A Curious Thought
In recent years, being a regular bus passenger, I have noticed that the button for the stop bell is frequently embossed with a braille message upon its surface. This has provided many a journey with wandering thoughts about the logistics that are presented to blind people travelling on buses. Braille may be a good idea but how does a blind person know that it is their stop in order to locate the bell button and press it?
On this particular Sunday, I got a few insights from a blind persons perspective. We had wandered through to the bus stop adjacent to Cromer Parish Church and had a good twenty minutes of waiting for the Sanders bus service through to Trimingham where our walk was to commence. There was no hurry to get started and it was intriguing to pass the idle time watching the world go by. Sunday is always a slow start which was reflected in the lack of traffic and the slow shuffled pace with which occasional folk would wander along the street. Some window shopping. Some ambling by with newpapers clutched in their hands or folded under their arms. A dog walker, the dog as lethargic as the walker. Sporadic groups of aging pensioners arrived at the Church whose bells gave a constant peel resounding out across the town, calling the congregation to the morning service. Cars drew to a halt and little old ladies would inch themselves out, some assisted by the driver, until they were upright and off they would wobble under their own steam. Others teetered on fragile legs up the pathway to the church door. Occasionally younger folk would accompany them. And all of these people, every single one of them was turned out in their Sunday best. Sunday best is not just a suit or dress. Sunday best is that attire that is something a little brighter than other formal wear, something that is only brought out of the wardrobe on a Sunday. I never knew people still had Sunday best, but this observation certainly proved me wrong.
It was whilst standing here immersed in this scene that we noticed a man heading toward the bus stop from the town centre. A well dressed chap, but certainly not his Sunday best. Probably in his thirties, maybe a little older. As he slowly paced toward us he swung a white stick to and fro, sweeping it across the width of the pavement clearly indicating that his sight was either non existent or severely lacking. Even so, as he got to the point where we were standing he appeared to know that it was a bus stop. He motioned towards me and excused himself and then asked whether this was the stop for the Norwich bus. He clearly knew I was standing before him so he must have had some residual vision or it was a jolly good guess that I was standing there. Maybe it was a pure guess. Maybe he had the logic that if he uttered a phrase with an expected retort and no reply was forthcoming he could conclude that he was not directly facing anyone.
I informed him that indeed this was the stop he needed. The 44 service was due in a few minutes and I added this information in my reply to which the chap thanked me and added his quandary about not knowing which side of the road he needed to be on, saying that he had thought he needed to be on the opposite side of the road. I assured him that he need not worry, that he was in the correct position and the bus was imminent.
It was in the brief few seconds before the bus arrived that my wandering mind considered the mans quandary. There were two issues with waiting for a bus on the opposite side of the road. Firstly, was the simple fact that there was no bus stop there and therefore no bus would stop anyway. This is unusual as logic dictates that bus stops normally occur directly opposite each other on either side of the road or at least within a few yards of each other. However, this particular stop in Cromer is on the one-way traffic system and as a consequence the buses only head in one direction so anyone waiting for the bus on the opposite side of the road would have to wait until the council decided to restructure the traffic flow and make Church Street bi-directional and then approve the placement of a bus stop on the opposite side. This could take many years. A lifetime even. Thats a long time to wait for a bus. Even if, by fortunate coincidence, this restructuring took place and a bus did arrive, it would present a second issue, namely that the direction of travel would be in the opposite direction to Norwich. Sheringham and Holt would be the expected destinations from that side of the road under a traffic flow restructuring scheme.
The chap interrupted my thoughts to state that he was off to Aylsham and before I could question him on how he would know he was in Aylsham the bus had come into sight and I was informing him of its arrival. The bus drew to a halt. The doors opened. Another couple who had stood waiting allowed the blind man to board first and he stepped up to the driver and requested a single journey to Aylsham to which the driver provided him with a ticket. There was no request to provide a call or shout-out when the bus arrived in Aylsham. He just took the ticket and proceeded into the confines of the bus and took a seat. Hopefully he would know when his stop arrived. But if he could not determine the correct side of the road for the bus stop then how would he know the correct stop in the bus journey. I had visions of him alighting at a village he did not know and ending up at a destination that was not of his required choice. Maybe that was how he had arrived in Cromer. Maybe he had assumed it to be Aylsham. I do wish I had slipped in the question of 'how will you know you are there' just to relieve my curiosity. I had the opportunity but let it slip from my grasp. Therefore I am still left with the curious thoughts concerning the logistics of buses and blind people.
Wild Weather
The night prior to the walk was a bit wild with winds and rain buffeting the tent on the Wood Hill site in East Runton. Even though the rain had ceased and the day was a lot brighter, there were a few doubts about the state of the footpaths. This doubt was somewhat emphasized at Trimingham. The route takes the little lane down the side of the church and within a few yards it presented a flood. Not just a large puddle across the width of the road. No, this was a fully fledge flood. A full 100 yards of muddy water of indeterminate depth that lapped at the raised verges on either side. And beyond that 100 yards the lane curved around to the right and vision of just how far the flood carried on was unknown. On the left we were able to make out a gap in the hedge where the source of the water was still pouring from an eroded gulley in the verge. Torrents issued down, seeping off of the water-logged fields that still had the stubble of the years crops.
After a couple of minutes surveying the scene it was concluded that there was enough grassy verge in front of the high hedgerows to get past the waters. Maybe. Certainly to get to the bend in the lane. The only way to determine for sure was to attempt the feat. So, with a little trepidation, we inched along the left hand verge. The hedge presented a few obstacles with branches that impeded the way forward, but with care we managed get around them. The water course pouring in from the fields was easy to negotiate, it was a simple step over. Then beyond the curve the road met a slight incline, enough to draw it clear of the floods. It took a little time, and a little caution but the length of the flood was circumvented.
Despite this initial flood the rest of the route was surprisingly dry. Even the paths across the river meadows at Gimmingham were not marshy as expected. The only areas that needed a little careful navigation were at the gates and styles where many feet had turned the ground into a quagmire. Even so, there were enough debris to step across and keep ones feet clear of the sinking mud.
More rain issued as we headed up toward Northrepps and the final part of the walk. A shower near Antingham where we took the little shelter offered by a tree, a hedge and some farm machinery. Then more persistent rain when we got to Northrepps, the worst of which passed whilst we took shelter in the pub. Even so the lane up to Sally Beans Cottage was awash with water streaming down it.
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