Joseph Tatlow - Fifty Years of Railway Life in England, Scotland and Ireland

J >> Joseph Tatlow >> Fifty Years of Railway Life in England, Scotland and Ireland

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In 1889 there were no _light railways_ in Great Britain, or practically
none. Except in Ireland they are of modern growth. What really
constitutes a light railway it is not easy to say. Commonly it is
thought to be a matter of gauge, but that is not so. Mr. Acworth says:
"such a definition is in the nature of things impossible," but that, "a
light railway must be something simpler and cheaper than an ordinary
railway." Mr. Cole says that "the natural demand for a definition must
he frankly met with the disappointing reply that a hard and fast
definition, at once concise, exact, and comprehensive is not forthcoming,
and that a partial definition would be completely misleading." As such
authorities are unable to furnish a definition I shall not attempt it,
and will content myself with suggesting that the most recognisable
feature of a _light_ railway is its _light_ traffic.

CHAPTER XIX.
GOLF, THE DIAMOND KING, AND A STEAM-BOAT SERVICE

Thought not a golfer myself, never having taken to the game in earnest,
or played on more than, perhaps, twenty occasions in my life, I may yet,
I think, in a humble way, venture to claim inclusion amongst the pioneers
of golf in Ireland, where until the year 1881 it was unknown. In the
autumn of that year the Right Honourable Thomas Sinclair, Dr. Collier, of
"British History" fame, and Mr. G. L. Baillie, a born golfer from
Scotland, all three keen on the game, set themselves in Belfast to the
task of establishing a golf club there. They succeeded well, and soon
the Belfast Golf Club, to which is now added the prefix _Royal_, was
opened. The ground selected for the links was the _Kinnegar_ at
Holywood, and on it the first match was played on St. Stephen's Day in
1881. That was the beginning of golf in Ireland. Mr. Baillie was the
Secretary of the Club till the end of 1887, when a strong desire to
extend the boundaries of the Royal game in the land of his adoption led
him to resign the position and cast around for pastures new. Portrush
attracted him, engaged his energies, and on the 12th May, 1888, a course,
which has since grown famous, was opened there. About this time I made
his acquaintance and suggested Newcastle, the beautiful terminus of the
County Down railway, as another likely place. On a well remembered day
in December, 1888, he accompanied me there, and together we explored the
ground, and finished up with one of those excellent dinners for which the
lessee of our refreshment rooms and his capable wife (Mr. and Mrs.
Lawrence) were famous, as many a golfer I am sure, recollects. Mr.
Baillie's practised eye saw at once the splendid possibilities of
Newcastle. Like myself, he was of an enthusiastic temperament, and we
both rejoiced. I remembered the shekels that flowed to the coffers of
the Glasgow and South-Western from the Prestwick and Troon Golf Courses
on their line, and visions of enrichment for my little railway rose
before me. Very soon I induced my directors to adopt the view that the
railway company must encourage and help the project. This done the
course was clear. They were not so sanguine as I, but they had not lived
in Scotland nor seen how the Royal game flourished there and how it had
brought prosperity to many a backward place. Mr. Baillie's energy, with
the company's co-operation to back it, were bound to succeed, and on the
23rd March, 1889, with all the pomp and ceremony suitable to the occasion
(including special trains, and a fine luncheon given by the Directors of
the Company) the Golf links at Newcastle, Co. Down, were formally opened
by the late Lord Annesley. From that time onward golf in Ireland
advanced by leaps and bounds. Including Newcastle, there were then in
the whole country, only six clubs and now they number one hundred and
sixty-eight! The County Down Railway Company's splendid hotel on the
links at Newcastle, with its 140 rooms, and built at a cost of 100,000
pounds, I look upon as the crowning glory of our golfing exploration on
that winter day in 1888. To construct such a hotel, at such a cost, was
a plucky venture for a railway possessing only 80 miles of line, but the
County Down was always a plucky company, and the Right Honourable Thomas
Andrews, its Chairman, to whom its inception and completion is chiefly
due, was a bold, adventurous and successful man.

Another experience somewhat removed from ordinary railway affairs that
helped to enliven the latter part of my time on the County Down, and
added variety to the work imposed by the Railway and Canal Traffic Act
and the revision of Rates and Charges, was a project in which I became
engaged connected with the Isle of Man.

Joseph Mylchreest was a Manxman, a rough diamond but a man of sterling
worth. He left home when young and worked first as a ship's carpenter.
An adventurous spirit led him to seek his fortune in various parts of the
world--in the goldfields of California and Australia and in the silver
mines of Peru and Chili. Later on he went to South Africa, where in the
diamond mines he met with great success and made a large fortune. His
property there he disposed of to Cecil Rhodes, and it now, I am told,
forms part of the De Beers Consolidated Company's assets. In the late
eighties he returned to his native island, settled at Peel, and became a
magnate there.

One afternoon early in the year 1889 two gentlemen from the Isle of Man
called upon me at my office. They were Mr. Mylchreest (the "_Diamond
King_") and a lawyer friend whose name I forget, but I remember they
informed me they were both members of the House of Keys. Mr. Mylchreest
was anxious to do something to develop the little port of Peel, his
native town, and a steamboat service between Peel and Belfast, Bangor or
Donaghadee, seemed to him and his friends a promising project. What did
the County Down think? Would either Bangor or Donaghadee be better than
Belfast? If so, would my company join in and to what extent? We had no
power to expend money in steamboat enterprise, but I assured them we
would do all we could to help in other ways, and that Bangor was the port
to select. My directors heartily approved and other interviews followed.
Once, I had hurriedly to go over to Peel to meet Mr. Mylchreest and his
lawyer, on a certain day, as some hitch had arisen, and by this time I
was desperately keen on getting the steamboat service started. The only
way of reaching Peel in time was by a collier steamer, belonging to the
East Downshire Coal Co., which plied between Dundrum on the Co. Down
coast, and Whitehaven; the manager of the company was my friend, and
would allow the steamer to drop me at Peel. It was a memorable crossing,
the weather was _bad_ and so was I. But my journey was successful, and
soon the Peel and North of Ireland Steamship Company, Limited, in which
the "_Diamond King_" was much the largest shareholder, was established,
and on the 26th June, 1889, the first voyage was made from Peel to
Bangor. It was a great event for the quiet little town of Peel. Mr.
Mylchreest had invited all his friends to the inaugural service, in
addition a good number of the public travelled, and the steamer arrived
at Bangor with nearly 300 passengers on board. On the return voyage from
Bangor to Peel the same evening the "_Diamond King_" gave a great dinner,
champagne and speeches freely flowed, and music and dancing enlivened the
proceedings. The service prospered for a time, but the traffic did not
reach expectations. Ultimately it was taken over by the Isle of Man
Steampacket Coy., and after a few years discontinued.

Little more remains to be told of my five and a-half years' sojourn in
the north of Ireland. They were pleasant and profitable years for mind
and body. With health improved, experience gained in _practical_ railway
work, knowledge acquired by personal contact with men of all sorts and
conditions, I felt strong and confident, ready for anything, and, like
Micawber, longed for something to turn up.

Early in October, 1890, Walter Bailey and I took our second Continental
holiday together. We re-visited Paris, but spent most of our three weeks
in a tour through Belgium, finishing up at Brussels. When we reached
London I received a letter from my friend, W. R. Gill, Secretary of
Bailey's railway, the Belfast and Northern Counties. It was to tell me
that the position of Manager of the Midland Great Western Railway of
Ireland had become vacant, and suggested that I should return home by way
of Dublin and call upon the chairman of the company, Sir Ralph Cusack, in
regard to the succession. Now something _had_ turned up, and Bailey
declared I was as good as appointed. At dinner that night we indulged in
a bottle of sparkling wine--in nothing meaner would my warm-hearted
friend drink success to the prospect that had so unexpectedly opened
before me.

The Midland Great Western was the third largest railway in Ireland, nor,
in the matter of length of line, was there very much between the three.
The Great Southern and Western consisted of 522 miles, the Great Northern
487, and the Midland Great Western 432, nearly seven times as long as the
County Down. No wonder I felt elated.

How it all came about was in this way. Skipworth, the London and North-
Western Manager in Ireland, was on very friendly terms with Sir Ralph
Cusack, and Sir Ralph had a high opinion of his judgment. He consulted
Skipworth about a manager and asked if he knew any railway man in
Ireland, not too old, who would do. Said Skipworth, "Tatlow of the
County Down. He has shown up remarkably well at the Clearing House over
this terrible Railway and Canal Traffic Act, and seems to know all about
it." And so I was appointed, and thus it was that the bit of work in
Glasgow, of which I have spoken more than once, brought me this
substantial promotion. My friend Gill not long before had left the
service of the Midland Great Western, where he was Assistant Secretary,
to become Secretary of the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway, and
when Sir Ralph wrote to him about me he valiantly backed up Skipworth's
fine recommendation. Skipworth was himself for several years manager of
the Midland Great Western. He gave up the post when he joined the London
and North-Western as their Irish Manager. It is good for a man to have
friends, and I have been fortunate throughout my life in possessing many.

In December, 1890, I left the County Down to enter upon my duties as
manager of the Midland Great Western. The County Down Directors, at
their Board meeting on the 16th of that month, passed a minute recording
their "high appreciation of the ability with which he" (my humble self)
"has discharged his duties as general manager," adding that "his uniform
courtesy, tact and judgment, added to his strict sense of honour, secured
him the confidence of the Board." Need I say that I was proud of this
testimonial, and as pleased as proud, because it went on to wish me
success in my new duties, where I would "have a wider field for the
exercise of my talents," and begged my "acceptance of a cheque as a mark
of regard." This was better than the _walking stick_ with which a
certain railway officer, who was not too popular with his staff, was, it
is said, presented by them, when he left for a bigger post on another
line.

CHAPTER XX.
THE MIDLAND GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY OF IRELAND

I had now completed one half of my active railway life; reached the age
of 39; and, no longer a rolling stone, was settled in the service of a
company with which I was destined to remain for the rest of my railway
career. That my aspirations were satisfied I do not pretend, for
ambition forbade any settled feeling of rest or content. Happily, my
nature inclined to the sunny side and disappointments never spoiled my
enjoyment of life or marred the pleasure I found in my daily work. My
friend, Edward John Cotton, who, like myself, was an imported Englishman,
had, like me, indulged in dreams of going back to England to fill some
great railway post, but he had reached his sixties and his dreams were
over. Often, when we talked familiarly together, he would say: "Joseph,
if you aspire to be a general manager in England you ought never to have
come to Ireland. They don't think much on the other side of Irish
railways or Irish railway men." This, I daresay, was true, though he,
well known, liked and admired as he was, ought to have been considered an
exception, and why no British railway company, when posts were going,
ever snapped him up is hard to say. Later on, even I, once or twice
narrowly escaped obtaining a good thing on the English side of the
Channel, but it never _quite_ came off, and so I was left to make myself
as happy as I could in Ireland.

Perhaps it was as well. Railway life in Ireland, though not highly
remunerated, had its compensations as most situations in life have. There
the pressure of work was less constant and severe than in England. A
railway manager was not confined to crowded cities, and enjoyed more
breathing space. When he travelled on his line he came in contact with
bucolic interests instead of the whirring wheels of trade. Time moved
more slowly, greater leisure prevailed, the climate was softer, the
country greener, manners easier, and more wit and humour abounded. Yes,
on the whole, I was more fortunate than had my ambitious hopes been
realised to the full. At least I think so now; and, as Hamlet says,
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

One immediate advantage I gained by entering the Midland Great Western
service. Until then I had no chance of joining a superannuation fund.
The Glasgow and South-Western had none, neither had the County Down; but
the Midland Great Western was a party to the Clearing House
Superannuation Corporation, and of it I became a member.

The Midland Great Western, as I have said, is the third largest railway
in Ireland. It stretches from the Liffey to the Atlantic, serves the
plains of Meath, the wilds of Connaught, and traverses large expanses of
bog. Galway, Sligo, Westport, Athlone and Mullingar are the principal
towns on its system.

When I became its manager, Sir Ralph Cusack had been chairman of the
railway for nearly a quarter of a century and was in his sixty-ninth
year. He attended daily in his office, devoting much time to the
company's affairs. Although my position was not all I could have wished
in the matter of that wide authority I coveted, and which, in my humble
opinion, every railway manager should possess, it was in many respects
very satisfactory, and every lot in life has its crumpled rose leaf. Sir
Ralph regarded me as an _expert_, which, notwithstanding all his long
experience as chairman, he did not himself pretend to be, and _railway
experts_ he held in high esteem. He supported me consistently,
permitting no one but himself to interfere with anything I thought it
right to do. I did not, to be sure, always get my own way, but I
accomplished much, and, what I cared for most, was able to do good work
for the company. Enthusiasm for one's work is a splendid thing, and so
is loyalty to one's employers. I make no boast of possessing these, for
they were common property; they permeated the railway service and
inspired the youngest clerk as well as his chief. Sometimes in these
latter days I imagine such things are changed, though I would like to
think it is only an old man's fancy, as it was in the case of the dear
old Dubliner, who in his time had been a beaux and had reached his
eightieth year. One sunny forenoon when airing himself in a fashionable
street of the city, he was met by another old crony, who accosted him
with:--

"Well, old friend, how are you this morning?"

"Oh, very well, thanks, quite well, only--" he responded.

"Only what?" asked his friend.

"Only the pavements are harder and the girls are not so pretty as they
used to be," he replied with a whimsical look of regret in his face
and a twinkle in his still bright eye.

Sir Ralph was a man of striking appearance, tall and imposing in figure.
His head was massive and fine. His full beard was snowy white, as white
as his abundant hair which was of a beautifully soft silky texture, with
a sheen like satin. His voice was low and at times not very distinct.
This was disappointing as his conversation was always interesting, not
only for its intrinsic value, but also by reason of his charmingly varied
and copious vocabulary, and his perfectly balanced phrases. Naturally
and without the least effort the aptest words sprang to his lips in
perfect order and sequence. His letters, too, were always exceedingly
well expressed. He wrote a neat, sloping, rather flowing and somewhat
old-fashioned hand, which greatly resembled the writing of Beau Brummell,
and, like the illustrious Beau's, his numerals, which is rare nowadays,
were very clearly and very beautifully formed. The Prince of Beaux was
fastidious in his penmanship as in everything else. Sir Ralph's half-
yearly speeches to the shareholders, though delivered extempore, were
models of perspicuity. He used the scantiest notes, mere headings of
subjects, and a few scraps of paper containing figures which he usually
remembered without their aid. Of his memory he was proud. One day, at a
meeting of the Board, after recalling particulars of some old transaction
which no one else could in the least recollect, he turned to me and said:
"Well, Tatlow, you see I sometimes remember something." I rejoined:
"Well, Sir Ralph, my only complaint is that you never forget anything."
The little compliment pleased him. Never in his whole life, he said, had
he written out a speech, and hoped he never would, but he lived to do so
once. As he advanced in years his voice grew weaker, and on the last
occasion on which he presided at a meeting of shareholders, he wrote his
speech, or partly wrote it and, at his request, I read it to the meeting.
Reported verbatim his addresses read as though they had been composed and
written with the utmost care, so precise and correct was the language and
so consecutive the matter. Though few could hope to do so well as he, I
have always thought that in addressing shareholders, railway chairmen
might trust less to formally prepared speeches and more to their powers
of extemporaneous exposition. Some chairmen do this I know, but others
still read from manuscript. However able the matter, the reading, in my
judgment, is much less effective than the spontaneous expression of the
speaker. The atmosphere created by the meeting, often a valuable
adjunct, cannot be taken advantage of when the speech is read, nor can
the chance of improvising a telling point, of enforcing an argument, or
of seizing a passing mood of the audience or some fleeting incident of
the moment.

Sir Ralph was made a Director of the Midland Great Western Company in
1864, and a year later was elected chairman, a position he occupied for
the long period of 39 years. In 1864 the railway was in a very bad
condition, wretchedly run down, and woefully mismanaged. Indeed,
according to an official report at the time, worse than mismanagement
existed. It was stated: "There were grave charges of official corruption
which necessitated the retirement of one of the leading officers from the
company's service." This was very exceptional in railway history, for
British and Irish railways possess a record that has rarely been sullied.
In my long career I only remember two other instances--one, the famous
_Redpath_ fraud (a name not inappropriate for one whose destiny it was to
tread a road that led to his ruin) on the Great Northern in 1856, which
Sir Henry (then Mr.) Oakley greatly assisted in discovering, and which, I
believe, led to his first substantial advancement; the other on the
Belfast and Northern Counties in 1886. This was in Edward John Cotton's
time, but it would be superfluous to say that _he_ was clear of blame for
he was integrity itself. That the occurrence could have happened during
his management distressed him greatly I know.

[Sir Ralph Cusack: cusack.jpg]

When he was elected to the office of Chairman, Sir Ralph, it is said,
accepted the position on the understanding that he should have autocratic
power. In the task he undertook this was very likely desirable, and once
acquired he was not the man to let such power slip from his grasp. His
strong hands would firmly retain whatever they wished to hold.

In 1865 no less than 15 directors _adorned_ the Midland Great Western
Board, twice too many no doubt the chairman thought for a railway of 344
miles. In 1867 they were reduced to 8; in 1877 to 7; since when they
have never numbered more. During the long period of Sir Ralph's
occupancy of the chair no deputy chairman existed. The chairman reigned
alone. That he was an _autocratic_ chairman, his brother directors, were
they now living, would I am sure attest. But though a strong, it was a
beneficent sway that he exercised. He could be hard at times, but his
nature was essentially kind and generous and his friendships numerous and
lasting. He prided himself on his knowledge of the railway staff, down
to the humblest member. He had strong likes and dislikes, and those who
came under his displeasure had sometimes cause to fear him; but they were
amongst the few, and the many remember him with nothing but the kindest
feelings. To me he was always a warm and sincere friend, and between us
existed, without interruption, the greatest frankness and confidence.

How wonderfully adaptable a creature is man. I had not been a fortnight
in my new position when I felt myself quite at home, as though Dublin and
the West of Ireland had been my natural habitat. Belfast and the County
Down receded into the past; and shall I confess it? much as I had liked
the north, much as I admired the industry, manliness and energy of its
people, much as I had enjoyed my life there, and highly as I esteemed the
friends I had made, something I found in my new surroundings--easier
manners, more of gaiety, and an admixture of pleasure with work--that
added to life a charm I had hitherto missed, not only in the North of
Ireland but in Glasgow and Derby as well.

The Secretary of the Midland Great Western Railway, George William
Greene, and Martin Atock, the locomotive engineer, were good fellows, and
warm friends of each other. I became and remained the sincere friend of
both until death took them hence. My principal assistant, called
_Assistant Manager_, was John P. Hornsby, now in his 85th year and living
in New Zealand. Robert Morrison, whom I stole for his good sense, manly
worth, and excellent railway ability, from the Belfast and Northern
Counties in October, 1891, succeeded Hornsby as my assistant. Afterwards
he became goods manager at the time Thomas Elliot was appointed
superintendent of the line, two appointments which relieved me of much
detailed work.

"The battle of Newcomen Junction" was raging at the time I joined the
"Midland," as for shortness we dubbed the Midland Great Western and
which, for the same reason, I shall continue to dub it, as convenience
may require, during the continuance of my story. If I have occasion to
again speak of my _alma mater_, the Midland of England, it shall, for the
sake of clearness, be so designated. "The battle of Newcomen Junction."
What of it? In railway circles, not only in Ireland but in England and
Scotland too, it caused some talk at the time and no little amusement.
Like many another conflict, 'twere better it had never been fought, for
it left for long afterwards angry feelings where peace and amity should
have existed, and it gained nothing that discussion and compromise could
not have effected. The City of Dublin Junction Railway, a small line, a
little over a mile in length (worked by the Dublin and South-Eastern
Company) was formed to link up the Dublin railways and to provide through
routes in connection with the Holyhead and Kingstown Royal Mail steamers
and the steamers of the London and North-Western Company. A junction was
authorised to be made at Newcomen with the Midland Great Western system.
Parliament had sanctioned a junction, but not such a junction, the
Midland said, as it was proposed to make. It would be unsafe and
unworkable they contended, and they refused to allow it. The promoters
insisted, the Midland were obdurate; the promoters invaded the Midland
premises, knocked down a wall and entered on Midland land; the Midland
gathered their forces, drove back the attacking party, and restored the
wall; again the attack was made and repulsed and again the wall was
demolished and re-built, and so the warfare continued, until at length an
armistice was declared and the _casus belli_ referred for settlement to
the Railway Commissioners. Soon I had to prepare the Midland case for
the Commissioners' Court and give evidence before them. They decided
against us and I am sure they were right, though of course I swore, as I
was bound to do, that our opposition to the junction was natural and
proper and our opponents were an unreasonable set of people. The Railway
Commissioners sat in Dublin to hear the case; it was my first appearance
before them, and I was sorry that appearance was not in a better cause.

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