When a station shuts, it hits locals hard. They should at least give us the facts

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/sep/22/station-shuts-local-businesses

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We’re in a flap in my neighbourhood, because Transport for London is threatening to close our station, Tufnell Park, for seven months. Just like that. No consultation. That will mean possible death to local businesses: the lovely flower stall, restaurants, little independent shops. So I phone TfL for details.

“None of that’s true,” says the spokesperson, sounding crotchety. “Where did you hear it?”

I heard it from everyone round here, with more details from Anna down the road, because she’s a Stakeholder. That means she can look at a TfL special website, and find out what’s going on. Marvellous. I want to be a Stakeholder. Then I can get at the truth. How do I get to be one?

Easier said than done. Anna has cleverly found the website, but she wouldn’t have been able to find it unless she had known that it existed, and where to look for it, because you only know that if you’re a Stakeholder, but you can’t be a Stakeholder unless you know where to look, which Anna could only do because someone who wasn’t meant to tell, told her how, and then she could write to TfL about it, which made her a Stakeholder.

What we long to know, most of all, is whether TfL is going to mend the two station lifts separately or together. Together is cheaper. But together means the station closes down. What will it choose? Stingy or considerate? Our transport and livelihoods depend on it. But no one will tell. Omerta everywhere.

“No decision has been made,” says TfL. Station staff may not speak. They must “refer the public to the communications team”. “When our plans are finalised,” say the team, “we will … give as much advance notice as possible to our customers …”

I don’t like that word “finalised”. But at least they’re not pretending our opinion matters, with the usual fake consultation. And don’t think because it’s only Tufnell Park that you needn’t care. It could be your station next: no lifts, no staff, machines only. Watch out for a spectral, chubby, moustachioed, axe-wielding figure near you. The ghost of Dr Beeching rises.