Quite a few decades back I was teaching drama at a secondary school in Christchurch, New Zealand. We had been selected to perform a play in Dunedin, New Zealand. It is about a four and a half hour drive (I think), although longer in a slightly slower school vehicle. So off I set driving the school’s bus with about a dozen teenagers.
Somewhere between Christchurch and Dunedin there is a long, long bridge. No one ever says anything, but every schoolboy knows and does: you hold your breath for the duration of the crossing. It would be futile to tell teenagers that they were not to do it. They would do it anyway. One simply hoped that they wouldn’t realize until the bus was half way across the bridge. One hopes there will be no slow car in front.
I knew we were nearing the bridge and I was behind a slow car on a two-lane road. I pulled the bus over and waited for the slow car to get over the bridge. Already some had started to hold their breath. They would have to start again. When the coast was clear I set off – flat out. We reached the other side and all was well.
The drama festival went well enough. Of course in the back of my mind was the fact that I had to drive back to Christchurch and endure another bridge crossing. As it turned out, after a three-day busy schedule, when we reached the bridge they were all asleep!
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