City cabbie’s moving help for mother

Dec 6 2007 by Peter Leathley, The Journal

AFTER all the bashing the North-East has received in the national press, I thought Journal readers might be interested in reading the comments of Nadine Dorries, the Conservative MP for Mid-Bedfordshire in her blog at http://www.dorries.org.uk/Blog.aspx.

They concern her journey north to attend the graduation of “my first born, first in the family, first graduation ever” at one of the Newcastle universities.

Her rail journey started in Stevenage when the taxi she had ordered for 6.50am arrived late and reached the station after her train had gone.

There followed a “journey of station hopping as I crawled up the Pennines, trying to time an arrival at a major station to coincide with a fast train: it didn’t happen. I went from one freezing cold station to the next, in miserable, unheated carriages, looking at my watch.

“The ceremony started at 2.30pm. My phone warbled with a message from she who had no idea what was happening, to tell me she was the very first on.

“I finally arrived after seven hours on the verge of frantic distress at Newcastle Station and dived into a cab. It was 2. 22pm.

“I asked the cab driver how long it would take; Ten minutes he said. It was too much to bear. I had spent seven hours on a series of trains from hell and I was about to miss a moment I had planned, and looked forward to, all of my adult life.

“I couldn’t answer the cabbie when he asked me what I was doing in Newcastle. An overwhelming feeling of maternal guilt had consumed me and I began to cry.

“Eeeh pet,” he said, “I know me drivins not the best but it’s never made no one cry before. Me missus says ah drive too fast like bit it’s never made her weep, what’s up pet?”

I told him. “Reet,” he said, “breathe in pet and hang on to yer seat belt, ah think they call this a white knuckle ride” and he went for it.

“I felt like an extra in Back to the Future as he nipped in and out of side roads and zoomed up a steep hill in third gear. As I went to get my money out of my purse, he yelled: ‘Get out get out run it doesn’t matter.’ I obeyed because I knew I only had seconds. I ran straight through the door and was met by the Marshall, who ushered me straight through the inner door; wise friends had kept me an aisle seat near the entrance.

“I sat as I heard the Provost say the words Batchelor of Arts with Honours in Ancient History, followed by my daughter’s name. I turned and saw my beautiful daughter, head bobbing high with pride, walk down the centre aisle, long blonde hair billowing out behind her, beaming as she caught my eye.

“Another 10 seconds and I would have missed one of the proudest moments of my life.”

NORMAN PATRICK, Newcastle