The poetic 65 bus....

Still on the subject of Seeing Things: A Memoir by Oliver Postgate, it touched me to learn that daily, he hopped on board a no. 65 bus as part of his journey from Finchley to his earliest art lessons at Kingston College. The route has changed somewhat since the late 1930’s, but the bus is still in existence, cutting a transport lifeline through west London. Oh, the poetry of that voyage; originating in Kingston, the 65 bus travels through the streets of Ham, down Sandy Lane and past Petersham Meadow before descending into the art deco delight that is Richmond. Outside of the train station, the bus seems to pause in prep for breathing in the perfumed air that absolutely must waft over the walled enclosure of Kew Gardens. Refreshed, the 65 bus heads through Kew village, past the green and across the bridge, then travels west alongside the sparkling waters of the Thames. Turning north, the bus manoeuvres relentlessly through Brent, skirting Gunnersbury Park and Walpole Park, past classical portico and Gothic spire, until the green and pleasant pastures of Ealing come into sight. I don’t know why, but this event always puts me in the mood for afternoon tea, even if the journey is in the morning. As passengers alight at the terminus, it is tempting to reach out and stroke the body of the bus, parked as it is on the Broadway, like a faithful horse harnessed and ready to canter southward again.