And yes, before any one gibs at OAP, that is what I am ….. old and in receipt of a state pension having paid my stamps since 1969 and got the aches, senior moments and the bus pass.
 |
| The Talking bus, 2025 |
All of which means that at the stroke of 9.30 am and armed with my concessionary pass I entered one of those new yellow Bee Buses and began the adventure.
It started with that reassuring voice with the message “Welcome to the 86 service to Piccadilly Bus Station”, accompanied by the destination board which alerted me to each stop, I knew I had arrived in the 21st century
All so different from the Route Masters of London Transport or the "corpy red" buses of Manchester Corporation Transport Department.
Back then the driver sat in glorious isolation, the fares were paid to a ticket collector, and you accessed the bus at the rear.
A bit of me still hankers for those rear entry buses, which were so easy to hop on and hop off between stops providing the vehicle was on a crawl, which in the city centre was pretty much always the case.
 |
| Parading nostalgia, Princess Street, 1980 |
That said as iconic as they were these buses were not friends to any one in a wheelchair, with a pram, or who found stepping up onto the platform a challenge.
By contrast my yellow 86 bound for town had the lot which is just as it should be.
 |
| A brace of buses, 2024 |
And I rather like being talked to, especially in the absence of a conductor.
There will be those of us who remember back in the late 1960s travelling the Oxford Road Corridor and smiling at the inventive names given to the University by some of the guards, which ranged from “lazy bones school” “loafers paradise" “dossers haven” and other slightly more derogatory comments.
Now I too was a student but was destined for the College of Knowledge on Aytoun Street and had shed my long hair for a “skin head” early on in my academic career, which meant I could smile along with all the passengers destined for a serious day in the office or at the shop counter.
That said there is also the talking tram or more accurately the talking tram driver, which I often encounter on the route into the city.
There may also be other talking tram drivers available from other routes, but our chap does the lot from updates along the way, explanations for unscheduled stops and points of interest from the “garden in the sky” at Castlefield, to exhibitions in Central Ref and the Art Gallery.
For all I know he may continue his commentaries beyond Victoria, and I have to admit to wanting to stay on till the trams final destination at Rochdale or Shaw.
 |
| Driver's Toilets, Chorlton Office, 2025 |
And that seems a good point to finish, otherwise I might just slip into some nostalgic ramble which would just be self-indulgent tosh.
Sill, enough to say that my experience of the talking bus places me in that long line of talking trains and planes.
Leaving me just to add that the lavatories have finally be reinstated at the Chorlton Office, although they are restricted to Bee Line staff, who had to find a convivence from one of the shops and bars.
So while I know this isn’t the full-blown restoration of a service it does provide a comfort break for our bus drivers and takes us back to when the tram office first opened in 1914. Back then there was a public waiting room and facilities for the tram staff. It’s still there but is now the home of the diving club.
Which means we are back in Chorlton and neatly brings to a close the adventure.
 |
| Chorlton Office, circa 1920s -1930s |
Location; Chorlton Office
Pictures; The talking bus, Chorlton Office, 2025, Parading Nostalgia, Princess Street, 1980, A brace of buses, 2024, Queens Road, and Driver's Toilets, Chorlton Office, 2025, from the collection of Andrew Simpson, and Chorlton Office, circa 1920s -1930s, Lloyd Collection
