When I was a small child, Mum and Dad had a little Austin Ruby car. They loved it. Dad had trained as an aircraft fitter during the war, and now worked for a large diesel engine manufacturer. It was no problem for him to maintain the car and it gave us all real flexibility. I always sat in the back, of course. That meant I sometimes had to share the back seat with various of Mum and Dad’s friends who came on outings with us.
There were no seat belts in those days. If another couple joined us in the car, I was required to sit between them. I hated it. I never said anything – I was an obedient child by and large – but I squirmed inwardly and couldn’t wait for fresh air and freedom from the oppression of other bodies in close proximity. I still struggle with squashing on a seat with someone either side of me.
As a regular commuter between the mid-eighties and the early noughties I dreaded trains on which five seats were spaced across the compartment. There was really only room for four. If the train became crowded, I would rather stand than sit between people. To my shame, I once stood up leaving the whole of a small seat for two (really one-and-a-half) to an amply-built lady who squashed in next to me with a cheery “there’s room for a little one isn’t there?” Many people would not have minded, but she needed three-quarters of the seat and I needed more space than she could give me. It wasn’t her fault. Full sized seats would have accommodated us both more comfortably.
For many years I travelled with the same friend, and was grateful for the ease of sitting with someone who was not a space invader. They were not always there though, and in their absence, I guarded my few inches jealously. Commuting is a stressful game. Anyone who has done it understands the battle for the central armrest.
I often felt, and was made to feel, selfish for needing personal space. In those days people still read newspapers on trains. Considerate folk folded them so that they were seeing one page at a time. Some didn’t. I was once joined by a man who opened his paper and held it unfolded half-way across me so that I couldn’t see what I was reading. I asked him politely if he would please fold it, at which point he threw a hissy fit, slammed the paper down on his lap and said “there! Are you satisfied now?”
For me, all of these issues are related to hypersensitivity to sensory input. Crowds, noise, being jostled, having people walk close on my heels, all set me on edge. I recently went out to take a few photographs of the Christmas market in Southampton. It was busy and spectacular. Twenty minutes was more than enough. Take care if your senses are overwhelmed by this time of year, and please be kind if you love it all.
