Times have changed

I remember the first time we visited York in 1984. It was just before the Viking Centre opened, which we have since visited. At the time we were totally engrossed by York Castle Museum. On this first visit, to both my surprise and horror, I saw a virtual replica of my parents front room, from when I was about seven, and we were living in the East End of London. Strange feeling when your own life becomes a point of historical reference.

Felt the same on reading a posting of an article from the N.Y.Times, about "America's Worst Mom", who had been vilified for allowing her nine year old son to travel the metro alone. From the age of about eight until I was thirteen, when the family moved to Sussex, I used to make the journey quite regularly from Plaistow to the City, to visit my Uncle and Aunt for the weekend. It was a different world in the East End then. Of course it would be. Come the late fifties and early sixties we/London/the country were on the cusp of major change. I've never been back and probably never will, although a friend Gary who I discovered also lived there, has suggested we should.

At the time, my mother felt it safe enough to put me on a bus, with strict instructions not to talk to anyone, whilst the conductor was given strict instructions to keep an eye on me. In those days, such an arrangement was possible, even expected and always accepted. It was the same informal agreement that existed with the postman and the milkman. The likelihood then of someone being taken ill or dying and not being found for days or months wasn't feasible with such a network of regular contact - at least not where we were.

My journey was on the Greenline bus, which I think was an older version Routemaster, instead of the regular Red Routemaster. The route made very few stops so once you were on, your travelling companions pretty much remained the same, meaning less risk involved. Plaistow did have an underground but it wasn't possible to make the journey, without various changes on route. The bus allowed me to get off pretty much where I needed to be, with my aunt waiting for me at the stop. This of course wasn't the time of the mobile phone. I've no idea how long the bus ride took, but it was only once we'd got back to my aunt's house, that my mother would know I'd arrived safely the other end.

The Greenline still exists, although the cross London routes, of which mine was one, stopped in 1979. Increasing car use and faster parallel rail services meant passenger use rapidly declined. But between 1957 and 1960, when my family and I were using it, Greenline ridership was at its peak of 36 million passengers a year.