Omnibuses and cabs

by Henry Charles Moore

The new regulations and the reduction of fares created great indignation among both cab proprietors and cab drivers. The latter were particularly enraged with the Members of Parliament, and hit upon a way of expressing publicly their feelings towards them. When the House rose on the night of July 26, and the members hurried out to go home, they were astonished to see all the cabmen drive quickly away with empty cabs. Some of them ran after the cabs; but the drivers declined in most unparliamentary language to take them, and as many of the honourable gentlemen who could not get a lift in friends’ carriages had to walk home. The following morning there was not a cab to be seen in the streets of London, for the cabmen were on strike. Members of Parliament soon felt the want of cabs, and the Sergeant-at-Arms personally asked Mr. Gamble, an omnibus proprietor, to oblige them by running an omnibus for their sole convenience between the House and the clubs. But Mr. Gamble, who was also a cab proprietor, and not just then very well disposed towards Members of Parliament, declined to accede to their request. The strike, however, only lasted for four days, for when the men saw that the police permitted unlicensed vehicles to ply for hire they returned to work. Nevertheless, they gained something by the strike, for their grievances were investigated without delay, and the following alterations made. The cab radius, which for twenty-four years had been three miles from the General Post Office, was changed to four miles from the statue of Charles I. at Charing Cross, and the cabman was empowered to charge one shilling for every mile, or part of one, which he should be required to drive beyond the radius, providing that the cab was discharged beyond it. Moreover, the tax on each cab was reduced from ten shillings a week to a shilling a day.

The success which attended the first cab strike of any importance incited cabmen to think of other grievances, and from that year to this they have never been without a good supply of them. Some were reasonable, but the majority were imaginary or frivolous. Of the latter nothing need be said. Of the former, one of the chief was that passengers expected cabmen to get down and ring the bell or knock at the door of the house where they wished to alight. For years the cabmen’s objection to performing this duty was a source of continual squabbles, and consequent police-court cases. But at length one magistrate decided that cabmen were not obliged to ring bells or knock at doors. Other magistrates agreed with him and cabmen were jubilant. But an old gentleman, who used cabs daily, objected strongly to the new arrangement and determined to teach the cabmen a lesson. One cold winter’s evening, he hired a cab and rode home—a shilling distance. On arriving at his destination, he requested the cabman to knock at the street door. But cabby declined to do so. “This is a free country,” he said, “and knocking at doors ain’t no part of my duty.”

“Very well, then,” the old gentleman replied, looking at his watch, “by the law of this free country I sentence you to remain idle, in the cold, for fourteen minutes, without any addition to your fare.” Then he went indoors and did not send out his shilling until fourteen minutes had elapsed, for he knew that no waiting fare could be charged until fifteen minutes had passed. Afterwards he informed the London newspapers of what he had done, and suggested that their readers should follow his example. Hundreds did, and the squabbles between cabmen and their “fares” became more frequent than ever. For some years the quarrel dragged on, but finally people ceased from commanding cabmen to knock at doors, and when they particularly wished it done they asked for it as a favour.

Another grievance of cabmen, before shelters were built for their convenience, was the action of the police in summoning them for leaving their cabs outside coffee-shops while having their dinner. “The King of Cabmen,” a well-dressed, important-looking individual, whom the public believed to be an aristocrat, although he was really the son of a London tailor, protested publicly against their action by dining al fresco in the leading thoroughfares. He would pull up outside some public-house or dining place in the Strand, Oxford Street, Haymarket, Regent Street, or Piccadilly, spread a very clean table-cloth over the top of his cab, and have his dinner brought out to him. Frequently he dined outside West-end clubs, his dinner being sent out by members who sympathised with him. “The King of Cabmen” was also known as “Nonpareil.” When sixpenny fares were introduced, “Nonpareil” took a prominent part in denouncing the action of the Government, and whenever a passenger offered him sixpence he haughtily suggested tossing him “double or quits.”

Cabmen have always been fond of bestowing nicknames upon their comrades, and at the present day there are men named “Busy Bee,” “Dan, the policeman,” “Engineer Charley,” “Piggy,” “Nicodemus,” “Bill King about Jermyn Street,” “Harry of Halfmoon Street,” “Father Christmas,” “Hospital Jack,” “Rhoderic Dhu,” “Old Pickles,” “Topsy,” “Bustler,” “Old London,” “Australian Jack,” “Candle-dipper,” “Mr. Smith,” “Doctor,” “Sloane Square Sailor Jack,” and “Joe in the Copper.” Cabmen also bestow nicknames upon their masters, the cab proprietors, and, in the majority of cases, they are of an uncomplimentary nature. Those existing at the present day must remain unknown beyond the circle of cabmen, but there is no harm in publishing nicknames applied to proprietors long since dead. “Whooping-cough Bill” was so named because he filled up pauses in his conversation with nervous little coughs. “Pious Tommy” would allow no swearing in his yards. “Jack the giant-killer” was barely five feet two in height. “Darling Joey” had been married three times. “Skin ’em alive” never allowed his men any credit, and “Boozey Bill” was a teetotaler. Cab proprietresses usually were named from something striking about their personal appearance. “Ginger Sal” needs no explanation. “Beautiful Kate” was exceedingly plain, and “Fairy Emma” was so stout that she could scarcely walk. Another woman, very good-looking, but domineering and detested by all cabmen who had business transactions with her, was known throughout London as “The Queen of Hell.”

There was another woman, not an owner of cabs, who was feared by all the cabmen of London, and consequently had more uncomplimentary names bestowed upon her than any other woman ever had. Mrs. Prodgers, the lady in question, obtained considerable fame through her constant squabbles with cabmen. Possessing an extensive and unique knowledge of cab law and London mileage, she made a point of travelling the full distance to which her shilling entitled her, with the result that cabmen who did not know her usually demanded more than the legal fare. Her reply was to take his number, and apply for a summons against him. Frequently she summoned men who took what she offered without demur, for she had practically appointed herself an inspector of cabs and cabmen, and was as successful in discovering breaches of the hackney-carriage regulations as the most energetic paid official could have been. After a time she became so dreaded that the warning cry of “Mother Prodgers” would send every cab within hail dashing away up side streets to escape her. Even now there are scores of cabmen who cannot hear her name mentioned without fuming with indignation.

The conditions of a cabman’s employment were, and still are, calculated to encourage extortion. The cabby paid the owner a certain amount for the loan of his cab, and his profits did not begin until he had earned the hire money. Therefore, when a cabman, after waiting for hours on the rank, obtained a “fare,” the temptation to overcharge was very great. It was his first job that day, and it might be his last. He was grateful for an extra shilling or sixpence, but if it were not offered to him he endeavoured to obtain it by indulging in scathing remarks or vulgar abuse. The fact that a cabman has a wife and children to support may be considered extenuating circumstances, but it is poor consolation for the unfortunate victims of his extortion.

With the idea of protecting the public against overcharge, an endeavour was made, in 1858, to get attached to cabs a patent machine named “The Kilometric Register,” which would indicate the number of miles travelled and the fare to be paid. But the cabmen objected strongly to such an innovation, and it was not made.

Lord John Russell was in the habit of riding home every night from the House of Commons in a cab. The distance was short, and the cabmen all knew that he paid a shilling for his ride. But one night a cabman, well known as “Palace Yard Jack,” was surprised to find that Lord John had placed a sovereign in his hand instead of a shilling. He saw that the statesman had made a mistake, but having had a spell of bad luck, and being in great need of a new pair of boots, he did not call his lordship’s attention to the coin. But on the following night, as “Palace Yard Jack” was sitting on his cab, Lord John Russell walked up to him, and said:—

“You drove me home last night, I think.”