Omnibuses and cabs

by Henry Charles Moore

The dissipated down-at-heel gentleman, of the type which sometimes drives a cab, never becomes an omnibus conductor, for the very good reason that no company or proprietor would employ him. But the unfortunate gentleman often does. An Oxford graduate was the conductor of a West-End omnibus for some considerable time, and a man who was once the secretary of a flourishing literary society, and a church organist, is and has been one for some years. And a City man, ruined in business, became, by the irony of fate, the conductor of the very omnibus on which he, formerly, rode up to town every morning.

A small proportion of conductors do possibly make occasional mistakes in their grammar, but that is no reason why a certain writer should have attributed to them, week after week for some years, a dialect which they do not speak. Evidently the writer has not troubled to study conductors, and imagines that they are drawn from the costermonger class. Conductors, it may be added, do not even say “lidy,” or “lydy,” although it has become the fashion in novels and articles to make out that they do. They say “lady” as distinctly as ever the word was uttered.

Omnibus drivers are, as a body, intellectually inferior to conductors. They are usually brought up among horses, and, unlike the conductors, are totally unfitted for any other calling than the one by which they earn their living. Their wages, which are eight shillings a day, after one year’s service, enable them to live in comfort and to put a shilling on a horse in every race of any importance. They have no ambition but to “back a winner,” and many men who started driving at the age of twenty-one are not a penny richer after forty years’ regular work. They continue driving until they become too old, and then they realise that they have been exceedingly foolish. One driver, who for more than forty years earned over two guineas a week, now sweeps a crossing for a living. Many others have died in the workhouse.

As a wit the omnibus driver is greatly overrated. There is nothing spontaneous about his witticisms, and all drivers let off exactly the same jokes. These are three from their stock:—

When a coal cart is in front of them: “Now then, short weight, hurry up!”

When another omnibus remains at a point longer than usual: “Got a bit of freeehold there?”

When they are driving home to the stables about midnight, and some would-be passenger hails them: “Not to-night, sir. We have the rest of the evening to ourselves.”

But it must be admitted that omnibus drivers have the knack of delivering their remarks in a way that makes a stranger imagine that they are uttering them for the first time. And that is an art.

At Christmas time there is a great demand among ’busmen for Rothschild’s racing colours. The drivers attach them to their whips and the conductors adorn their bell-pulls with them, as a slight acknowledgment of the welcome Christmas-box—a brace of pheasants—which they have received for many years from the firm of Rothschild. Originally these presents were given only to the coachmen and conductors of omnibuses which passed the Rothschilds’ houses, but now others receive them as well, and there must be about three thousand brace distributed every Christmas.

The late Lord Rothschild, who, years ago, gave an annual dinner to the Hammersmith ’busmen—half the men being entertained on one night and half on another—was the first of the family to present Christmas-boxes to them. His gift to every Hammersmith coachman and conductor was a brace of pheasants, a bottle of wine and six cigars. After a time he stopped the bottle of wine and cigars and gave five shillings instead. The Victoria Station Omnibus Association coachmen and conductors also receive five shillings each as well as the brace of pheasants, and the reason why they are favoured is, the old ’busmen say, as follows:—One day, many years ago, in the height of the season, there was a big crowd gathered in Park Lane, and the traffic was stopped for some time to keep the road clear for a member of the Royal Family to drive along. By the fountain the block was so great that pedestrians who desired to cross the road experienced the greatest difficulty in doing so. A lady of the Rothschild family came up Hertford Street and wished to cross over into Hamilton Place, but, naturally, did not venture to pick her way through the wide stretch of omnibuses, cabs and carriages. Benjamin West, a conductor of one of the Victoria Station Association’s omnibuses, saw her, and, recognising her, got off his step and, with a polite apology for addressing her, asked to be allowed to escort her across the road. His services were accepted, and he led the way safely through the maze of horses and vehicles. West then returned to his omnibus, well satisfied at having been useful to a member of the family which contains the best friends that ’busmen ever had. But, to his surprise, he saw the lady turn and speak to the page following her, in charge of a pug dog, who came running back to West’s omnibus to see to whom it belonged. He read the inscription on the panel, “Victoria Station Association,” and then hurried back and reported to his mistress. The following Christmas every conductor and coachman in the employ of the Victoria Station Association received from Mr. Leopold Rothschild five shillings, and the present has been given every year since.