CRAWLING down Longueville Road one morning in the usual rush-hour conga line of vehicles of all shapes, sizes and horsepower, a sudden revelation unfolded before my eyes.
It was not just the volume of traffic, I decided, that caused this monotonous crawl, but the number of pedestrians using the numerous crossings between the Bagot Inn and the tunnel. Or rather, it was the type of crossing.
When you finally escape the colony of traffic lights and bollards at Georgetown, hoping at last to reach your objective on time, someone presses the pelican crossing button outside the Co-op and the traffic grinds again to a halt. It is a frustrating process that is repeated near St Luke’s Church and just past the junction with Roseville Street, not forgetting the traffic lights in between.
There can be no question that pedestrian crossings are essential to public safety, especially near schools and in residential areas, but I do wonder at the seemingly haphazard location of crossings on Island roads.
Who or what determines whether a zebra crossing (black and white stripes on the road and flashing beacons at each end), a pelican crossing (push-button) or a simple ‘refuge’ or ‘island’ will do the best job?
The use of the term ‘refuge’ in this connection has long perplexed me. The definition of refuge is ‘shelter from pursuit, danger or trouble’, and if our streets are that bad, surely it is not safe to venture out.
What happens while the stressed and careworn pedestrians rest there? Are there counsellors to give advice on road safety before they again risk their lives on the road? And why is the daily journey to work and home called the rush-hour when all you do is creep slowly from one traffic queue to another?
From my experience, there are two categories of drivers: those who accept that it is their destiny to sit resignedly in a traffic jam, watching the world pass them by and contemplating life until the rush-hour is over, and the road-rager, who regards being hemmed in as an affront to his civil liberties and will burn rubber as soon as he hits the open road.
You can rightly assume that I fall into the former category, and believe that traffic safety measures, such as crossings, are necessary to protect mankind from the latter - but within reason and with common sense.
Without pedestrian crossings there would be more traffic accidents and fatalities, and nobody wants that, but I am perplexed why there are so many in areas prone to congestion where the average speed limit is low.
A zebra crossing enables pedestrians to engage with drivers and cross the road relatively quickly, whereas a pelican crossing with its ‘traffic lights’ stops the flow longer and leads to traffic backing up - as happens every rush-hour in our congested urban areas.
Crossings of whatever description are part and parcel of the urban clutter that blights our landscape. Did you know that there is even a crossing especially designed for horse riders? No joke. It is called a pegasus crossing, and the buttons are higher up the pole so that the rider does not have to alight.
How long, I wonder, before one appears on Victoria Avenue?
Imagine my horror at first sight of the rejuvenated old bus station at the Weighbridge, where it is nigh impossible to move due to yet more infestations of signs, speed humps and markings, traffic lights, bollards, bins, shelters, refuges, islands, flashing beacons and miles of railings – just waiting for someone to come along and hang yet another advertising banner.
However, the greatest horror of this new urban space awaits drivers travelling west through the tunnel, having just escaped the crossings and congestion that make Route du Fort such a motoring challenge.
As the light breaks the gloom and Victoria Avenue is finally within reach, there are six new sets of signals in the short stretch of road containing the best surprise of all - yes, another pelican crossing, just a few metres before a set of traffic lights.
Why on earth did the designers not combine the two and encourage pedestrians and Normans workers to cross the road a little further along?
My incredulity was stretched even further on discovering that while the pelican crossing controls westbound traffic, it transforms into a zebra crossing for pedestrians to negotiate the eastbound lane. It beggars belief.
There is a growing argument - backed by such notable bodies as English Heritage, the Campaign for the Protection of Rural England and the Women’s Institute - that reducing the number of warning signs, crossings, road markings, traffic lights and other road safety measures not only improves the environment, but also reduces accidents by making drivers inter-act with other road users and pedestrians instead of slavishly relying on instructions.
This revolutionary theory has been put to the test with success in Europe and the UK. Alas, Jersey is going the opposite way.
Of course, we all want our roads to be safe for all users and public spaces to be respites from the hustle and bustle of urban living, but we also want our environment to be attractive and enjoyable and not blighted by a sign telling us the bleeding obvious.
Combine the earnest intentions of traffic engineers, ‘elf and safety executives and insurers, ever-fearful of claims, and you have the modern recipe to plan for every possible scenario and the street clutter to go with it.
And this fondness for signs, road markings, unsightly kerbs and traffic-calming measures disguised as flower planters - which look bad enough in the town - is creeping into the countryside and ruining the natural beauty of rural locations.
As a former Constable said to me as yet more signs went up along the east coast warning people of the fast-rising tide: ‘You can put up all the signs in the world, but you can’t give people common sense.’
It’s enough to make you cross
CRAWLING down Longueville Road one morning in the usual rush-hour conga line of vehicles of all shapes, sizes and horsepower, a sudden revelation unfolded before my eyes.
It was not just the volume of traffic, I decided, that caused this monotonous crawl, but the number of pedestrians using the numerous crossings between the Bagot Inn and the tunnel. Or rather, it was the type of crossing.
When you finally escape the colony of traffic lights and bollards at Georgetown, hoping at last to reach your objective on time, someone presses the pelican crossing button outside the Co-op and the traffic grinds again to a halt. It is a frustrating process that is repeated near St Luke’s Church and just past the junction with Roseville Street, not forgetting the traffic lights in between.
There can be no question that pedestrian crossings are essential to public safety, especially near schools and in residential areas, but I do wonder at the seemingly haphazard location of crossings on Island roads.
Who or what determines whether a zebra crossing (black and white stripes on the road and flashing beacons at each end), a pelican crossing (push-button) or a simple ‘refuge’ or ‘island’ will do the best job?
The use of the term ‘refuge’ in this connection has long perplexed me. The definition of refuge is ‘shelter from pursuit, danger or trouble’, and if our streets are that bad, surely it is not safe to venture out.
What happens while the stressed and careworn pedestrians rest there? Are there counsellors to give advice on road safety before they again risk their lives on the road? And why is the daily journey to work and home called the rush-hour when all you do is creep slowly from one traffic queue to another?
From my experience, there are two categories of drivers: those who accept that it is their destiny to sit resignedly in a traffic jam, watching the world pass them by and contemplating life until the rush-hour is over, and the road-rager, who regards being hemmed in as an affront to his civil liberties and will burn rubber as soon as he hits the open road.
You can rightly assume that I fall into the former category, and believe that traffic safety measures, such as crossings, are necessary to protect mankind from the latter - but within reason and with common sense.
Without pedestrian crossings there would be more traffic accidents and fatalities, and nobody wants that, but I am perplexed why there are so many in areas prone to congestion where the average speed limit is low.
A zebra crossing enables pedestrians to engage with drivers and cross the road relatively quickly, whereas a pelican crossing with its ‘traffic lights’ stops the flow longer and leads to traffic backing up - as happens every rush-hour in our congested urban areas.
Crossings of whatever description are part and parcel of the urban clutter that blights our landscape. Did you know that there is even a crossing especially designed for horse riders? No joke. It is called a pegasus crossing, and the buttons are higher up the pole so that the rider does not have to alight.
How long, I wonder, before one appears on Victoria Avenue?
Imagine my horror at first sight of the rejuvenated old bus station at the Weighbridge, where it is nigh impossible to move due to yet more infestations of signs, speed humps and markings, traffic lights, bollards, bins, shelters, refuges, islands, flashing beacons and miles of railings – just waiting for someone to come along and hang yet another advertising banner.
However, the greatest horror of this new urban space awaits drivers travelling west through the tunnel, having just escaped the crossings and congestion that make Route du Fort such a motoring challenge.
As the light breaks the gloom and Victoria Avenue is finally within reach, there are six new sets of signals in the short stretch of road containing the best surprise of all - yes, another pelican crossing, just a few metres before a set of traffic lights.
Why on earth did the designers not combine the two and encourage pedestrians and Normans workers to cross the road a little further along?
My incredulity was stretched even further on discovering that while the pelican crossing controls westbound traffic, it transforms into a zebra crossing for pedestrians to negotiate the eastbound lane. It beggars belief.
There is a growing argument - backed by such notable bodies as English Heritage, the Campaign for the Protection of Rural England and the Women’s Institute - that reducing the number of warning signs, crossings, road markings, traffic lights and other road safety measures not only improves the environment, but also reduces accidents by making drivers inter-act with other road users and pedestrians instead of slavishly relying on instructions.
This revolutionary theory has been put to the test with success in Europe and the UK. Alas, Jersey is going the opposite way.
Of course, we all want our roads to be safe for all users and public spaces to be respites from the hustle and bustle of urban living, but we also want our environment to be attractive and enjoyable and not blighted by a sign telling us the bleeding obvious.
Combine the earnest intentions of traffic engineers, ‘elf and safety executives and insurers, ever-fearful of claims, and you have the modern recipe to plan for every possible scenario and the street clutter to go with it.
And this fondness for signs, road markings, unsightly kerbs and traffic-calming measures disguised as flower planters - which look bad enough in the town - is creeping into the countryside and ruining the natural beauty of rural locations.
As a former Constable said to me as yet more signs went up along the east coast warning people of the fast-rising tide: ‘You can put up all the signs in the world, but you can’t give people common sense.’
Article posted on 17th July, 2008 - 3.00pm