Herring continued as a coachman for several years, and only left the box in 1830, when he went to reside in London. From that date until his death in 1865 he devoted himself entirely to painting.
Richard Wood, Herring’s first employer, was part-proprietor of the “Lord Nelson” coach, among others. Especial mention must be made of this particular conveyance, because if not the first, it must have been one of the earliest, of the coaches by which passengers were allowed to book through to or from London, and to break their journey where they pleased. To those who could not endure the long agonies of a winter’s journey except in small doses, this arrangement must have been a great boon. To this coach belongs the story of a Frenchman, still preserved by Doncaster gossips.
It was in the early part of the century that he wanted to travel from “Doncastare” to London. Inquiring at the booking-office for the best coach, the clerk mentioned the “Lord Nelson.”
“Damn your Lord Nelson!” says the Frenchman in a rage. “What others are there?”
The names of the others heaped greater offence upon him, for they were the “Waterloo” and the “Duke of Wellington.” So perhaps he posted instead, and saved his national susceptibilities at the expense of his pocket.
Another, and a later, coach-proprietor and innkeeper at Doncaster was Thomas Pye, of the “Angel.” He lived to see railways ruin the coaching business, but he kept the “Angel” for years afterwards, and his family after him. The Queen, on her way to Scotland in 1861, slept there one night, and the loyal family promptly added the title of “Royal” to the old house.
Coaching days were doomed at Doncaster in 1859, when the Midland Railway was opened and diverted the traffic; and nine years later, when the Great Northern Railway came, the last coach was withdrawn.
Few think of Doncaster as a centre of spiritual activity. Racing seems to comprehend everything, and to make it, like a famous winner of the St. Leger a case of “Eclipse first; the rest nowhere!” Even Doncaster butterscotch is more familiar than Doncaster piety, but the Church is particularly active here, nevertheless. That activity only dates from the appointment of Dr. Vaughan as vicar, in 1859. Before his time religion was very dead, so that, when the great parish church of St. George was burnt down in 1853, the then vicar, Dr. Sharpe, on seeing the flames burst out, could at first only think of his false teeth, which he had left in the building, and exclaimed in horror-stricken tones, “Good gracious! and I have left my set of teeth in the vestry.”
The church was rebuilt by Sir Gilbert Scott. It is a magnificent building, but too palpably Scott, and the details of the carving painfully mechanical. Also, the stone was so badly selected that the crockets and enrichments were long ago found to be decaying, and “restoration” of a building not then fifty years old was found necessary.
Dr. Vaughan was a bitter opponent of horse-racing, and so was not popular with the sporting element; and as Doncaster is, above everything, given over to sport, this meant that his nine years’ vicariate was a sojourn in a hostile camp. His predecessors had been more complaisant. Always within living memory the church bells had been rung on the St. Leger day, and generally at the moment the winning horse had passed the post. Dr. Vaughan put an end to this and quietly inaugurated a new era, not by raising a dispute, but by obtaining the keys of the belfry on the first St. Leger day of his incumbency, and, locking the door, going for a walk which kept him out of the town until the evening!