The Mystery Tour



We all boarded the bus in the early morning sunshine: mums, dads, children and grandparents. The teenagers clambered to get upstairs first - freedom away from the prying eyes of their elders. The excitement was palpable, “Where do you think we will be going?”
“I reckon the seaside,” said one mother, “It’s such a glorious day and the temperature is rising.”
“Oh, I hope not,” exclaimed an older grandmother whose dry wrinkles reminded me of the ripples on the beach long after the tide had ebbed. “All that sand gets everywhere.”
It seemed that although the bus was now full not everyone was embracing the concept of a mystery tour. “I’m only here because you thought it would be good if the whole family came along.”
“That’s right,” replied the dad with the short-sleeved shirt, arms bristling with tattoos, “Stop your moanin’. It’ll be great for the kids. It’s not all about you, you know.” 
The grandmother cast a disapproving glance and sat down, muttering, “I just like to know where I’m going.”
To be fair, the majority were embracing the spirit of the trip when the conversations were interrupted by the gentle throb of the engine being switched on, accompanied by the hiss of the hydraulics as the doors closed and the bus lifted a few inches higher off the ground. The microphone crackled and the driver’s voice welcomed us aboard before reminding everyone to fasten their seat belts, settle back and enjoy the ride. 

There was music playing from the speakers including such golden oldies as Cliff Richard’s ‘We’re All Going On A Summer Holiday’ and Mungo Jerry’s ‘In The Summertime’ but it was occasionally drowned out from the back of the bus with choruses of ‘The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round’. The driver navigated a myriad of country roads trying to avoid the potholes and every now and then we would get a sharp bump that made us all momentarily go silent before the general chattering started once more. Eventually, the microphone crackled again and the driver announced that there wasn’t far to go now. To make the last part of the trip all the more exciting and to add to the sense of mystery we were instructed to look in the pocket of the seat in front of us where we would each find a blindfold. We were asked to put this over our eyes for the last few miles and not to take it off until we had arrived. The sun was still beating through the windows as everyone fumbled with their blindfolds. Adults helped children and grandparents helped each other until, amid the laughter, everyone had blotted out the light and we all sat still in the dark. It was a bizarre sensation, rather like being in the middle of the night on a bumpy road but in the heat of the midday sun. ‘Good Vibrations’ by the Beach Boys playing from the overhead speakers kept up the sense of fun. I was aware that we were travelling at speed when the the bus began to take a sharp right-hand turn and the driver’s microphone crackled once again. I could sense the sun and heat had moved from the side of the bus and must now be coming straight through the front windscreen.

Suddenly the bus lurched, accompanied by a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. The driver gave a yell through the open microphone, “Shit, I can’t see a fucking thing!” I tore the mask from my face just in time to see that we had hit a flagpole in the grounds of a castle. The windscreen had shattered and glass was flying down the aisle of the bus. I caught a glance of the driver in his rear view mirror. His bald, round head was gashed but his little beady eyes were cold and emotionless. The bus hurtled on. The falling flagpole lanced through the shattered windscreen and shot down the aisle narrowly missing the people on each side. The Union Jack was shredded into pieces on the remaining glass shards. I quickly glanced around at my fellow passengers who were by now screaming and frantically tearing away their blindfolds. I caught sight of a sign. It read ‘Barnard Castle.’ Then the bus left the road and the ground and dropped over the edge of a cliff. We were in free-fall. Arms and legs flailed uncontrollably as we fell - down and down. They say memories flash before you in moments like this but the only thing I could recall was the lettering that I had read on the side of the bus as we boarded; it had something to do with money for the NHS.


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Articles and photography copyright of Tom Langlands

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