Transport announcements

Transport in London these days is, for the most part, sleek, efficient. The epitome of this newish Utopia is the Elizabeth Line, with its silent, gliding carriages, air-conditioning and wi-fi. The announcements are soothing: I’m sure Transport for London have borrowed from the playbook of those companies that employ women with velvet voices in their customer services departments:

Me: Now listen here. This widget I purchased at great expense from your so-called company has stopped working after only a week. I demand that something be done about it. I know my rights.

Girl with velvet voice: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. I’ll have a replacement sent out to you right away.

Me: Ah, well, erm, thanks, but only if it’s convenient for you, sorry to cause you any trouble, it’s probably only a slight glitch, I’m sure I can….

The automated announcements on the system are certainly better in some respects than the old system. I remember when I used to work in Upminster, I’d get the District Line from Mile End to Barking. At Barking you could either stay on the train and chug slowly to Upminster, stopping at every station en route, or hop off and wait for the British Rail train on the other side of the same platform, and be whisked to Upminster in a fraction of the time.

The problem was, though, that the announcer at Barking would always sound garbled, a circumstance not aided by his mispronunciation of ‘Upminster’. So you would hear something like:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the grnnnf to Upminister grrrnf gronfff late arriving gnnnnng 13.

It was impossible to tell whether he’d said that the train to ‘Upminister’ was running late or was not running late, and while it was amusing to see all these hapless souls looking at each other in bewilderment, it was also frustrating. Half the time if you decided to stay on the train then, just as the doors were closing, you’d see the British Rail train rolling in to the station. (The much-ridiculed British Rail advert of the time sported the strapline “We’re getting there”, to which the obvious answer was, “Yeah, but when?”)
The other half of the time you’d hop off the train and wait for a British Rail train that never arrived.

These days, the automated announcements are much clearer, if slightly bizarre to listen to because of the different pitches of the bits that are plugged in to the computer termplate. I’ve tried to represent this on music notepaper:

There is a problem with automated announcements though. There is clearly somebody, in the bowels of the nerve centre of Transport for London, whose job it is to come up with new and exciting announcements. Perhaps it’s even built in to their yearly plan, forming the basis of their annual feedback session with their line manager:

Line manager: Well, Soames, you’ve somewhat let the side down this year. Your target was to come up with one new announcement every month, but you’ve only managed half a dozen. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?

Soames: Sorry, Sir. My cat, not well, vet…

LM: I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that, Soames. Let’s schedule another meeting for a month’s time. Let’s see if you can’t come up with another announcement or two by then.

How else to explain the utterly inane announcements that are blared out constantly? Here are some of the announcements, followed by my comments to Elaine upon hearing them.

In hot weather, always carry a bottle of water with you to avoid getting thirsty.

Now they tell me! Who knew that being hot makes you thirsty, and that to avoid it you should drink water?

When it’s been raining, the floors may be slippery when wet.

Gosh, if only I’d known. I’d have bought a pair of mountain-climbing boots or skis.

Intense staring is an offence on the Underground.

You mean I’m supposed to ignore that huge bloke who looks like he might be about to mug somebody?

Being abusive to staff will not be tolerated on the Underground.

OK, so where will it be tolerated?

This bus is now moving.

Phew, that’s a relief. I was wondering why the shops had started to disappear behind us.

It’s therefore quite a relief when a human being makes the announcement. A few years ago I was returning home from an education technology conference. The train was gasping along from Olympia to Earls Court, stopping every few minutes. Then the train stopped and didn’t move at all. It was hot, it was crowded, we were all nose to armpit, and you could feel the tension in the carriage. All of a sudden there was an announcement in a very gruff and deep male voice:

I’m sorry for the delay, Ladies and Gentlemen, but the signalman at Earls Court has fallen asleep. As soon as he wakes up we’ll resume our journey, no doubt at our usual blistering pace.

Well of course, everyone burst out laughing and the tension was eradicated.

Then there was the time at Stratford station in East london, when the announcement came over the tannoy:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the train arriving at Platform 15 is being driven by Darren. It’s Darren’s birthday today, so give him a wave.

But the best example of joviality I think was what happened a few decades ago. Someone, at Waterloo I think, was always making announcements to the effect that the 10:32 arrival was running late because the driver had stopped on the way to pick blackberries. British Rail sacked him for bringing the service into disrepute. There was a public outcry by the commuters who regularly used the service, and a short while later he was reinstated.

It’s events like this which give me hope that despite the shenanigans we often witness among people who should know better, the British sense of humour and fair play will prevail in the end.