Just an amusing interval!
Years ago when we were in London with the family, probably the first time we took the girls aged 6 and 8, with the boys, aged 10 and 12 we travelled a lot on the underground. It was a little nerve wracking because our youngest was about as tall as the average adult knee and we would hold her hand as she swam between the legs of people too tall and preoccupied with catching the train before it drew out of the station, to notice a wee one. We didn’t lose any of the children which was quite miraculous when you consider the number of brollies that go missing on public transportation in England during a year!
We met all sorts of people passengering with us on those packed carriages. One in particular was a homeless woman who unpacked all her possessions to the great glee of the children, odd items like a tea pot, a mug, a rain hat and a very large alarm clock which she told the children was her watch…
On the platforms there were drunken people who ignored the crowds to declaim loudly and gesticulate without regard to people hurrying past. Waiting for a train on a platform was equally as amusing. Expected train arrival times would be displayed on a ticker screen that showed different destinations and important announcements for changing to other lines, new platform numbers and other information for the harried traveller who may or may not be keeping an eye on the rapidly updating monitors.
Sometimes the trains were cancelled…other times they were delayed and on the particular day I’m thinking of the delays seems to be interminable, from 3 minutes to 10 minutes; then as the seconds ticked by and the arrival time was imminent with no tell-tale rush of wind hurtling down the tunnel announcing an approaching train, the ominous setback to seven minutes for about the umpteenth time had a distraught and noisy man, who had been impatiently pacing and loudly mumbling declaim vehemently:
“SEVEN MINUTES!” and we all thought he was going to fling himself over the yellow line, off the platform and onto the cold rails below.
The children were agog!
Such was their horror and amusement that whenever we hear the phrase, “seven minutes,” they shout loudly “SEVEN MINUTES!” followed by peals of laughter.
This week at school, twelve years on, I’ve found myself giving the seven minute call to alert my students that their time is almost up for finishing their exam.
They just write a little quicker, shift in their seats, flick their hair out of their eyes and re-cross their legs…
Not one of them responds with the habitual McNeny classic…
“SEVEN MINUTES!”
But then they wouldn’t would they?