After Blaisdon by Tony Brady

It is amazing what situations the Blaisdon Old Boys experienced in their life's work after they left Blaisdon Hall or its environs. Below is a particularly interesting on from Tony Brady

KEEPING A HOLD OF ONE’S PASS

I could not believe my eyes. Could it be real? Was it a trick of my imagination? A mirage perhaps! I looked again, then stared intently at it. Yes: it was what I first thought it was. Now I was sure. What was before me was an Ulsterbus. But why on this road as it was not a designated bus route? Where was the driver? Could this be the first chance ever to use my bus pass? It was the only concession I had been awarded two years ago after a lifetime of paid taxes and contributions. Free spectacles? Free dental treatment? Free chiropody? Forget it! And the rest. All a futile socialist dream..

Now was my chance to hop on the bus for a free ride to Tempo. I fumbled for my wallet and fingered over the various plastic cards it contained. Damn! I had forgotten to bring it. Never mind: I had the one I never leave home without: my GLC Pass no less. I had worked in County Hall, home of The Greater London Council (GLC), for eight years until it was abolished by the government of Margaret Thatcher in 1986. Just across Westminster Bridge, a short stroll from The Houses of Parliament, she had condemned it as the citadel of the looney left, the Trotskyite alternative seat of government, the Bolshevic Kremlin.

As one of the “loonies” I knew like everyone else that Maggie’s term was a misnomer, for everyone in County Hall knew that Lambeth Town Hall was where the Militant politburo held sway. My supreme boss was Ken Livingstone, the demonised Leader of the then GLC: how complete it would have been were his forename Boris. He worked in the main original building while my cadre was situated in the tacked-on “gulag” known as The Island Block. It was actually built on a traffic-roundabout and was entered from the second floor of the main building’s South Block by an enclosed corridor bridge. From my desk I had a panoramic circular view. The full radius took in St. Thomas’ Hospital, The Palace of Westminster, The former Lambeth Women’s Lying-in Hospital, the metropolitan taxi’s entrance to Waterloo Station and The Florence Nightingale Pub.

Ken Livingstone sometimes visited our Section, which was positioned between The Squatters Section and The Grants Unit. From the latter, according to myths put about by the pro-Thatcher press at the time, Ken’s staff dispensed unrestrained public funds largesse to lesbian, gay and ethnic minorities and was even said to have channeled funds to Libya, Cuba and freedom movements world-wide. In mock reverence, the chair Ken sat on when visiting our Section, was venerated and reserved for his exclusive use. At Abolition time it was a prize in a sweepstake which I won. I kept it at home for a number of years and brought it with me when I moved to Northern Ireland in 1997. Later, I bought a vintage Ferguson tractor and modified the chair, fitting it to form its driving seat, where it can be seen to this day.

Another token I retained was my GLC Security Pass. Colleagues had laughingly said to me, that armed with it, I would be able to enter any public building in the world: “The Coliseum, The Tower Of Pisa, you name it!” They recalled the story put about by his opponents which had Ken Livingstone visiting Russia. It is worth re-telling.

While staying in Moscow, Ken decided to visit the Kremlin and was given unrestricted access to all buildings and monuments. Like all devout socialists he decided to visit the Tomb of Lenin. Although the queue was nearly a mile long Ken was informed that, due to his status, he could bypass the freezing file and found himself at the front. At the mausoleum entrance, the guards demanded to see his identification. He duly showed his passport. The response was “Niet!” That’s No for those who don’t know - sorry about the pun. He then showed his special visa documents. “Niet!” was repeated. He presented his return air ticket. “Niet!“ once more. Then Ken had a brainwave: he produced his GLC Pass. The effect on the guards was immediate. “Da! Da! Da!” Propelled with their enthusiastic back-slapping he was escorted in. When he completed his visit and came out into Red Square an official car with outriders was standing by to escort him to his accommodation. “Dastvedanya! Mr. Livingstone!”

Which brings me neatly back to the Ulsterbus. It was empty of passengers. Soon the driver appeared from behind a hedge. I bid him the best of the day and he explained that he was “off route and out of service” and speedily drove away. Now in its third year of issue my bus-pass is still unused. As for my ex GLC Pass, I like to think that the possibilities of its use will one day be realised, when I finally set off for that around the world in eighty days trip that I have been promising myself before I die.