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We, however, drift. Aegean are our tides. Oh, look what has happened in the foliage of our flesh! Tangled in our hair, in the sea, our breasts bleed in dancing, in the summer, by the strand and Ithaka. Mai ist um die Harfe. O Sommer dieses Nackens! O Diese jasmindurchseuchte Ellenbeuge! O, ich bin gut zu dir. Ich streichle Dir deine Schultern. Du, wir reisen: Tyrrhenisches Meer. Ein frevelhaftes Blau. Die Dorertempel. In Rosenschwangerhaft Die Ebenen.

Felder Sterben den Asphodelentod. Du Kranke, tief im Flor Der dunklen Brauen! May surrounds the harp. The palm trees redden. In the desert wind. Rahel, a slim goldwatch at her wrist: Protecting her sex and threatening the mind: She is the enemy!

Your hand however is as if from earth: Sweetly-brown, almost eternal, wafted by womb. Friendly Earring turns up. The bright Easter lillies are so lovely: Their wide mouths yellow, with meadows at their feet. Oh blond! Oh summer ripened back! Oh These elbows drenched with jasmine! Oh I am good to you. I stroke Your shoulders.

A wicked blue. The Doric temples. Pregnant with roses, The plains. Fields Expire into their asphodel death. Lips, bold and deeply filled like chalices, As if blood from its sweet place was hesitating, Roaring through a mouth of early autumn. Oh the sorry brain. You sick thing, deep in the bloom Of your dark brows!

Smile, be bright: The violins are shimmering a rainbow. Sie friert. Der kleine graue Stock in ihrer Hand Friert mit. Wird klein. Will tiefer in die Hand. O Marmorlicht! Du rauschst so an mein Blut. Du helle Bucht! Du rosa Staub! Du Ufer mit Libellen! Im Veilchenschurz. Machtloser grauer Strand. Kein Boot, kein Segel geht. Wer nimmt mich winters auf?! Spa concert Beyond cripples and bathing proletarians, Sunshades, lapdogs and Boa scarves, Beyond the autumn sea and the ditty by Grieg: Whether Iris will come?

It is freezing. The small walking stick in her hand Is also freezing. Gets smaller. Wants to go deeper into her hand. The bell flowers, enclosed in your scarve, The white cross of your parted hair and teeth Contrasts, when you laugh, so sweetly with your brown skin!

You steep, white land! Oh marble light! You are the intemperance of my blood. You bright bay! The relaxed expanse of your shoulder blades! The delicacy of the skirt around your knee! You, rosy dust. You river bank with dragonfly! You, from the sides of a bowl ascending In bursts of violets.

Surrounded by breasts loudly bloomed! Oh autumn and a return home across this sea! The gardens subside. The grey shores lie impotent. No boats, no sails flutter. Who will take me now in winter time?! From so many distances blown together. From so many stars newly-born. Just before this river bank: — Iris leaves.

Untergrundbahn Die weichen Schauer. Fremde Feuchtigkeiten. Schwer mit Gott behangen. Ich will wandern. Early bloom. As if from warm fur, it comes straight from the forest. Red swarms up. Hard blood rises. Through full spring the new female comes. She wears her stockings, stretched. But there, where they come to an end, is beyond my reach.

I sob at their edge. Sultry fecundity, alien moistures. Oh, how her mouth devours the tepid air! You: rose-mind, sea-blood, twilight-goddess. You: bed of earth, how your hips flow so coolly down the passage through which you walk. Life is now beneath her dress: all white animal, relaxed, with mute scent. I am a wretched dog-brain, heavy hung with God, sick of the mind.

Oh, that a frame of clustered blooms should gently take its place, and swell and stream and shudder. So detached. So tired. I long to wander. Bloodless those paths. Songs from the gardens. Shadows and the Flood. Buchtet sich ein und aus. Ich will versinken. And anyway love hit me, the snouts of two whores bulge forward. Gyrates in and out. I want to lose myself. Let me die. Give birth to me. I beat form out of the marble block with my brow. My hands work for my daily bread. I remain to myself still distant, but I will become me!

There lies someone deep in my blood who cries for heavens of gods and earths of men that he has made for himself. My mother is so poor: you would laugh if you saw her. We live in a narrow sty, built at the bottom of the village. My youth is like a scab to me, with a wound beneath. Blood drips everyday from it. That is why I am so disfigured.

Sleep I do not need, and food only enough to stay alive. The struggle is relentless, and the world bristles with points of swords, each of which hungers for my heart. Each one of them I must melt into my blood: me, the defenceless one. Als wir blutfeucht zur Welt kamen, Waren wir mehr als jetzt.

Jetzt haben Sorgen und Gebete beschnitten uns und klein gemacht. Wir leben klein. Wir wollen klein. Aber ich will mein eigenes Blut. Feiger Herr, feiger Herr! Was zitterest du? Fege meinen Saal. Ich aber will tanzen durch dich schleierlos dein Blut. Made adroit with weapons, to free ourselves, we have become haters, beyond redemption. When we came into this world blood-stained, we were more than we are now.

Now sorrow and praying have cut us down and made us small. We live small lives. We want small things. And our feelings, like tame animals, are eating out of the hand of our will. But there are times when desires well up, strong from deep within our blood, their wings like the eagle, as if they wished to broach a flight away from the shadows of the earth.

But the mother of cares and prayers, the earth, allied to you, will not let them go from her old and wrinkled body. But I will have my own blood. I tolerate no other gods beside me. Covered in purple, my beauty persists day and night for you. Why are you trembling? I trained my tendons to be swift for your desires. O give them to me!

Let me dance! Clean out my hall. Yellow salivating skeletons of white-haired and sullen blood threaten me. I, however, will dance. Mother I bear you like a wound up on my brow that will not close. The pain sometimes abates, and my heart flows from it still alive. Only now and then I suddenly become blind, and feel blood in my mouth. Drohung Aber wisse: Ich lebe Tiertage. It is so beautiful beside your blood. Sieh, wie das Land auch aus seinen Fiebern erwacht.

A man speaks A man speaks: Here there is no consolation. See how the land also awakens from its fever. Almost all the dahlias have stopped gleaming. Everything lies wasted as after a cavalry battle. I hear an upsurge in my blood. You, my eyes are already drinking in the blue of distant hills. It is already caressing my temples. Hier ist kein Trost Keiner wird mein Wegrand sein.

Let your blossoms whither. My path floods and flows alone. Two hands are too small a bowl. One heart is too small a hill to rest on. You, my life is lived on the strand and under the falling blossom of the sea. Egypt is spread before my heart, Asia is dawning. One of my arms is alway lying in fire. My blood is ash. Leaving breasts and bones behind me, I sob my way towards the Tyrrhenian islands. There glimmers a valley with white poplars, an Ilissus with shores of meadows: Eden and Adam: an earth out of nihilism and music.

Schnellzug Das Gleitende, das in den Fenstern steht! Wir kleine Forst, kein Adler und kein Wild! Du Dagmar-blond! Du Nest! Die weiten Felder der Verlassneheit! Das Rot der Erbereschen hat schon Blut. O sei bei mir! The Express The passing images that face me in the windows! Past my shoulders crumble the fields, the arbours, and the overgrown villages; long-forgotten mothers; the entire land, a grave full of fathers: now it is the sons who are great and prance naked with their red god-like brows, in a whirl of unleashed blood.

That which is festering sounds loudly with its sick voices: Where did we ever come close to happiness? We, a small forest, without eagle or game. Paltry blooms blossom in pale tones in our meadows. The heart cries out: Oh, hair! You Dagmar-blond! You nest! You comforting, blossoming hand! The broad fields of abandonment! The red of the rowanberry already is of blood.

Oh, be with me! It is so silent in the gardens. But the passing that faces me in the windows. Past my shoulders crumble the fields, fathers and the grief of hills and the happiness of hills —: The sons have grown tall. The sons go naked and in the grief of unleashed blood, their red brows reflect a distant abyss of joy.

In unserem Blute ist kein Dorn. Oktobertiere rechts und links: Wir makellose, wir letzte Julibrut. Ich versenge dem Tode seine kalte Fratze. Wie alles Rote, Glut und Flammenhafte aus meinen Schenkeln hurt! Flowers I-II I In the room of a pastor between crosses and images of Christ, Jerusalem relics and Golgatha wreaths a bouquet of roses blooms blissfully beyond the shores: We may now happily pass away. There is no thorn in our blood. II A sea, entirely poisened by the grey blood of autumn, has made me sick.

Startled, the river bank, devoid of joy and barren of leaf receives my final step as words of commital. Then in a park there was a flower bed: It bloomed over this entire misery, the sea, the clouds and the storm in the garden.

And I cried: I am completely indestructible! I burn away the cold countenance of death. As everything red, glowing and flaming rushes from my limbs! Good morning to you! Der Mond fiel hinterher. Hing tief. Gab Stein statt Brot Dem atemlosen Blut.

Ward still. Schlug um. Wenn mans bedenkt: ein paar verlorene Stunden Haben nun in die Stille Nacht gefunden Und wehen mit den Wolken hin und her. Die Lippen auch. Wie Garben Aus Schnee. O kaum zu denken!

Finish I The spittoon — not in the least able to contain such large warm green emissions — finally broke apart. The moon dropped down. Hung deeply. Sucked Backed the vomit in gulps. Dissapointed All trust. Gave to breathless blood Stone instead of bread.

II The little clot smelled like a chicken coup, moved here and there. Became still. The grand-daughter palyed the old game: When grandma is asleep: Around her collar bones the cavities were so deep That she could hide beans in them. A ball could even be fitted into her throat, if one blew the dust out of it. III For him it was all about the spittoon with plum stones. Then he crawled in and cracked open the stones. He was thrown back into his box bed.

And he burrowed into his straw. Towards evening the head keeper came And rebuked the warden: You bloody lazybones, Why has the box not been cleaned up yet? IV For weeks they held the heads of their children, When they had returned from school, high in the air: Then a little breeze went through and she could sleep.

Then one bent down once by mistake And his head fell out of his hands. Turned around. Hung over his shoulders Deep blue. V Requiem A coffin gets work and a bed becomes empty. When one considers it: a few lost hours Have now in stillness found the night And drift with the clouds here and there. How white they are! Their lips also. Like sheets Of snow.

Oh, border of the great winter land Of comforting snow: freed from the deception of colours, Hills and valley in a flat hand. Nearness and distance are one and made equal. We flakes blow into the field, and then a piece, Then is the final spark of the world exstinguished. Oh, it is almost unthinkable! This distant happiness! VI Beyond the Graves This one slaves away and bakes broken throughout the night With rotten meat, following an old baking method.

Dem Manne rutscht das Auge hin und her. Ob du noch kommst, Ick kann mir doch mein Brot mit Schinken kofen. Der Mond verirrt sein Gold in diesen Gram. His eyes slide to and fro. Will you still come with me, I can still fit a bit of ham on my bread.

Semen-ready sits at every table with feathers In her hat and puts out her legs, sucks up her hips Full of semen ever more brazenly to her womb. A song curves a dome into the table Of glass: the cold night covers teh stars with clouds.

The moon mixes its gold into this misery. Ich war so sehr allein. Die Lippen weinen mit. Den Strom herunter. Da sitzt sie mit der Laute. Er schwimmt sich frei. Fleischlaub und Hurenherbste, Ein welker Streif. Fett furcht sich. Ein Spalt voll Schreie unser Mund. Then someone lurches in And falls. I have just gone past the edge of God.

Do you love me too? I was so very much alone. The Weser song bucks up the spirits of the jerk. Lips cry along to it. A stream flows down. Sweet valley. There it sits with its lute. The head waiter flails around with his nightcap. He manages to stay upright. Flesh foliage and whore autumn, a withered strip. Fat rumples up. Pockmarked roars: the flesh is fluid; pour it as you will, around you. Our mouth is a crevice of screams. He pushes through the dumb bouquet of her palate. The murky bourgeois steps out onto the benches: Herd, pimpels, marriage, beards and medals.

Many four litres of blood, from which three Is gorged in the intestines: and the fourth Brims around the sexual organs. The whore To uncovers her hand: Soft, like the flesh from the womb, half-open, just there where desire is felt. Marie Du Vollweib! Your measurements are normal, Any child can come through your pelvis. Widely girthed you take in everything, right up to your brain and then leave. Poems of Transcendence, Benn had attended a military medical school as a student, and in he was called up a doctor at the outbreak of Word War One to serve with his local regiment.

He was stationed in Brussels, where he worked in a hospital treating soldiers with sexually transmitted ailments. Other poems yet explore, argue for the need to structure experience, to prevent exertion becoming formlessness. On through the rubble of the hillside, on through the carrion of the land, turning to dust, on through the miserly jagged shapes of rocks — everywhere blown by the sun — everywhere, deep mother-blood, streaming, mindless, drained, borne along.

The animal lives only for the day and, suckling, has no memory. The slope in silence brings its flower to light, and is destroyed. Only I, with sentry between blood and paw, a carrion eaten away by mind, with curses screaming into the void, spat upon by words, mocked by the light. Oh, you expanse of sky, balm my eyes for an hour with that healing early light of primal vision — Melt away the lie of colours, hurl these cavities pressed by filth into the roar of rearing suns, the whirl of the s.

II My brain eats dust. My feet eat dust. If only my eyes were round and complete, Then through their lids would break sweet night, brush-wood and love. Out of you, my sweet animal, out of your shadows, sleep and hair, I must bestride my brain, all its convolutions: the final dialogue.

III So near to the shore, already in the ferry, In the crocus-coloured garments of the supplicant. And around my limbs the delicate down — Oh sun! Burst apart those sockets that enslave you! Rage into the fields. Mock the cornices — Look at the drunken Silenus: through his beard, from his loud blood forever drowned in roars, enthused by exotic music, wine drips into his manhood. Spit on this obsession with columns. Senile hands, done to death, lifted them trembling towards sullen skies.

Pull down the temples before the desire of your limbs which crave to dance. Choose expanse! Bloom to excess. Oh, let your soft meadow bleed from deep wounds. And see this final hour of blissful deception: our southern vision in the vaulted sky. Reise O, dieses Lichts! Ich zu: besonnt! The island wreathes around itself star-blue water. Stilled at its edge, completed by the beach, It sates itself daily on the sea.

Nothing needs to be connected. The seabird, the lobed foliage, find their fulfilment here. Their purpose lies right at their centre, which nothing can steal. I too am part of this: brown! I too receive the sun! Part of a flat space that alone names itself. The eye deep on the horizon and which knows nothing vertical. Already the rage to connect is disappearing. Already the system of reference is dissolving, and under the dark song of flesh rears up the blood-Methuselah. Aufblick Heimstrom quillt auf zu Hunger und Geschlecht.

O Abhang! Mit Fratzen Des Raums bestanden, drohend Unendlichkeit. A glance upwards The incoming tide surges to hunger and sex. Oh, the happiness of milling! Oh, decline! The old sun still storms Forth bright embers; new fire Already mocks it, and around Andromena There is already fresh mist, Oh, wandering world! Devestation of all matter: night-love, done in the meadows. I: lowering, imposed upon, my visage full of stars, From a blow of paws, the shudder of destruction blues like a coast of blood towards me, With harrow, dagger and horns.

The causative way moves rugged through the dwellings Of the immanent mob, with the leerings of space provided Threatening Eternity. To me, however, the morning light of roomless rooms Glows around my knees, A process of shephards squirells through the leaves, Euclid by the sea sings at a threecorned flute: O wood of roses!

Not a utensil, its longing to be a vessel, long since gone. There takes place unrestricted birth. Freely shining forth beasts, cliffs, bright things without purpose: strips of violets, tepid skulls meadow-bloody. Wave against torpor and brain, the burner of a deep bacchanalia set against the mark of annihilation: upward growth and the conscious mind.

The hands of youths, athletes limbs, closed by space, land you on the shore as jug and slope, when with fish-head, onions, flutes the festivals of Leda turn rose-red: copulation, the plains, and decline. O, Nacht —: O, Nacht! Ich will ja nicht so viel. I have taken cocaine, and my blood flows out on other paths. My hair is becoming grey, the years flee before me, I must, I must in sheer ecstasy flower once more before extinction.

Oh, night. I do not ask for much: a small portion of intensity, an evening mist, a surging of space displacement, of the feeling of self. Tactile corpuscles, wall of red cells, to and fro, with odours, mangled by word—cloud bursts. Too deep in the brain, too narrow in dreams. Stones wing their way to the earth, the fish snap after little shadows. Only with danger through the thing—becoming sways the skull—feather duster. I can hardly reach you!

A little piece only, a clasp of the feeling of self — in sheer ecstasy Flower once more before extinction! Oh, night, oh lend me brow and hair, flow away around the day—withered! Be the one that will bear me home through Myths of nerves to chalice and crown.

Oh, be silent! I feel a small stirring within me: The stars face me — this is no mockery — my face, myself: me, a lonely god, collecting around a majestic thunder. Kein Newton mehr. A sky blued: unquestionably. Then the world surrounded by gold: the shot. Taking into account many actions, weighing up possibilities, including parabolas and projectile sheaf, air humidity, barometer reading, isobars — — But throughout all of this: exactitude, the exclusion of all questions, a paw in the back of knowledge, streaming with blood the plunder shudders under the concept: snipe shooting.

Newton is no longer. No third Law of Thermodynamics — A small town comes into view. An office, a young registrar, in shirt sleeves, eating for breakfast a bread roll, reading the letter from his godmother. Ihr sprecht von Seele — Was ist eure Seele? Und die Frucht —? Rosine aus dem Zahn geholt. Die Goldfischen —!!!

Das Allgemeine wird gestreift. The doctor I Sweet corporeality sticks to me Like the coating around the edge of my gums. Whatever juice and rotting flesh there is Milling around his calcified bones Rises like a vapour of milk and sweat into my nostrils. The woman thinks she is being fertilised And elevated into a hill of God; But the man is disfigured; His brain ranges over a misty steppe, And his seed drops in without sound.

I live in front of the body: and throughout its middle The genitals stick. There the skull also smells. I suspect: that soon Vagina and prick will gape to heaven out of the brow. II The crown of creation, man, the pig —: You should go around with the other animals! What are you on about then? You talk to me of the soul — what is your soul? From its cooling innards The Earth spat up, as from its other holes, A gob of blood — That lurches Complacently downwards in a curve Into the shadows.

III With pimply skin and rotten teeth They press themselves together And couple together in a bed And sow seed in the crevices of the flesh And feels himself a god with his goddess. And the fruit —? It stops — Finger is smelt Raisins fetched out of teeth.

The goldfish —!!! The Weser Song! We are close to communality. God As a cheese-cover put over the genitals—: The good shepherds—:!! And in the evening the ram mounts the ewe. Uff meinen heizbaren Sektionstisch? Von wegen Fettschwund und biblisches Alter??

Bleib man ruhig aufs Eis liegen! Der Mann schreit: Weil dir jetzt der Nabel so weit nach vorne steht? Weil ick dir mal die Ritze verkleistert habe?? Mensch, wat geht mir mein Geschlechtsorgan an! Jeder macht seins. Brecht aus! Peitsch die Weiber! Das dicke Pack! Wer denkt an so verlorene Fernen? Man war schon wieder in den Sternen, wuchs sich entzwei, gebar sich um.

Tretet den Norden ein! Verderbt den Samen! Bohrt euch selber Kuhlen! Zeugt in euch selbst! Das Gehirn ist ein Irrweg. Stein ist. Worte haben wir hervorgehurt. Mich ekelt die Blutschande. Einst war das Meer im Gang. Die Wiesen riefen. Ach erst den alten Mann! Noch diesen Streifen Licht! Mit uns wird Schindluder getrieben! Soll da vielleicht der kleine Kreislauf durchgehen?

Ein anderer: Na, und ich? Und jetzt? Und das rechte Herzohr braucht auch nicht grade aus dem After raus zu sehn! So stand ich: nackt, vom kalten Sternenlicht umbrandet Stirn und Blut. Das Hirn verwest genau so wie der Arsch! Sprachzentrum ist schon weich.

On my heated dissecting table? Because of a loss of fat and the biblical life span? Gouty joints and loose teeth are not pulled here!! Just stay quietly lying on the ice! A pregnant woman bleats. The man cries: Because your navel is now sticking out so far at your front? Because I once covered over your crack?

Everyone is looking after himself. Break out! Bite around you! Whip the women! Bunch of yobs. For nine months, you treat it as a pastime, singing to the man as he was having breakfast. Who thinks about such distant losses? Who still remembers the bottle, glass and rum? We were once amongst the stars, grew apart, bred ourselves anew.

Oh, you stream out! Bloom yourselves empty! Think: Ithaka: the temples wave in a shower of marble from sea to sea. Stamp out the North! Run wild! Waste yourself! Who knows of a certain future? Stop sowing in the crevices that will hold your seed. Waste your seed! Bohr your own hollows! Breed within yourself! Who knows of a future that is certain? The brain is a mistaken path.

The animal also feels stone. Stone is. What else is there but stone? It is we who have bred words. The incest sickens me. Crush the grey of the skies! Extinguish the sun, give the Earth corners: It or the sun. Once the sea was in motion. The meadows called. Sleep hung over faded blood like fur — Animals have betrayed us to God — Stich up the eyelids, suck out the brain, Shave all around the neck … stick in bunches of flowers … Think about your backside … Oh, dream: Bright, wild, deeply loosened returned home to the back marrow — a man hits him on the shoulder But just calm yourself down, man!

Here, put on your slippers and come with me to my wake. Oh, the old man first! Still this strip of lighting! So completely gone — So gone forever — Oh, bind my eyes together. Women, cowarsly and deceitful, Driven out of your shit-lives, Bordered by human beasts. The brain decays just like the arse! Even now the inveils him as a brother — Even now his cousin scrotum whistles to him — falls across a carcass.

I must tear again the heads of these pious corpses into pieces — brains to the fore —! The crown of creation is losing its teeth. Its centre of speech is already soft. The centre of thinking packs up and goes … departure and decline … Roar, then, you, flesh, in anger not laughing upwards: This putrid mess was thought out for us by God; bloom out, as in the splendour of summer and blue skies, shadows and homeland — — Now throw around in here twelve dead dogs, Then it will smell like us … —.

Ipheions Intice my eyes, a chaste arrangement. The lawyer is saved from this by his law manual And by himself violates the external world. The philologist gushes into the crevices of mountain ranges and Into his holiday boat on the sea. I am overwhelmed by a bed of asters, And I cannot go under: a land that has bloomed away, Autumn, and the leave that has become quiet for the tree — —: Lymph glands swell up and down, Perhaps in my Ammons horn; Perhaps pheylhydrazine will turn My waters sky blue.

I grab an organ of the state And the night watchman of copulation: green around The lower parts, Sweet seeds, flowers and the round dance Veil the soft inclinations of mind, Pious to the eye The good flow of the world. Des Morgens nur ganz sachlich ausgewachsen! The Instrument Oh, you, confounder of Berkeley Broadbellied, space rolls itself towards you! A panzered mind for the purpose of purpose, The beams from a male fist, myopia won through struggle, And that armpit, So thoroughly cleaned in the morning!

Urethral ironing-woman, stitching the womb ligament To belly-flat for the sperm Winkelried. Oh, take me in the joy of your region: Space is space. Oh, in the flashing of the handle: focus, virtual image, played out quite legally! Irdisch abgenabelt. In sich. Der Kreis. Der Einsame. Schattenentsteigung: Ich!? Und noch nicht schattenlos …? Und Mittagszeit …? Und Uferschatten …? Zeltgiebel wieder …? Rauchhemmungen Des Lichts…? Ein Aasgestank nach Zunge …? Wo bist Du, Nackter?!!

Schielen nach der Vorhaut? Gutes altes Ludentum …? In die Knie, Hund! Bedunste Dich!! Bung up the throat reeds! Bite down to the roots! There is already a wafting at my temples, De-swelling and a collecting above — Butcher and gape and hatch and thicken yourself: Uprushing is about to happen: my brain!!

Genitals are still. Cut from the umbilical cord of the Earth. In itself. The circle. The lonesome one. As if a demigod the hand tests the cool star cluster. Narrow Bright air is sucked by the lips to itself in one long draft. In theservice of our race: eyes glazed, Ears flooded, lips dilated: Sun in the crown of the brain. Much restoration was also required to its interior. A new B -frame, which supports the rear axle, suspension and brakes, was fitted by Leaside. Things were very different in , perhaps nowhere more so than in the Routemaster world as interest in - and love for - these legendary buses now appears to be greater than ever.

In those heady pre-Millennium days, when this magazine was a bouncing new-born, there were more than Routemasters earning their keep as everyday buses in London. Now there are five operating heritage route 15, plus others on tour and private hire duties across the capital. Now you would have to pay a lot more than that. The bus looked good and we did think the scheme could have been adopted by one of the London operators still using Routemasters, which at the time had some say on the liveries used providing London Transport red was the principal shade.

Mick considered another standard red- liveried RM would be boring and added further personalised touches to the bus, including wood-effect floor tiles. That brings the story up to date for when our first story was written, but what has happened since? July 25 The answer is Dawsongroup, previously Dawsonrentals, whose managing director, Paul Stonehouse, now owns an immaculate RM The Dawson Group was set up as a family haulage firm in , moved into vehicle rental in and now employs people.

Involvement in buses did not begin until and now dozens of operators have Dawsongroup vehicles on rental or finance agreements. His decision to buy a Routemaster came many years later after attending a Confederation of Passenger Transport CPT event where examples from the Arriva Heritage Fleet provided delegate transportation.

RM was acquired by Ensignbus at the end of and Paul bought the bus unseen as a remarkably original vehicle. It was still in its colours but had fallen on rather tough times after sale to another owner who let it stand on a farm for a decade. The interior had suffered, and mechanical work was needed. The body structure was sound and Ensignbus repainted the bus in London red. It was strict demarcation. The injectors were reconditioned, and the brakes, along with the accumulators overhauled.

Routemaster restorer Dave Simmons sorted out much of interior work, which included the The Original London Sightseeing tour advertising featured RM RM is seen before its repaint and restoration. But RM has not been as fortunate. Sadly owner Mick Liddle passed away and the bus was subsequently owned by several others.

It was reported to have been based - and vandalised - in Sussex. This RM is now with a private owner who has requested no publicity, but we understand the bus has undergone some work and attended a rally. There could be a third vehicle in that line-up, as not only is Paul Sainthouse intending to put the already immaculate RM into as-delivered condition, but he has acquired RM, which had been kept in a local garden for many years and is now under restoration. Replacing RM , s Treadmaster proved a major job.

Then why not make an appointment to visit us? Call us NOW! Credit cards accepted on our wide range of books, DVDs and back issues! UlSSllSl Tel: e-mail: presbusps2 btinternet. If it's good enough for James Freeman, we reckon you'll enjoy it, too. Supporting these was an interesting selection of visiting vehicles to provide an excellent day out. CD was originally a single-deck Leyland N-type of , receiving this double-deck body in This was sold in for summerhouse, acquired for preservation in and mounted on its current chassis.

The bus was operated in Scotland between and , then subsequently used as an office cum store until rescued for preservation in This vehicle was last used by First Leicester as a driver trainer and spent several years in preservation on the south coast before returning to its home city. Salisbury of Blackpool with Beadle bodywork. It passed to Standerwick of Blackpool with the business in and was rebodied in by Ribble, after wartime requisition, with the English Electric bodywork to Leyland design from HG , a Leyland Tiger TS6.

Ives to Penzance. No is seen turning out of the square at St. Just towards the bus station, the terminus for route A amendment to the Construction and Use Regulations allowed Leyland to take advantage of the newly permitted 36ft 11m maximum bus and coach length and announce its PSU3 Leopard chassis, the first examples entering service in North Western sought more of a coach image and favoured the combination of Z-type structure and a Scottish Bus Group-style front with vee-windscreens.

The latter had 49 seats in a lengthened version of the same body with an extra window bay and a longer rear overhang - the sole examples built before the design was superseded by the ubiquitous Y-type. Nos and received forced-air ventilation systems and fixed side windows which, when combined with the cove glazing, must have made them very hot on summer days. This North Western became Arriva Merseyside and, during its training life, was involved in an accident that badly damaged its rear end.

It could have been scrapped - it was by then over years-old - but local management agreed a cost-effective repair to enable its continued use. It passed through several owners, was re-registered USL , and its condition deteriorated as outside storage took its toll. No was acquired in by Ribble Vehicle Preservation Trust member Gerard Butler from Travelsure Coaches of Northumberland; the latter had earlier acquired for restoration as a vintage vehicle for wedding hires but abandoned the project when they realised the extent of work required.

This early assessment revealed perished window rubbers and leaking cove windows had caused serious corrosion of the upright pillars, cant-rails and waist-rails. The rear-end accident had distorted the frame around the boot area and a rotten floor needed replacing. The rear fibreglass dome was badly cracked and distorted, and the saloon floor had a pronounced hill towards its rear.

But its historical significance as the sole-surviving complete former North Western Leopard, the earliest surviving 36ft PSU3 coach and a prototype for forced-air ventilation subsequently adopted by many operators were persuasive arguments to continue. CHASSIS A complete hub overhaul, including brake relining and handbrake adjustment, allowed to be taken for MoT in - which it passed - to facilitate movement for restoration.

It unfortunately overheated on the return journey which was put down to the fitting of a wrong type of cylinder head; the correct type was substituted. The main chassis was sound with only surface rust present, but the outriggers and body bearers were badly corroded and needed replacement. Steve is a time-served bodybuilder and has been contracted to restore the bodywork of several RVPT collection vehicles. July 35 Above left and centre: An interior comparison - under restoration and completed with new original style moquette seats and a bright airy feel from the cove windows.

Note each double seat has a single air vent - no squabbling! SIMON GILL The chassis was shot-blasted and silver-painted after Steve removed the old outriggers and body bearers, and the opportunity taken to remove components, such as the alternator, regulator and compressor, for overhaul.

The fuel tank was also in poor condition and a replacement fabricated and fitted, together with new tank straps. The front and rear roof panels immediately behind and in front of the fibreglass domes also had to be replaced.

These were formed using large 10ft x 5ft aluminium sheets and care was taken not to dent them during the forming process. The front and rear fibreglass domes were removed and refurbished by Steve, with many cracks filled and missing pieces replaced. All upright and waist-rail frame sections were changed. The rear waist-rail and boot framework was particularly challenging. These were distorted because of the rear end accident; recreating the correct shape required much trial and error before the final fit.

A good deal of deconstruction of the s repair was necessary before this could be achieved. See Noffo- la Drivers. The Formica panel patterns are no longer available, so Gerard took the decision to recreate the panels using Foamex. This is like Formica but more pliable. Pendle Signs of Colne reproduced patterns from samples and printed them onto Foamex using computer-aided design technology to give an excellent finish indistinguishable from the original. This, together with a new cab door the original went missing years ago!

Several saloon windows were an incorrect depth, and some were not of the correct safety glass standard. This required most side windows to be replaced with new safety glass cut to the correct pattern. The laminated windscreens were turning opaque in the corners and new ones had to be cut. Steve worked with Dave to refit the windows - a two and sometimes three- handed job - using rubber to the correct pattern supplied by Nu-Fox Rubber of Middleton Manchester. Gerard, Dave and Steve breathed a sigh of relief when the curved cove windows were refitted.

There were no spares and replacement would have been difficult and expensive if any broke. The saloon floor was replaced with marine ply covered with traditional lino to the correct shade of brown supplied by Gerflor of Warwick. Dave and Gerard fitted the completed seats and the result is superb. Dave also overhauled the saloon electrics. There were charging issues, the speedometer did not work, and air pressure and temperature gauges were missing. Gerard had replacements and the dash instrumentation is now in place and working.

New heater boxes were also fitted with Dave simultaneously replacing the copper heater pipes - the heating system now functions well and gets nice and warm inside! This was carried out by enthusiast and professional coach painter Mat Southart, who has carried out repaints for several preservationists in the north-west.

Such an extensive restoration has resulted in a vehicle that really looks the part and is evocative of a much-respected bus and coach operator that is sadly no longer with us. Our thanks to owner Gerard Butler for his boundless assistance with this feature and to John Edwards for driving during our photo shoot. July 37 No makes a splendid sight on its return to Manchester on the famous X60 service.

The air intakes for the forced- air ventilation system can be clearly seen on both sides of the destination box. It later passed into preservation, emerging at the beginning of this decade with non-standard grilles in the front dash. All North Western examples were fitted with Alexander bodywork. Centre: North Western favoured Alexander bodywork in the s and s. No passed to Trent later in along with services in Derbyshire.

Upon division of the fleet in , this bus was re-allocated to Crosville, ending its days with Maghull Coaches of Liverpool. Below: Despite the arrival of the Commander above, Alexander continued as a favoured supplier. MocKpon www. Pilgnm Street.

Please make cheques payable to D. Follow us on Facebook. See our stall at selected bus rallies all over the UK entrance exam, and we were assured by his headmaster that he would fail. He passes - but the fees would effectively wipe out one of our salaries. It proved very popular, but Mark was unhappy that there was no back up. Demand was such that in a single year Mark turned away people while being fully booked for June Saturdays over a year in advance.

It became quieter but the cars had done their job - my eldest was through Wellington and off to university and the second son was well on his way through school. Civic ceremonies are now more often held at hotels, castles and suchlike where accommodation before and after the ceremony is provided meaning cars to transport the wedding party are seldom required. The pre-war car scene has also stagnated as the real activity in the car market currently revolves around post-war models of the s, 70s and 80s.

His Bedford OBs are frequently hired to celebrate special occasions such as weddings, anniversaries, school proms, corporate events and theatre visits. One or two may occasionally be seen at static rallies and running days, particularly those located within easy distance of north-east Hampshire. That suited me very well as I had the Ages Past business. They complement the interior John gave me but I wanted a classical livery that looked right for me. Many sliding roofs were removed from Vista bodies as rainwater channels became blocked and retained moisture which created rust and damp to ruin bodywork and upholstery.

It then became apparent that history was repeating itself. This version of the Vista was the standard Duple coach body for the OB from until Bedford ceased its production in late Centre right: The seat Mulliner bodywork fitted to LSU features a centrally-located emergency exit door in its rear wall and low-backed vinyl bus seats.

There are certainly others kept privately, but OB2 is a relative rarity. It is a single-deck bus with vinyl seats and totally different from my other OBs. It is quirky and more open, which people like, as being more sociable. Do you know I have three blank cheques and people are prepared to pay any money for one? But I would rather you had another because you are using them and maintaining them. Leave it with me and we will see what happens. And it has a sunshine roof that works and drains perfectly.

The Mark V Service Coach was based upon the Vista but lacked a sunshine roof and much external decoration, while the interior seating is not quite as luxurious as the normal coach. And I lost. What is more amazing is this was the most popular OB last year. We prepared it for its Certificate of Initial Fitness and its has, to date, carried out just two bookings so far. But there are a lot more booked ahead. It has been re-sleeved, the big-ends and crankshaft refurbished, and we have new pistons.

It lacks a sunshine roof and much of the external decoration fitted as standard to the Vista coach. Ages Past has added the aisle carpet and headrest antimacassars. I can always do with an extra driver. It will be fantastic if I can find a pet PCV driver who is not dedicated to someone else already.

Our grateful thanks to Mark Sleep for his kind assistance and hospitality, and to John Wakefield for providing the vehicle histories. It passed to Ages Past in September and reverted to its correct registration. Withdrawn July and passed to an unknown New Milton owner and used as a greenhouse. Purchased by Jeffery Thorpe of Herne Bay in June and reregistered LSU in May when it became illegal to have a registration newer than the vehicle to which it applied.

Acquired by Ages Past in December Sold to Wilson of Haughley in and repainted in a fictitious Sunset Tours livery. Acquired by Ages Past in May Historical Vehicles I Tel: www. Of these three two remain in preservation totday, whilst the third was preserved, but now seems to have departed the scene.

Saturday 1 November marked the end of 37 years of Fleetline service in the West Midlands and 95 years of Daimler operation. Their passing did not go unnoticed. A very well organised event was led by preservationist Rob Handford, who was at the time employed by Travel West Midlands. The chosen location was Washwood Heath garage now closed , situated on the east side of the city, where intense Fleetline extras were put to work on service 27, which then ran between Birmingham Markets and Bromford, passing the gates of the garage!

Some of the last surviving Fleetlines were reinstated from the reserve fleet to join the last operational ones to make an impressive running line-up on the day, the oldest being NOC R , which was joined by TVP S that had survived in a non-standard grey livery. Thanks to Rob, a nice set of seats was also fitted! The Fleetlines were joined by Metrobuses, which wore heritage liveries of Birmingham City Transport and municipal undertakings, something the company had decided to do to represent its history back in A solitary 50 www.

New to Ribble, it had entered the West Midlands fleet by default, having been acquired as a result of buying up competition. Inside the grounds of the garage, sales stands and preserved vehicles could be found on display amongst the buses resting from busy Saturday operations. Fast forward to and the fate of the last day fleet is somewhat different. No went on for use with the Ministry of Defence, but was later scrapped. No survives as a mobile billboard in Lye, West Midlands, Nos and saw further use before being scrapped; survives as a playbus.

As for the preserved vehicles on display, , , can be found in regular use at the Transport Museum, Wythall; the latter two having benefited from further restorations. These three have been joined by , which was saved out of service in by Simon Langley and Andrew Duffy, before passing to me for full restoration in Their efforts should be acknowledged as this is probably the sole surviving complete East Lancs-bodied WMPTE Fleetline in existence from the batch of No remains part of the Aston Manor collection at Aldridge, while saw further use in Spain, its current whereabouts are not known and it is assumed to have been scrapped.

It came into traffic early in , and I was now in my last year of school, still mourning the loss of the Fleetline. I was still struggling to like the Leyland Lynx, a type I later drove in service for West Midlands and loved, together with the Metrobuses both Mkl and Mk2 , but these played second fiddle to the Fleetline! The company operated 22 at the peak and the type had few build connections with the Midlands, though DAF had carried over the rear suspension module from the Metrobus.

The Museum had always been reluctant to purchase by numbers, a good base condition was key, so the best from the batch was always favoured. However, the Spectra choice would be very limited indeed. A formal approach was made by Malcolm to Richard Rampton at National Express, who began negotiations and liaison with Peter Coates, who was the Managing Director at the time.

The Museum subsequently inspected R1 NEG, which was found to be in overall sound condition and the Trustees were delighted to accept the generous donation from National Express in June Signwriting on was misleading. But nice symmetry that the Fleetline era began and ended with a bus numbered !

The majority of the batch was branded for Service 50, which runs between the City Centre and Druids Heath on the south side of the city. No had often been used during its early days on the route, I recall catching it one morning on the way to my GCSE English exam! As newer low floor double-deck buses were acquired, the Spectras started to migrate onto other routes, and during the entire batch was allocated to Wolverhampton garage on the western side of the network.

During their time at Wolverhampton they were fitted with electronic destination displays and had upgraded internal cameras fitted. However, by a continued influx of new vehicles meant time was running short for the Spectras, and by April withdrawals began, coming off the road in May that year. As the Museum entered a new era of bus preservation the Trustees were keen to ensure all the appropriate spares and tooling was acquired to help maintain it for future generations.

A further kind act from National Express came when it donated all the Spectra spares from the books, the staff led by Engineering manager Alan Maybury at Wolverhampton Garage were a great support. A new set of tyres was acquired, and a tachograph was installed without impacting on the appearance within the dashboard. The rev counter was refitted, and Museum member Leo Coley threw himself into restoring the interior of the bus, assisted by Ray Ward. This enabled me to drop onto various tasks to assist Leo when required, as he repainted the seat frames and other internal fittings, while Ray was removing seats to get them re-trimmed as needed.

A lot of time was spent replacing and cutting glass, due to window etching, and replacing aged rubber where required. I attended to replacing some corroded steel work in and around the front destination area, and above the entrance doors. A number of wiring issues required a number of complete new wires feeding the offside rear lights. This involved many hours of my time.

Alex Potts attended to some welding underneath. The bus received two good steam cleans and red oxide primer where necessary before being silver sprayed. I removed all the lower skirt panels, as all required some considerable straightening and repairs — thanks to Kevin Hill for his assistance here. The area around the front nearside wheel required some straightening from years of speed hump abuse, a newly cut and shaped panel resulted once the surrounding area had been repaired.

The advert panel holding strips were all removed and Leo painstakingly filled all the holes left by them. A number of areas around the bus required fibreglass repairs and minor filling where necessary, together with treatment around the lower- deck windows where aluminium corrosion had set in. Above: Cab complete with Wayfarer ticket machine. Right and below: Graphics expertly recreated and applied by Lee Hobson.

One of the essential tasks was to remove the electronic destination displays. All the boxes were removed and I adapted the Metrobus box to fit the front of on a very hot July day! However, all wiring for the electronic displays remains in case it is decided to refit them in the future. After a successful Class 6 Test in July , was thankfully nearing the repaint stage.

The bus was dispatched to Transmobile in Bloxwich for final paint preparation and repaint in original livery. Once repainted, No returned to Wythall for finishing off. Leo was back in action repainting other parts of the interior, together with replacing the floor covering in the cab; some Formica repair and replacement was also required. This was once I had attended to the rubber blacking and paint touching in from any overspray. Lee performed wonders, especially the large vinyl on the rear of the bus, as fitted when new!

Thanks to Andy Walcott for his assistance with the restoration of those! All the work came together, allowing a frantic final clean to take place inside the bus before its launch on the open day! As a result the first production low-floor double-decker is now restored for all to see.

No was later converted to conventional power, ending its days as a driver trainer. This example was scrapped in May This pleasant red, white and blue scheme was to be seen on the streets of the West Midlands for more than ten years, the red being replaced by light blue in Coventry. Leading is No S NVP which like its sisters was initially allocated to Birmingham Central Garage for service on the busy 50 route to the now demolished Maypole public house. It was transferred to Wolverhampton garage in and withdrawn and sold to Ensign dealer in It was one 98 such buses to see service in the West Midlands, being transferred to National Express Dundee in May The Leyland Royal Tiger was a heavyweight underfloor-engined bus and coach chassis manufactured between and It sold well in the United Kingdom and overseas from launch, using the same mechanical units as the integral Leyland- MC W Olympic but with a substantial steel ladder-frame chassis.

This was generally straight in elevation and allowed operators to specify separate bodywork of their choice with the passenger floor about 3ft above the road surface. A flexibly-mounted 9. Steering was unassisted Maries cam and double roller, with all component assemblies save for some special export orders built by Leyland and well-proven from previous use in the Tiger The overseas Royal Tiger OPSU3 was available in the same widths but to 30ft, 33ft and 35ft 6ins lengths. The front entrance Roadmaster exhibited some American influence in its general body shape, high waistband and small side windows.

Both were later sold to South Notts Bus Company in This is former South Notts No 63 after sale in the lates. It believed to have been scrapped. It was withdrawn in The last Royal Tigers were completed in , by which time 6, had been built. It was supplanted in the home market by the lighter Tiger Cub, which was in series production by and rapidly overtook the Royal Tiger in operator popularity. Export markets demanded more ruggedness and power, for which the Worldmaster was introduced in Many thousands were cast, and prices can vary.

This one has had the top half overpainted by a previous owner. After use by Gotham branch of the Royal British Legion it was sold for a restoration which was never completed. The Leyland badge is offset as the spare wheel is carried under the windscreen behind side-hinged doors. The silver waistband is unusually ragged otherwise the complicated livery is well executed. Below: A model of car LUF was part of a Centenary Set and carries a slipboard and roofboards for the South Coast Express service while car LUF carries roofboards advertising private hire but is on an express service to Hayling.

It is still extant although not restored. Leyland ceased its bodybuilding activities in It was a toy - not a scale model - with several cast until with a separate range of colours produced for the American market. There is no glazing or interior. It is pretty much to scale and many have been transformed into quite competent models.

The Oxford Diecast Duple Roadmaster was introduced in April and has proved a popular member of this range. Construction follows standard Oxford single-deck methods: a cast bottom half with a transparent plastic top half masked and over-sprayed in the required livery. This produces an excellent finish complete July 57 with very flush glazing and printed-on rubber gaskets. There are unfortunately a couple of downsides to this method: the top can appear translucent when seen in certain lighting conditions and re-liverying a model requires all windows to be carefully masked.

The body is held together by two Phillips screws and removing these allows the top to be unclipped and the interior removed. The joins are extremely neat with no gaps evident. Right: Ribble and its subsidiaries were also major Royal Tiger customers.

Models of Ribble and Standerwick have so far appeared, the livery being identical bar fleetnames and numbers. Wheels are plastic with rubber tyres, windscreen wipers are moulded on and picked out in paint but, in common with all Oxford models, no exterior mirrors are fitted.

Standards of finish and decals are, with one exception, excellent; the exception is a ragged silver waistband on the Bamber Bridge model. The chassis is metal with basic axle and exhaust detail. It is a splendid model for which several further livery variations could be issued, especially if the modelled 8ft width is ignored. It certainly captures the look of the prototype; the lantern windscreen is very well captured and there are three different lower front castings as per each prototype modelled.

The model is constructed in the same way as the Roadmaster although the plastic to metal join is below the windows, but again with no visible gaps. Decoration and decals are excellent, even down to legible destinations above the side windows on the Ribble and Standerwick models.

The interior does allow the model driver to see forward. One wonders how many livery variations can be produced, especially if compromises are made the model is a scale 7ft 6ins width as we have seen from EFE and Corgi. There could be more to come. This model of C OKO 22 correctly features the rearward location of its nearside fleetname to prevent its covering by an open centre-entrance door. I dropped into the shop at or, to be more precise, above Speedwell Cavern while reporting on a classic car tour of Derbyshire for another publication.

The attraction itself is a vast underground space reached by a canal boat after a step trek down to what must be nigh on close to the centre of the earth. But for omnibus enthusiasts this subterranean treat surely falls into insignificance compared to a fascinating display of photos, one of which is reproduced here by kind permission.

Their transport? Holt was again approached for a coach in , when it was presumably cast contract renegotiation time, as a Bedford VAL70 with Plaxton bodywork was hired for a crash scene. We featured earlier the changing fortunes of two Routemasters which appeared in a issue; RM is now in the hands of Dawsongroup formerly Dawsonrentals Managing Director Paul Sainthouse. We visited Paul at his office and found a fine piece of wall art featuring a Routemaster grille and apparently much of the workings behind it.

But how was this done? This was fixed to the wall and the grille hung over the top - simples! Nowadays this identity is as much known and loved as the Union Flag - or at least you may think so when visiting Milton Keynes. Not only does a massive Arriva omnibus picture proudly occupy almost an entire wall of a local Burger King, but there also appears to be an Arriva shrine in the City centre with a happy world of Arriva rainbows, an Arriva bus, daffodils and a kite flying child emblazoned on the outside.

The nearest candidate we saw in visit was an registered vehicle in the original incarnation of Arriva colours! Maybe because it was so near the station, we did notice several people with jaws dropping in shock when they chanced upon THM 5I5M from the rear. It did almost look as if the Well done everyone who has enabled this fine machine to survive. A turquoise livery was originally used but this was replaced with new green and yellow colours and a name change to Cleveland Transit on I April this is now the Stagecoach in Teesside operation.

TMT operated the former TRTB trolleybuses until as the penultimate UK trolleybus operator - just Bradford was left - and one of these was a particularly fine surprise at the 50th anniversary rally. Did any other operators Portsmouth or Plymouth maybe? Sadly none of the fine later Fleetlines are preserved.

Good external condition and retrimmed interior in Green and black moquette with grey leather trim. Drives superbly. All advertisements will appear in the next available issue. Please note we do not accept private adverts over the phone. These also apply to display advertising should private readers require it. For our latest competitive rates please call or e-mail Sandra Lamb: mail: presbusps2 btinternet.

Phone Mr K. Bott South Yorkshire Transport Museum on between Do you need s Moquette? We need to meet a minimum order requirement and those who join us at the time of ordering can take advantage of purchasing at cost price. If you are interested in further details, please contact Paul Baker on pr. New to Southdown. Believed to be sole survivor. Class 6 MoT due April For further details contact Nick Pope, Tel: or e-mail: harvestlm btconnect.

Vehicle located near Horsham, West Sussex. Gardner Engine. Must be in good sound condition, with current MoT. Please call with any details:

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