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We interrupt this series of shorts on the antics of School Bus 13 to bring you a news bulletin:

GEORGE H.W. BUSH IS DEAD

You may think that a little disrespectful, even cruel. After all, what of his poor grieving family? Shouldn’t they be spared such harshness whilst husband and father is still warm in the mortuary?

For the next however-many-days until this man’s body is finally done away with, in whatever manner his vast fortune has allowed, we will hear nothing but hypocritical bla-bla emanating from the media, world politicians, would-be friends, etc, etc, all blathering of how wonderful he was, what a great man he was, a terrific world leader, (a Statesman, surely?) till anyone even vaguely familiar with the truth surrounding George H.W. Bush will likely puke with disgust.

Let’s start with Afghanistan. When the Russians finally pulled out of that god-forsaken country in 1988-89 George H.W. had just been elected US President. His predecessor, the artful though not very bright Ronald Reagan, with the cooperation of his Vice President (guess who? Yes! George H.W. Bush!), had been supplying arms, including the deadly Stinger missiles, to Osama bin Laden’s Mujaheddin, enabling them to defeat the Russian forces.

Once the Russians had gone, Bush, now the new US president, hailed the Afghan peoples’, “extraordinary triumph of spirit and will,” promising the U.S. would, “remove mines, resettle refugees, and reconstruct Afghanistan’s war-torn economy.”

It never happened. Bush abandoned Afghanistan and its people to their fate. There was no oil in Afghanistan, nor any other commodity useful to the United States. It had simply been used as a pawn in the cold war with Russia. The country rapidly descended into ferocious civil war, only ending when the Taliban gained a tenuous hold and imposed a draconian order. The Islamic fighters who routed the Russians eventually re-formed, became al Qaeda, and a decade later pulled off the greatest terrorist attack ever – 9/11.

Then, there was the Persian Gulf during the Iran/Iraq War when the US couldn’t decide which side they were on, but eventually, if rather surreptitiously, joined up with Saddam Hussein.

On July 3rd 1988, the cruiser USS Vincennes, one of America’s most advanced warships, shot down an Airbus A300, while on patrol in the Persian Gulf. Iran Air flight 655, was en route from Bandar Abbas, Iran, to Dubai. The aircraft was legitimately flying within its correct flight path, and gaining altitude when the Vincennes, ostensibly mistaking it for an Iranian F-15 fighter diving down in attack mode on the ship, shot it down. Of the 290 passengers and crew – all civilians, and including women and sixty-six children – there were no survivors.

Whether the Vincennes deliberately shot down the airliner is still a matter of conjecture. The tissue of (since proven) lies emanating from the administration and the Vincennes’ captain, Will Rogers III, immediately after the event suggests such may well have been the case. If Rogers had mistakenly slaughtered 290 innocents, normal procedure would surely have involved relief of command and a possible courts martial. As it was, there was no disciplinary action, and Rogers “received a handsome decoration for duties well performed.” The result of the naval investigation concluded, “Iran must bear principal responsibility for the tragedy.”

Both Reagan and Bush denied the US was in any way responsible. Bush, at that time was running for the presidency as Reagan’s second term was drawing to a close. When asked if he would apologise to the Iranians for the incident, he responded:

“I will never apologize for the United States – I don’t care what the facts are. I’m not an apologize-for-America kind of guy.”

Well, Mister H.W. Bush, I’m not an apologise-for-not-liking-you kind of guy. You and your family between you have been responsible for more killing, more suffering, more war, more torture, and more incarceration without trial, than possibly any other administration in history, with the possible exception of the Third Reich. You and yours were just as “America First and Fuck the Rest,” as Donald Trump is today. The only difference: he’s upfront about it.

The above accounts are just two of many that could be evidenced: Somalia, the Balkans,the Iraqi Kurds, all part of the infamous ‘New World Order’ that you envisaged. An ‘order’ that brought nothing but suffering and death to thousands of your fellow human beings.

I will, therefore, end this bulletin as it began:

GEORGE H.W. BUSH IS DEAD

^{[1] “When Iran Air Flight 655 Was Shot Down By A US Navy Guided Missile Cruiser” War History Online, February 3rd 2018}

^{NOTE: The above link is to probably the most ‘balanced’ account of the incident of Flight 655. There are others, mainly American, giving more US-biased accounts.}

With winter rapidly approaching – at least in the Northern Hemisphere – I was reminded of a certain time some years back when driving a school bus could be an even more precarious occupation than usual. Thirty-odd noses were capable of emitting vast numbers of microbes, and all aimed at the poor driver upfront.

One such occasion saw me out of action for the best part of a week; too sick to even post on Sparrow Chat. And it was all down, of course, to one of the Roberts boys.

ALL FOR THE WANT OF A HANDKERCHIEF. ^{(Circa 2007)}

Regular readers of Sparrow Chat may have been perplexed of late by the lack of posts. It’s the winter holiday season in America, and that means high season for germs. When Sparrow Chat’s files succumbed recently to a digitized virus, so did its administrator – though, to the more conventional form of the microbe.

One major drawback to School Bus 13 is that it’s packed with little germbags. At this time of year, most of the kids are sniffing. Moms today seem disinclined to provide their offspring with any means of wiping noses, so the early morning bus stop reveals a vista of small urchins, hands a’pocket, and snotty green growths hanging precariously from urchin nostrils.

The family Roberts is no exception. With the possible exception of Cordell Roberts, the older boys are not terribly interested in Oakley Canton or any other female student riding the bus, but they still make an effort with their appearance, presumably hoping a real dazzler may one day board and provide them with another interest in life besides beating each other up. Consequently, though sleeve cuffs bear witness to the method of cleansing, older noses are relatively snot free.

The younger Roberts’ boys, Azariah and Izaiah, are not so particular. Azariah is prone to temper tantrums and anger management problems, both of which can prove particularly infecting of the rest of us whenever he has a cold virus – a permanent affliction, it seems, at this time of year.

Only a couple of weeks back, Cordell Roberts stole a piece of candy from Azariah, whereupon, unable to control his rage at such brotherly intrusion, the first-grader leapt from his seat and rushed up the aisle, red-faced, spouting tears and green pus from every facial orifice – or, so it seemed.

Finally arriving alongside the driver’s chair, and finding himself with nowhere else to go, he bent low at the knees before launching himself upright and emitting a roar of fury that would have done credit to an African lion who’d just discovered a hyena had run off with his antelope sandwiches. The effect of this vocal contortion was to spray enormous quantities of Azariah’s bodily excretions all over the bus dashboard, steering wheel, and control knobs.

All of which resulted in Azariah being ‘written up’ for leaving his seat, Cordell – for pinching candy, the driver coughing and sneezing for the next fortnight, and, as a consequence, a serious lack of posts on Sparrow Chat.

I’m happy to report that updates to Mrs R J’s condition can now be accessed via the menu at the top of each page, both on home/laptop computers and also smartphones.

Meanwhile, yet another chapter in the daily life of an English school bus driver in America –

The journey home from school today was not a bus driver’s success story. All four of the younger Roberts kids were back after a three day detention for misbehaving in school.

Jethro Roberts, the eldest, and Izaiah – who suffers from anger management problems – sit opposite the driver; Treanna, their sister, sits behind the driver, and little Azariah – with chipmunk agility and a shorter attention span than any amoeba – is squeezed in between two fifth graders with orders to sit on him, if necessary, rather than let him out of his seat.

The root of the troubles had nothing whatever to do with the Roberts family. Sharreta Robinson, a pleasant, friendly, girl who sits near the back of the bus, and a fifth grade boy, Keyshawn Attwell, a friend of Jethro’s, had been engaged in shy conversation at every given opportunity for the last three days. Keyshawn was new to the bus, and the driver was quick to notice a relationship developing between the two.

It made a pleasant change to see two kids enjoying each other’s company. Usually, the bus reverberated with continual bickering and name-calling, occasionally erupting into more serious fistycuffs, so he was happy to turn a blind eye when Sharetta Robinson slipped across the bus aisle to a vacant seat behind Keyshawn, better to hear what he was saying above the cacophony of thirty-eight, over-excited, voices.

No doubt all would have been well had not Kaitlin Sanders, a plump and loud-mouthed sixth grade girl sitting across from Jethro Roberts, not also had her eye on Keyshawn. Sharreta’s illegal move to another seat was not lost on Kaitlin, who immediately began making loud, disparaging, remarks about Jethro’s parentage, for no better purpose than to gain Keyshawn’s attention.

Jethro Roberts, of course, responded by calling Kaitlin a “fat, lying, bitch,” whereupon the two ended up in the aisle, arms flailing, and emitting language never heard in a church vestry.

The driver’s reaction was to stop the bus, separate the two, then charge up and down the aisle, much like the proverbial bull in a china shop, yelling at the remaining thirty-six kids to settle back down in their seats before they all got referrals.

The Roberts family alighted at the next stop, as did Keyshawn. Jethro Roberts still muttered to himself on the injustice of getting a referral for no more than defending his honor, and the meanness of school bus drivers in general.

Kaitlin Sanders sulked for the rest of the journey, knowing her referral meant she would miss the next school field trip. Both she and Sharreta left the bus at the final stop.

The driver watched as the two girls walked away up the street, arm in arm, laughing and joking about nothing in particular.

“Huh! So much for young love,” he thought.