TWO weeks ago I almost got to pull the emergency cord after asthmatic colleague locked himself in the toilet, in midst of attack and failed to reappear for nearly 15 minutes. In the end he emerged, unscathed and still breathing, as concerned other person and self were debating whether or not to pull the cord. This week someone actually did.

Was running slightly late for work and had ended up on a post-rush hour Thameslink train with push-button automatic doors. Since it was post-rush hour there were only three or four people in the carriage: A middle-aged businessy looking type; an older going- up-to-town-for-the-day type; a youngish graphic designer type; and a couple of backs of heads which didn't give much away.

We were joined at Hassocks by neatly well-dressed country type and neatly well-groomed border collie type, who ordered dog to sit in corridor, opposite automatic doors, for duration of journey.

This he obediently agreed to do and did for the next 20 minutes, resting his head on his paws and looking up only as automatic doors slid open and shut at subsequent stations.

When we reached Balcombe, however, the doors had one of their funny turns and opened and shut several times for no apparent reason. This really seemed to get the dog going. He could obviously cope with being disturbed once at every station by noise and inconvenience of people getting on and off, but the erratic way in which the doors were behaving, while he tried to sleep or at least mind his own business, was just too much.

Despite entreaty from owner to sit Down, the dog jumped up and did a few laps of his tiny corridor space before making an impressive bid for freedom. He leapt from the train just as the doors closed for the fifth and final time and the train itself pulled out of the station.

Distraught owner did a bit of hair-pulling and, looking about in desperation, voiced a concerned: "What shall I do?". Unlike last week, when self and concerned other person spent a good 15 minutes wondering whether to go to aid of asthma attack colleague (by which time he could well have been dead), this week the assembled company rallied instantly and with one voice. And the voice said: "We must pull the emergency cord!".

No dilly-dallying around, wondering whether a lost dog constituted a genuine emergency or whether we'd be fined for breaching the cord-pulling guidelines - just a quick moment of decisiveness: "We must pull the emergency cord. . ." and somebody did. I'm not actually sure who that somebody was. I know it wasn't me, though I felt so much a part of the collective: "We must pull the emergency cord. . ." decision that it might just have well been. In fact, I secretly wished it had been - but there you go.

Within seconds the train stopped and the guard appeared. He asked what the problem was and, seeing that it was a genuine emergency, ordered the train to reverse back to the platform. The doors were opened, the dog called and owner and canine friend were joyfully reunited.

Needless to say, asthmatic colleague was not too pleased when I related the above to him. . .

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.