Omnibuses and cabs

by Henry Charles Moore

In the year of the Great Exhibition, when London was crowded with foreigners, the number of omnibuses was increased considerably; but there were not too many, and proprietors and conductors grew rich in a few months. Many of the conductors fared better than their masters, and when the Exhibition was at an end settled down to some other business with a comfortable sum in hand to give them a good start. Of course, the conductors did not obtain the money in a legitimate manner. The way in which they did obtain it is, however, no secret. Every morning, before starting work, they provided themselves with a quantity of pence, half-pence, and small pieces of silver, for change. Then their chief aim was to fill their omnibuses with foreigners, and give them wrong change when they alighted. If a foreigner gave one of those conductors half a crown for a four-penny fare, the latter would count out two sixpences and four half-pence, put them in the man’s hand, shout out “Right away, Bill!” jump on the step and drive off, leaving the poor fellow puzzling his brain to understand the change. On other occasions the conductor would tell the foreigners that they had reached their destination before they had gone half-way, and the unsuspecting aliens would get out, paying the full fare without a murmur.

Quarrels among the passengers were of everyday occurrence, and the cause of the discord was, almost invariably, the windows. There were usually five windows on each side of the omnibus, which could be opened or closed according to the passenger’s fancy. An arrangement better calculated to breed discord could scarcely have been made. The quarrels concerning them were usually somewhat ludicrous—from the fact that the ten windows rattled fearfully, compelling the disputants to yell at each other to make themselves heard. One day a Frenchman and an Italian chanced to be sitting side by side in an omnibus. The Italian pulled up a window just behind them. The Frenchman promptly, and indignantly, lowered it. The Italian excitedly pulled it up again, and this ding-dong performance was continued for some little time, greatly to the amusement of the other passengers. At last, the Frenchman grew desperate, and shattered the glass with his elbow, exclaiming, “Now, Monsieur, you can have ze window up if you likes!”

Many Londoners objected strongly to the overcrowding of omnibuses during the time of the Exhibition, and some, who knew the law, insisted upon having their proper amount of space, no matter who suffered in consequence. The law had declared that every passenger was entitled to sixteen inches of room on the seat; that he might measure it, and any person hindering him from doing so was liable to a penalty of £5. Consequently, many cantankerous people carried yard-measures in their pockets, and insisted upon having their full space. Certainly, sixteen inches is not much room for any man or woman, and a large proportion of the passengers could not possibly squeeze themselves into it; and, because of their inability to do so, quarrels between thin and stout people were of everyday occurrence.

In the year of the Great Exhibition was started the first of Tilling’s omnibuses. There have been many English proprietors who have conducted their businesses successfully and honourably, but none came so prominently before the public as George Shillibeer and Thomas Tilling. Both men had interesting careers, but there the similarity ends. Shillibeer, if not a rich man, was very well-to-do when he started his famous omnibuses, and yet he was driven at last into the bankruptcy court, and finished his omnibus career under a financial cloud. Tilling, however, began work without capital, and with but one solitary horse for his stock-in-trade, yet by hard work he achieved success and built up the large business so well known to all Londoners. By 1851, four years after his modest start, he had prospered to an extent which enabled him to put on the road his first omnibus. It was called the “Times,” and ran from Peckham to Oxford Circus. At the present day there are some twenty-four “Times” omnibuses on that road. Tilling’s “Times” are excellently horsed, and share with the John Bull Association’s omnibuses the honour of being the fastest travelling omnibuses in London. Tilling’s four-horsed “Times” doing its first morning journey to the West End is the most picturesque omnibus sight in England.

TILLING’S FOUR-HORSE “TIMES.”

When the first “Times” had proved a success, Mr. Tilling started omnibuses on other roads, and before many years had elapsed there was no name better known to South Londoners than his. At that period it was the morning custom of South London omnibuses to go round the streets, in the district from which they started, to pick up their regular riders at their houses; but Mr. Tilling would not conform to this practice. He made it known that his omnibuses would not collect passengers, but would start from a certain place at a stated time, and people understood that if they wanted to travel by them they would have to go to the starting-place.

Mr. Tilling was by no means an omnibus proprietor only. Before he had been established many years he was the owner of coaches, cabs, wedding carriages, and, in short, carried on the ordinary business of a job master. On Derby Day he had, usually, as many as two hundred horses on the course, and although he was present at Epsom thirty consecutive years, he had always so much to attend to that he never once saw the great race run. In fact, on one occasion, when he got back to Peckham, he surprised his chief clerk, who had been in the office all day, by asking what horse had won. After that it need scarcely be said that Mr. Tilling did not indulge in betting. Indeed, betting and swearing were practices which he would not tolerate among his men, although he was one of the most considerate employers that ever lived. Unspoiled by success, unostentatiously charitable and simple in his tastes, he was held in the highest esteem by every man in his employ, and when he died, in 1893, the loss was felt by each of them to be a personal one.

There exists, at Messrs. Tilling’s chief offices, a good-sized room containing a pleasing testimony to the interest which the founder of the firm took in his employees. Mr. Tilling, many years ago, ordered that a photograph should be taken, and hung in that room, of every man who had been in his employ for twenty years. As other men completed their twenty years’ service their photographs were taken and added to the collection, and now—for the practice is still maintained—the walls are covered with them.

Many of the men whose photographs adorn the room have been in the Tillings’ employ for nearly half a century. One of their “Times” coachmen, whose face is very familiar to frequenters of Regent Street, has driven an omnibus through that thoroughfare for over forty years. His brother has been in the same employ for a still longer period. The office also has its representatives of long service, one gentleman having been engaged there nearly forty years.