WHERE DID THEY ALL GO TO?
Having indicated to some extent the sources from which the great
demand for coachmen were supplied, I will venture to dwell, for a
moment, and not without feelings of regret, on the subject of their no
less rapid disappearance from the scene. It will, I am aware, have
little or no interest to many: well, then, let them skip it; but some
there may be, into whose hands this little volume finds its way, who
have sufficient remembrance of old days to be interested in it, and,
at any rate, it shall not occupy much space.
It is always a melancholy thing to see any class of men suddenly
deprived of their means of subsistence from no fault of their own. It
is very easy to say that if one trade fails another must be found, and
to some political economists this appears to be a sufficient solution
of the difficulty, but it by no means has that effect on the
sufferers. A man who has thoroughly learned one handicraft, can very
seldom become a proficient in any others; and it is always the
inferior workmen who are left out in the cold. Driving, like other
trades, was not learned without much practice, and does not fit a man
for any other business. Where, then, did they vanish to?
The guards could, and I believe did, to a large extent, find
employment on the railways in the same capacity, and, probably, some
coachmen also; but this could not absorb all, or, indeed, any very
large proportion of them. His means of subsistence consisted in his
power of driving horses. He could not drive a steam engine. It is
difficult to say where they all dispersed to. A considerable number,
no doubt, found employment upon omnibuses in London and other large
towns; but that was a sorry life, indeed, like slavery compared to
freedom, to one who had been accustomed to the cheery work on a coach.
Many of those who had had the good fortune to drive good paying
coaches, and had been thrifty, invested their savings in inns, and, in
some cases, in hotels of some importance. A few, some of whom I have
previously mentioned, followed the receding tide, and obtained drives
upon summer coaches. One who could horse a stage was pretty sure of
getting a drive on one of them, as there was frequently some
difficulty in finding people to cover the middle ground. Some few took
to farming, but I cannot call to mind anyone who prospered as an
agriculturist.
I fear the larger part died off rapidly. They were never a long-lived
class of men. Strange as it may sound, the natural healthiness of the
employment tended to shorten their lives. The constant passing through
the air promoted great appetites, which, for the most part were fully
gratified, and this, together with insufficient exercise, produced
disease. I have known some who took a good walk before or after the
day's drive, who lived to a hale old age, but too many seemed to think
that the driving was sufficient exercise, though it could only have
been very bad teams that made it so; worse than were put to coaches of
late years.
Joe Wall, who drove the Manchester "Telegraph" out of London, used to
take his exercise in a very aristocratic manner, as he always kept
one, and sometimes two hunters, at Hockliffe, where he left the coach,
and enjoyed his love for sport, as well as getting healthy exercise,
and occupying the time which would otherwise have hung heavy on his
hands, and possibly might have led him into mischief. This, however,
had its drawbacks, and, on one occasion, was very near leading to a
difficulty of no small magnitude. He had, as usual, been out hunting,
and had, unfortunately, experienced a bad fall, which incapacitated
him from driving the return coach, and, at first, it seemed as if it
could not find its way to London that evening, for it was not every
one, even though he might call himself a coachman, who was capable of
driving a coach at the pace at which the "Telegraph" was timed, on a
dark winter's evening, along a road crowded with so large a number of
vehicles of all descriptions as would be the case on one approaching
the metropolis. As good luck, however, would have it, an efficient
substitute turned up in the shape of a very able and experienced hand,
who had driven equally fast coaches. A few became horse-dealers, and I
knew one who was for many years the highly-valued stud-groom to the
late Sir W. W. Wynn, but, if I ever heard it, I have quite forgotten
what coach it was that Simpson drove. I believe he was a good
coachman, but he had the misfortune, though by no fault of his own, to
capsize the hound van, nearly killing that prince of huntsmen, John
Walker.
I once knew a guard who had previously followed the occupation of
clown in a circus. His experience there had made him active enough for
anything, but he and the coachman did not, I fancy, get on very well
together, as the latter used sometimes to speak of him in derision as
"my fool."