“Donne seemed to be advocating a response that is deeper and more consistent: Any man’s death makes me smaller, less than I was before I learned of that death, because the world is a map of interconnections. As the world decreases in size, so must each of its parts.”
— Roger Rosenblatt, Time essay, “Do You Feel the Deaths of Strangers?”
It happens every so often in London. And no, I’m not referring to the unseasonably warm weather we had today.
I’m talking about the “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay. Services are postponed due to a person having been struck by a train today at X Station,” chilling in its very sanitization. Sometimes the wording is different–maybe they’ll refer to it as a “customer incident” or a “person falling under a train.” But what they’re really trying to say is, someone died today. And you can’t help but wonder why.
There’s so much I want to know when I hear those words. I want to know about the life they led and I want to know what made them end it in such a way (presuming it was a suicide). I want to know how they wake up one morning and decide, today is the day. Or maybe no such thought crosses their mind. Maybe it’s something that occurs to them in the split-second before the train pulls into the station.
As a writer, we’re told often to think of the ‘inciting incident’ in the lives of our characters (or ourselves, for the non-fiction writers of the world), the first domino that gets tipped and sets the rest of it off. What was the incident in that person’s life?
But when your own transport gets thrown off by someone else’s untimely death, you don’t think about these things. When the electronic timetables of Waterloo Station are suddenly, disturbingly wiped clean, you’re only angry that you can’t get home.
Instead of grieving for a lost life, you yell at the attendants in the station who are merely doing their best to control an uncontrollable situation. You yell at the random man who hip-checks you as you collide mid-sprint for the same carriage that’s already packed more densely than a cattle car. And you yell at family or friends on the phone when they can’t instantly drop whatever they’re doing and pick you up at whatever station the train’s been diverted to.
We cope in those situations, though, don’t we? Running through the crowds of Waterloo tonight had been surreal, like I was caught up in a scene from a doomsday movie, sirens wailing and evacuation in full swing.
But once on the train, everyone started to breathe easier. The girl in front of me texted and Facebooked her way through the crisis (even nosy me had no choice but to “eavesdrop” over her shoulder, so close were we jammed together), whilst another woman whispered to someone on the phone: “The trains are absolute carnage.” And then a short, middle-aged man called a friend and began speaking–or should I say yelling?–absolute jibberish. It was English…but not. Some kind of strange code full of strange words–“Aw, yeah, mate, he’s like a Muslim running towards a Muslim temple. You’ve worn out the prayer mat on that one, haven’t you mate?”
His Jabberwock-y speech had one effect: he got us smiling again. I wasn’t the only person who couldn’t keep back a laugh as he carried on like he was the only one in the train. We passed through Wimbledon and he kept yelling: “Mate, I wish I was there! I’m on a train full of people!” When we stopped at the next station, a woman next to me said: “Happy people. A train full of happy people.”
In due time we arrived at Raynes Park, where I managed to catch the 131 bus to Kingston, thanks to the efforts of a good friend who “kept me company” through texts during the ordeal. I settled into a seat upstairs with my notebook out while a man behind me talked into his phone, keeping his own loved ones updated on the drama: “We’re making fair progress, just by the Homebase now.”
And as the sun set over London and left a cool blue sky in its place, I let the poetry of the man’s words sink in a little deeper, remembering this: Life isn’t always easy. Disruptions happen, trains stop running, we can’t get where we need to be.
Sometimes the best we can do is to make fair progress.
Beautifully written post, Candace.
Thanks so much for your comment, Erin. I was actually thinking of you as I wrote it in regards to the American guy who disappeared in Madrid a couple of months ago…it’s so difficult to understand these situations when we don’t have all the answers.
Beautiful piece,
My prayer for the departed soul, and of-course to less disruptions
Hey Seyi, my faithful reader 🙂 Thank you for the comment–it’s weird to think this stuff keeps happening at Surbiton Station, isn’t it? A little unsettling, for sure. I’ll definitely be thinking of the man who passed away, this can’t be an easy time for his family. See you tomo!
thanks heaps for that. I feel humbled having read that.
Hiya, Glen! Great to hear from you. Thanks for your comment–it was definitely a humbling experience, just realising the stress of my day really matters little, if anything at all. Hope you’re doing well!
loved reading this, I dont know how often it happens but during my 3 week stint in England in 2009 I heard that message once and was stuck on the sardine can train for quite awhile but you’re right all you really want to know is what happened, was it an accident or deliberate and hating the lack of information thats coming to you.
Haha sardine can train–I love that, Erin! What a great way to put it. Yes, I couldn’t agree more–the staff are so elusive and reserved when making the announcement, and I’m so intrigued by the language they use when alerting us to what’s going on. As it turns out, I was actually at the station this happened at just about half an hour before the incident, so that adds another layer to it as well–just feeling like you were quite close to it, and yet still have no idea what really went on. Great to hear from you, btw! I’ve loved all of your lomography shots, that’s amazing how connected you’ve gotten with them 🙂
What a wonderful thought piece, Candace. Kind of needed it today (though that sounds far more maudlin than I intend it to sound). Btw, have you read Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down? I immediately thought of its themes and what suicide means to those considering it, especially as I read the first bit of this post.
Wow! So first off, thanks for your lovely comment–it’s forever good to hear from you. Also, just looked up Nick Hornby and I had no idea he wrote the screenplay for ‘An Education’–I like him already! He’s definitely on my list to check out now. Btw, you didn’t sound maudlin at all–I had a similar day, not “bad,” per se, just lots of stuff going on that’s easy to get caught up in, and this really put it more in perspective, you know?
I had no idea he wrote that screenplay! SCORE. I adore him. Definitely one of my favorite contemporary writers; his music reviews in the Believer are spot on, and his wit is sharper than most. And yes, an event such as this throws the personal maelstrom of life happenings into sharp relief. Breathing out certainly helps 😉
I KNOW! I was equally impressed…and Ben Folds and him wrote an album together? Any friend of Ben’s is a friend of mine 🙂 Is there anything that Nick Hornby doesn’t do?!
Speaking of Ben Folds (and quasi-related to my recent post about Regina Spektor): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRgQns-TJGM
CIRCLE OF LIFE.
What a gorgeous post Candace! Lyrical blog writing for life – this is one of my favorites!
Hey Kathryn! Thank you so much for that 🙂 It’s great to not only hear from you, but to also see that there’s still a place for lyrical blogs, hehe. My mom’s coming in next week, but we should definitely try to get together at some point soon! Hope you’re doing well (and I keep looking for updates from With a Single Step 😉 )