The Moan Exception

The �moan exception’ to the denial rule normally only occurs when something goes wrong – such as an announcement over the loudspeakers that the train or plane will be delayed or cancelled, or the train or tube stopping in the middle of nowhere or in a tunnel for no apparent reason, or an inordinately long wait for the bus to change drivers, or some other unforeseen problem or disruption.

On these occasions, English passengers appear suddenly to become aware of each other’s existence. Our reactions are always the same and minutely predictable, almost as though they had been choreographed. A loudspeaker platform announcement of a delayed train, or an abrupt jerking stop in the middle of the countryside, prompts an immediate outbreak of sociable body language: people make eye contact; sigh noisily; exchange long-suffering smiles, shrugs, raised eyebrows and eye-rolling grimaces – invariably followed or accompanied by snide or weary comments on the dire state of the railway system. Someone will always say �Huh, typical!’, another will say �Oh, now what?’ or �For Christ’s sake, what is it this time?’ or the more succinct �’kinell!’

Nowadays, you will also nearly always hear at least one comment containing the phrase вЂ?the wrong sort of leaves’, a reference to a now legendary excuse offered by the railway operators when вЂ?leaves on the track’ caused extensive disruption to a large part of the railway system. When it was pointed out to them that fallen leaves were a perfectly normal feature of autumn and had never previously brought the railways to a halt, they responded plaintively that these were вЂ?the wrong sort of leaves.’ This admittedly daft remark made headlines in all the newspapers and news broadcasts at the time, and has been a standing joke ever since. It is often adapted to suit the circumstances of the delay or disruption in question: if the loudspeaker announcement blames snow for the delay, someone will invariably say: вЂ?The wrong sort of snow, I suppose!’ I was once waiting for a train at my local station in Oxford when the loudspeaker announced a delay due to вЂ?a cow on the line outside Banbury’³²: three people on the platform simultaneously piped up: вЂ?The wrong sort of cow!’

Such problems seem to have an instant bonding effect on English passengers, clearly based on the �them and us’ principle. The opportunity to moan or, even better, the opportunity to indulge in witty moaning, is irresistible. The moan-fests prompted by delayed trains or other public-transport disruptions are very much like weather-moaning: utterly pointless, in that we all know and stoically accept that nothing can or will be done to remedy the situation, but enjoyable and highly effective as facilitators of social interaction.

The moan exception turns out, however, to be yet another of those �exceptions that prove the rule’. Although we appear to break the denial rule to indulge in this favourite pastime, and may even engage in quite prolonged discussion of the flaws and failings of the relevant public-transport system (and by extension the incompetence of the authorities, companies or government departments deemed responsible for its inadequacies) it is universally understood that such conversations are a �one-off’. What is involved is not a true breach of the denial rule, but a temporary suspension. Commuters know that they can share an enjoyable moan about a delayed train without incurring any obligation to talk to their fellow moaners again the next morning, or even to acknowledge their existence. The denial rule is suspended only for the duration of the collective whinge. Once we have completed our moan, silence is resumed, and we can go back to ignoring each other for another year or so – or until the next plague of delinquent leaves or suicidal cows. The moan exception proves the rule precisely because it is specifically recognized as an exception.

The temporary suspension of the denial rule during moaning-opportunities does, however, offer the intrepid researcher a little chink in the privacy armour of the English commuter – a brief chance to ask a few pertinent questions without seeming to pry or intrude. I had to be quick, though, to avoid giving the impression that I had misunderstood the strictly temporary nature of the moan exception and was settling in for a long chat.

Waiting for moan-worthy mishaps and disruptions may sound like a rather unsatisfactory and unreliable way to conduct field-research interviews – if you are unfamiliar with the vagaries of English public transport, that is. Anyone who lives here will know that few journeys are completed without at least one delay or interruption, and if you are English (and generous-spirited), you will no doubt be pleased to hear that there is one person in the country who actively benefits from all those leaves, cows, floods, engine troubles, bottlenecks, AWOL drivers, signal faults, points failures and other obscure malfunctions and obstructions.

Apart from moan-exception interview opportunities, public transport was one of the field locations in which I was often obliged to conduct вЂ?formal’ interviews, by which I mean interviews where the subjects knew that they were being interviewed. My preferred method of disguising interviews as casual, ordinary conversations – a highly effective technique at pub bar counters, at the races, at parties and other locations where conversation between strangers is permitted (although regulated by strict protocols) – was not suitable in environments subject to the denial rule. Under these conditions, it was less threatening to come clean and tell people that I was doing research for a book, asking politely if they would mind answering вЂ?just a couple of questions’, rather than attempting to break the denial rule and engage them in spontaneous chat. A researcher with a notebook is a nuisance, of course, but much less scary than a random stranger trying to start a conversation for no apparent reason. If you simply start chatting to English people on trains or buses, they tend to assume that you are either drunk, drugged or deranged.³³ Social scientists are not universally liked or appreciated, but we are still marginally more acceptable than alcoholics and escaped lunatics.

This formal approach was not necessary with foreigners, however, as they do not suffer from English fears, inhibitions and privacy obsessions, and seemed generally quite happy to engage in casual chat. In fact, many tourists were positively delighted to encounter, at last, a �sociable’, �friendly’ native, especially one who expressed genuine interest in their impressions of England and the English. Quite apart from my preference for informal, incognito interviews, I could not bring myself to dispel their illusions and spoil their holiday by revealing my ulterior motives – although I must admit to an occasional twinge of conscience when effusive visitors confided that I had caused them to revise their view of the English as a cold and standoffish race. Whenever possible, I did my best to explain that most English people observe the denial rule on public transport, and tried to direct them towards more sociable environments such as pub bar counters – but if you are one of the hapless tourists who were misled by my �interviews’, I can only apologize, thank you for your contribution to my research, and hope that this book will clear up any confusions I may have caused.

Дата добавления: 2015-09-06