Then I saw a truck coming along behind the tram. Unlike the tram, the truck was all white. On its side was painted in black letters: “TRAM RECOVERY VEHICLE”. My first instinct was to ask why the truck was behind the tram instead of in front, pulling it up the hill. Then I saw the huge bulldozer style front bullbar on the truck and understood: the TRV’s job was to push, as well as (presumably) “catch” the tram should it lose its brakes. Kind of like a parent pushing a child on a swing. Well, not really but maybe you get the idea.
I started thinking about how nice it would be to have a vehicle like that around all the time: some thing to catch you when you fall, or push you along when the energy runs out. It was nice to think such warm and protective thoughts, even though I knew I was straying dangerously close to a form of anthropomorphism.
Then the tram started up and turned the long corner of Queens Parade to inch up High Street. Right on cue, the TRV followed behind. The screeches of the wheels and the dust kicked up by the tracks assaulted my ears and eyes as I crossed the road. Then the screeching noise faded. Soon enough, the sounds of the cars had taken over everything.