London Labour and the London Poor: Selection (Classics)

by Henry Mayhew

  The opposition omnibuses, however, continued to increase as more and more short stages were abandoned; and one oppositionist called his omnibuses ‘Shillibeers’, so that the real and the sham Shillibeers were known in the streets. The opposition became fiercer. The ‘busses’, as they came to be called in a year or two, crossed each other and raced or drove their poles recklessly into the back of one another; and accidents and squabbles and loitering grew so frequent, and the time of the police magistrates was so much occupied with ‘omnibus business’, that in 1832 the matter was mentioned in Parliament as a nuisance requiring a remedy, and in 1833 a Bill was brought in by the Government and passed for the ‘Regulation of Omnibuses (as well as other conveyances) in and near the metropolis’. Two sessions after, Mr Alderman Wood brought in a bill for the better regulation of omnibuses, which was also passed, and one of the provisions of the bill was that the drivers and conductors of omnibuses should be licensed. The office of Registrar of Licenses was promised by a noble lord in office to Mr Shillibeer (as I am informed on good authority), but the appointment was given to the present Commissioner of the City Police, and the office next to the principal was offered to Mr Shillibeer, which that gentleman declined to accept. The reason assigned for not appointing him to the registrarship was that he was connected with omnibuses. At the beginning of 1834, Mr Shillibeer abandoned his metropolitan trade, and began running omnibuses from London to Greenwich and Woolwich, employing 20 carriages and 120 horses; but the increase of steamers and the opening of the Greenwich Railway in 1835 affected his trade so materially, that Mr Shillibeer fell into arrear with his payments to the Stamp Office, and seizures of his property and reseizures after money was paid, entailed such heavy expenses, and such a hindrance to Mr Shillibeer’s business, that his failure ensued.

  Omnibus Proprietors

  [pp. 352–4] The ‘labourers’ immediately connected with the trade in omnibuses are the proprietors, drivers, conductors, and time-keepers. Those less immediately but still in connexion with the trade are the ‘odd men’ and the horsekeepers.

  The earlier history of omnibus proprietors presents but a series of struggles and ruinous lawsuits, one proprietor with another, until many were ruined; and then several opposed companies or individuals coalesced or agreed; and these proprietaries now present a united, and, I believe, a prosperous body. They possess in reality a monopoly in omnibus conveyance; but I am assured it would not be easy under any other plan to serve the public better. All the proprietors of omnibuses may be said to be in union, as they act systematically and by arrangement, one proprietary with another. Their profits are, of course, apportioned, like those of other joint-stock companies, according to the number of shares held by individual members. On each route one member of the proprietary is appointed (‘directed’) by his co-proprietors. The directory may be classed as the ‘executive department’ of the body. The director can displace a driver on a week’s notice: but by some directors, who pride themselves on dealing summarily, it seems that the week’s notice is now and then dispensed with. The conductor he can displace at a day’s notice. The ‘odd men’ sometimes supply the places of the officials so discharged until a meeting of the proprietary, held monthly for the most part, when new officers are appointed; there being always an abundance of applicants, who send or carry in testimonials of their fitness from persons known to the proprietors, or known to reside on the line of the route. The director may indeed appoint either driver or conductor at his discretion, if he see good reason to do so. The driver, however, is generally appointed and paid by the proprietor, while the conductor is more particularly the servant of the association. The proprietaries have so far a monopoly of the road, that they allow no new omnibuses to be started upon it. If a speculator should be bold enough to start new conveyances, the pre-existing proprietaries put a greater number of conveyances on the route, so that none are well filled; and one of the old proprietaries’ vehicles immediately precedes the omnibus of the speculator, and another immediately follows it; and thus three vehicles are on the ground, which may yield only customers for one: hence, as the whole number on the route has been largely increased, not one omnibus is well filled, and the speculator must in all probability be ruined, while the associated proprietors suffer but a temporary loss. So well is this now understood, that no one seems to think of embarking his money in the omnibus trade unless he ‘buys his times’, that is to say, unless he arranges by purchase; and a ‘new man’ will often pay 400l. or 500l. for his ‘times’, to have the privilege of running his vehicles on a given route, and at given periods: in other words, for the privilege of becoming a recognised proprietor.

  The proprietors pay their servants fairly, as a general rule; while, as a universal rule, they rigidly exact sobriety, punctuality, and cleanliness. Their great difficulty, all of them concur in stating, is to ensure honesty. Every proprietor insists upon the excessive difficulty of trusting men with uncounted money, if the men feel there is no efficient check to ensure to their employers a knowledge of the exact amount of their daily receipts. Several plans have been resorted to in order to obtain the desired check. Mr Shillibeer’s I have already given. One plan now in practice is to engage a well-dressed woman, sometimes accompanied by a child, and she travels by the omnibus; and immediately on leaving it, fills up a paper for the proprietor, showing the number of insides and outs, of short and long fares. This method, however, does not ensure a thorough accuracy. It is difficult for a woman, who must take such a place in the vehicle as she can get, to ascertain the precise number of outsides and their respective fares. So difficult, that I am assured such a person has returned a smaller number than was actually conveyed. One gentleman who was formerly an omnibus proprietor, told me he employed a ‘ladylike’, and, as he believed, trusty woman, as a ‘check’; but by some means the conductors found out the calling of the ‘ladylike’ woman, treated her, and she made very favourable returns for the conductors. Another lady was observed by a conductor, who bears an excellent character, and who mentioned the circumstances to me, to carry a small bag, from which, whenever a passenger got out, she drew, not very deftly it would seem, a bean, and placed it in one glove, as ladies carry their sixpences for the fare, or a pea, and placed it in the other. This process, the conductor felt assured, was ‘a check’; that the beans indicated the ‘long uns’, and the peas the ‘short uns’: so, when the unhappy woman desired to be put down at the bottom of Cheapside on a wintry evening, he contrived to land her in the very thickest of the mud, handing her out with great politeness. I may here observe, before I enter upon the subject, that the men who have maintained a character for integrity regard the checks with great bitterness, as they naturally feel more annoyed at being suspected than men who may be dishonestly inclined. Another conductor once found a memorandum-book in his omnibus, in which were regularly entered the ‘longs’ and ‘shorts’.

  One proprietor told me he had once employed religious men as conductors; ‘but,’ said he, ‘they grew into thieves. A Methodist parson engaged one of his sons to me – it’s a good while ago – and was quite indignant that I ever made any question about the young man’s honesty, as he was strictly and religiously brought up; but he turned out one of the worst of the whole batch of them.’ One check resorted to, as a conductor informed me, was found out by them. A lady entered the omnibus carrying a brown-paper parcel, loosely tied, and making a tear on the edge of the paper for every ‘short’ passenger, and a deeper tear for every ‘long’. This difficulty in finding a check where an indefinite amount of money passes through a man’s hands – and I am by no means disposed to undervalue the difficulty – has led to a summary course of procedure, not unattended by serious evils. It appears that men are now discharged suddenly, at a moment’s notice, and with no reason assigned. If a reason be demanded, the answer is, ‘You are not wanted any longer.’ Probably, the discharge is on account of the man’s honesty being suspected. But whether the suspicion be well founded or unfounded, the
consequences are equally serious to the individual discharged; for it is a rule observed by the proprietors not to employ any man discharged from another line. He will not be employed, I am assured, if he can produce a good character; and even if the’ ‘bus he worked’ had been discontinued as no longer required on that route. New men, who are considered unconnected with all versed in omnibus tricks, are appointed; and this course, it was intimated to me very strongly, was agreeable to the proprietors for two reasons – as widely extending their patronage, and as always placing at their command a large body of unemployed men, whose services can at any time be called into requisition at reduced wages, should ‘slop-drivers’ be desirable. It is next to impossible, I was further assured, for a man discharged from an omnibus to obtain other employ. If the director goes so far as to admit that he has nothing to allege against the man’s character, he will yet give no reason for his discharge; and an inquirer naturally imputes the withholding of a reason to the mercy of the director.

  Omnibus Drivers

  [pp. 354–5] The driver is paid by the week. His remuneration is 34s. a week on most of the lines. On others he receives 21s. and his box – that is, the allowance of a fare each journey for a seat outside, if a seat be so occupied. In fine weather this box plan is more remunerative to the driver than the fixed payment of 34s.; but in wet weather he may receive nothing from the box. The average then the year through is only 34s. a week; or, perhaps, rather more, as on some days in sultry weather the driver may make 6s., ‘if the ‘bus do twelve journeys’, from his box.

  The omnibus drivers have been butchers, farmers, horsebreakers, cheesemongers, old stage-coachmen, broken-down gentlemen, turf-men, gentlemen’s servants, grooms, and a very small sprinkling of mechanics. Nearly all can read and write, the exception being described to me as a singularity; but there are such exceptions, and all must have produced good characters before their appointment. The majority of them are married men with families; their residences being in all parts, and on both sides of the Thames. I did not hear of any of the wives of coachmen in regular employ working for the slop-tailors. ‘We can keep our wives too respectable for that,’ one of them said, in answer to my inquiry. Their children, too, are generally sent to school; frequently to the national schools. Their work is exceedingly hard, their lives being almost literally spent on the coach-box. The most of them must enter ‘the yard’ at a quarter to eight in the morning, and must see that the horses and carriages are in a proper condition for work; and at half-past eight they start on their long day’s labour. They perform (I speak of the most frequented lines), twelve journeys during the day, and are so engaged until a quarter-past eleven at night. Some are on their box till past midnight. During these hours of labour they have twelve ‘stops’; half of ten and half of fifteen minutes’ duration. They generally breakfast at home, or at a coffee-shop, if unmarried men, before they start; and dine at the inn, where the omnibus almost invariably stops, at one or other of its destinations. If the driver be distant from his home at his dinner hour, or be unmarried, he arranges to dine at the public-house; if near, his wife, or one of his children, brings him his dinner in a covered basin, some of them being provided with hot-water plates to keep the contents properly warm, and that is usually eaten at the public-house, with a pint of beer for the accompanying beverage. The relish with which a man who has been employed several hours in the open air enjoys his dinner can easily be understood. But if his dinner is brought to him on one of his shorter trips, he often hears the cry before he has completed his meal, ‘Time’s up!’ and he carries the remains of his repast to be consumed at his next resting place. His tea, if brought to him by his family, he often drinks within the omnibus, if there be an opportunity. Some carry their dinners with them, and eat them cold. All these men live ‘well’; that is, they have sufficient dinners of animal food every day, with beer. They are strong and healthy men, for their calling requires both strength and health. Each driver, (as well as the time-keeper and conductor), is licensed, at a yearly cost to him of 5s. From a driver I had the following statement:

  ‘I have been a driver fourteen years. I was brought up as a builder, but had friends that was using horses, and I sometimes assisted them in driving and grooming when I was out of work. I got to like that sort of work, and thought it would be better than my own business if I could get to be connected with a ’bus; and I had friends, and first got employed as a time-keeper; but I’ve been a driver for fourteen years. I’m now paid by the week, and not by the box. It’s a fair payment, but we must live well. It’s hard work is mine; for I never have any rest but a few minutes, except every other Sunday, and then only two hours; that’s the time of a journey there and back. If I was to ask leave to go to church, and then go to work again, I know what answer there would be – ”You can go to church as often as you like, and we can get a man who doesn’t want to go there.” The cattle I drive are equal to gentlemen’s carriage-horses. One I’ve driven five years, and I believe she was worked five years before I drove her. It’s very hard work for the horses, but I don’t know that they are over-worked in ‘busses. The starting after stopping is the hardest work for them; it’s such a terrible strain. I’ve felt for the poor things on a wet night, with a ‘bus full of big people. I think that it’s a pity that anybody uses a bearing rein. There’s not many uses it now. It bears up a horse’s head, and he can only go on pulling, pulling up a hill, one way. Take off his bearing rein, and he’ll relieve the strain on him by bearing down his head, and flinging his weight on the collar to help him pull. If a man had to carry a weight up a hill on his back, how would he like to have his head tied back? Perhaps you may have noticed Mr —’s horses pull the ‘bus up Holborn Hill. They’re tightly borne up; but then they are very fine animals, fat and fine: there’s no such cattle, perhaps, in a London ‘bus – least-ways there’s none better – and they’re borne up for show. Now, a jib-horse won’t go in a bearing rein, and will without it. I’ve seen that myself; so what can be the use of it? It’s just teasing the poor things for a sort of fashion. I must keep exact time at every place where a time-keeper’s stationed. Not a minute’s excused – there’s a fine for the least delay. I can’t say that it’s often levied; but still we are liable to it. If I’ve been blocked, I must make up for the block by galloping; and if I’m seen to gallop, and anybody tells our people, I’m called over the coals. I must drive as quick with a thunder-rain pelting in my face, and the roads in a muddle, and the horses starting – I can’t call it shying, I have ’em too well in hand – at every flash, just as quick as if it was a fine hard road, and fine weather. It’s not easy to drive a ’bus; but I can drive, and must drive, to an inch: yes, sir, to half an inch. I know if I can get my horses’ heads through a space, I can get my splinter-bar through. I drive by my pole, making it my centre. If I keep it fair in the centre, a carriage must follow, unless it’s slippery weather, and then there’s no calculating. I saw the first ‘bus start in 1829.1 heard the first ‘bus called a Punch-and-Judy carriage, ‘cause you could see the people inside without a frame. The shape was about the same as it is now, but bigger and heavier. A ‘bus changes horses four or five times a day, according to the distance. There’s no cruelty to the horses, not a bit, it wouldn’t be allowed. I fancy that ‘busses now pay the proprietors well. The duty was 2½d. a mile, and now it’s 1½d. Some companies save twelve guineas a week by the doing away of toll-gates. The ‘stablishing the threepennies – the short uns – has put money in their pockets. I’m an unmarried man. A ‘bus driver never has time to look out for a wife. Every horse in our stables has one day’s rest in every four; but it’s no rest for the driver.’

  Omnibus Conductors

  [pp. 355–6] The conductor, who is vulgarly known as the ‘cad’, stands on a small projection at the end of the omnibus; and it is his office to admit and set down every passenger, and to receive the amount of fare, for which amount he is, of course, responsible to his employers. He is paid 4s. a day, which he is a
llowed to stop out of the monies he receives. He fills up a waybill each journey, with the number of passengers. I find that nearly all classes have given a quota of their number to the list of conductors. Among them are grocers, drapers, shopmen, barmen, printers, tailors, shoe-makers, clerks, joiners, saddlers, coach-builders, porters, town-travellers, carriers, and fish-mongers. Unlike the drivers, the majority of the conductors are unmarried men; but, perhaps, only a mere majority. As a matter of necessity, every conductor must be able to read and write. They are discharged more frequently than the drivers; but they require good characters before their appointment. From one of them, a very intelligent man, I had the following statement:

  ‘I am 35 or 36, and have been a conductor for six years. Before that I was a lawyer’s clerk, and then a picture-dealer; but didn’t get on, though I maintained a good character. I’m a conductor now, but wouldn’t be long behind a ‘bus if it wasn’t from necessity. It’s hard to get anything else to do that you can keep a wife and family on, for people won’t have you from off a ‘bus. The worst part of my business is its uncertainty, I may be discharged any day, and not know for what. If I did, and I was accused unjustly, I might bring my action; but it’s merely, ”You’re not wanted.” I think I’ve done better as a conductor in hot weather, or fine weather, than in wet; though I’ve got a good journey when it’s come on showery, as people was starting for or starting from the City. I had one master, who, when his ‘bus came in full in the wet, used to say, ”This is prime. Them’s God Almighty’s customers; he sent them.” I’ve heard him say so many a time. We get far more ladies and children, too, on a fine day; they go more a-shopping then, and of an evening they go more to public places. I pay over my money every night. It runs from 40s. to 4l. 4s., or a little more on extraordinary occasions. I have taken more money since the short uns were established. One day before that I took only 18s. There’s three riders and more now, where there was two formerly at the higher rate. I never get to a public place, whether it’s a chapel or a play-house, unless, indeed, I get a holiday, and that is once in two years. I’ve asked for a day’s holiday and been refused. I was told I might take a week’s holiday, if I liked, or as long as I lived. I’m quite ignorant of what’s passing in the world, my time’s so taken up. We only know what’s going on from hearing people talk in the ‘bus. I never care to read the paper now, though I used to like it. If I have two minutes to spare, I’d rather take a nap than anything else. We know no more politics than the backwoodsmen of America, because we haven’t time to care about it. I’ve fallen asleep on my step as the ‘bus was going on, and almost fallen off. I have often to put up with insolence from vulgar fellows, who think it fun to chaff a cad, as they call it. There’s no help for it. Our masters won’t listen to complaints: if we are not satisfied we can go. Conductors are a sober set of men. We must be sober. It takes every farthing of our wages to live well enough, and keep a wife and family. I never knew but one teetotaller on the road. He’s gone off it now, and he looked as if he was going off altogether. The other day a teetotaller on the ‘bus saw me take a drink of beer, and he began to talk to me about its being wrong; but I drove him mad with argument, and the passengers took part with me. I live one and a half mile off the place I start from. In summer I sometimes breakfast before I start. In winter, I never see my three children, only as they’re in bed; and I never hear their voices, if they don’t wake up early. If they cry at night it don’t disturb me; I sleep so heavy after fifteen hours’ work out in the air. My wife doesn’t do anything but mind the family, and that’s plenty to do with young children. My business is so uncertain. Why, I knew a conductor who found he had paid 6d. short – he had left it in a corner of his pocket; and he handed it over next morning, and was discharged for that – he was reckoned a fool. They say the sharper the man the better the ‘busman. There’s a great deal in understanding the business, in keeping a sharp look-out for people’s hailing, and in working the time properly. If the conductor’s slow the driver can’t get along; and if the driver isn’t up to the mark the conductor’s bothered. I’ve always kept time except once, and that was in such a fog, that I had to walk by the horses’ heads with a link, and could hardly see my hand that held the link; and after all I lost my ‘bus, but it was all safe and right in the end. We’re licensed now in Scotland-yard. They’re far civiller there than in Lancaster-place. I hope, too, they’ll be more particular in granting licenses. They used to grant them day after day, and I believe made no inquiry. It’ll be better now. I’ve never been fined: if I had I should have to pay it out of my own pocket. If you plead guilty it’s 5s. If not, and it’s very hard to prove that you did display your badge properly if the City policeman – there’s always one on the look-out for us – swears you didn’t, and summons you for that: or, if you plead not guilty, because you weren’t guilty, you may pay 1l. I don’t know of the checks now; but I know there are such people. A man was discharged the other day because he was accused of having returned three out of thirteen short. He offered to make oath he was correct; but it was of no use – he went.’