THE MIDLAND GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY OF IRELAND
I had now completed one half of my active railway life; reached the age
of 39; and, no longer a rolling stone, was settled in the service of a
company with which I was destined to remain for the rest of my railway
career. That my aspirations were satisfied I do not pretend, for
ambition forbade any settled feeling of rest or content. Happily, my
nature inclined to the sunny side and disappointments never spoiled my
enjoyment of life or marred the pleasure I found in my daily work. My
friend, Edward John Cotton, who, like myself, was an imported Englishman,
had, like me, indulged in dreams of going back to England to fill some
great railway post, but he had reached his sixties and his dreams were
over. Often, when we talked familiarly together, he would say: "Joseph,
if you aspire to be a general manager in England you ought never to have
come to Ireland. They don't think much on the other side of Irish
railways or Irish railway men." This, I daresay, was true, though he,
well known, liked and admired as he was, ought to have been considered an
exception, and why no British railway company, when posts were going,
ever snapped him up is hard to say. Later on, even I, once or twice
narrowly escaped obtaining a good thing on the English side of the
Channel, but it never _quite_ came off, and so I was left to make myself
as happy as I could in Ireland.
Perhaps it was as well. Railway life in Ireland, though not highly
remunerated, had its compensations as most situations in life have. There
the pressure of work was less constant and severe than in England. A
railway manager was not confined to crowded cities, and enjoyed more
breathing space. When he travelled on his line he came in contact with
bucolic interests instead of the whirring wheels of trade. Time moved
more slowly, greater leisure prevailed, the climate was softer, the
country greener, manners easier, and more wit and humour abounded. Yes,
on the whole, I was more fortunate than had my ambitious hopes been
realised to the full. At least I think so now; and, as Hamlet says,
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."
One immediate advantage I gained by entering the Midland Great Western
service. Until then I had no chance of joining a superannuation fund.
The Glasgow and South-Western had none, neither had the County Down; but
the Midland Great Western was a party to the Clearing House
Superannuation Corporation, and of it I became a member.
The Midland Great Western, as I have said, is the third largest railway
in Ireland. It stretches from the Liffey to the Atlantic, serves the
plains of Meath, the wilds of Connaught, and traverses large expanses of
bog. Galway, Sligo, Westport, Athlone and Mullingar are the principal
towns on its system.
When I became its manager, Sir Ralph Cusack had been chairman of the
railway for nearly a quarter of a century and was in his sixty-ninth
year. He attended daily in his office, devoting much time to the
company's affairs. Although my position was not all I could have wished
in the matter of that wide authority I coveted, and which, in my humble
opinion, every railway manager should possess, it was in many respects
very satisfactory, and every lot in life has its crumpled rose leaf. Sir
Ralph regarded me as an _expert_, which, notwithstanding all his long
experience as chairman, he did not himself pretend to be, and _railway
experts_ he held in high esteem. He supported me consistently,
permitting no one but himself to interfere with anything I thought it
right to do. I did not, to be sure, always get my own way, but I
accomplished much, and, what I cared for most, was able to do good work
for the company. Enthusiasm for one's work is a splendid thing, and so
is loyalty to one's employers. I make no boast of possessing these, for
they were common property; they permeated the railway service and
inspired the youngest clerk as well as his chief. Sometimes in these
latter days I imagine such things are changed, though I would like to
think it is only an old man's fancy, as it was in the case of the dear
old Dubliner, who in his time had been a beaux and had reached his
eightieth year. One sunny forenoon when airing himself in a fashionable
street of the city, he was met by another old crony, who accosted him
with:--
"Well, old friend, how are you this morning?"
"Oh, very well, thanks, quite well, only--" he responded.
"Only what?" asked his friend.
"Only the pavements are harder and the girls are not so pretty as they
used to be," he replied with a whimsical look of regret in his face
and a twinkle in his still bright eye.
Sir Ralph was a man of striking appearance, tall and imposing in figure.
His head was massive and fine. His full beard was snowy white, as white
as his abundant hair which was of a beautifully soft silky texture, with
a sheen like satin. His voice was low and at times not very distinct.
This was disappointing as his conversation was always interesting, not
only for its intrinsic value, but also by reason of his charmingly varied
and copious vocabulary, and his perfectly balanced phrases. Naturally
and without the least effort the aptest words sprang to his lips in
perfect order and sequence. His letters, too, were always exceedingly
well expressed. He wrote a neat, sloping, rather flowing and somewhat
old-fashioned hand, which greatly resembled the writing of Beau Brummell,
and, like the illustrious Beau's, his numerals, which is rare nowadays,
were very clearly and very beautifully formed. The Prince of Beaux was
fastidious in his penmanship as in everything else. Sir Ralph's half-
yearly speeches to the shareholders, though delivered extempore, were
models of perspicuity. He used the scantiest notes, mere headings of
subjects, and a few scraps of paper containing figures which he usually
remembered without their aid. Of his memory he was proud. One day, at a
meeting of the Board, after recalling particulars of some old transaction
which no one else could in the least recollect, he turned to me and said:
"Well, Tatlow, you see I sometimes remember something." I rejoined:
"Well, Sir Ralph, my only complaint is that you never forget anything."
The little compliment pleased him. Never in his whole life, he said, had
he written out a speech, and hoped he never would, but he lived to do so
once. As he advanced in years his voice grew weaker, and on the last
occasion on which he presided at a meeting of shareholders, he wrote his
speech, or partly wrote it and, at his request, I read it to the meeting.
Reported verbatim his addresses read as though they had been composed and
written with the utmost care, so precise and correct was the language and
so consecutive the matter. Though few could hope to do so well as he, I
have always thought that in addressing shareholders, railway chairmen
might trust less to formally prepared speeches and more to their powers
of extemporaneous exposition. Some chairmen do this I know, but others
still read from manuscript. However able the matter, the reading, in my
judgment, is much less effective than the spontaneous expression of the
speaker. The atmosphere created by the meeting, often a valuable
adjunct, cannot be taken advantage of when the speech is read, nor can
the chance of improvising a telling point, of enforcing an argument, or
of seizing a passing mood of the audience or some fleeting incident of
the moment.
Sir Ralph was made a Director of the Midland Great Western Company in
1864, and a year later was elected chairman, a position he occupied for
the long period of 39 years. In 1864 the railway was in a very bad
condition, wretchedly run down, and woefully mismanaged. Indeed,
according to an official report at the time, worse than mismanagement
existed. It was stated: "There were grave charges of official corruption
which necessitated the retirement of one of the leading officers from the
company's service." This was very exceptional in railway history, for
British and Irish railways possess a record that has rarely been sullied.
In my long career I only remember two other instances--one, the famous
_Redpath_ fraud (a name not inappropriate for one whose destiny it was to
tread a road that led to his ruin) on the Great Northern in 1856, which
Sir Henry (then Mr.) Oakley greatly assisted in discovering, and which, I
believe, led to his first substantial advancement; the other on the
Belfast and Northern Counties in 1886. This was in Edward John Cotton's
time, but it would be superfluous to say that _he_ was clear of blame for
he was integrity itself. That the occurrence could have happened during
his management distressed him greatly I know.
[Sir Ralph Cusack: cusack.jpg]
When he was elected to the office of Chairman, Sir Ralph, it is said,
accepted the position on the understanding that he should have autocratic
power. In the task he undertook this was very likely desirable, and once
acquired he was not the man to let such power slip from his grasp. His
strong hands would firmly retain whatever they wished to hold.
In 1865 no less than 15 directors _adorned_ the Midland Great Western
Board, twice too many no doubt the chairman thought for a railway of 344
miles. In 1867 they were reduced to 8; in 1877 to 7; since when they
have never numbered more. During the long period of Sir Ralph's
occupancy of the chair no deputy chairman existed. The chairman reigned
alone. That he was an _autocratic_ chairman, his brother directors, were
they now living, would I am sure attest. But though a strong, it was a
beneficent sway that he exercised. He could be hard at times, but his
nature was essentially kind and generous and his friendships numerous and
lasting. He prided himself on his knowledge of the railway staff, down
to the humblest member. He had strong likes and dislikes, and those who
came under his displeasure had sometimes cause to fear him; but they were
amongst the few, and the many remember him with nothing but the kindest
feelings. To me he was always a warm and sincere friend, and between us
existed, without interruption, the greatest frankness and confidence.
How wonderfully adaptable a creature is man. I had not been a fortnight
in my new position when I felt myself quite at home, as though Dublin and
the West of Ireland had been my natural habitat. Belfast and the County
Down receded into the past; and shall I confess it? much as I had liked
the north, much as I admired the industry, manliness and energy of its
people, much as I had enjoyed my life there, and highly as I esteemed the
friends I had made, something I found in my new surroundings--easier
manners, more of gaiety, and an admixture of pleasure with work--that
added to life a charm I had hitherto missed, not only in the North of
Ireland but in Glasgow and Derby as well.
The Secretary of the Midland Great Western Railway, George William
Greene, and Martin Atock, the locomotive engineer, were good fellows, and
warm friends of each other. I became and remained the sincere friend of
both until death took them hence. My principal assistant, called
_Assistant Manager_, was John P. Hornsby, now in his 85th year and living
in New Zealand. Robert Morrison, whom I stole for his good sense, manly
worth, and excellent railway ability, from the Belfast and Northern
Counties in October, 1891, succeeded Hornsby as my assistant. Afterwards
he became goods manager at the time Thomas Elliot was appointed
superintendent of the line, two appointments which relieved me of much
detailed work.
"The battle of Newcomen Junction" was raging at the time I joined the
"Midland," as for shortness we dubbed the Midland Great Western and
which, for the same reason, I shall continue to dub it, as convenience
may require, during the continuance of my story. If I have occasion to
again speak of my _alma mater_, the Midland of England, it shall, for the
sake of clearness, be so designated. "The battle of Newcomen Junction."
What of it? In railway circles, not only in Ireland but in England and
Scotland too, it caused some talk at the time and no little amusement.
Like many another conflict, 'twere better it had never been fought, for
it left for long afterwards angry feelings where peace and amity should
have existed, and it gained nothing that discussion and compromise could
not have effected. The City of Dublin Junction Railway, a small line, a
little over a mile in length (worked by the Dublin and South-Eastern
Company) was formed to link up the Dublin railways and to provide through
routes in connection with the Holyhead and Kingstown Royal Mail steamers
and the steamers of the London and North-Western Company. A junction was
authorised to be made at Newcomen with the Midland Great Western system.
Parliament had sanctioned a junction, but not such a junction, the
Midland said, as it was proposed to make. It would be unsafe and
unworkable they contended, and they refused to allow it. The promoters
insisted, the Midland were obdurate; the promoters invaded the Midland
premises, knocked down a wall and entered on Midland land; the Midland
gathered their forces, drove back the attacking party, and restored the
wall; again the attack was made and repulsed and again the wall was
demolished and re-built, and so the warfare continued, until at length an
armistice was declared and the _casus belli_ referred for settlement to
the Railway Commissioners. Soon I had to prepare the Midland case for
the Commissioners' Court and give evidence before them. They decided
against us and I am sure they were right, though of course I swore, as I
was bound to do, that our opposition to the junction was natural and
proper and our opponents were an unreasonable set of people. The Railway
Commissioners sat in Dublin to hear the case; it was my first appearance
before them, and I was sorry that appearance was not in a better cause.
My first few years in Dublin were as busy as could be. Much was astir in
the Irish railway world and particularly on the Midland, which had their
share (a larger share than the other companies) of the "Balfour"
extension lines in hand. The proceedings under the _Railway and Canal
Traffic Act_ were also in full swing, involving frequent meetings at the
Irish Clearing House, and many journeys to London. Hard upon all this
came the work of preparing for a Parliamentary fight. This I thought a
joyful thing, and I was eager for the fray. I had helped to prepare my
old chief, Mr. Wainwright, for such contests but had never been in one
myself, had never even been inside a committee room. In 1891 the Midland
gave public notice of their intention to acquire by Act of Parliament the
Athenry and Ennis Railway, and lodged a Bill for the purpose, which was
vigorously opposed. It was with great zest that I made my preparations,
arranged for witnesses, drafted briefs, consulted with lawyers and
counsel, and compiled my evidence, not neglecting the important matter of
visiting the district served by the railway we sought to acquire, making
friends and working up local feeling in our favour. How the Bill
proceeded, and what was its fate, will be set forth in another chapter.
Very soon after I settled in Dublin I was able to carry out a long
cherished wish. Ever since I first arrived in Ireland I had hoped to be
able to establish an Irish branch of the Railway Benevolent Institution,
such as Mr. Wainwright and I had succeeded in forming in Scotland in the
year 1880, but whilst I remained in Belfast my efforts were of no avail.
When, however, I moved to Dublin and became manager of one of the
principal railways, the difficulties disappeared, and _The History of the
Railway Benevolent Institution, its Rise and Progress from 1858 to 1897_,
by _Mr. W. F. Mills_, its late Secretary, contains the following:--
"In February, 1891, Mr. Joseph Tatlow proposed to establish a
Committee in Ireland, where supporters were few and far between, and
in the report presented at the annual meeting in June, it was stated
that 'The Board have great pleasure in announcing the appointment of a
Committee in Dublin, presided over by Mr. Tatlow, the manager of the
Midland Great-Western, and the founder of the successful Branch in
Scotland.'"
Edward John Cotton warmly seconded my efforts, for his heart was in the
work, and he was proud of telling us that he was one of the few surviving
members of the first Board of Management of the parent Institution, which
had its first meeting in London in May, 1858. He was then the
newly-appointed manager of the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway, and
was only twenty-eight years of age. The Irish Branch, like the Scotch,
has been a great success. Its Committee of Management consists of the
principal officers of the Irish railways, and they have brought home to
the rank and file of the railway service a knowledge of the society and
the solid benefits that membership confers. Year by year the membership
has increased, and year by year the number of old and needy railway
servants, and their widows, who have been pensioned from the funds, and
the orphans who have been clothed, educated and maintained, have grown
greater and greater. The Irish railway companies, the directors, the
officers, and the public in Ireland, generously contribute to the funds
of the institution. I filled the office of chairman of the Irish branch
for 21 years, until in fact I retired from active railway work, since
when the chairmanship has been an annual honour conferred upon the
chairman for the year of the Irish Railway Managers' Conference. To
quote again from Mr. Mills' book on the Institution:--
"Mr. Joseph Tatlow, at the Dinner in aid of the Institution held in
Dublin on October 23rd, 1902, said: 'It is now 30 years since I first
became a collector for this Institution, and when I look back on the
past, if there is one matter in my life which contains no grain of
regret, it is my connection with the Institution, as in regard to it I
can feel nothing but honest pride and gratification.'"
I am still a member of the Irish Committee, as well as of the London
Board of Management, and those words, spoken sixteen years ago, express
my feelings to-day.
Whilst writing the final words of this chapter the news reaches me of the
death of Mr. Mills, at the fine old age of eighty-seven. He had a long
and useful life, and the railway service owes him much. He it was whose
zeal and enthusiasm firmly established the Railway Benevolent as a great
institution. When, in 1861, he became its secretary, the income was only
1,500 pounds, and on his retirement in 1897, at the age of sixty-five, it
had grown to 53,000 pounds. His mantle fell upon his son, Mr. A. E.
Mills, who inherits his father's enthusiasm and carries on the good work
with great success, as attested by the fact that for the year 1917 the
income reached 106,000 pounds. The invested funds of the society to-day
amount to upwards of a million, and in 1897 they were 476,000 pounds.
Mr. Mills senior I knew for forty years; and I often thought that, search
the world over, it would be hard to find his equal for the work to which
his life was devoted, and for which his talents were so specially
adapted.