Clocking off
The pictures were taken after the annual March labour day celebration in the City of Melbourne. The Flinders Street railway station clocks are a favourite meeting place to wait for friends in Melbourne. Last Saturday evening, I ended up sitting on these steps, worried how I would get back home to my family.
After working an exhausting late shift, preparing images for the Sunday marathon competition, I took a midnight shuttle bus to Flemington and managed to secure a lift to the city. It was my choice to work back late and get the job done. I was under the illusion that there would be extra late trains scheduled to run.
When I ran over to Flinders Street railway station at 0100, my heart sank when I saw the dark, empty platforms and an instruction on all the television monitors "listen to the announcement". A railway worker walked past with his jacket over his shoulder, probably heading home by means other than public transport. Without breaking his stride he remarked, "next train is at 0530, good night."
The only other movement at the railway station were cleaners hosing down toilet walls behind some black locked gates. In nearby federation square, a party boomed with dancers and music. The city seemed to be full of many young citizens, many with friends, some happily looking for a place to go, some over-indulged, some looking to pick a fight. There was an old man sitting slumped on the steps of the pub across the road but he didn't look as if he had anything coherent to say.
Home was over 30 km away and I was starting to feel very alone and out of place in my uniform, utility belt and volunteer identity card still hanging about my neck.
After taking stock for a few minutes, I noticed a police women standing across the road, sipping on a coffee next to a police relocatable building. I walked over, and poked my head inside the doorway, introduced myself and explained the problem. A senior officer inside smiled. He noted that he didn't regularly work in the city but thought that there was some kind of a emergency bus service that I could still catch to the other eastern suburbs. He pulled up a chair and clattered away for ten minutes at his IBM laptop, looking up some details on the Internet, calling a colleague and consulting a map sticky-taped onto a cupboard door. Soon I had a precious timetable, rough bus route and pick-up location. What mattered more was that somebody cared enough to help me out.
When I stepped outside, I remarked to the police women standing outside that the city had changed. Raising her eyebrows she responded "for better or worse". I wasn't sure yet, just different. After thanking the police, I walked over to Collins street where a small fleet of Night Rider buses were waiting to pick up their passengers. The driver noticed my identity card and waved me onto the bus for free. After two long bus trips and a creepy walk around a dark shopping centre, I finally made it back to my car, still parked in the railway station where I had left it 20 hours earlier.
I didn't get home to my family until 0400 but that much was easy. My mind keeps turning to the lads working back in the city who wont be going home because they still have to work, and those that don't have a home to go to.
It kind of puts everything into perspective.