Just The Ticket

Just the Ticket

A Short Story
by
Geoffrey C. Olive

The train was on time, but I wasn't. As I dashed towards the ticket office to get a ticket, I realized that I would miss the train and have to wait another thirty minutes for the next one. I would miss the connection to Waterloo. It was decision time. I grabbed the old return ticket I'd kept from last week, that was still in my pocket, and ran towards the platform gate. The ticket collector saw me coming and I thought he would demand my ticket and notice that it was out of date. At best, I would have to go back, buy a ticket and miss my train, or worse, get reported for ticket fraud. With my thumb covering the date, I was ready to wave it vaguely in his direction, hoping he wouldn't stop me to check it. I saw him smile, and wave me through the gate with a "Get a move on" gesture.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I made it to the platform just as the guard was about to wave his flag for the train to start. In the early 1970s, the carriage doors were not automatic. They had to be opened manually just like doors at home. The guard saw me and patiently waited until I boarded the train and closed the door. The train pulled away. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The connection to Waterloo was on time and so was I. As I took my seat, I remembered I was still clutching last week's return ticket. I would have two choices when I got to Waterloo. I could tell the ticket collector at the platform gate the truth that I didn't have a valid ticket and pay the fare or I could try and pass through by waving last week's ticket. The first choice was quite acceptable as many ticket offices were often closed or platform gates unmanned, so passengers sometimes had no choice but to board trains without a ticket. Occasionally a ticket inspector, who would allow passengers to purchase a ticket as well as checking for invalid or expired season tickets and other misdemeanors, would be on the train. I think there may have been a price penalty added so passengers without tickets wouldn't claim to have just got on at the last stop. Luckily, there was no ticket inspector on board, so the first choice was still available. The second choice was to attempt what I almost had to do earlier - show the old return ticket hoping it wouldn't be checked and seen to be out of date. Unlike modern automated ticket systems, in 1971, ticket collectors stood at gates as passengers left the platforms. One way tickets were collected and dropped into a special box, usually without being checked. Return tickets were checked and clipped with a special plier tool. However, busy London stations, such as Waterloo, had so many people rushing to leave that the collectors were often overwhelmed. Then, both of the platform's double gates were opened to cope with rush hour passengers. Sometimes there would be two ticket collectors, but this was unusual, so an extra ticket box would be put out for passengers to deposit their used tickets. Return ticket holders, who were not close to the ticket collector, would wave their tickets and call out, "Return", and exit rapidly. I decided on this strategy for today. As a poor student, although dishonest, it would save me some money and everyone avoided paying for railway tickets whenever possible, didn't they?

What if something was not as expected or went wrong? I needed a contingency plan. I remembered, as a small boy in the 1950s, my friends and I often took advantage of the rather easy movement from platform to platform without leaving the station on London's public train system. We would buy a very cheap return ticket to the next station, and could still travel anywhere on the Underground. Provided we didn't try to leave any station, and returned, the ticket collector was no wiser, as our return tickets were valid. Once at a station somewhere in central London, we went up an escalator and, at the top, the only way to the return platform was blocked by a ticket collector. Our only option was to go back down the 'up' escalator! Luckily there were no people coming up to encounter several small boys scampering down the wrong way. Today, I wondered if this could be my backup plan at Waterloo?