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Meanwhile, down on the platform...

Anybody who commuted from the Blue Mountains and Penrith to Sydney during the railway strikes of the 1970s and 1980s will be able to identify with U3A member, Bernie Fisher, whose humorously plaintive article was published in the Sydney Morning Herald in May, 1984. As I typed this it took me back to many similar incidents that make me not-in-the-least nostalgic for my wasted hours as a constantly-delayed commuter.

Although there is no indication of who drew the Herald's cartoon, I'm willing to bet on it being Dave Keep of Faulconbridge. Dave was head of the Herald's art department at that time and was so incensed with the appalling service from the railways that he kept a diary of the failures on his own trains and occasionally wrote an article about it for the Herald. (He eventually quite his job, sold his house and bought a camper; then with his camera, easel and typewriter to earn a living he and his wife became not-very-grey nomads just to escape from State Rail.)

I am a battle-scarred, weary but hardened inter-urban commuter of nearly 20 years experience. Some people have marvelled that anybody could survive for so long against such formidable foes as the SRA and its unions.

But they overlook the fact that inter-urban commuters are a tough breed, strong but flexible, ready at a news bulletin's notice to find alternative transport to work or home.

Our experiences, our strength and our flexibility are passed on to our children through a diet of ruined meals, late trains and changing timetables. As in their parents, these naturally engender a will to survive, a will to get to and from work, to try to help keep this State going, no matter the odds.

One of the legends I will recount to my grandchildren occurred just a few weeks ago. We call it the May Day Battle of 1984, a day to remember.

It began on platform 15 at Central. We were sitting in the "Chips" awaiting departure at 5.15 pm for the Blue Mountains. Departure time came and went. Nothing happened. There was no message over the intercom, no message from the platform PA system.

At 5.25 the PA system finally burst forth with a command, "All out – this train terminates!" (Terminates? It hadn't even moved.) "The train on platform 15 is defective."

The battle lines were set. Everybody was requested to go to platform 7. Now there was a sight: a trainload of passengers, all eight carriages of us, trying to wend our way onto a platform covered with parcels. And what do we find in the middle of this crowd? Two clowns in a little yellow luggage truck going "beep beep" forcing their way through the milling throng as it tried to progress up on the platform.

So we wait on an empty platform – empty, as in no train – for ten minutes trying to keep our sense of humour. The enemy were at their best, not a peep to be heard from them to give away their position. Then the big announcement again: all over to platform 11. A roar from the mob and the race is on again. Who will be lost or left behind? Who is to miss out on a seat? Who will be trampled in the rush?

As we arrive on platform 11 there is a single deck interurban, the 5.55 pm to Lithgow, waiting for us. It is, of course, by now (about 5.45) just on full. But it matters not, the sheep herd on, all eight double deck car loads of us.

And so we wait. But not for long. You've guessed it, another message from the sponsor. The 5.55 to Lithgow has been blessed and has now been christened the "New Chips" 5.15 to Katoomba. But wait, there is more. A new 5.55 to Lithgow is to leave from platform 15.

Decisions, decisions. We now have a choice. Stay with the sardines and leave soon, or take a chance on platform 15.

We go to platform 15 and guess what? Yep, the original 5.15 to Katoomba awaits us there, apparently no longer sick. And so, exhausted by the running battle we wearily but warily board the train.

We watch the other train (remember, that's the single decker on platform 11 now called the "Chips") pull out. Now the dreaded PA system permeates the carriage with another message. Oh God, not another move. The 5.55 pm to Lithgow is to be the last four cars only. Ha! Ha! Some of us have beaten the enemy for we are in the rear cars. Naturally there were casualties.

Eventually we leave Sydney, at what time we know not, nor care not, just thankful at last we are on the homeward journey.

Now I'm sure you don't want to hear about how we passed the re christened "Chips" at Seven Hills or how it then passed us, like "Chips" in the night, only to hold us up outside Penrith for some time.

I did eventually get home to Blaxland only an hour and five minutes late, but this was to be small consolation to me when I arrived home and found my wife had left me. She could no longer take my late arrivals, the endless ruined meals, the dried-out wasted food, the family eating without their father.

From all battles there must be a happy note. My wife did come back to me. She had actually been to an evening church service to pray for, inter alia, me. Apparently I had been posted as her "late" husband, missing in action.

                    — Bernard Fisher