“Ground Control this is Major Tom, can you ‘hear’ me ground control, we have a problem”, as my helmet continuously crashes against the canopy of my test aircraft. The vibrations increase incessantly until this all too common dream subsides with my vibrating alarm oscillating under my pillow until I awaken.
I wake to a pitch-black room in which I can see nothing and a blanket of utter silence shrouds my life.
Mine is the world of profound deafness from childhood, I busy myself for the daily commute into London.
I reach Hitchin Station to find a mass of people standing six deep awaiting the London train. I ask myself why so many are waiting this morning, and look around for clues.
I see people looking at the tannoy system but I am none the wiser, I try to lip read those few commuters who are conversing, but to no avail.
In my silent world, in which I am content because I know no different, I wait patiently looking for clues in the behaviour of BR staff and passengers. I rely on people’s body language, their use of limited hand gesturing, discussions held on the mobile to work colleagues or conversations between staff and passengers to gauge the problem and extent of delay.
I recently read in BR’s Network Rail publication, they are shortly to install a digital display monitor to keep all passengers informed of train movements. I look forward to being one of the few that will eventually join the majority. Evidently even BR have now realised 1 in 7 people, i.e. about 9 million of the population, have hearing difficulties and rely on visual clues.
On days of delayed or broken trains, I have no choice but to stand with many others for the 1 hour commute into Kings Cross. Over the past two years I have learnt to amuse myself whilst standing by improving my lip reading skills. If only I could remember all that I have heard, I could write an interesting book on people’s behaviour on trains.
The use of mobile phones has made my silent world quite amusing, I see mobile users calling their offices saying they are going to be late again. Those trying to awaken their teenage offspring for work or college and those calling loved ones or even lovers for what they think are intimate calls. It is sometimes amusing to think they cannot see me seeing them so clearly. I text colleagues at work to advise them of my potential delay.
I become aware of my acute sense of smell with wonderful perfumes and interesting aftershaves used by travellers. I feel compelled to want to ask them what they are using but know only too well they are likely to be embarrassed to converse with a person whose speech is slow, deep and loud. I refrain from public speech and save my conversation for my real friends who understand and do not criticise me for being only slightly different.
My speeding journey carries me through Hatfield, Finchley and deep into the heart of London as I begin to think about what a good weekend lies ahead.
Tomorrow I have the great privilege to represent Hertfordshire in their county golf game at Birkampstead, my handicap is a well earned 6 and the weather forecast is promising.
In the evening I’m off to meet my fiancée at the George Inn in Stevenage with other friends from the Deaf Community. These are great weekly social get-togethers where likeminded people can communicate openly via lip reading or the more commonly used BSL. The closeness and comradeship of our group and other such organisations warms me as I near my journey’s end.
The late running train comes to a gentle halt as passengers quickly disembark to speed onto their workplaces. I look forward to the challenges of the forthcoming day as a deaf test engineer for British Airways, working on their visual electronic systems.
October 2007
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