Raymond Cassar yesterday garaged his yellow bus and headed for the beach with his daughter. He did not take up employment with Arriva, so he was off and could do what he had not done in a while before changing his job.

But it was not without an element of dejection that the bus driver since 20 – half his life – garaged his “truck” for good, knowing the next time he drives it would be to its grave.

In a couple of weeks, Mr Cassar has to deliver the 1962 bus he sold for €102,500 and believes it is destined to be “broken”. He still hopes, however, that, instead, it could be “arranged and the exhaust cleaned” so it could hit the roads again to the joy of tourists.

“They went mad when they heard it was the end and were clicking away on Saturday”, the eve of the bus reform and the advent of the aquamarine blue Arriva buses.

That day, Mr Cassar ended a career that practically started at the age of five, when he would accompany his father on his bus. Already back then, he had begun to learn the ropes. “You watch and pick up the trade,” he recalls. “I even used to drive before I had a licence,” he says proudly. “You’re still a driver, as long as you don’t crash.”

Mr Cassar embarked on his last trip from Valletta to Żejtun at 10.30 p.m., but proceeded to transport two tourists to Marsascala because they were looking for a taxi. His gesture earned him €10 but Mr Cassar has always gone that extra mile. In fact, he had been rewarded for excellence in service and hospitality by the Malta Tourism Authority.

Buses race through the veins of Mr Cassar’s family, who are also butchers. So he can always opt to take up selling meat instead. What is for sure is that he did not want to work for Arriva, despite having sat for interviews, insisting the conditions and pay were poor and much worse than before.

After a week’s break, Mr Cassar plans to continue working on opening his snack bar in Qajjenza and he knows he can supplement that with jobs as a substitute driver for private coaches, minibuses, double-deckers and even freezer vans. His future prospects may not be bleak but Mr Cassar admits he would have preferred his previous situation, working on a day-in-day-out basis and earning about €350 a week.

“We were little rich men,” he says of the old system. “Now, with my new business, you never know where you stand. It could be good and it could be bad. Before, it was guaranteed.” Nevertheless, he prefers the uncertainty to the “low pay”, he insists.

Moreover, if his personal plans fail, he is confident that, in about two years, Arriva would find it cannot make ends meet and the buses would be sold back to their owners.

“I believe that, in time, it will all come back to us again. Arriva will have to close shop due to low wages and fares and sell the buses back to us,” Mr Cassar predicts.

For the time being, however, he is trying not to think of “the change in the story of my life”.

His method is to simply accept the fact that he was a bus driver, with a good pay, and would now be earning less – “otherwise you go mad”.

At the beach, Mr Cassar can see blue – not yellow – on the horizon. “But what can I do? I’ll just let them get on with their work. They don’t have experience and will notice by time what a responsible and restricting job it is.”