Lines of disservice

Imagine the Paris Métro has closed an important section of line one between La Défense and Château de Vincennes. Other parts of the Métro, including the link to Orly airport, are disrupted, too.

Two things would not be happening. No member of staff would be anywhere near a platform to explain to frustrated would-be travellers what was going on, or advise them what to do next.

And no announcement would be made informing people that a good service was operating on all lines.


 

London does it differently. When I was back there a few days ago, part of the vital Piccadilly Line service to Heathrow was suspended. There were no District Line trains from Acton Town to Ealing Broadway. Another line, from memory the Circle, was experiencing its own problems.

None of which was enough to discourage the cheery London voice from informing passengers, as you have already guessed, that a good service was operating on all lines.

At least London Underground could not be blamed for the grim onward journey to Luton Airport.

The signs said my train was on time, but a verbal announcement warned passengers needing to travel beyond Luton that they would have to take a replacement bus service. Then the phrase "on time" assumed new meaning as the number of minutes to arrival began to rise rather than fall.

When the train eventually turned up, it managed only a short distance before shuddering to the first of three or four stops between stations. Each halt lasted several minutes. Even when the train started to move again, that movement was painfully slow.

Every so often, a muffled voice would appear from a speaker on the roof of the carriage. The word "problem" could be discerned, but little else.

Finally we reached St Albans. There the train stopped, seemingly for good. Loud, clear public address announcements informed people that nothing was moving southbound.

By the time anyone could be persuaded to add some information for those of us stuck on the northbound train - information that turned out to be no more encouraging - passengers were beginning to scuttle off towards the taxi rank.

The usual suspicion in such circumstances is that your train will suddenly depart just as you climb the stairs and spot a queue a mile long for cabs. There seemed little such risk this time, and within a few minutes I was sharing a taxi with a Scot and a German also with flights to catch.

A couple from Waterford (is there anywhere planes don't go to these days?) pooled resources with a Swiss girl. Two builders from County Tyrone were already on their way, having opted much sooner to flee the train.

The German, perhaps dreaming of a return to a more efficient world after five years in England, was pessimistic about our chances. But he knew the area well and gave useful running commentary on our progress towards Luton. The Scot, most at risk of missing departure, thrust two Scottish fivers into the German's hands, promised (correctly) that they were legal tender and talked of making a sprint for his flight the moment we reached the airport.

In the event, I think we all caught our planes, having added £31 between us to the cost of getting from London to Luton. In my case, the RER and Métro then got me back into central Paris in no time.

There is no particular moral to just one more example of transport misery. The French railway worker's fondness for his strike, or mouvement social, has ensured a few hairy races against time from Châtelet to Charles de Gaulle. And if the Métro seems more reliable than the Tube, that may be because it is a smaller, more compact system.

But I was left with little sympathy for the Livingstone/Delanoë approach to getting around and out of capital cities.

Ban cars by all means, chaps, but not before you can assure travellers of a first class public transport network that actually works. 
* Picture courtesy of Paul Cooper