LONDON LADS.—RAILWAY RIDE.—OBSERVATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.
At half-past five, having overtaken my friends and dined at Godalming,
I took seat with them in the third-class carriages of a train bound to
London, intending, however, only to take a lift so that we might walk
in before dark.
The carriages were nearly empty, till, stopping at a way-station,
they were suddenly and with boisterous merry haste taken possession
of, filled full and over-filled with a class of people differing in
their countenances, manners, language, and tone of voice from any we
had before seen in England. They were more like New York _b’hoys_, a
little less rowdy and a shade more vulgar. “London lads,” one of them
very civilly told me they were, employed in a factory out here in
the country, and having just received their week’s wages were going
in to spend them. They were pale, and many effeminate, in features,
rather oily and grimy, probably from their employment; talked loudly
and rapidly, using many cant words, and often addressing those at a
distance by familiar, abbreviated names; lively, keen, quick-eyed,
with a peculiarly fearless, straightforward, uneducated way of
making original remarks, that showed considerable wit and powers of
observation; rough, turbulent, and profane, yet using a good many
polite forms, and courteous enough in action.
[Sidenote: _THE LONDON B’HOYS._]
Two or three men, as soon as the train was in motion, held up each
a brace or two of rabbits, at which there was cheering and laughter
from the rest. All, indeed, were in the greatest possible good humour,
joking and bantering and making engagements, or telling of their
plans for dining together, or meeting for some degrading excitement
on Sunday. Of us and others in the car, when they entered, they took
little notice, though treating us with respect in not jostling or
crowding us; but as soon as they were well settled in their places
they began to make game of one another; to tell stories, evidently
improvising comical anecdotes of their employers and other common
acquaintances, both absent and present. A dignified “old chap,”
who stood near upon the platform, was made very uncomfortable, and
reduced considerably in height and stiffness, by urgent invitations to
join them. The “guard,” too, was made an especial butt, and several
illustrations were given of the ignorant character of railway-people in
general. “There vas von them Mefodis wisitin-coves, you know, wot ’awks
tracs and suchlike, in here a Vensdy wen we come up; and ven the guard
come along he arks him did he know the Lord’s prayer? ‘Lorspraer?’ says
he, ‘vot is he?’ says he; ‘is he a _stoker_ or a _driver_?’ says he,
ha! ha! ha! I’m blowed ’f ’e didn’t.”
“I saw one of them same fellows other night,” continued another, “wot
’ad ’old of another on ’em. He treats ’im to a go o’ gin first, you
see, to make him sharp like, and then he axes him did he know any
think about the eternal world. ‘’Turnulwool?’ says he—‘’Turnulwool?—no
such place in the Farnham branch, sir—hadn’t you best enkvire of the
station-master, sir?’ says he.”
“’Ternal world’s the place where they hadn’t got the rails down to
yet—last adwices; aren’t it?—and they carries the nobs on there with
lays o’ busses wot runs erry day in the year oney Sunneys and her
Majestee’s birth-day.”
“No, no; I’ll tell you where ’tis—tarnal world—it’s the kentry what
the coves in Astraly cuts to wen the Kangarwoos gets short and the
gin-trees gives out and they’s ’ard up.”
“Kangurerhoos—what’s them?”
“Kind of fish as is covered with feathers ’stead o’ scales.”
“I know it—fact I tell you, ’pon my honour—needn’t laugh—I see a sailor
as ’ad a vestcoat made on’t, short vethers like spangled welwet, black
and goold, regular ’ristocratic—stunnenest thing you ever see.”
“Well, what’s a gin-tree?—that bangs me.”
“I know—there is—a big tree wot runs gin wen yer tap her—and there’s a
bread-tree, too——”
“What bears fresh kortern loavs erry morning.”
“Hurray for Polytechny! Ain’t they all sliced and buttered?”
“_In course_ they is, and ven you shakes ’em off, the skins cracks
open, and they all valls buttered side up—coz vy? Vy the trees is werry
’igh and the buttered side’s the lightest to be sure.”
“Hi! that’s the place for this chile—I’m bound to—‘over the seas for to
go’—_only_ waitin’ for an act of Parliament, and wen I get there—_hi!
Buffalo gals!_”——
“When he gets there you know what he’ll do? When he comes to the gin
trees he’ll treat the company. First time in his life. Ha! ha!”
And with such constantly combining streams a flood of original
information and entertainment was poured out to us until we reached the
little station about nine miles out of London, to which we had taken
tickets.