OX-TAIL II¹ : Part 1

The story of Jack the Traffic Engineer, his widowed mother who was in fact a fariy godmother in disguise (but we never learn why) and Jack’s renewable, modern, and,above all, sustainable transport policies..

Long ago, in the secret heart of England, monks settled in marshland scored by myriad rivers and streams, hard by a place where oxen might cross the waters in safety. They built Rewley Abbey, a scholarium, placed advertisements on the front page, bottom right hand corner of national newspapers saying - 'Improve Your Memory, Speed Reading in Fifteen Minutes, Speak any Language of Your Choice in Just Ten Minutes a Day, and, How to Become Prime Minister' - and went into the education business. Safe from warriors and landlords in their damp fastness, the monks prospered and a city grew up around the Abbey. The city was called Ox-Ford.

One thousand one hundred and fifty-five years later, the City of Oxford appointed an eager, young applicant with an engineering degree from Aston University and a Ph.d. in Town Planning from Reading Polytechnic, his name was Jack, as the City's traffic engineer. Jack was happy and the City was pleased.

But the responsibilities started to take their toll and so Jack asked his widowed mother, who he lived with and who thought the world of him, what he should do.

"The City is torn between the 'Town', and the 'Gown', " he told her. In years gone by, they fought and killed each other and they still seem to be at war. - I can never please both sides"

"I plan the transport to the best of my ability. I work hard. I try to do the best for everyone; but they complain all the time. All the time. What should I do?"

"Tell me how it all works now" urged his Mum.

Jack was eager to unburden himself "The University folk cycle everywhere. The streets are full of bicycles. The Towns folk, mostly they walk. They complain they must walk. They come to shop at the covered market, they buy bags of food - and then walk to the bus stops. They say the bus stops are too far. Everywhere they walk they bump into bicycles. And they complain. Mostly to the Lord Mayor - Good John, the People's Friend. Then Good John shouts at me to get the University bums out of the sodding way (sorry mother) of his upright and right-voting citizens."

"In turn, the cyclists are obstructed by pedestrians. The cyclists write sarcastic letters to the Oxford Times. They write witty, humorous, mocking letters to the Guardian, the Observer, The Times and the Telegraph - which poke fun at Mayor Good John. They attend our meetings and confuse me by quoting arcane laws in Middle English, Latin and Greek. "

"But whoever they are. They complain. There's a particular young lady student who complains more loudly and arrogantly and effectively than the rest put together". He ruminated darkly " Her name's Margaret, and she needs watching that one. God help the country if she ever goes into politics. They all complain. And I get it in the neck. Then there are the conspicuously wealthy in their new motor cars, Morris Oxfords, Baby Austins, Morris 1000's and the odd Rolls Royce, which upset the cyclists and the pedestrians and obstruct the buses, of course. They complain. And when the St. Giles Fair arrives, which blocks off half the main roads, they all complain all the more. What should I do?" Jack wept.

"Jack lad" comforted his widowed mother who was in fact a fairy god-mother in disguise, "don't distress yourself. There is an answer. But first tell me what you did with the family cow I asked you to take to market to sell.

This was something of a difficult issue for Jack. There was a long embarrased silence as he avoided the question and offered instead to make a cup of tea. As his mother supped the tea she said "What you must do Jack is this.........."

"...You must ensure the Oxford factory builds millions of cars. This will not be easy - but you will do it. Then every citizen will have their own car. Believe me Jack, this will happen. You must build a huge multi-storey car park in the centre of Oxford and all the citizens of the new car owning democracy will come in their thousands. Marginalise the bicycles. If they are stolen - tell the Police not to look for them. If their wheels are buckled by cars - sue the cyclists for damaging the car's tyres. Herd the pedestrians onto narrow pavements, harried and oppressed by the motor cars. If they step off the pavements, arrest them for jay-walking. If they don't step off the pavements, accuse them of obstruction. This is what you must do."

End of Part 1

¹ Copyright. Noel Hodson, SW2000, Oxford, Jan 1996. Any resemblance between this and the tale of Horace Yasu-covitch Michael Ivanski Emmanuel Silverstsone and the Rabbi has been firmly denied by the author. Received on 17 February 1996.

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