valet rides on ahead, and if there really be no room for a trap to pass
us, he warns any carriage that may chance to be coming our way.
Take, for example, that ugly climb we had when passing through
Slochmuichk, in the Grampians (see illustration). My valet was on
ahead, round the corner and on the outlook for coming vehicles, and so
had anyone hove in sight a probable accident would have been avoided.
Again, when passing through a town where board schools with their busy
bees of boys are numerous, my valet, on the Marlborough tender, comes
riding up behind, and accordingly the bees do not have a chance of
sticking on to the carriage.
Tramps will, at times, get up and try the drawers behind, but whenever I
see a suspicious gang of these worthless loafers, a signal brings the
tender flying back, and thus robbery is prevented.
I had the utmost satisfaction once this year in punishing some country
louts. Butler, my valet, was innocently riding on about a hundred yards
ahead, and no sooner had he passed than the three blackguards commenced
stone-throwing. They had no idea then the cycle belonged to the
caravan. They had soon after though. I slid quietly off the _coupe_,
whip in hand, and for several seconds I enjoyed the most health-giving
exercise. Straight across the face and round the ears I hit as hard as
I knew how to. One escaped Scot-free, but two tumbled in the ditch and
howled aloud for mercy, which I generously granted--after I got tired.
The beauty of the attack was in its suddenness, and those roughs will
remember it to their dying day.
But the main pleasure in possessing a cycle lies in the opportunities
you have of seeing lovely bits of scenery, and quaint queer old
villages, and quaint queer old people, quite out of the beaten track of
your grand tour. And it _is_ a pleasure to have a long quiet ride
through woods and flowery lanes, of a summer's evening, after having
been in the caravan all day long.
Just let me pick one extract from a book I wrote last year, describing
cycling in connection with my grand tour.
["_Rota Vitae_, The Cyclist's Guide to Health and Rational Enjoyment."
Published by Messrs. Iliffe and Sturney, 98 Fleet Street, London.]
The little work is really a bombshell, as ancient divines used to call
their tracts, aimed at the senseless making of records by cyclists who
go flying from one end of the kingdom to the other, and come back as
wise as they went, and infinitely more tired.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Haddington and round it.
Everywhere you go around Haddington, you will be charmed with the
character and beauty of the scenery, and its great variety.
Inland, are there not grand old hills and wild woodlands, lonely straths
and glens, and splendid sheets of water? Is there not, too, the finest
tree scenery that exists anywhere in Scotland? Yes! and the very wild
flowers and hedgerows themselves would repay one for all the toil
incurred in rattling over somewhat stony roads, and climbing lofty
braelands. Then, towards the east, you come in sight of the sea
itself--the ever-beautiful, ever-changing sea. Go farther east still,
go to the coast itself, and you will find yourself among such rock
scenery as can hardly be beaten, expect by that in Skye or the Orkneys.
When tired of wandering on the shore, and, if a naturalist, studying and
admiring the thousand-and-one strange objects around you, why, you may
go and hobnob with some of the fisher folks--male or female, take your
choice--they will amuse, ay, and mayhap instruct you, while some of the
oldest of them will tell you tales of the old smuggling days, and life
in the caves, that will heat anything you ever read in books.
If you should stay at Cockburnspath all night you will not forget to
visit the seashore and the caves. Those caves have a history, too; they
were connected with the troublesome times of "auld lang syne," and later
still, they came in remarkably handy for bold smugglers, who, before the
days of smart revenue cutters, made use of them as temporary storehouses
when running a cargo on shore.
How lovely the sea looks on a summer's day from the hills around here!
How enchanting the woods! How wild! How quiet! You will be inclined
to live and linger among scenery such as this, book in hand, perhaps, on
a bank of wild thyme and bluebells, and if you do notice some
blue-coated bicyclist, with red perspiring face and dusty _tout
ensemble_, speeding past on his way to John-o'-Groat's, how you will
pity him! Farther west is the romantic Dunglass Dene, which you will
visit without fail. Says Scott:
"The cliffs here rear their haughty head
High o'er the river's darksome bed;
Here trees to every crevice clung,
And o'er the dell their branches hung:
And there, all splintered and uneven,
The shivered rocks ascend to heaven;
Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,
And wreathed their garland round their crest;
Or from the spires bade loosely flare
Its tendrils in the summer air."
The most romantic parts of Scotland which may be visited by the
caravannist, with his tricycle as tender, are:--
I. The counties of Barns, Hogg, and Scott (comprising all the space
betwixt a line drawn from Edinburgh to Glasgow and the Tweed).
II. The Grampian Wilds.
III. The Perthshire Highlands.
IV. The Valley of the Dee.
V. The Valley of the Don.
VI. The sea coast from Edinburgh to Fraserburgh, and west as far as
Inverness itself.
Coming south now to England, I must permit the tourist himself to choose
his own headquarters. I shall merely mention the most healthy and
interesting districts.
I. The Lake Country.
II. The Yorkshire District (most bracing and interesting).
III. The Peak District of Derbyshire.
IV. The Midland District.
V. The East Coasts.
VI. North Wales (centre, probably Bala).
VII. South Wales.
VIII. South Devon.
IX. South Cornwall.
X. Jersey (Saint Heliers).
I should also mention both Orkney and Shetland, these islands are
healthy and bracing.
In both the last-named districts riding will be found practical, but
boating excursions will rival the tricycle. Fishing and shooting, and
walking among the moorlands and hills, combine to render a holiday in
either the Orkneys or Shetland Islands a most enjoyable one.
Both at Kirkwall and Lerwick fairly good hotels are to be found, and
respectable lodgings, while living is as cheap as anyone could desire.
NB--An ordinary-sized caravan can be taken by sea, but take my advice,
never put it on board a train.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
HINTS TO WOULD-BE CARAVANNISTS.
"We live to learn ilka day,
The warld wide's the best o' skools,
Experience too, so auld folks say,
Is just the jade for teachin' fools."
Nemo.
I.
First catch your hare. That is, get your caravan.
"Oh!" I think I hear some one say, "I shall hire one." Take _Punch's_
advice to people about to marry--"don't."
And the same advice holds good as regards secondhand caravans.
Mind, I do not say that you may not be able to meet with a good and
clean one, but, woe is me, there is a chance of guests, in old caravans
of the gipsy class, that you would not care to be shipmates with.
Besides, the woodwork may be bad, or "going," and there may be flaws in
the springs, the wheels. The roof may leak, and a hundred and fifty
other disagreeables be found out after you fairly start on the road.
I would as soon buy an old feather-bed in the east end of London as an
old caravan.
Get your car then from a really good maker, one who could not afford to
put a bad article out of hand.
I have neither object nor desire to advertise the Bristol Waggon
Company, but it is due to them to say that having paid a fair price, I
got from them a splendid article. But of course there may be other
makers as good or better. I do not know.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
II. Style of Build.
You may copy the Wanderer if so minded. I do not think that I myself,
after two years on the road, could improve on her, except that the
shutters are difficult to draw on and off, and ought to run upon
castors.
However, few caravannists might care to have so long and large a chariot
as mine; one about twelve feet long would serve every purpose, and be
easily moved with one good horse. It would also be more easily drawn
into meadows at night.
A caravan, both exteriorly and interiorly, is capable of an infinite
amount of ornamentation. But I do not think a gentleman gipsy's
carriage ought to, in any way, resemble that of a travelling showman,
although it certainly should not be like a Salvationist's "barrow."
The entrance door may be at the side, or behind, as in the Wanderer.
The windows should be large and neat, and prettily curtained or
upholstered. A caravannist is constantly being gazed at, and people
will assuredly judge of your interior fittings by the taste and
appearance displayed outside.
The Wanderer, with my books and furniture (all light) on board, weighs
well-nigh two tons. Even for a pair of good-hearted horses, such as I
possess, this is rather much, so that I should advise that a single
horse caravan be not much over fifteen hundredweight.
The Wanderer is double-walled, being built of well-seasoned beautiful
mahogany, and lined with maple, having an interspace of about one inch
and a half. But double walls are really not necessary, and only add to
the expense.
The body of the carriage might be made of Willesden waterproof paper,
fastened to a framework of light strong wood. This remarkable paper
keeps its shape in all weathers, and can be charmingly painted and
gilded.
For a very light summer caravan the upper works might be painted
Willesden canvas. Such a carriage, however, would hardly withstand the
cold of winter.
The roof of the Wanderer is painted white. I am often asked, Is it not
very hot in summer? But the answer is "No, because with the doors open
there is always a delightful breeze." Then, wood being a conductor, and
there being so much ventilation, as soon as the sun goes down the
caravan becomes as cool as can be desired.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Upholstering and Furnishing.
A deal of taste can be shown in this. Everything must be of smallest
possible dimensions.
A few favourite books should be taken, while magazines, etc, can be
bought in towns and villages as you pass through. I have a fairy
edition of the poets, my little ebony bookcase is a fairy one, and a
good many other articles as well are of fairy dimensions also. Mirrors
are tolerably heavy, but let in here and there in the panels, etc, they
have a very nice effect, and make the caravan seem double the size.
Flower vases of different shapes and sizes may be almost everywhere.
Flowers we can always get, and if the same kind hospitality be extended
to every gentleman or lady gipsy that was lavished on me, his or her
caravan will always be florally gay.
The _coupe_ is easily convertible into a delightful lounge. I have a
bag close at hand on the splashboard, where I keep the road-book or
guide, the map of the county through which I am passing, and my pens,
ink, pencils, and note-books. There is also on the _coupe_ a brass-gilt
little rack for holding my book or newspaper, as well as a minimum
thermometer.
If a shower faces the caravan and is blown in under the verandah, or if
the dust is troublesome, it is easy to retire into the saloon for a
short time, and shut the glass door.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sketching from the Coupe.
If you are at all handy with the pencil and...
This page missing.
This page missing.
--My vases, or blind or curtain one inch awry. Be gentle and firm with
your valet, and he will soon come to see things as you do, and act in
accordance with all your wishes.
The cooking-stove should be black-leaded, the tin things should shine
like burnished silver, and every kitchen utensil be as bright and clean
as a new sovereign.
What though your table be small, the viands plain? they are well put on,
your delft is polished, and that flower in the vase, and those coloured
glasses, look well on a spotless cloth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Cooking-Range.
Does it smell at all? I have often been asked that question. The reply
is "No, not at all," and in October I light the range of an evening to
warm the caravan.
When breakfast is wanted in a hurry, to ensure an early start, the
cooking is done the night before, and the tea made and poured off the
leaves into a large bottle, so that five minutes' time in the morning is
sufficient to warm everything. The oil for the range is hung underneath
in a can.
Underneath also are slung two buckets, a dog's food-can, and a
dust-proof basket in which vegetables are carried, to be cleaned and
made ready for cooking at the midday halt, and so prepared without delay
when the bivouac is chosen.
Everything Done the Evening Before.
Everything that can be done the evening before should be done--boot
cleaning, knife polishing, filling cistern and filter, and preparing the
range for immediate lighting.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Provision Book.
This should be presented to you every morning at breakfast by your
valet, who is to call your attention to the articles wanted, whether
bread, butter, meat, vegetables, or groceries. Then the shopping is
done in the forenoon as you pass through village or town, although many
things are better and more cheaply procured at cottages.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
An Early Start Desirable.
Make an early start and all will go well. On the other hand, if you
laze and dawdle in the morning the day will be spoiled, luncheon will be
hurried, and dinner too late.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Asking the Road.
This is the duty of your valet, who is on ahead with the tricycle. But
do not trust altogether to him, but when any doubt exists ask yourself,
and be sure that your informant really knows his right hand from his
left. Remember that if a man stands facing you his _right_ is your
_left_.
Draymen, butchers, and waggoners, are the best men to enquire the state
of the roads of, as regards hills, condition, etc.
I make a point of mingling in a kindly way of an evening with the
villagers at the inns where my horses are stabled. I get much amusement
sometimes by so doing. I meet many queer characters, hear many a
strange story, and last but not least get well-ventilated opinions as to
the best and nearest roads.
A caravannist must not be above talking to all kinds and conditions of
men. If he has pride he must keep it in a bucket under the caravan.
Never if possible get--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Belated.
If you do, you are liable to accidents of all kinds. I have been run
into more than once at night by recklessly-driving tipsy folks.
Certainly it only slightly shook my great caravan, but capsized the
dogcart.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
While on the Road.
While on the road, your coachman will for the horses' sakes keep on the
best parts. Make room, however, wherever possible for faster vehicles
that want to pass you. But whenever the drivers of them are insolent I
laugh and let them wait; they dare not "ram" me. Ramming would not
affect the Wanderer in the slightest, but would be rough on the rammer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stabling.
Stable your horses every night. Never think of turning them out. The
horses are your moving power, and you cannot take too much care of them.
See then that they are carefully groomed and fed, and stand
pastern-deep in dry straw.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Civility.
This is a cheap article. Be civil to everyone, and you will have
civility in return.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Price of Stabling.
Make it a rule, as I do, to know exactly what you have to pay for your
horses' accommodation. You will thus have no words in the morning, you
will part in friendship with the landlord, who will be glad to see you
when you return, while the ostler's good word can be bought cheaply
enough.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Water.
Drink nothing but what has passed through the filter. I use one from
the Silicated Carbon Company, and find it excellent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dangers of the Road.
These are nominal, and need hardly be mentioned. I carry a revolver
which I seldom load; I have shutters that I seldom put up; and I often
sleep with an open door. But I have a faithful dog. My most painful
experience on the road this year I sent an account of to the _Pall Mall_
under the title of "A Terrible Telegram."
"A few claret corks and an empty `turkey and tongue' tin--nothing else
will be left to mark the spot where the Wanderer lay." My friend
Townesend gazed on the grass as he spoke, and there was a look of
sadness in his face, which, actor though he be, I feel sure was not
assumed. He had come to see the last of me and my caravan--the last for
a time, at all events--to bid me good-bye and see me start. Parting is
sweet sorrow, and I had spent a most enjoyable week at that delightful,
quiet, wee watering-place, Filey, Yorkshire. I had lazed and written, I
had lounged and read; my very soul felt steeped in a dreamy glamour as
pleasant as moonshine on the sea; I had enjoyed the _dolee far niente_,
book in hand, among the wild thyme on the sunny cliffs of Guisthorpe;
for me, blades of dulse--the esculent and delicious _rhodamenia
palmata_--culled wet from the waves that lapped and lisped among the
Brigg's dark boulders, had been veritable lotus leaves, and, reclining
by the mouth of a cave, I could readily believe in fairies and sea
nymphs--ay, and mermaids as well. No letters to write, no bills to pay,
no waiters to tip--for is not the Wanderer my hotel upon wheels?--and no
lodging-house cat,--surely one would think a gentleman gipsy's life
leaves little to be desired. And truly speaking, apart from that
"terrible hill" which, day after day, seems ever on ahead of us, but
which we always manage to surmount, caravanning in summer has but few
drawbacks. So perfectly free and easy, so out-and-out happy is one's
existence when so engaged, that he actually cares as little for the
great current events of the day, or for the rise and fall of
governments, as the whistling ploughboy does about the storms that rage
in mid-Atlantic. Why then should that wretched little fraud, that
so-called boon to the public, the sixpenny telegram, burst like a
thunderstorm around my head, and tear my peace and joy to rags?
Listen, reader, and I already feel sore of your indulgence and sympathy.
We left Filey on Monday forenoon, and after five days of toiling over
the hills and wolds, found ourselves at Askern. Askern is a little spa
and health resort, its waters are chemically similar to those of
Harrogate, and useful in the same class of cases. The halt and maim and
rheumatic come here, and those who seek for quiet and rest after months
of drudgery at the desk's dull wood. Many more would come were the
place but better known. On Friday night here the rain came down in
torrents, but Saturday morning was fine, so I allowed both my servants
to take an after-dinner trip to Doncaster. I would take an after-dinner
nap. I was on particularly good terms with myself; I had had letters
from home, I had done a good day's work, and presently meant to resume
my writing.
"A telegram, sir!" A telegram? I took it and tore it open. A telegram
always gives me momentary increase of heart-action, but this laconic
message caused such pericardial sinking as I hope I shall never feel
again. "Come home immediately, and wire the time you leave," so ran the
terrible telegram. But, greatest mystery of all, it came from
Mark-lane, and the sender was not my wife but "Hyde." I had never been
to Mark-lane, and who is Hyde? But what dreadful calamity had happened
to my home? My wife and bairnies live in Berks; but she must have gone
to town, I thought, and been killed in the street, having but time to
breathe my name and address ere closing her eyes for ever. Were she
alive she herself would have wired, and not Hyde. There must be a
mortuary at Mark-lane, and Hyde must be the dead-house doctor. I dashed
my manuscript all aside, then rushed to the post-office and wired to
Hyde for fullest particulars. There would be a train at four which
would take me to London by 8:30.
Before I received the telegram my tongue was as red and clear as that of
my Newfoundland dog's, in a moment it had become white and furred; there
was a burning sensation in my throat, and my heart felt as big as a
bullock's, and all these are symptoms of sudden shock and grief. But it
was a time for action. In an hour the train would leave; 'twould seem a
long, long hour to me. I packed my handbag with trembling hands, drew
the shutters over all the windows of the Wanderer, determining to lock
all up and board my valet at the hotel. Hurricane Bob, my dog, must
have thought me mad, for I gave him the joint that had been meant for
our Sunday's dinner; it would not keep till my return. Then I went and
sat down in the post-office, and with thumping heart awaited Hyde's
reply. How long the time seemed! How slowly the minute hand of the
clock moved! My feelings must have been akin to those of a felon
waiting the return of the jury and a verdict. The reply came at last,
but only to deepen the mystery and my misery. No Hyde of Mark-lane
could be found. I wired again, wired and waited for nearly another
awful hour. Meanwhile my train had gone. The reader can judge of the
state of my feelings, when at length the clicking needles informed the
clerk that the first telegram was meant for another "Gordon Stables," of
another Askarn, spelt with an "_a_" instead of an "_e_."
I did not know I had a double till now, because my name is so unusual.
If I rejoiced in the name of John, and my patronymic were Smith, the
marvel would be small, but the Gordon Stableses of that ilk are not
dropped into this world out of a watering-can, so I do wonder who my
double is, and sincerely hope that telegram has not brought him grief,
but ten thousand a year.
I have no more to add. I trust if the reader does go on the road he
will find a gipsy's life as happy and pleasant as I have done.
Good-bye.