Why doesn’t the tube make handpoles out of self-sterilising metals? And what is grippage?

Why don't these kill germs? The interior of an ageing Circle line train in 2010. Image: Maurits90/Wikimedia Commons.

In February 2015, bacteriologists from Cornell University published their results after spending more than a year swabbing New York City’s Subway trains and stations for bacteria. The results sounded icky: not only are there hundreds of different microbial species living throughout NYC’s transit system, on the poles and seats and turnstiles that humans touch every day, but half of them were completely unfamiliar to science. Anthrax and the bubonic plague were among those bacteria which were recognised.

Of course, the fact that New Yorkers aren’t dying off like 14th century Europeans implies that the dirtiness (or, rather, perceived dirtiness) of the subway isn’t a pressing public health issue. The study authors were keen to point out that commuters shouldn’t overreact to the news.

The same will apply to London, both in terms of the microbes living throughout the Underground and in the near-non-existent risk they pose to travellers. Yet as I was sat on one of Transport for London’s new S Stock trains on the Hammersmith & City line last week, fully aware of the first signs of a cold in my nose and my throat, my thoughts drifted to that study.

TfL likes to colour-code its lines so that the interior decor of the trains matches the lines they run on (so orange on the Overground, blue on the Piccadilly, etc.). These new trains are running on the Metropolitan (purple), District (green), Hammersmith & City (pink) and Circle (yellow) lines – yet all are decked out in bright, garish yellow. God knows what’s living on those neon poles and handstraps that keep passengers from falling down.

We know that public transport is a vector for disease transmission, especially when it comes to seasonally-influenced illnesses like the flu. We also know that there are materials which self-sterilise – that is, they’re highly toxic for any single-cell organisms that are unfortunate enough to land on them. This “oligodynamic effect” was first discovered in 1893, and lots of different metals – from silver to aluminium, lead to copper – possess it.

So the question is: why aren’t the hand poles in Underground cars and on buses made of antimicrobial metal?

 

A Santiago metro station, complete with bacteria-killing handrails. Image: AntiMicrobialCopper.com.

In some parts of the world, the answer is actually “they are”. The subway system in the Chilean capital Santiago, for example, uses antimicrobial brass handrails, which were installed in 2011 as part of a wider healthcare campaign. But this is an exception, not a rule.

Jean-Yves Maillard is a pharmaceutical microbiologist from the Cardiff University who researches the use of antimicrobial materials in hospitals, and specifically the two most promising metals: silver and copper (or alloys of copper, rather). It turns out that these things kill germs best when “humidity is 100 per cent, so they are underwater – and that’s not how these surfaces exist on the metro, or Tube, or buses.”

Instead, to get a better idea of how well they work, he’s tested them when they’re dry (which means between 30 and 40 per cent humidity, which is typical for the UK), and when they have “droplets” (i.e. someone’s sneezed) on them.

The results are still impressive: within 30 minutes of contact with the most effective copper alloys, 99.99 per cent of Staphylococcus aureus bacteria – a bug responsible for everything from skin infections to respiratory diseases, and including the infamous antibiotic-resistant MRSA strain – were exterminated in the droplet test, while the dry test still saw around a 90 per cent reduction.

“When it's very dry – the worst case scenario, a very dry summer and so on, above 20 degrees – you'd get something like 99.99 per cent reductions within 30 minutes,” he said. “If someone sneezes, then after 30 minutes on that surface the bacteria is likely to be killed. I imagine for some viruses it would be the same as well. [But] if you haven't got droplets, then that activity really drops sharply. You'll get at most 90 per cent reductions, but probably less than 90 per cent, within 30 minutes. You'll kill some, but not all.” Silver was less effective in the droplet test, and not effective at all in the dry one.

This might make switching to copper-based antimicrobial subway and bus poles seem like an easy win that TfL missed when ordering its newest trains. But Maillard is keen to stress that there are some important downsides.


It rhymes with "fromage"

Firstly, if a surface is cleaned relatively frequently, then the extra cost from using more expensive materials might be more than those of simply paying for someone to wipe everything down a bit more frequently each day, for the same result. And these surfaces are no substitute for cleaning – Maillard emphasises that antimicrobial surfaces work “in addition” to cleaning, not as a replacement. And, when I contacted TfL, health & safety director Jill Collis made it clear that they clean the network “throughout the day and night” already.

The second reason is appearance. According to Collis, “the handrails in carriages are designed to be easy to see, meet safety standards and be suitable for daily use by millions of customers”. (I also discovered that the internal TfL term for the things that passengers hold onto isn’t “handrails”, but “grippage” – pronounced to rhyme with “fromage”.)

This is an important point – and TfL also said that, in accordance with the Vehicle Accessibility Regulations Act 2010, “any passenger handrail fitted in or to a rail vehicle must … contrast with the parts of the rail vehicle adjacent to that handrail”.

In other words, the bright colours on the Tube are primarily so that the visually-impaired are better able to see them. While the brass handrails of the Santiago subway may look somewhat classy, they also blend into the background in dark, underground spaces.

A third important issue is value for money. The handrails on the Tube are made of aluminium, which has a good ratio of weight to cost to strength; copper and silver, less so. “In hospitals, the debate is all about costs,” Maillard said. “[Surfaces] maybe get cleaned once a day, and with copper surfaces there are indications that at the end of the day the [the microbial burden] will be less than normal metal surfaces. That's the interest in it. But the big question is, is it cost effective?”

Then there’s even a fourth issue, most relevant to silver, which is that it perversely seems to make drug-resistant superbugs more likely. Making subway poles out of solid silver is, clearly, ridiculous, but it’s common for nano-particles of silver to be placed within other material to give it some antimicrobial properties – not as good as copper alloys, of course, but still something.

Maillard points to a January 2015 report from the EU Commission’s Scientific Committee on Emerging and Newly Identified Health Risks (Scenihr) into the possible dangers posed by the use of nano-silver in medical and consumer devices. It found that research is “urgently needed” into the possible toxic effects of long-term exposure to silver in consumer products, and also that the genetic adaptation of bacteria to silver could increase resistance.

“What you will find is that now you have a huge amount of surfaces that contain antimicrobials,” Maillard explained. “Lots of plastics, washing machines, photocopiers, in pens, televisions, television remote controls – most of them contain silver or nano-silver, because they don't affect the colour. The concentration that they use is very low, there are question marks over its efficacy, and questions about whether it's going to promote resistance of those organisms with those products.”

So, put it all together and it doesn’t look good for Tube poles that clean themselves. Copper alloys work best, but would have to be painted to comply with health & safety legislation, defeating the purpose. And, while it’s possible to stick silver particles into the paint as an alternative, it’s not very good, especially when the extra cost is factored in – and that’s without considering make it more likely that truly nasty bacteria can thrive and evolve on public transport.

Best stick to hand sanitising gel. Much easier.

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Why is it acceptable to kill someone? On the mysterious history of Britain’s road death toll

A London speed camera, 2004. Image: Getty.

A decade ago I became fascinated by a graph. This one:

I had been tracking the underlining data for years. The figures were easy to remember. Every year it was 3,500, plus or minus a percentage point or two.

Yet when the 2008 data was released, it had fallen to 2,538. This was 1,000 less than the figure in 2003. I plotted the above graph, and as I said, I became fascinated.

Because this is a really important graph. This is a plot of the number of people killed on Britain’s roads each year.

In Great Britain, collectively, we used to kill nearly 3,500 people on our roads every year. Consistently or, dare I say it, boringly: 3,500 deaths a year, 10 a day. It was accepted, in a, “Well yes it’s bad, but what can you do about it” kind of way. There was no clamour for change. Newspapers weren’t running headlines about the deaths mounting up, as they do with knife crime.

Meanwhile a train crash would be front page news for a week. Take the train that derailed at Hatfield on 17 October 2000, a tragedy in which 4 people died. That led to huge media interest, massive upheaval on the railways, and, ultimately, as the re-nationalisation of Railtrack, whose failings had caused the crash. Yet more than twice as many people will have died on the roads that day. Nothing was written about those deaths. Nothing changed.

In 2000, four people died in train crashes, while 3,409 died on the roads.

Here are those figures again.

1997 – 3,599 people killed on our roads

1998 – 3,422

1999 – 3,423

2000 – 3,409

2001 – 3,450

2002 – 3,431

2003 – 3508

But, in 2004 the figure dropped below 3,400 for the first time, to 3,221. Then in 2005 to 3,201.

2006 – 3,172

2007 – 2,946

Below 3,000! This was change. Significant change: 500 lives a year were not being lost. If you use Britain’s roads, your life may have been one of them.

2008 – 2,538

2009 – 2,222

When the 2010 figures came out I was amazed by the headline figure: 1,857.

That’s still far too high, of course, but it was 1,701 lower than seven years earlier.

This was a major story that deserved a ton of coverage, which it failed to get. Having shown no concern for when we were killing 3,500 people, it wasn’t overly surprising that the fact we were now killing 1,700 fewer wasn’t celebrated.

At any rate, the graph had flat-lined for years, then, in half a dozen years, it halved. Why?

The lack of media coverage resulted in an absence of answers. One commentator, Christian Woolmar, observed that there was no clear answer to why this had happened. But he went on to point out that there had been a fall in the average road speed over this period.

My anticipation of the 2011 figures troubled me, because I expected them to go up. Obviously I didn’t want them to: I desperately want zero deaths on our roads. But something happened in 2010 that I was sure would lead to more fatalities and bring a halt to the falling trend.

I was right. In 2011 we killed 1,901.

Sometimes, being right is shit.

The news was better in 2012. The fatality rate was 1,754. So was the 2011 figure just a blip, due to some significant snowfalls that year? No: the trend was over.

The number of people killed on our roads has remained stuck in the 17 hundreds. 

2013 – 1,713

2014 – 1,775

2015 – 1,732

2016 – 1,792

2017 – 1,793

2018 – 1,782

We have returned to a flatline on the graph – and if anything, I’m more fascinated now than I was before. Road deaths flatlined at 3,500 for years, then fell sharply, then flatlined again at half the rate.

This can’t have happened by accident. I wished I could explain it. I wish we could repeat it. No: I wish the second flatline hadn’t happened, and the fall had continued. If the rate of fall had continued, we’d have reached zero deaths on the road by now. You’d be right to question whether this is possible – but if you can half the number in a few years, why can’t we eradicate them altogether? The railways are an example of what is possible. The last time a passenger died in a train crash on Britain’s railways was in 2007.

It was time to figure out the answers to two questions. Why did the death toll fall? And why did it stop falling?

The obvious reason for a reduction in deaths on the road is the improvement in car safety features. This could create a gradual fall in the death toll as new, safer cars replaced older ones. But I’m not sure it can explain a 40 per cent fall over a 4 year period.

There’s a way to check whether cars on the road became almost twice as safe between 2003 and 2010: you can compare the figures with the rest of the EU. Car safety features are international, and any new feature would have appeared around the same time across the continent.

So I found the EU figures for 2000 to 2017, indexed for 2000 and plotted the graph for multiple countries. It was a busy graph. For clarity the following graph only includes Britain, Germany, France, Spain and Italy along with a straight line drop for comparison.

The good news is that things are improving across Europe – but no country had quite the same trajectory as Britain. They all have a fall much closer to a straight line of the sort you’d expect a general improvement in car safety would produce.

One thing I did notice is that, from 2013, these five countries stop falling. The technology based solutions of recent years, such as automatic emergency braking, don’t appear to be saving lives as of yet.

So, yes, cars are safer – but that doesn’t seem to explain why British roads suddenly became 40 per cent safer between 2006 and 2010.


In 1999, the New Labour government announced that it was going to reduce deaths on our roads. The target was a 50 per cent reduction by 2010. As you now know, it succeeded. This was a major achievement for a government. The kind of thing you would bang on about all the time. “Deaths on our roads halved by Labour!” But the party wasn’t in government when the 2010 figures were released – and it’s hard to take credit for your achievements from the opposition benches.

That it was government policy is not a full explanation, and how this happened is a little opaque. From what I can gather there was a wide ranging approach. The fire and rescue service changed their practices: because they recognised that survival rates were directly dependent on how quickly people got to hospital, this became the priority. Disturbing a police crime scene was allowed if it saved a life. Accident black spots were located, highlighted and safety measures implemented. Throughout that period road safety campaigns focused on speed, with “Speed Kills” being the dominate message for that decade. The government also changed the laws on speed cameras.

RoSPA, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents, has a lot to say about speeding and speed cameras. Its “Speed Camera Factsheet” states that, “Cameras are a very effective way of persuading drivers not to speed, and thereby reducing the number of people killed and seriously injured.” It reports that an independent review published by the Department for Transport (DfT) in 2005 said that “cameras significantly reduce speeding and collisions, and cut deaths and serious injuries at camera sites”, adding that cameras sites were delivering 100 fewer deaths per year.

Cameras first appeared in 1991, and revenue from court fines and fixed penalties went to the Exchequer. However in 2000 a trial scheme saw local councils keep the fines to pay for the cost of speed and red-light cameras. The pilot was so successful that, in 2001, legislation enabled this to happen across the country. The cost of providing and operating cameras moved from the local authority to the law breaking motorist.

The golden age of the speed camera had begun.

There was a tweak to this legislation in 2007. Fines reverted back to the Exchequer’s piggy bank. The DfT switched to funding cameras through a road safety grant. The intention was to create a greater mix of road safety measures agreed between local authorities and the police.

The number of people killed on British roads in 2007: 2,946

The number of people killed on British roads in 2010: 1,857

So perhaps the creation of the Road Safety Grant had a significant impact.

The second question: why did the death toll stop falling?

In 2010 I was unaware of Labour’s target to halve deaths on the roads. But, the change in government was enough for me to predict that the fall was over.

When the Tory/Lib Dem government negotiated its way into power in May 2010, the press declared that it was the end of the horrible nanny state – a return to personal freedom, liberty and the rule of common sense.

The way that this was to play out in real practical terms was on our roads. The evil speed camera was in the firing line. The narrative was that these cameras were just there so councils could extract cash from the poor public. Completely ignored were the facts that the fines were only handed down to dangerous, law-breaking drivers, and that councils no longer got the cash from fines.

Soon after the election the coalition government said that “Labour's 13-year war on the motorist is over” and pledged to scrap public funding for speed cameras. The Road Safety Grant to local authorities was cut from £95m to £57m. This meant that the government was now receiving an estimated £40m more raised in fines than it was spending on road safety. The cut to the grant reduced the camera maintenance budget by 27 per cent. It removed all the funding for new cameras, speed humps and other safety measures.

And the golden age ended.

Councils across the country announced their change of policy. Oxfordshire County Council switched off its speed cameras on 1 August 2010. Money was saved; lives were lost.

Eight months later, on 1 April, Oxfordshire’s cameras snapped back into life when the council reversed its decision because deaths on the county’s roads had immediately increased.

Turning off speed cameras sent out the message that we were no longer taking speeding seriously. The road safety campaigns changed their focus. The message that Speed Kills fell away and was replaced by drink- and drug-driving messages. It’s easy to miss that these campaigns move from encompassing virtually every driver to targeting a minority. A switch from confronting a socially acceptable behaviour to re-enforcing something already unacceptable. The state is no longer challenging everyone to be safe – only the small minority of bad people.

Yet speed still kills. The World Health Organisation states that an increase in average speed of 1 km[h typically results in a 3 per cent higher risk of a crash involving injury, with a 4–5 per cent increase for crashes that result in fatalities.
The majority of safety measures installed before 2010 remain in place and are saving lives. But with the funding gone councils are no longer installing new measures and the death toll is no longer falling.

So you can make a strong case that the pattern of road deaths was the result of government policy.

Which begs the question of our government: why has it accepted that it’s OK to kill, or be killed, on our roads?