Frederick Kwesi Great Agboletey Luton UK

Passage Underground
I was on the graveyard shift, well the third shift as we call it here on the London Underground; seems graveyard shift is more an American perspective on somnolent late night shift. Anyway, a lot of things including words have been borrowed to and fro across vast stretching Atlantic. At this time of the morning, just after 1 am, it is mostly quiet, the working transits are virtually non existent and the night clubbing crowd still have a couple of hours before they gush out of noisy, alcohol drenched clubs in one weary mass of exhaustion and straggle through. The Tobolino train heading towards Manchester and places further north leaves Euston exactly on top of the hour before it passes through our station; Harold and Wheadstone, it will be just accelerating at well over 130 mph, at that speed it is a barely visible blur of reds, whites and yellow packing a powerful air current swirling around it dangerously as it roars through. It was just a few minutes pass the hour and we took a cursory look at the TV scanners that were positioned to ensure a good view of the platforms both sides of multiple tracks both sides of four platforms. All seemed calm and altogether dull on all platforms. There had been a few previous unpleasant situations on these tracks that had caused many a bleeding heart to shed copious tears of wasteful disposition of life, albeit difficult to manage at times. To forestall any further such occurrences a solid steel frame had been installed to as much as possible close of the station end of the platform from rolling stock estate of steely tracks, with a presumption to eliminate any driven, tempted or foolhardy enough to entertain very thought, indeed it is so intended that no errant passengers will find themselves in direct exposure to trains moving at end of narrowing platforms. I was on duty with a colleague In his mid-40s he represented foreign, new face of London Underground, originally from Nigeria, with a first degree in sociology, he was shift supervisor, we had a crew of three personnel altogether; of which just one was British, a long term platform employee with barely five years to his pension. In these last few years most staff in customer service and platform signal operations are foreigners. Immigrants who had believed in there being a better economic sustenance abroad, in boiling, broiling belly of old England, who motivated by comparatively better remuneration, are ever willing to do stretching long hours and demanding arduous task of being smiling public front of London Underground. For all that comparatively better pay with its promise of good pension plans, true or false, more foreigners of an altogether

darker skin tone, keep filling roles that it would seem has little appeal to the British islanders themselves. Once the Tobolino stream through it will be mundane normal services, I could grab a cup of coffee or preferably tea. No matter what guises of lattes, mochas, Havana lined, or charcoal laced coffee enticements Nestle may put out there, Tea rules in the Isles. A quick check on dgag monitors and both platforms were empty as expected except for a young man strolling, nonchalantly towards the northern edge of platform number one. Hitherto outermost platform to left, facing north, probably someone who was not attuned to set timetable and will have to wait a chilly twenty minutes for spasmodic late service. It is not altogether unusual for occasionally single person to pace up and down on chilly nights. He, however, was walking at normal pace heading towards cold, far, end of ghostly quiet platform, where steely protective metal railings had been positioned to eliminate possibility of sucking winds lifting anyone under rushing super-fast trains. I looked up and realised that everyone in staff operations room was drawn to monitoring this persons movements. In two minutes northern regional service Tobolino will rush through that particular track, it was a priority to ensure that passengers on platforms were all positioned behind visibly painted and overemphasised yellow line to avoid unpleasant incidents. It was also necessary to forestall any jumpers from casting themselves before passing services. For late shifts this was priority since such incidences tend to occur at quiet unsuspicious hours. By this time he had reached starting point of protective metal barriers and gasp he was squeezing through narrow spaces at end of steel metal barrier till there was no longer any barrier between him and yawning tracks. Jumper! it flared forth, a single word, simultaneously bursting from two or all three of mouths agape at what was quickly developing from a boring shift to a life threatening situation and consequential service delays inevitable. Response reactions were almost automatic; affable Long service employee reached almost automatically for well-worn phone, he placed it to his ears and his fingers were poised over number dials, any minute now alert supervisor will call emergency! then he will dial emergency services. Right about this time there was a deep rumbling as onrushing, approaching Tobolino vibrated tracks in a roaring swoosh of swirling air, a mass of several hundred tons of aluminium heaving towards us; seven hundred and a forty tons to be exact plus weight of human and material cargo. Most persons may think travellers luggage is nothing to worry about weight wise, but a regular traveller myself, I have on more than one occasion seen some travellers lugging around coffin sized luggage that could only be dragged.

Platform personnel were chattering through their radio walkie-talkies excitedly, as they dashed towards far isolatory figure, which kept creeping towards decisive edge of lurking dip between platform and track. Wont reach him in time! one radio voice shouted. Harold and Wheadstone station to Tobolino service 1254, we have a developing situation, possible jumper positioned to leap On board fast approaching train experienced driver had barely a minute and a half to activate emergency breaking procedures at close to 130 miles per hour, with its anti-lock technology it will not make any difference anyhow, he will be through our position in a blink of a moment and if he did apply those breaks will come to a full stop much further down line. Tobolino service 1254 no sight confirmed of any object on or close to tracks, repeat no sighting Then strangest of things happened, as fast moving train was thundering through, of station staff closest person to outermost left northern end of east platform was still a good ten meters from lone figure of young man, who clipped and snapped some metallic lock from his belt to steel bars on a narrow sturdy column on protective barrier and as speeding train rushed past, he spread his arms fully, a swirl of rushing wind caused by turbulence generated by mighty aluminium train hit him head on, bafted and wafted by swirling wind of unrelenting rushing train he almost seemed to float on its air vortices. Strangest of sights I had ever seen. Then it was over. The platforms attendants had reached through railing bars and were firmly holding on to quiescent individual. They had reached just after last carriages on vanishing train had rushed past and instinctively realised he could not be a potential suicide, yet adrenaline was pumping and mind states were just downgrading from absolute alert states to normal. In monitor room, a still quivering supervisor had just about called emergency when he stood transfixed by what was happening all eyes were fixed on that unusual sight of a high speed surfer, a fable bandied among some of very old train hands yet barely seen but by a few. It all happened in less than a minute and a half. No one said a word, when eyes locked it was as though, they were all communicating mentally, one could literally hear their minds projecting their incredulity Is that what it seemsreally Yeah, it sure is, he is surfing swirls Is he just about floating there, for an instant it seems he was lifted plain off solid platform Ehm, yes, just barely Why will anyone want to do something so perilous, reckless, and altogether so dangerous? The thrill, it must be the thrill 3

Ehem, of doing something altogether outrageous, so mind blowing, it is meaningless, just the thrill Some thrill! What makes a man travel thousands of miles, to jump off a bridge, tied, hopefully, to a hemp rope, plunging off a railroad bridge set on edge of a railway bridge on Victoria Falls in heart of Africa, in far off vastness of Africa? A rope, hopefully well knotted, yet altogether meaningless The thrill, nothing but the thrill Weow!, that was too close for comfort