My father used tell me stories

Of his love for London buses

And how at the age of eight or nine

He was considered mature enough

To travel around London on his own

Using either a Twin or Red Rover ticket

This is not the London as we know it today

As it was paler and far less threatening

Homosexuality was a criminal offence

Punishable by a prison sentence

So the practice was thankfully restricted

To the sordid shadows away from view

Into that mix a bus mad nine year old

Could be found travelling around the city

Searching of the mythical

Route thirty three

My father felt himself above

Any inherent dangers

Even if they existed at all

But that was not how the kind folk

At the local bus garage saw things

As most had lived through the war

A young boy although tall for his age

Had arrived keen but unannounced

Distant from Ealing Broadway

Two of the clippies took him to the canteen

Where he was given tea and an iced bun

Followed by a tour of the bus garage

It was then arranged by one of the drivers

That he should travel on Route 33

And be dropped off at a Central Line tube station

My father was also given a number of souvenirs

To commemorate his visit to Canning Town

Although I am not sure of the exact date of my fathers visit

It would have been after August 1962

When the thirty three began to pass through Canning Town

And September 1964 when he moved back to Bath

My father returned to London in 1970 and found

That London had changed beyond his recent memory

The innocent streets were darker and menacing

And certain areas were best avoided at night

Another thing he soon noticed was because

Of a change in the law in 1967

That pederasts had become in emboldened

And whilst not that common

Could be seen at mainline railway stations and other haunts

It is not something that I would

Have let my nine year old today

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