I have always admired the working collier, and if British records could be printed thousands of colliers would be found as much entitled to the Victoria Cross as those soldiers who have performed doughty deeds on the battlefield.
Workmen's Outing at Tredegar Park,
August 8th, 1885.
In the old Town Hall of Newport many great celebrities have received testimonials, compliments and honours—warriors, church dignitaries, financiers and great politicians; but I do not think any circumstance like the present one has arisen before, and there could not be a more interesting ceremony than that which we are about to perform. It is necessary to make a slight excuse for the time which has expired since the great disaster on July 2nd, 1909. Those who remember the incidents know perfectly well that the whole of the dock premises and the town were in a state of excitement for some considerable period, and a large number of unfortunate men were overwhelmed by the disaster, while others fortunately escaped. I think the officials have done their very best to try and select those who really performed heroic efforts. Those who have not received recognition, but think they deserve it, will, I feel sure, make all due allowance, and give those responsible the credit for having done their best. It is satisfactory to the directors to know that they have a body of men around them who are ready to do their duty. It is a trait of the educated British workman of to-day that, when given something useful to do, he will perform his task heroically—heroism is characteristic of him.
Presentation of Certificates for Bravery on the occasion
of the Dock disaster, Newport Town Hall,
March 14th, 1911.
[A TRIBUTE TO THE ENGINE DRIVER.]
"The feeling of a Newport cabman when his horse runs away."
I have the greatest admiration for engine drivers, particularly those on the Great Western Railway, on which line I travel most. I have often wondered at the admirable manner in which they stop and start their trains. Mr. Gladstone once said that he could understand the mind of a great historian like Gibbon, or of a great poet, like Milton, Byron, or Wordsworth, but that he could not understand the formation of the mind of a man who wrote poems and plays like Shakespeare. Personally, I cannot understand the mind of an engine driver on an express train. I have been myself, in some very disagreeable positions, and have had some very nasty half minutes. Not very long ago I found myself underneath my horse in a muddy ditch and the half minutes I spent in waiting for a friendly hand to drag me out, and in wondering whether assistance would come before I was suffocated, were very unpleasant ones. Only a fortnight ago, too, a gentleman was driving me in a light vehicle down a narrow roadway when we saw a runaway horse attached to a lorry galloping towards us. It seemed as if there was nothing for it but for us to be knocked into the proverbial cocked-hat. However, our vehicle was drawn very close to the side and the runaway just cleared us. I can understand, too, the feeling of a man driving four horses when they run away with him, because that has happened to myself; or the feeling of a Newport cabman when his horse runs away. But I cannot understand the feeling of sustained courage on the part of a driver of an express engine with his train going at 60 miles an hour through the darkness of the night, perhaps in a storm of snow or sleet. To use a pretty strong expression, it must be like "hell with the lid off." Those who travel on railways ought to think more of the responsibilities which rest on railway employees.
Railwaymen's Dinner,
April 21st, 1908.