This is a story about a narrow escape I had when I was a student, and how the incident came back to haunt me many years later!
A student at Bangor
The picture shows the main Arts Building of Bangor
University, North Wales, where I was a student in the early 1970s. It’s the
cathedral-like structure at the top of the hill in the background – the actual
Cathedral is the less impressive building in the foreground! You might also be
able to see the steep slope in front of the Arts Building.
In my final year my regular route to college was across a
road and up that hill – and quite often to the top floor of the College as well
– I was lot fitter in those days!
Crossing the road
At that time the road was part of the main A5 route that
snaked through Bangor on its way to the Menai Bridge and Anglesey, and was
hence quite a busy road. Fortunately there was a pedestrian crossing that I
could use, and that is where my story begins.
For anyone not in the know about UK traffic laws, a “zebra”
crossing is one on which pedestrians have right of way – if somebody steps on
to the crossing the traffic must stop. It is, however, up to pedestrians to be
sensible about this – if you don’t give a car enough time to stop and you end
up in hospital, that is your fault!
One morning I reached the crossing as a car was approaching
slowly with plenty of time to stop. However, when I stepped into the road it
became clear that the driver had no intention of stopping and would have hit me
if I had not got a move on to get clear. I turned round to shout some choice
words at the driver of the car, which was still trundling slowly forwards.
“Sorry, mate”, he yelled, “I can’t stop, my brakes have failed!”
“What are you driving it for, then?” I shouted back, to
which the reply was: “Well, I’ve got to get it to the garage somehow, haven’t
I?”
For years afterwards I used to tell this story as an
illustration of just how stupid some car drivers can be – until the day that
the boot was on the other foot!
A flashback
I inherited my late father’s black VW Beetle in 1983, which
was the impetus I needed to learn to drive. I was living near Salisbury in
Wiltshire at the time and, after passing my driving test, made several solo trips
to explore the countryside of that part of the world. Salisbury sits at the
confluence of several rivers that have cut quite deep valleys in the chalk
landscape, which means that most of the routes out of town have to go up appreciably
steep hills. I was going down one such hill when I was suddenly made aware that
pressing the brake pedal was having no effect at all.
I did know enough about cars to appreciate that “pumping”
the brake pedal can sometimes work if there has been a loss of brake fluid, so
this is what I did, as well as driving in low gear. However, in order to get to
a repair garage I had to drive right through the middle of the city of
Salisbury, complete with its pedestrian crossings.
As I approached one such crossing, with people looking ready
to cross, I pumped the pedal as hard as I could, but it was clear that I would
not be able to stop in time. I therefore sounded the horn, flashed the lights,
and opened the window to explain the situation to the people standing on the
pavement.
My mind flashed back ten years and I found myself calling
out, “Sorry I can’t stop, my brakes have failed!”
© John Welford
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