Omnibuses and cabs

by Henry Charles Moore

In 1851 John Cockram became a cab-driver, but as he objected on religious grounds to Sunday work, it was his ambition to possess a cab of his own. Having saved £20, he purchased a horse, hired a cab, and started business on his own account; but, as he followed Mr. Thompson’s example and accepted sixpenny fares, he became unpopular with cabmen, and a complaint was made to Sir Richard Mayne, the Chief Commissioner of Police, that he was driving a cab while under age. But when Sir Richard Mayne discovered that Cockram was the sole support of his mother, and, moreover, thoroughly qualified for a cab-driver in every respect, except age, he declined to prohibit him from driving. However, there was trouble in store for Cockram. He had been a proprietor for a very short time when his horse bolted, and the cab was smashed. Again Cockram had to drive for a master, but this time he refused to drive on Sundays.

“If you don’t take the cab out on Sunday, you shan’t on Monday,” the proprietor declared; but Cockram at once offered to pay him 5s. every Saturday night to allow his horse and cab to remain in the yard on the following day. The proprietor agreed to this arrangement, and Cockram drove for him for two years, during which time he paid off the money which he owed for the smashed cab, and began educating himself, while waiting on the rank, by studying Cassell’s Popular Educator.

In 1860 Cockram competed for and won a prize of £20 offered for the best essay on “Sunday cab-driving, and its influence on the religious, domestic, and physical condition of those employed.” Cockram wrote his essay in the streets, using the top of his hansom as a writing-desk. On the essay being published in book form, George Moore, the philanthropist, Sir Hope Grant, and Mr. J. T. Delane, the editor of the Times, sent for Cockram, congratulated him on his work, and made many inquiries concerning Sunday cab work. Colonel H. Knollys mentions in his “Life of General Sir Hope Grant,” that the General commissioned Cockram to buy him a cheap cab-horse to use in his private hansom, and promised him £5 for his trouble. Cockram purchased a horse for £38, but refused to accept more than £2, his usual charge for such transactions.

Some years later Cockram published a useful little book entitled, “The Horse in Sickness, and how to treat him.”

In 1862 Cockram and another young driver started business as cab proprietors. Each had saved £100, and with their joint capital they purchased seven horses, three cabs, and seven sets of harness. The partners were of one opinion concerning Sunday work, and a clause was inserted in their deed of partnership prohibiting either of them from letting out, or using for their own pleasure, on Sunday, any horse or vehicle. They prospered, and in 1877, the year in which they sold their business, they possessed cabs, omnibuses, broughams, traps, and 126 horses.

Since retiring from business Mr. Cockram has been a member of the Richmond Town Council and the Richmond Board of Guardians, and, in June, 1895, gave evidence before the Select Committee of the House of Lords on the Lord’s Day Act.

For many years Cockram has been an active member of the Open Air Mission, and is frequently called upon to speak at meetings of the Working Men’s Lord’s Day Rest Association, and kindred societies. Although now sixty-eight years of age, he is still very energetic, and when I last saw him—three or four months ago—he was preparing to start off on his bicycle to hold a service many miles away from London.

Drunkenness has been the ruin of many cabmen, and the cause of numerous accidents to the cab-riding public. Some people have had very narrow escapes. Many years ago a lady and gentleman hailed a cab on the Grand Parade, Portsmouth, and told the cabman to drive them to Landport Station. They took no particular notice of the cabman, and on arriving at the station were considerably surprised to see that everybody was staring at them. On proceeding to pay their fare they discovered that the cabman’s seat was empty, and the bystanders then informed them that the cab arrived without any driver. The police took up the matter, and discovered eventually that when the cabman picked up his fare he was so intoxicated that before he had driven clear of the High Street he had rolled from his seat into the middle of the road. The horse of its own accord had taken the unsuspecting passengers in safety to their destination.

In London, quite recently, two ladies driving in a hansom had a narrow escape. They were engrossed in conversation when, suddenly, to their surprise, they saw a policeman dash at their horse, and, after a few moments’ struggle, bring it to a standstill. A large crowd collected immediately, and not until then did the ladies become aware that their horse had taken fright, that the cabman had been thrown from his seat, and that for nearly a quarter of a mile the animal had been dashing madly along uncontrolled. And then they understood that they had had a narrow escape from being killed.

A four-wheel cab-horse took fright about four years ago near Hyde Park Corner, and after a short but exciting run crashed into an omnibus. The cab was damaged, and one of the omnibus horses received a bad cut. The wounded animal was taken at once to a veterinary surgeon, who examined the wound as thoroughly as the blood would permit and then sewed it up. But it did not heal as quickly as he expected, and when three or four weeks had expired he became convinced that there was some foreign matter in the wound. So he opened it, and discovered, deeply embedded in the flesh, the whole of one of the cab-door handles, for which cabby had made a fruitless search soon after the accident.