddenly I knew I was going to be sick. I made a dash for the staff toilets and just made it, slamming and bolting the door behind me ...although hurling is a difficult thing to keep entirely to one's self. There was a hissing noise in my ears and I blacked out, coming to ...I suppose a few moments later... on my knees with my left elbow on the crapper seat. I caught a city bus home, feeling terrible. Wouldn't you know it, there was some sort of "bomb scare" in Stapleton Road and the traffic was at a standstill. I remember the bus was full of Mormon missionaries and we were eventually diverted up Thrissell Street.
This was one of four or five episodes that occurred during my thirties of "stomach upsets" involving near or actual loss of consciousness. I was careful not to mention the loss of consciousness part at work; they'd have taken me off the road, sent me to the Company doctor and I'd have spent the rest of my days sweeping up in the canteen. The scariest incident occurred on the 820 limited stop service from Gloucester. I manoeuvred down Gloucester Road in the Mk II Leyland National, in and out of the ever-present parked cars and double-parked lorries making deliveries from their tail-lifts, hardly knowing who or where I was and actually shaking my head like a dog flicking off water, in order to stay conscious. I "went sick" upon reaching the bus station.
The most embarrassing of these occurrances happened during the minibus era and culminated in a precipitate dash around to the back of the vehicle where, with both hands on the body panels and my head hanging between my shoulders I ralphed onto the asphalt of Brislington Square. I don't think I've had a "stomach upset" since.
The bus, a Bristol LH then little more than a year old, was photographed waiting to depart from Olveston (Post Office) on the journey to Filton. It was Tuesday 12th July 1977 and must have been about 6:30 in the morning. The background is remarkably unchanged. I had feared uPVC windows but, on Google Street View all the correct four-up three-across windows remain ...in fact that one above the bus's destination has had its glazing bars restored. Full marks to the owner.