EARLY OFFICE LIFE
In the year 1867, at the age of sixteen, I became a junior clerk in the
Midland Railway at Derby, at a salary of 15 pounds a year.
From pre-natal days I was destined for the railway service, as an oyster
to its shell. The possibility of any other vocation for his sons never
entered the mind of my father, nor the mind of many another father in the
town of Derby.
My railway life began on a drizzling dismal day in the early autumn. My
father took me to the office in which I was to make a start and presented
me to the chief clerk. I was a tall, thin, delicate, shy, sensitive
youth, with curly hair, worn rather long, and I am sure I did not look at
all a promising specimen for encountering the rough and tumble of railway
work.
The chief clerk handed me over to one of his assistants, who without
ceremony seated me on a tall stool at a high desk, and put before me, to
my great dismay, a huge pile of formidable documents which he called _Way
Bills_. He gave me some instructions, but I was too confused to
understand them, and too shy to ask questions. I only know that I felt
very miserable and hopelessly at sea. Visions of being dismissed as an
incompetent rose before me; but soon, to my great relief, it was
discovered that the Way Bills were too much for me and that I must begin
at more elementary duties.
A few weeks afterwards, when I had found my feet a little, I was promoted
from the simple tasks assigned to me in consequence of my first failure
and attached to the goods-train-delays clerk, a long-bearded elderly man
with a very kind face. He was quite fatherly to me and took a great deal
of trouble in teaching me my work. With him I soon felt at ease, and was
happy in gaining his approbation. One thing found favour in his eyes; I
wrote a good clear hand and at fair speed. In those days penmanship was
a fine art. No cramped or sprawling writing passed muster. Typewriting
was not dreamed of, and, at Derby, shorthand had not appeared on the
scene.
One or two other juniors and myself sedulously practised imitating the
penmanship of those senior clerks who wrote fine or singular hands. At
this I was particularly successful and proud of my skill, until one day
the chief clerk detained me after closing time, gave me a good rating,
and warned me to stop such a dangerous habit which might lead, he said,
to the disgrace of forgery. He spoke so seriously and shook his head so
wisely that (to use Theodore Hook's old joke) "I thought there must be
something in it," and so, for a long while, I gave up the practice.
Office hours in those days were nominally from nine till six, but for the
juniors especially often much longer. In 1868 or 1869, 1 do not remember
which, a welcome change took place; the hours were reduced to from nine
till five, and arrangements made for avoiding late hours for the juniors.
This early closing was the result of an "appeal unto Caesar." The
clerical staff in all the offices had combined and presented a petition
in the highest quarter. The boon was granted, and I remember the wave of
delight that swept over us, and how we enjoyed the long summer evenings.
It was in the summer time the change took place.
Combined action amongst railway employees was not common then, not even
in the wage-earning class, but Trade Unionism, scarcely yet legalised,
was clamouring for recognition. Strikes sometimes occurred but were not
frequent.
In 1867 Mr. James Allport was general manager of the Midland Railway, Mr.
Thomas Walklate the goods manager and Mr. William Parker head of the
department in which I began my railway life. Ned Farmer was a notable
Midland man at that time; notable for his bucolic appearance, his genial
personality, and, most of all, for the well-known songs he wrote. He was
in charge of the company's horses, bought them, fed them, cared for them.
He was a big-bodied, big-hearted, ruddy-faced, farmerlike man of fifty or
so; and the service was proud of him. He had a great sense of humour and
used to tell many an amusing story. One morning, he told us, he had been
greatly tickled by a letter which he had received from one of his
inspectors whose habit it was to conclude every letter and report with
the words "to oblige." The letter ran: "Dear Sir, I beg to inform you
that Horse No. 99 died last night to oblige Yours truly, John Smith." He
wrote the fine poem of "_Little Jim_," which everyone knew, and which
almost every boy and girl could recite. His then well-known song, "_My
old Wife's a good old cratur_," was very popular and was sung throughout
the Midlands. The publication of his poems and songs was attended with
great success. His Muse was simple, homely, humorous, pathetic and
patriotic, and made a strong appeal to the natural feelings of ordinary
folk. Often it was inspired by incidents and experiences in his daily
life. His desk was in the same office as that in which I worked, and I
was very proud of the notice he took of me, and grateful for many
kindnesses he showed to me.
After spending twelve months or so in Mr. Parker's office, I was removed
to another department. The office to which I was assigned had about
thirty clerks, all of whom, except the chief clerk, occupied tall stools
at high desks.
I was one of two assistants to a senior clerk. This senior was middle-
aged, and passing rich on eighty pounds a year. A quiet, steady,
respectable married man, well dressed, cheerful, contented, he had by
care and economy, out of his modest salary, built for himself a snug
little double-breasted villa, in a pleasant outskirt of the town, where
he spent his spare hours in his garden and enjoyed a comfortable and
happy life.
Except the chief clerk, whose salary was about 160 pounds, I do not
believe there was another whose pay exceeded 100 pounds a year. The real
head of the office, or _department_ it was called, was not the chief
clerk but one who ranked higher still and was styled _Head of
Department_, and he received a salary of about 300 pounds. Moderate
salaries prevailed, but the sovereign was worth much more then than now,
while wants were fewer. Beer was threepence the pint and tobacco
threepence the ounce, and beer we drank but never whiskey or wine; and
pipes we smoked but not cigars.
This chief clerk was an amiable rather ladylike person, with small hands
and feet and well-arranged curly hair. He was quick and clever and work
sat lightly upon him. Quiet and good natured, when necessity arose he
never failed to assert his authority. We all respected him. His young
wife was pretty and pleasant, which was in his favour too.
The office was by no means altogether composed of steady specimens of
clerkdom, but had a large admixture of lively sparks who, though they
would never set the Thames on fire, brightened and enlivened our
surroundings.
There was one, a literary genius, who had entered the service, I believe
by influence, for influence and patronage were in those days not unknown.
He wrote in his spare time the pantomime for a Birmingham theatre; and
there constantly fluttered from his desk and circulated through the
office, little scraps of paper containing quips and puns and jokes in
prose or verse, or acrostics from his prolific pen. One clever acrostic
upon the office boy, which has always remained in my memory, I should
like for its delicate irony (worthy of Swift himself) to reproduce; but
as that promising youth may still be in the service I feel I had better
not, as irony sometimes wounds. For some time we had in the office an
Apollo--a very Belvidere. He was a glory introduced into railway life by
I know not what influence and disappeared after a time I know not where
or why. A marvel of manly strength and grace and beauty, thirty years of
age or so, and faultlessly dressed. Said to be aristocratically
connected, he was the admiration of all and the darling of the young
ladies of Derby. He lodged in fashionable apartments, smoked expensive
cigars, attended all public amusements, was affable and charming, but
reticent about himself. Why he ever came amongst us none ever knew; it
was a mystery we never fathomed. He left as he came, a mystery still.
There was an oldish clerk whom we nicknamed _Gumpots_. This bore some
resemblance to his surname, but there were other reasons which led to the
playful designation and which I think justified it.
There was another scribe of quite an elegant sort: a perambulating
tailor's dummy; a young man, well under thirty. He was good-looking, as
far as regularity of features and a well-formed figure went, but mentally
not much to boast of. He lounged about the station platform and the town
displaying his faultlessly fitting fashionable clothes. They always
looked new, and as his salary was not more than 70 pounds a year, and his
parents, with whom he lived, were poor, the story that he was provided
gratis by an enterprising tailor in town with these suits, on condition
that he exhibited himself constantly in public, and told whenever he
could who was his outfitter, received general credence, and I believe was
true. He was never known to hurry, mingled little with men and less with
women, but moved along in a stiff tailor-dummy fashion with a sort of
self-conscious air which seemed to say, "Look at my figure and my
clothes, how stylish they are!"
I remember a senior clerk in the office where I first worked to whom
there was a general aversion. He was the only clerk who was really
disliked, for all the others, old or young, serious or gay, steady or
rackety, had each some pleasant quality. This unfortunate fellow had
none. He was small, mean, cunning, a sneak and a mischief maker. He
carried tales, told lies, and tried to make trouble, for no reason but to
gratify his inclinations. He was a dark impish looking fellow, as lean
as Cassius and as crafty and envious as Iago. The chief clerk, to his
credit be it said, gave a deaf ear to his tales, and his craft and
cunning obtained him little beyond our detestation.
In our own office about half our number were youths and single men and
about half were married. Our youngest benedict was not more than
eighteen years of age, and his salary only 45 pounds a year. On this
modest income for a time the young couple lived. It was a runaway match;
on the girl's part an elopement from school. They lived in apartments,
kept by an old lady, a widow who, being a woman, loved a bit of romance,
and was very kind to them. He was a manly young fellow, a sportsman and
renowned at cricket, and she was amiable and pretty, a little blonde
beauty. The parents were well to do, and in due time forgave the
imprudent match. At this we all rejoiced for he was a general favourite.
Looking back now it seems to me the office staff was in some ways a
curious collection and very different to the clerks of to-day. Many of
them had not entered railway life until nearly middle-age and they had
not assimilated as an office staff does now, when all join as youths and
are brought up together. They were original, individual, not to say
eccentric. Whilst our office included certain steady married clerks, who
worked hard and lived ordinary middle-class respectable lives, and some
few bachelors of quiet habit, the rest were a lively set indeed, by no
means free from inclinations to coarse conviviality and many of them
spendthrift, reckless and devil-may-care. At pay-day, which occurred
monthly, most of these merry wights, after receiving their pay, betook
themselves to the _Midland Tap_ or other licensed house and there
indulged, for the remainder of the afternoon, in abundant beer, pouring
down glass after glass; in Charles Lamb's inimitable words: "the second
to see where the first has gone, the third to see no harm happens to the
second, a fourth to say there is another coming, and a fifth to say he is
not sure he is the last." Some of the merriest of them would not return
to the office that day but extend their carouse far into the night; to
sadly realise next day that it was "the morning after the night before."
I do not think our ladylike chief clerk ever indulged in these orgies,
but I never knew more than the mildest remonstrance being made by him or
by anyone in authority.
Pay-day was also the time for squaring accounts. "The human species,"
Charles Lamb says, "is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow
and the men who lend." This was true of our office, but no equal
division prevailed as the borrowers predominated and the lenders, the
prudent, were a small minority. A general settlement took place monthly,
after which a new period began--by the borrowers with joyous unconcern.
"Take no thought for the morrow" was a maxim dear to the heart of these
knights of the pen.
Swearing, as I have said, was not considered low or vulgar or unbecoming
a gentleman. There was a senior clerk of some standing and position, a
married man of thirty-five or forty years of age, who gloried in it. His
expletives were varied, vivid and inexhaustible, and the turbid stream
was easily set flowing. Had he lived a century earlier he might have
been put in the stocks for his profanity, a punishment which magistrates
were then, by Act of Parliament, empowered to inflict. He was a strange
individual. _Long Jack_ he was called. He is not in this world now so I
may write of him with freedom.
No one's enemy but his own, he was kindly, good-natured, generous to a
fault, but devil-may-care and reckless; and, at any one's expense, or at
any cost to himself, would have his fling and his joke.
It was from his lankiness and length of limb that he was called "_Long
Jack_." He stood about six feet six in his boots. He must have had
means of his own, as he lived in a way far beyond the reach of even a
senior clerk of the first degree. How he came to be in a railway office,
or, being in, retained his place, was a matter of wonder. Sad to tell,
he had a little daughter, five or six years of age; his only child, a
sweet, blue-eyed golden-haired little fairy, who, never corrected,
imitated her father's profanity, and apparently to his great delight. He
treated it as a joke, as he treated everything. _Long Jack_ loved to
scandalise the town by his eccentricities. He would compound with the
butcher, to drive his fast trotting horse and trap and deliver their
joints, their steaks and kidneys to astonished customers, or arrange with
the milkman to dispense the early morning milk, donning a milkman's
smock, and carrying two milk-pails on foot. I remember one _Good Friday_
morning when he perambulated the town with a donkey cart and sold, at an
early hour, hot cross buns at the houses of his friends, afterwards
gleefully boasting of having made a good profit on the morning's
business. In the sixties and early seventies throughout the clerical
staff of the Midland Railway were many who had not been brought up as
clerks, who, somehow or other had drifted into the service, whose early
avocations had been of various kinds, and whose appearance, habits and
manners imparted a picturesqueness to office life which does not exist to-
day, and among these. _Long Jack_ was a prominent, but despite his
joviality, it seems to me a pathetic figure.