It was difficult to penetrate this professional reserve. A remarkable character of this type was John Wilson, who drove the “Everlasting” coach between Wolverhampton and Worcester; a coach so called because, at a time when all the direct routes were being abandoned to railways, this cross-country journey was left open and unchallenged for many years. John, in addition to being a coachman, was host of the “King’s Head,” a minor house in Bell Street, Wolverhampton, but was a taciturn and grumpy individual. He drove only at the jog-trot of eight miles an hour, and so had no excuse on that score for silence. He cherished the greatest dislike to being questioned, and his replies, especially to strangers, were of the briefest and surliest. On the occasion of the British Association visiting Dudley in 1849, a gentleman residing at Worcester, being very anxious to attend the meetings of so learned a body, secured a box-seat on the “Everlasting” to Dudley. John was the coachman on that occasion. The historian of it is the passenger himself:—
“‘A nice mild day, coachman,’ I said, as he mounted and took the ribbons.
“‘’Tis, sir.’
“(After a pause of five minutes.) ‘What time do you get to Dudley?’
“‘Eight o’clock.’
“(A quarter of an hour’s pause.) ‘Capital crop of turnips this year, coachman.’
“‘Ees.’
“(A pause of twenty minutes, varied only by some long yawns from the coachman, and some responsive ones from myself.)
“‘I say, driver, can you tell me who’s dead at that house?’
“‘Don’t know. ‘Niver inquires about nothing—yaw—haw—a-haw,’ yawning prodigiously.