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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A committee was appointed to carry out the project. On this committee
Mr. Hudson was placed, and it was mainly owing to his energy and skill
that the scheme came to a successful issue. He was rewarded by being
made chairman of the company.

This was his entrance into the railway world where, for a time, he was
monarch. He must have been a man of shrewdness and capacity. It is
recorded that he acquired the land for the York to London railway at an
average cost of 1,750 pounds per mile whilst that of the North Midland
cost over 5,000 pounds.

On the 1st July, 1840, this linendraper of York had the proud pleasure of
seeing the first train from York to London start on its journey.

From this achievement he advanced to others. He and his friends obtained
the lease, for thirty-one years, of a rival line, which turned out a
great financial success. His enterprise and energy were boundless.

It is said that his bold spirit, his capacity for work and his great
influence daunted his most determined opponents. For instance, the North
Midland railway, part predecessor of _the_ Midland, was involved in
difficulty. He appeared before the shareholders, offered, if his advice
and methods were adopted, to guarantee double the then dividend. His
offer was accepted and he was made chairman, and from that position
became chairman, and for a time dictator, of the amalgamated Midland
system. Clearly his business abilities were great; his reforms were bold
and drastic, and success attended his efforts. He soon became the
greatest railway authority in England. For a time the entire railway
system in the north was under his control, and the confidence reposed in
him was unbounded. He was the lion of the day: princes, peers and
prelates, capitalists and fine ladies sought his society, paid homage to
his power, besought his advice and lavished upon him unstinted adulation.

In 1845 the railway mania was at its height. It is said that during two
or three months of that year as much as 100,000 pounds per week were
expended in advertisements in connection with railway promotions, railway
meetings and railway matters generally. Scarcely credible this, but so
it is seriously stated. Huge sums were wasted in the promotion and
construction of British railways in early days, from which, in their
excessive capital cost, they suffer now. In the _mania_ period railways
sprang into existence so quickly that, to use the words of Robert
Stephenson, they "appeared like the realisation of fabled powers or the
magician's wand." The _Illustrated London News_ of the day said:
"Railway speculation has become the sole object of the world--cupidity is
aroused and roguery shields itself under its name, as a more safe and
rapid way of gaining its ends. Abroad, as well as at home, has it proved
the rallying point of all rascality--the honest man is carried away by
the current and becomes absorbed in the vortex; the timid, the quiet, the
moral are, after some hesitation, caught in the whirlpool and follow
those whom they have watched with pity and derision."

Powers were granted by Parliament in the year 1845 to construct no less
than 2,883 miles of new railway at an expenditure of about 44,000,000
pounds; and in the next year (1846) applications were made to Parliament
for authority to raise 389,000,000 pounds for the construction of further
lines. These powers were granted to the extent of 4,790 miles at a cost
of about 120,000,000 pounds.

Soon there came a change; disaster followed success; securities fell;
dividends diminished or disappeared altogether or, as was in some cases
discovered, were paid out of capital, and disappointment and ruin
followed. King Hudson's methods came under a fierce fire of criticism;
adulation was succeeded by abuse and he was disgraced and dethroned. A
writer of the day said, "Mr. Hudson is neither better nor worse than the
morality of his time." From affluence he came to want, and in his old
age a fund was raised sufficient to purchase him an annuity of 600 pounds
a year.

About this time, that most useful Institution the Railway Clearing House
received Parliamentary sanction. The _Railway Clearing System Act_ 1850
gave it statutory recognition. Its functions have been defined thus: "To
settle and adjust the receipts arising from railway traffic within, or
partly within, the United Kingdom, and passing over more than one railway
within the United Kingdom, booked or invoiced at throughout rates of
fares." The system had then been in existence, in a more or less
informal way, for about eight years. Mr. Allport, on one occasion, said
that whilst he was with the Birmingham and Derby railway (before he
became general manager of the Midland) the process of settlement of
receipts for through traffic was tedious and difficult, and it occurred
to him that a system should be adopted similar to that which existed in
London and was known as the Bankers' Clearing House. It was also said
that Mr. Kenneth Morrison, Auditor of the London and Birmingham line, was
the first to see and proclaim the necessity for a Clearing House. Be
that as it may, the Railway Clearing House, as a practical entity, came
into being in 1842. In the beginning it only embraced nine companies,
and six people were enough to do its work. The companies were:--

London and Birmingham, Midland Counties, Birmingham and Derby, North
Midland, Leeds and Selby, York and North Midland, Hull and Selby,
Great North of England, Manchester and Leeds.

Not one of these has preserved its original name. All have been merged
in either the London and North-Western, the North-Eastern, the Midland or
the Lancashire and Yorkshire.

At the present day the Clearing House consists of practically the whole
of the railway companies in the United Kingdom, though some of the small
and unimportant lines are outside its sphere. Ireland has a Railway
Clearing House of its own--established in the year 1848--to which
practically all Irish railway companies, and they are numerous, belong;
and the six principal Irish railways are members of the London Clearing
House.

The English house, situated in Seymour Street, Euston Square, is an
extensive establishment, and accommodates 2,500 clerks. As I write, the
number under its roof is, by war conditions, reduced to about 900.
Serving with His Majesty's Forces are nearly 1,200, and about 400 have
been temporarily transferred to the railway companies, to the Government
service and to munition factories.

In 1842, when the Clearing House first began, the staff, as I have said,
numbered six, and the companies nine. Fifty-eight railway companies now
belong to the House, and the amount of money dealt with by way of
division and apportionment in the year before the war was 31,071,910
pounds. In 1842 it was 193,246 pounds.

CHAPTER IV.
FASHIONS AND MANNERS, VICTORIAN DAYS

The boy who is strong and healthy, overflowing with animal spirits,
enjoys life in a way that is denied to his slighter-framed, more delicate
brother. Exercise imparts to him a physical exuberance to which the
other is a stranger. But Nature is kind. If she withholds her gifts in
one direction she bestows them in another. She grants the enjoyment of
sedentary pursuits to those to whom she has denied hardier pleasures.

During my schooldays I spent many happy hours alone with book or pen or
pencil. My father was fond of reading, and for a man of his limited
means, possessed a good collection of books; a considerable number of the
volumes of _Bohn's Standard Library_ as well as _Boswell's Life of
Johnson, Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, Butler's Hudibras, Bailey's
Festus, Gil Blas, Don Quixote, Pilgrim's Progress, the Arabian Nights,
Shakespeare_, most of the poets from _Chaucer_ down; and of novels,
_Bulwer Lytton's, Scott's, Dickens_' and _Thackeray's_. These are the
books I best remember, but there were others of classic fame, and I read
them all; but not, I fear to much advantage, for though I have read many
books it has been without much method, just as fancy led, and study,
memory and judgment have been little considered. Still, unsystematic
reading is better than no reading, and, as someone has said, "a phrase
may fructify if it falls on receptive soil."

I never in my boyhood or youth, except on short visits to relatives,
enjoyed the advantage, by living in the country, of becoming intimate
with rural life. We resided at Derby in a terrace on the outskirt of the
town, much to my dislike, for monotonous rows of houses I have ever
hated. One's home should be one's friend and possess some special
feature of its own, even in its outward aspect, to love and remember. As
George Eliot says: "We get the fonder of our houses if they have a
physiognomy of their own, as our friends have."

In my schooldays, country walks, pursued as far as health and strength
allowed, were my greatest pleasure, sometimes taken alone, sometimes with
a companion. The quiet valley of the Trent at Repton, Anchor Church,
Knoll Hills, the long bridge at Swarkestone, the charming little country
town of Melbourne, the wooded beauties of Duffield and Belper, the ozier
beds of Spondon; how often have I trod their fields, their woods, their
lanes, their paths; and how pleasantly the memory of it all comes back to
me now!

In those days fashions and manners differed greatly from those of to-day.
Ladies wore the crinoline (successor to the hoop of earlier times),
chignons and other absurdities, but had not ventured upon short skirts or
cigarettes. They were much given to blushing, now a lost art; and to
swooning, a thing of the past; the "vapours" of the eighteenth century
had, happily, vanished for ever; but athletic exercises, such as girls
enjoy to-day, were then undreamed of. Why has the pretty art of blushing
gone? One now never sees a blush to mantle on the cheek of beauty. Does
the blood of feminine youth flow steadier than it did, or has the more
unrestrained intercourse of the sexes banished the sweet consciousness
that so often brought the crimson to a maiden's face? The manners of
maidens had more of reserve and formality then. The off-hand style, the
nod of the head, the casual "how d'ye do," were unknown. Woman has not
now the same desire to appear always graceful; she adopts a manly gait,
talks louder, plays hockey, rides horseback astride, and boldly enters
hotel smoking rooms and railway smoking compartments without apology.

When walking with a lady, old or young, in those days, the gentleman
would offer his arm and she would take it. The curtsey was still
observed but gradually disappearing. When about nineteen years of age, I
remember being introduced to one of the young beauties of the town, who I
had long secretly admired. She made me a profound and graceful
curtsey--feminine homage to my budding manhood. The first curtsey I
remember receiving, except of course in the stately ceremonies of the
dance. For many a day afterwards my cheek glowed with pleasure at the
recollection of that sweet obeisance. She became my sweetheart,
temporarily; but a born butterfly, she soon fluttered away, leaving me
disconsolate--_for a time_!

Women then wrote a sloping hand, delicate penmanship, to distinguish them
from men; crossed and re-crossed their letters, and were greatly addicted
to postscripts.

The men? Well, they wore mutton chop whiskers, or, if Nature was
bountiful, affected the Dundreary style, which gave a man great
distinction, and, if allied to good looks, made him perfectly
irresistible. They wore "Champagne Charley" coats, fancy waistcoats,
frilled-fronted shirts, relic of the lace and ruffles of Elizabeth's
days; velvet smoking caps, embroidered slippers, elastic-side boots and
chimney pot hats.

At eighteen years of age I had my first frock coat and tall hat. Some of
my companions, happy youths! enjoyed this distinction at sixteen or
seventeen. These adornments were of course for Sunday wear; no weekday
clothes were worn on Sundays then. My frock coat was of West of England
broadcloth, shiny and smooth. Sunday attire was incomplete without light
kid gloves, lavender or lemon being the favourite shade for a young man
with any pretension to style.

Next in importance to my first frock coat ranked my first portmanteau; it
was a present, and supplanted the carpet bag which, up to then, to my
profound disgust, I had to use on visits to my relatives. The
portmanteau was the sign of youth and progress; old-fashioned people
stuck to the carpet bag.

Man's attire has changed for the better; and woman's, with all its
abbreviations and shortcomings, is, on the whole, more rational; though
in the domain of Fashion her _vagaries_ will last no doubt as long
as--woman is woman; and if ever that shall cease to be, the charm of life
will be over.

With man the jacket suit, the soft hat, the soft shirt, the turn-down
collar, mark the transition from starch and stiffness to ease and
comfort; and Time in his course has brought no greater boon than this;
except, perhaps, the change that marks our funeral customs. In those
days, hatbands, gloves and scarves were provided by the bereaved family
to the relatives and friends who attended the obsequies; and all of
kinship close or remote, were invited from far and near. Hearse and
coaches and nodding plumes and mutes added to the expense, and many a
family of moderate means suffered terrible privation from the costliness
of these burial customs, which, happily, now are fast disappearing.

Beds, in those days, were warmed with copper warming pans, and nightcaps
adorned the slumbering heads of both sexes. Spittoons were part of
ordinary household furniture. To colour a meerschaum was the ambition of
smokers, swearing was considered neither low nor vulgar, and snuffing was
fashionable. Many most respectable men chewed tobacco, and to carry
one's liquor well was a gentlemanly accomplishment.

Garrotters pursued their calling, deterred only by the cat-o'-nine tails,
pickpockets abounded and burglaries were common.

The antimacassar and the family album; in what veneration they were held!
The antimacassar, as its name implies, was designed to protect chairs and
couches from the disfiguring stains of macassar oil, then liberally used
in the adornment of the hair which received much attention. A parting,
of geometrical precision, at the back of the head was often affected by
men of dressy habits, who sometimes also wore a carefully arranged curl
at the front; and manly locks, if luxuriant enough, were not infrequently
permitted to fall in careless profusion over the collar of the coat.

Of the family album I would rather not speak. It is scarcely yet
extinct. A respectable silence shall accompany its departing days.

Perhaps these things may to some appear mere trivialities; but to recall
them awakens many memories, brings back thoughts of bygone days--days
illumined with the sunshine of Youth and Hope on which it is pleasant to
linger. As someone has finely said: "We lose a proper sense of the
richness of life if we do not look back on the scenes of our youth with
imagination and warmth."

CHAPTER V.
EARLY OFFICE LIFE

In the year 1867, at the age of sixteen, I became a junior clerk in the
Midland Railway at Derby, at a salary of 15 pounds a year.

From pre-natal days I was destined for the railway service, as an oyster
to its shell. The possibility of any other vocation for his sons never
entered the mind of my father, nor the mind of many another father in the
town of Derby.

My railway life began on a drizzling dismal day in the early autumn. My
father took me to the office in which I was to make a start and presented
me to the chief clerk. I was a tall, thin, delicate, shy, sensitive
youth, with curly hair, worn rather long, and I am sure I did not look at
all a promising specimen for encountering the rough and tumble of railway
work.

The chief clerk handed me over to one of his assistants, who without
ceremony seated me on a tall stool at a high desk, and put before me, to
my great dismay, a huge pile of formidable documents which he called _Way
Bills_. He gave me some instructions, but I was too confused to
understand them, and too shy to ask questions. I only know that I felt
very miserable and hopelessly at sea. Visions of being dismissed as an
incompetent rose before me; but soon, to my great relief, it was
discovered that the Way Bills were too much for me and that I must begin
at more elementary duties.

A few weeks afterwards, when I had found my feet a little, I was promoted
from the simple tasks assigned to me in consequence of my first failure
and attached to the goods-train-delays clerk, a long-bearded elderly man
with a very kind face. He was quite fatherly to me and took a great deal
of trouble in teaching me my work. With him I soon felt at ease, and was
happy in gaining his approbation. One thing found favour in his eyes; I
wrote a good clear hand and at fair speed. In those days penmanship was
a fine art. No cramped or sprawling writing passed muster. Typewriting
was not dreamed of, and, at Derby, shorthand had not appeared on the
scene.

One or two other juniors and myself sedulously practised imitating the
penmanship of those senior clerks who wrote fine or singular hands. At
this I was particularly successful and proud of my skill, until one day
the chief clerk detained me after closing time, gave me a good rating,
and warned me to stop such a dangerous habit which might lead, he said,
to the disgrace of forgery. He spoke so seriously and shook his head so
wisely that (to use Theodore Hook's old joke) "I thought there must be
something in it," and so, for a long while, I gave up the practice.

Office hours in those days were nominally from nine till six, but for the
juniors especially often much longer. In 1868 or 1869, 1 do not remember
which, a welcome change took place; the hours were reduced to from nine
till five, and arrangements made for avoiding late hours for the juniors.
This early closing was the result of an "appeal unto Caesar." The
clerical staff in all the offices had combined and presented a petition
in the highest quarter. The boon was granted, and I remember the wave of
delight that swept over us, and how we enjoyed the long summer evenings.
It was in the summer time the change took place.

Combined action amongst railway employees was not common then, not even
in the wage-earning class, but Trade Unionism, scarcely yet legalised,
was clamouring for recognition. Strikes sometimes occurred but were not
frequent.

In 1867 Mr. James Allport was general manager of the Midland Railway, Mr.
Thomas Walklate the goods manager and Mr. William Parker head of the
department in which I began my railway life. Ned Farmer was a notable
Midland man at that time; notable for his bucolic appearance, his genial
personality, and, most of all, for the well-known songs he wrote. He was
in charge of the company's horses, bought them, fed them, cared for them.
He was a big-bodied, big-hearted, ruddy-faced, farmerlike man of fifty or
so; and the service was proud of him. He had a great sense of humour and
used to tell many an amusing story. One morning, he told us, he had been
greatly tickled by a letter which he had received from one of his
inspectors whose habit it was to conclude every letter and report with
the words "to oblige." The letter ran: "Dear Sir, I beg to inform you
that Horse No. 99 died last night to oblige Yours truly, John Smith." He
wrote the fine poem of "_Little Jim_," which everyone knew, and which
almost every boy and girl could recite. His then well-known song, "_My
old Wife's a good old cratur_," was very popular and was sung throughout
the Midlands. The publication of his poems and songs was attended with
great success. His Muse was simple, homely, humorous, pathetic and
patriotic, and made a strong appeal to the natural feelings of ordinary
folk. Often it was inspired by incidents and experiences in his daily
life. His desk was in the same office as that in which I worked, and I
was very proud of the notice he took of me, and grateful for many
kindnesses he showed to me.

After spending twelve months or so in Mr. Parker's office, I was removed
to another department. The office to which I was assigned had about
thirty clerks, all of whom, except the chief clerk, occupied tall stools
at high desks.

I was one of two assistants to a senior clerk. This senior was middle-
aged, and passing rich on eighty pounds a year. A quiet, steady,
respectable married man, well dressed, cheerful, contented, he had by
care and economy, out of his modest salary, built for himself a snug
little double-breasted villa, in a pleasant outskirt of the town, where
he spent his spare hours in his garden and enjoyed a comfortable and
happy life.

Except the chief clerk, whose salary was about 160 pounds, I do not
believe there was another whose pay exceeded 100 pounds a year. The real
head of the office, or _department_ it was called, was not the chief
clerk but one who ranked higher still and was styled _Head of
Department_, and he received a salary of about 300 pounds. Moderate
salaries prevailed, but the sovereign was worth much more then than now,
while wants were fewer. Beer was threepence the pint and tobacco
threepence the ounce, and beer we drank but never whiskey or wine; and
pipes we smoked but not cigars.

This chief clerk was an amiable rather ladylike person, with small hands
and feet and well-arranged curly hair. He was quick and clever and work
sat lightly upon him. Quiet and good natured, when necessity arose he
never failed to assert his authority. We all respected him. His young
wife was pretty and pleasant, which was in his favour too.

The office was by no means altogether composed of steady specimens of
clerkdom, but had a large admixture of lively sparks who, though they
would never set the Thames on fire, brightened and enlivened our
surroundings.

There was one, a literary genius, who had entered the service, I believe
by influence, for influence and patronage were in those days not unknown.
He wrote in his spare time the pantomime for a Birmingham theatre; and
there constantly fluttered from his desk and circulated through the
office, little scraps of paper containing quips and puns and jokes in
prose or verse, or acrostics from his prolific pen. One clever acrostic
upon the office boy, which has always remained in my memory, I should
like for its delicate irony (worthy of Swift himself) to reproduce; but
as that promising youth may still be in the service I feel I had better
not, as irony sometimes wounds. For some time we had in the office an
Apollo--a very Belvidere. He was a glory introduced into railway life by
I know not what influence and disappeared after a time I know not where
or why. A marvel of manly strength and grace and beauty, thirty years of
age or so, and faultlessly dressed. Said to be aristocratically
connected, he was the admiration of all and the darling of the young
ladies of Derby. He lodged in fashionable apartments, smoked expensive
cigars, attended all public amusements, was affable and charming, but
reticent about himself. Why he ever came amongst us none ever knew; it
was a mystery we never fathomed. He left as he came, a mystery still.

There was an oldish clerk whom we nicknamed _Gumpots_. This bore some
resemblance to his surname, but there were other reasons which led to the
playful designation and which I think justified it.

There was another scribe of quite an elegant sort: a perambulating
tailor's dummy; a young man, well under thirty. He was good-looking, as
far as regularity of features and a well-formed figure went, but mentally
not much to boast of. He lounged about the station platform and the town
displaying his faultlessly fitting fashionable clothes. They always
looked new, and as his salary was not more than 70 pounds a year, and his
parents, with whom he lived, were poor, the story that he was provided
gratis by an enterprising tailor in town with these suits, on condition
that he exhibited himself constantly in public, and told whenever he
could who was his outfitter, received general credence, and I believe was
true. He was never known to hurry, mingled little with men and less with
women, but moved along in a stiff tailor-dummy fashion with a sort of
self-conscious air which seemed to say, "Look at my figure and my
clothes, how stylish they are!"

I remember a senior clerk in the office where I first worked to whom
there was a general aversion. He was the only clerk who was really
disliked, for all the others, old or young, serious or gay, steady or
rackety, had each some pleasant quality. This unfortunate fellow had
none. He was small, mean, cunning, a sneak and a mischief maker. He
carried tales, told lies, and tried to make trouble, for no reason but to
gratify his inclinations. He was a dark impish looking fellow, as lean
as Cassius and as crafty and envious as Iago. The chief clerk, to his
credit be it said, gave a deaf ear to his tales, and his craft and
cunning obtained him little beyond our detestation.

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