Signs of Life

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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Stranded

"Why don't you just get some information on the area and relax, today?" Those were my husband's words as he prepared to leave for the conference he was attending in Swindon, in England's Wiltshire region. After a full day in our own time zone, followed by a 9-hour flight and a drive through the English countryside, we were completely exhausted by the time we hit pillows on the previous night. I suppose he assumed I was jet-lagged.

Left behind in the hotel with a map that had a yellow highlighted line telling me how to walk to the town centre of Swindon while he drove the rental car to his conference, I pondered only briefly before grabbing my backpack and camera and heading out the door.

I would go gather information on the area, sure; but since the trip was going to be a short one, I felt like I had to make the most of my time. My British friend, Martin, had given me some wonderful suggestions for sightseeing. All I had to do was figure out how to arrive in those historic places.

Armed with my map, and loaded down with a heavy camera, light raincoat, umbrella, a bottle of water and granola bars, I began to walk the mile-and-a-half to town to visit the Information Centre. The terrain reminded me of San Francisco, but the trip to town was, fortunately, mostly downhill.

At the Information Centre, I found bus and train schedules and settled on a trip to Avebury to see its stone circle, followed by Devizes. I asked for help reading the baffling bus schedule and locating the station, then traipsed over to the wrong bus slot. Fortunately, I was quite close and the people I questioned were willing to help me locate my bus.

I boarded the correct bus, made a fool of myself trying to ask for a round-trip ticket using the correct terminology, but unable to remember Martin's advice (the correct word is "return", not "round-trip") and headed to Avebury. In Avebury, the weather was incredible with a sky speckled in fair-weather clouds, a cool, gusty wind I was told was the leftover from "your American hurricane" and a springy warmth. I walked around, admiring the ancient stone circle––much like Stonehenge but on a grander scale and with more pieces missing––exploring around the village and in the museum, and hiking up a hill to view the circles from above, accompanied by some rather friendly sheep.

By the time I finished snapping photos in Avebury, cloud cover had rolled in. I waited for the bus to Devizes and climbed in just in time to miss the rain. So far, my first day of touring the British countryside had been a breeze.

Devizes turned out to be another matter entirely.

When the bus unloaded us into the town centre of Devizes, I realized I had no map of Devizes and no idea which way to head in order to locate its castle. Where was the Information Centre? It should be nearby. I followed the crowd to what turned out to be the main shopping area. Still no Tourist Information Centre, so I did what most women do when faced with such dilemmas––I went shopping.

The plan was to make my way back to the bus stop in time to catch a bus that would return me to Swindon in time for David's return to the hotel, around 6:00 p.m. Close to the correct time, I made my way to the bus stop. My poor Southern feet, accustomed to hopping in cars, were killing me. So, I sat just behind and to the right of the bus kiosk, on a small set of concrete stairs. To my right and left, teenagers were milling about, shoving each other, laughing and having a general good time. I made the irrational assumption that they and others nearby were waiting on the same bus.

Wrong. The bus arrived and as I pulled myself up off the steps, I watched my ride home drive right by. The driver had glanced at the kiosk and continued without stopping. Horrors! I actually ran after the bus for a moment, in the hopes it would stop farther down the road, but the bus kept going. Now what?

I'm not shy, so I looked around and found a small grocery store, where I asked about the bus. Was I reading the schedule correctly? Would there be another bus coming along? Yes, but not until 7:00, which meant just over two hours of waiting in increasingly nippy weather. I bought some cheese and crackers and sparkling Irish mineral water and returned to the steps to ponder. The other stores had all shut down at 4:30 and the 4:45 bus had left me stranded outside. No more comfy indoor shopping for me.

I pulled out the T-shirt I'd purchased in a card shop and slipped it on over my other shirt for warmth, covering both with the raincoat as I wondered what on earth I should do. Even the grocery store would be closing soon and the crowd was slowly trickling away. Soon, I'd be alone in a small town in England in the dark. Great. This is what we call "adventure," I thought.

Pacing around for a time helped me locate a pay phone just down the road from the bus stop. Aha! But, I had just arrived in England and had very little change. Praying I had enough to call the hotel, I stepped into the phone booth and lifted the phone. I called the operator, fortunately a free call, and asked for the phone number for the Marriott in Swindon. Unfortunately, I couldn't locate a working pen. I attempted to memorize the lengthy number, hung up, and immediately realized I'd promptly forgotten several digits. Okay.

One more try. I dialed the operator, again, and the phone was answered by a very pleasant male voice. "I don't have a working pen," I told him, "and the number is a bit long." I was frustrated nearly to tears, by that point.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Well, here's a trick we like to tell people. You just blow on the glass and write the number down in the fog." He repeated the number and I followed his directions. Brilliant!

I phoned the hotel, plunking numerous odd-shaped coins into the slots. Knowing David wouldn't be returning for another hour, I asked to have a message left, telling him that I missed the 4:45 bus in Devizes and would have to wait until the 7:00 bus arrived before I could head home. I hung up the phone, walked away, and panicked. If the person at the hotel desk had gotten my message down correctly, it would definitely be a new experience. But, I was low on change. I counted my coins carefully and stepped back into the booth; barely enough for a second call and the number was still smeared on the booth's glass. Thank you, Lord. The hotel clerk probably thought I was crazy, but I repeated the message and had her read it back to make sure it made sense.

Satisfied, I went back to walk around the square. There was no sense sitting on the steps and shivering; the bus wouldn't be coming for quite a while. Within a half-hour, though, my knight in shining European car showed up with a broad grin on his face. I was stunned to see my husband in the tiny rental, but not surprised to see him laughing at me.

"So, you missed the bus, huh?"

"Um, yeah. I had a great time until I watched that last bus go past. How on earth did you find me?"

He held up the little folders containing the messages I'd left, both neatly written and using the correct wording. Wow, I thought, do I love the British. He told me it was simple enough to find the town square and then pointed out the map of the Devizes town centre, right smack in the middle of an island that bisected the square. There, mere yards from where I'd stepped off the bus, was the exact information I needed in order to locate both the Information Centre and the castle. Darn.

Because he's a little mean, David took a picture of me in front of the map of Devizes. I didn't mind too much, since he'd come to my rescue.

"So," he said as he handed me the camera. "I thought you were going to relax, today."

I got into the warm car and smiled. As we drove back through the English countryside, I thought to myself, Relax? Not me. Not in England. Not ever. Tomorrow: Oxford. And this time, I'll stand up while I wait for the bus.