George Shillibeer introduces omnibuses into England--The first omnibus
route--Shillibeer’s conductors defraud him--His plans for preventing
fraud--An omnibus library--Shopkeepers complain of omnibus obstruction.
Laffitte’s omnibuses were so exceedingly well managed that they
continued to prosper in spite of the many new lines started in
opposition to them. With a view to maintaining the superiority of
his omnibuses over those of his rivals, Laffitte decided to have two
vehicles built which should eclipse in comfort and appearance any
others on the streets. He gave the order to Mr. George Shillibeer, a
well-known Parisian coach-builder. Shillibeer had been a midshipman
in the British Navy, but quitted the service and went to Hatchett’s,
in Long Acre, to learn coach-building. Later, he started business for
himself in Paris, and as English carriages were then becoming very
fashionable, he met with considerable success, and built carriages and
coaches for the most influential men of the day.
While executing Laffitte’s order it occurred to Shillibeer that he
might, with considerable advantage to himself, start omnibuses in
London. He decided to do so, and, disposing of his business, returned
to London and took premises at Bury Street, Bloomsbury, whence he made
it known that he was about to introduce “a new vehicle called the
omnibus.” The word “omnibus” was received with marked disapproval by
every person to whom Shillibeer spoke concerning his new venture. “If
one vehicle is to be called an omnibus, what are two or more to be
called?” people said to him.
“Omnibuses,” Shillibeer replied promptly, but his questioners
were horrified, and to their dying days preferred to call them
“Shillibeers.” Some people called them “omnis,” and Mr. Joseph Hume,
speaking years later in the House of Commons, created much laughter by
referring seriously to the vehicles as “omnibi.”
The route which Shillibeer chose for his first omnibus was from the
Yorkshire Stingo at Paddington, along the New Road to the Bank. The New
Road was the name by which Marylebone, Euston and Pentonville Roads
were then known.
Three or four short-stage-coaches had been running on that road for
many years, but as they took three hours to get from Paddington to the
City, and charged two shillings for outside seats and three shillings
for inside ones, they were not patronised by able-bodied people, who
usually preferred to walk. Moreover, the short-stage-coaches were
uncomfortably loaded with luggage, which they collected and delivered
every journey.
On the morning of July 4, 1829, Shillibeer’s two new omnibuses began
to run. A large crowd assembled to witness the start, and general
admiration was expressed at the smart appearance of the vehicles, which
were built to carry twenty-two passengers, all inside, and were drawn
by three beautiful bays, harnessed abreast. The word “Omnibus” was
painted in large letters on both sides of the vehicles. The fare from
the Yorkshire Stingo to the Bank was one shilling; half way, sixpence.
Newspapers and magazines were provided free of charge. The conductors,
too, came in for considerable notice, for it had become known that they
were both the sons of British naval officers--friends of Shillibeer.
These amateur conductors had resided for some years in Paris, and
were, therefore, well acquainted with the duties of the position which
they assumed. The idea of being the first omnibus conductors in England
pleased them greatly, and prompted them to work their hardest to make
Shillibeer’s venture a success. They were attired in smart blue-cloth
uniforms, cut like a midshipman’s; they spoke French fluently, and
their politeness to passengers was a pleasing contrast to the rudeness
of the short-stage-coach guards--a most ill-mannered class of men.
[Illustration: SHILLIBEER’S FIRST OMNIBUS.]
Each omnibus made twelve journeys a day, and was generally full.
So great a success were they that the takings averaged a hundred
pounds a week. Nevertheless, Shillibeer had much to contend with. The
short-stage-coach proprietors, disliking competition, endeavoured to
incite the populace against Shillibeer by declaring that he was a
Frenchman, and ought not to be allowed to run his foreign vehicles
in England. Moreover, the aristocratic and wealthy residents of
Paddington Green objected strongly to the omnibuses coming into
their select neighbourhood, and petitioned the local authorities to
prevent their doing so. And when they found that their endeavours
were futile, they declared solemnly that Paddington Green was doomed.
If they saw the neighbourhood to-day, they would consider, no doubt,
that their prophecy was fulfilled, although, as a matter of fact,
it was railways and not omnibuses that, from a residential point of
view, ruined the neighbourhood. But the threatened doom of Paddington
Green did not deter the sentimental poke-bonneted young ladies, who
resided in the charming suburb, from spending a considerable amount
of their time in watching the omnibuses start. In the middle of the
day many of them were in the habit of taking a ride to King’s Cross
and back, for the sole purpose of improving their French by conversing
with the conductors. That praiseworthy amusement was short-lived,
however, for as soon as the omnibuses were in good working order, the
gentlemen-conductors relinquished their posts and were succeeded by
paid officials.
The new conductors were dressed in dark velvet suits, and as far as
politeness was concerned were all that could be desired. Unfortunately
they became possessed of the belief, not yet quite extinct, that to
rob an omnibus proprietor was no sin. The amount of money handed in
to Shillibeer grew less daily--a very suspicious decrease, considering
that people living on the road which the omnibuses travelled declared
that the vehicles were as well patronised as ever. Shillibeer therefore
made arrangements with various trustworthy people to ride in his
omnibuses, as ordinary passengers, and check the number of people
carried and the amount of fares which they paid. For a few days every
journey that the omnibuses made there was a male or female passenger
watching the conductors, and from their reports Shillibeer discovered
that the two men were, between them, robbing him to the extent of £20 a
week. This was corroborated by the conductors themselves, whose style
of living had become decidedly luxurious. In their time of affluence
they did not forget their poorer friends, and one night, after work
was finished, they treated a number of them to a champagne supper at
the Yorkshire Stingo. The whole party became hilariously drunk, and
while in that condition the hosts threw discretion to the winds, and
bragged loudly that they made £10 each a week out of the omnibuses, in
excess of their pay. Among their guests were detectives employed by
Shillibeer, who repeated the confession of fraud to their employer,
with the result that the first professional omnibus conductors were
discharged. Shillibeer’s leniency, due to his anxiety not to have his
omnibuses mixed up in any scandal, encouraged succeeding conductors to
steal. Shillibeer was at his wits’ end what to do, when a man called on
him with a patent register guaranteed to put a stop to the conductors’
pilferings. The register was designed to be placed underneath the
omnibus, and people entering or leaving the vehicle trod on a plate
fixed in the step, the register recording every person who stepped upon
it. Shillibeer liked the idea, and bought one of the registers on the
condition that the inventor acted as conductor until its reliability
had been proved thoroughly.
For two weeks everything went well, and the conductor was anticipating
an order for a second register, when a gang of men, in sympathy
with the discharged conductors, attacked the omnibus while it was
standing outside the Yorkshire Stingo, smashed the patent register
with sledge-hammers, and half murdered its inventor. Shillibeer, who
had paid £300 for the demolished register, did not order another one
to be made, but tried a new and less expensive check, which was in
use in the Paris omnibuses. A specially made clock was fixed in a
prominent position in each omnibus, with a notice beneath it informing
the public that it was the conductor’s duty to move the hand a certain
distance whenever a passenger entered, and requesting that any neglect
of that duty should be reported to the proprietor. But, in spite of
that appeal, the conductors neglected persistently to act according
to instructions, and not one report of their breach of duty was ever
received by Shillibeer from an ordinary passenger. Some of them,
indeed, amused themselves by turning the hand round until the register
showed that the omnibus had carried an impossible number of people.
This amusement was getting very popular when Shillibeer put an end to
it by removing the clocks and trusting to his conductors’ honour--a
confidence which was proved, time after time, to be entirely misplaced.
[Illustration: SHILLIBEER’S THIRD OMNIBUS.]
But, in spite of all obstacles, Shillibeer prospered, and in less than
nine months had twelve omnibuses at work. A few of these were two-horse
omnibuses carrying twelve passengers inside and two outside. Some ran
from Paddington to the Bank, _viâ_ Oxford Street and Holborn. On all
these new vehicles “Shillibeer” was painted in large letters on the
sides, instead of “Omnibus.”
The Post Office authorities were the first to copy Shillibeer’s
vehicles. They had four built, resembling the originals in every
respect save the painting and lettering. On September 23, 1829, these
vehicles--accelerators they were called--started at half-past eight in
the morning from the back of the General Post Office for the western
and north-western districts. Each accelerator carried twelve or
thirteen letter-carriers, who were put down at various points to begin
their delivery.
A little later, Shillibeer’s brother-in-law started some omnibuses
which ran along the Caledonian Road, and were known as “Caledonians.”
These, too, were successful, and many years later became the property
of Mr. Wilson, the once famous Islington omnibus proprietor. Wilson’s
“Favorites” were known to every Londoner, and the “Caledonians” were
merged into them. At the present day the “Favorites” belong to the
London General Omnibus Company, Limited, and on their way from the
Nag’s Head, Holloway, to West Kensington and Fulham traverse their
original road.
In 1832, wishing to still further increase the number of his
omnibuses, Shillibeer took into partnership Mr. William Morton, a
Southwell publican, who sold his business to join him. The partnership
was dissolved in January, 1834, Morton taking as his share of the
business the whole of the New Road omnibuses. He failed, however, to
make them pay, and sold them at a great loss. Eventually he became
so reduced in circumstances that he applied for, and obtained, a
position as an omnibus conductor, but was discharged for drunkenness,
and, in a fit of despondency, committed suicide at his lodgings in
Little Carlisle Street, Edgware Road. At the inquest, Shillibeer’s
enemies--of whom he had a large number among short-stage-coach
proprietors--endeavoured to prove that the deceased had been swindled
over his omnibus partnership. But these charges were shown to be the
outcome of jealousy and petty spite, and it was proved that, in giving
over the New Road omnibuses to his late partner, Shillibeer had behaved
with great generosity, for that was the only line on which there was
no opposition. The omnibuses were paying excellently at the time of
the dissolution of partnership, but Morton mismanaged them. The person
to whom he sold them soon made them as remunerative as they had been
under Shillibeer’s management. In fact, the New Road route was the best
patronised, and, in 1837, there were fifty-four omnibuses on that road.
The fares were then sixpence any distance.
In the same year that Shillibeer took Morton into partnership, there
were several lines of omnibuses running in opposition to him, for the
old short-stage-coach proprietors were now alive to the fact that there
was much money to be made out of omnibuses; but the original vehicles
had the reputation of being excellently conducted, and, consequently,
were preferred by the public. Aware of this, the proprietors of some
opposition omnibuses had the impudence to paint on the panels of their
vehicles the word “Shillibeer.” Shillibeer then named his omnibuses
“Shillibeer’s Original Omnibuses.”
Some of the opposition proprietors, however, were men of sufficient
enterprise to object to remaining mere imitators of Shillibeer, and
tried their hardest to make their omnibuses more attractive than those
of their great rival. One man made all his coachmen wear a wooden ring
on each arm with strings attached to them which ran along each side
of the roof of the omnibus and out at the back to the conductor. The
passenger would then pull the cord or tell the conductor which side he
wished to be put down, and if it were the near side the left string
would be pulled; but if the passenger desired to get out on the off
side the conductor would pull the right string, and the coachman would
drive across the road and come to a standstill on what is now the
wrong side of the road. It seems strange that such a proceeding should
have been allowed in London, but the arrangement was very popular with
passengers, who grumbled and wrote letters to the proprietors if the
strings were absent or defective. Very soon after the introduction of
such strings there were few omnibuses in London without them, and they
remained in fashion for many years.
Many omnibuses had clocks fixed in them for the convenience of
passengers, and to ensure conductor and coachman keeping their time.
Bells did not come into use until many years later. When a conductor
wanted his coachman to stop he usually shouted to him. When he wished
him to go on he shouted again or banged the door.
Mr. Cloud, who ran omnibuses from the White Horse, Haymarket, to
Chelsea and Hammersmith--fares one shilling and half a crown--eclipsed
Shillibeer in one respect. Shillibeer supplied his patrons with
newspapers and magazines; Cloud provided his with books by well-known
authors. A little bookcase, well filled, was fixed in each of his
omnibuses at the end near the horses. Books were expensive in those
days, and many people rode to Hammersmith and back for the sole purpose
of reading a particular one which they knew to be in the omnibus
library. But this admirable innovation was abused shamefully by the
passengers, who appeared to consider it no sin to purloin the volumes.
Disgusted at the dishonesty of his patrons, Mr. Cloud announced
publicly that, in consequence of the thefts, his libraries would be
discontinued. The bookcases were removed, and in place of each a seat
was fixed, thereby enabling the omnibus to accommodate thirteen inside
passengers instead of twelve. Other omnibus proprietors decided that
their vehicles should also carry thirteen passengers, but provided no
additional accommodation. A conductor would tell a person that there
was room inside, but when the passenger entered he would find the six
seats on either side occupied. If he happened to be a stout party,
the burning question was on which side ought he to sit. The matter was
generally settled by the new-comer flopping down on some one’s lap.
Then a quarrel would ensue. As late as 1882 an omnibus with a seat in
front of the fareboard was running from Oxford Circus to Hendon, _viâ_
Kilburn. It was a most uncomfortable seat, but, nevertheless, it was
nearly always occupied, for the conductor, being a very amusing fellow,
had a knack of quickly soothing passengers who protested against
sitting on a small, cramped seat.
Soon after the removal of the bookcases, some of the Hammersmith
omnibuses acquired the habit of loitering, and thereby obstructing
the streets. By Act of Parliament, the police had the power to take
into custody the driver of any public vehicle who obstructed the high
road and refused to move on. One morning they exercised their power
by pulling two omnibus-drivers from their boxes and taking them to
the police-station. The following day the drivers were fined forty
shillings or a month’s imprisonment. For a few days there was no
loitering on the Hammersmith Road. But one Saturday evening an omnibus
pulled up at Knightsbridge in such a position as to obstruct the
traffic. A policeman shouted fiercely to the driver to move on, but
the coachman calmly shook his head and would not budge an inch. Two
policemen promptly rushed forward to pull him from his seat and take
him into custody, but, to their astonishment, found that he was chained
to the box and the chain fastened by a huge padlock. Their attempts
to remove him were useless. Then several other omnibuses came along,
and pulled up close to the first one. The drivers of these were also
chained to their boxes, and amused themselves and the crowd by chaffing
the police and shaking their chains at them. After remaining at
Knightsbridge for some considerable time, they drove away in triumph,
only, however, to be fined a few days later.
About this time shopkeepers began to complain that omnibuses prevented
their customers driving up to their doors in their carriages, and Mr.
Shufflebotham, a silk mercer of Ludgate Hill, championing their cause,
applied for summonses against twenty-four conductors for loitering.
Under an old Act of Parliament, any stage-coach driver taking up or
setting down passengers in the streets was liable to a penalty of not
less than £5. All the conductors were fined, but public opinion was by
no means favourable to the shopkeepers, and further attempts to prove
that private carriages had a greater right to the public streets than
omnibuses failed completely. On one occasion an alderman had before him
a hundred and twenty conductors charged with the fearful offence--in
tradesmen’s eyes--of stopping their omnibuses a few moments in front
of a shop when a carriage was waiting to pull up there. The alderman
discharged every one of the defendants, and his action was so popular
that, until a year or two ago, no one had the impudence to suggest that
the days of class legislation should be restored--that omnibuses which
carry twenty-six passengers should be turned out of the main streets to
make room for private carriages with their burden of four.
On January 7, 1832, a new Stage-Coach Act came into force. It had been
passed specially to permit omnibuses and short-stage-coaches to take up
and set down passengers in the streets.