Ticket Collector. "Now, then, make haste! Where's your ticket?"
Bandsman (refreshed). "Au've lost it!"
Ticket Collector. "Nonsense! Feel in your pockets. Ye cannot hev lost it!"
Bandsman. "Aw cannot? Why, man, au've lost the big drum!"
First Young Lady. "How did you like Convict Life, dear?"
Second Young Lady. "Pretty well. We've just begun Ten Years' Penal Servitude. Some of us like it, but——"
Old Lady (mentally). "Good gracious! What dreadful creatures! So young, too!"
[Looks for the communicating cord!
First Passenger. "Had pretty good sport?"
Second Passenger. "No—very poor. Birds wild—rain in torrents—dogs no use. 'Only got fifty brace!"
First Passenger. "'Make birds dear, won't it?"
Second Passenger ("off his guard"). "You're right. I assure you I paid three-and-sixpence a brace all round at Norwich this morning!"
Young Lady (who has never travelled by this line before). "Do you go to Kew Gardens?"
Booking-Clerk. "Sometimes on a Sunday, miss, on a summer's afternoon!"
Lady. "I want one ticket—first!" Clerk. "Single?" Lady. "Single! What does it matter to you, sir, whether I'm single or not? Impertinence!"
[Clerk explains that he meant single or return, not t'other thing.
Brown. "Shockin' thing! You heard of poor Mullins getting his neck broken in that collision!"
Jones. "Ah!—it's as-tonishing how lucky some fellows are! He told me 'last time I saw him he'd just insured his life for three thous'd poun's!!"
"Hulloa! You've no call to be in here! You haven't got a fust-class ticket, I know."
"No! I hain't!"
"Well, come out! This ain't a third-class carriage!"
"Hain't it? Lor! Well I thought it wos, by the look of the passingers!"
Guard. "Some one been smoking, I think?"
Passenger. "What! Smoking! That's very reprehensible. Perhaps it was the clerical gentleman who has just got out of the next compartment."
Chatty Passenger (on G. W. Railway). "How plainly you can see the lights of Hanwell from the railway!"
Silent Man (in the corner). "Not half so plain as the lights of the train look from Hanwell!"
[All change at the next station.
Sporting Gentleman. "Well, sir, I'm very pleased to have made your acquaintance, and had the opportunity of hearing a Churchman's views on the question of tithes. Of course, as a country landowner, I'm interested in Church matters, and——"
The Parson. "Quite so—delighted, I'm sure. Er—by the bye, could you tell me what's won to-day?"
Bookstall Keeper. "Book, ma'am? Yes, ma'am. Here's a popular work by an eminent surgeon, just published, 'Broken Legs: and How to Mend Them': or, would you like the last number of The Railway Operator?"
Bumptious Old Gent (in a directorial tone). "Ah, guard—what are we—ah—waiting for?"
Guard (with unconcern). "Waiting for the train to go on, sir!"
[Old Gent retires.
First Passenger. "They say they've put on detectives 'ere, to catch coves as travels without tickets."
Second Passenger. "'Ave they? Well, all I can say is, I can travel as often as I like from Cannon Street to Victoria, and not pay a 'apenny!"
Detective. "See here, mate; I'll give you half-a-crown if you tell me how you do it."
Second Passenger (after pocketing the half-crown). "Well,—when I wants to git from Cannon Street to Victoria without payin'—I walks!"
Cousin Madge. "Well, good-bye, Charlie. So many thanks for taking care of us!"
Charlie. "Not at all!"
A Lady of Family. Oh, yes, I do travel third-class sometimes, my dear. I consider it a duty to try to know something of the lower orders.
[Looks out for an empty third-class compartment.
The seats are now all occupied: the Lady of Family is in one corner, next to a Chatty Woman with a basket, and opposite to an Eccentric-looking Man with a flighty manner.
The Eccentric Man (to the Lady of Family). Sorry to disturb you, mum, but you're a-setting on one o' my 'am sandwiches.
The L. of F.???!!!
The E. M. (considerately). Don't trouble yourself, mum, it's of no intrinsic value. I on'y put it there to keep my seat.
The Chatty W. (to the L. of F.). I think I've seen you about Shinglebeach, 'ave I not?
The L. of F. It is very possible. I have been staying with some friends in the neighbourhood.
The C. W. It's a nice cheerful place is Shinglebeach; but (confidentially) don't you think it's a very sing'ler thing that in a place like that—a fash'nable place, too—there shouldn't be a single 'am an' beef shop?
The L. of F. (making a desperate effort to throw herself into the question). What a very extraordinary thing, to be sure! Dear, dear me! No ham and beef shop!
The C. W. It's so indeed, mum; and what's more, as I dare say you've noticed for yourself, if you 'appen to want a snack o' fried fish ever so, there isn't a place you could go to—leastways, at a moment's notice. Now, 'ow do you explain such a thing as that?
The L. of F. (faintly). I'm afraid I can't suggest any explanation.
A Sententious Man. Fried fish is very sustaining.
[Relapses into silence for the remainder of journey.
The Eccentric Man. Talking of sustaining, I remember, when we was kids, my father ud bring us home two pennorth o' ches'nuts, and we 'ad 'em boiled, and they'd last us days. (Sentimentally.) He was a kind man, my father (to the L. of F., who bows constrainedly), though you wouldn't ha' thought it, to look at him. I don't say, mind yer, that he wasn't fond of his bit o' booze—(the L. of F. looks out of window)—like the best of us. I'm goin' up to prove his will now, I am—if you don't believe me, 'ere's the probate. (Hands that document round for inspection.) That's all reg'lar enough, I 'ope. (To the L. of F.) Don't give it back before you've done with it—I'm in no 'urry, and there's good reading in it. (Points out certain favourite passages with a very dirty forefinger.) Begin there—that's my name.
[The L. of F. peruses the will with as great a show of interest as she can bring herself to assume.
The Eccentric Man. D'ye see that big 'andsome building over there? That's the County Lunatic Asylum—where my poor wife is shut up. I went to see her last week, I did. (Relates his visit in detail to the L. of F., who listens unwillingly.) It's wonderful how many of our family have been in that asylum from first to last. I 'ad a aunt who died cracky; and my old mother, she's very peculiar at times. There's days when I feel as if I was a little orf my own 'ed, so if I say anything at all out of the way, you'll know what it is.
[L. of F. changes carriages at the next station. In the second carriage are two Men of seafaring appearance, and a young Man who is parting from his Fiancée as the L. of F. takes her seat.
The Fiancé. Excuse me one moment, ma'am.
(Leans across the L. of F. and out of the window.) Well, goodbye, my girl; take care of yourself.
The Fiancée (with a hysterical giggle). Oh, I'll take care o' my self.
[Looks at the roof of the carriage.
He (with meaning). No more pickled onions, eh?
She. What a one you are to remember things! (After a pause.) Give my love to Joe.
He. All right. Well, Jenny, just one, for the last (they embrace loudly, after which the F. resumes his seat with an expression of mingled sentiment and complacency). Oh, (to L. of F.) if you don't mind my stepping across you again, mum. Jenny, if you see Dick between this and Friday, just tell him as——
[Prolonged whispers; sounds of renewed kisses; final parting as train starts with a jerk which throws the Fiancé upon the L. of F.'s lap. After the train is started a gleam of peculiar significance is observable in the eyes of one of the Seafaring Men, who is reclining in an easy attitude on the seat. His companion responds with a grin of intelligence, and produces a large black bottle from the rack. They drink, and hand the bottle to the Fiancé.
The F. Thankee I don't mind if I do. Here's wishing you——
[Remainder of sentiment drowned in sound of glug-glug-glug; is about to hand back bottle when the first Seafarer intimates that he is to pass it on. The L. of F. recoils in horror.
Both Seafarers (reassuringly). It's wine, mum!
[Tableau. The Lady of Family realises that the study of third-class humanity has its drawbacks.
Our Artist (who has strolled into a London terminus). "What's the matter with all these people? Is there a panic?"
Porter. "Panic! No, this ain't no panic. These is excursionists. Their train leaves in two hours, so they want to get a seat!"
Miss Tremmles (who is nervous about railways generally, and especially since the late outrages). "Oh, porter, put me into a carriage where there are ladies, or respectable people, or——"
Porter. "Oh, you're all safe this mornin', miss; you're th' only passenger in the whol' tr'ine, except another old woman."
Swell (handing "Sporting Life" to Clerical Party). "Aw—would you—aw—do me the favour to wead the list of the waces to me while we're wunning down?—I've—aw—forgotten my eyeglass. Don't mind waising your voice—I'm pwecious deaf!"
Boy. "Second-class, sir?"
Captain. "I nevah travel second-class!"
Boy. "This way third, sir!"
Chatty Passenger. "To show yer what cheats they are, sir, friend o' mine,—lots o' money, and fust-rate taste,—give the horder to one of 'em to decorate his new 'ouse in reg'lar slap-up style!—'spare no expense!—with all the finest 'chromios' that could be 'ad! You know what lovely things they are, sir! Well, sir, would you believe it!—after they was sent, they turned out not to be 'chromios' at all!—but done by 'and!"—(with withering contempt)—"done by 'and, sir!!"
First Shunter (with coupling-link, awaiting engine backing). "I saw poor Jack's wife and kids last night, after the funeral. Poor things, what will be done for 'em?" Second Shunter (at points). "Oh, the usual thing, I s'ppose—company's blessin', and a charity mangle!—--Look out, mate! She's backin'!"
Ticket Collector. "This your boy, mum? He's too big for a 'alf ticket!" Mother (down upon him). "Oh, is he? Well, p'rhaps he is now, mister; but he wasn't when we started. This 'xcursion's ever so many hours be'ind time, an' he's a growin' lad! So now!"
[Exit in triumph.
Our Railway Porter (the first time he acted as deputy in the absence of the beadle). "T'kets r'dy! All tick-ets ready!"
If your train is not heated by pipes, get plenty of foot-warmers, as Algy and Betty did. Sit on one, put your feet on another, a couple at your back, and one on your lap, and you'll get to your destination as they did—warm as muffins!
Thompson (interrogatively, to beauteous but haughty damsel, whom he has just helped to alight). "I beg your pardon?"
Haughty Damsel. "I did not speak!"
Thompson. "Oh—I thought you said 'Thanks'!"
Scene.—A Richmond Railway Carriage.
Time.—About 12 noon.
Choleric Old Gentleman (panting, puffing, perspiring). Hot, sir, tremendously hot.
Cool Young Party. It is warm.
C.O.G. Warm, sir! I call it blazing hot. Why the glass is 98° in the shade!
C. Y. P. Really! is that much?
C. O. G. Much, sir! Immense!
C. Y. P. Well, then, the glass is perfectly right.
C. O. G. Right, sir! I don't understand you, sir. What do you mean by saying it is right, sir?
C. Y. P. I mean that the glass is quite right to be as much in the shade as it can in this warm weather.
[Choleric Old Gentleman collapses.
"I'm afraid we shan't have this compartment to ourselves any longer, Janet."
"Oh, it's all right, aunty darling. If you put your head out of window, I dare say nobody will come in!"
Groom. "Beg pardon, sir,—but wos your name Tomkins?" Tomkins. "Yes!" Groom. "If you please, sir, master says he wos werry sorry as he couldn't send the feeaton—but, as his young 'oss wanted exercise, he thought you wouldn't mind ridin' of 'im!"
[Tomkins bursts into a cold perspiration.
Genial Host (putting his head out of doors). Heavens! what a night! Not fit to turn a dog out! (To the parting guest.) Well, good-night, old chap. I hope you find your way to the station.
Philanthropist (to railway porter). "Then what time do you get to bed?"
Porter. "Well, I seldom what yer may call gets to bed myself, 'cause o' the night trains. But my brother, as used to work the p'ints further down the line, went to bed last Christmas after the accident, and never——"
[Train rushes in, and the parties rush off.
Hard Lines on Individuals.—The compulsory purchase of land by a railway company is insult added to injury. The buyers take a site in the seller's face.
Irate Passenger (as train is moving off). "Why the —— didn't you put
my luggage
in as I told you—you old ——"
Porter. "E—h, man! yer baggage es na sic a fule as yersel. Ye're i' the wrang train!"
Railway Porter. "Dogs not allowed inside the carriages, sir!"
Countryman. "What not a little tooy tarrier? Wall, thee'd better tak' un oot then, young man!"
The porter has a patent "slam,"
Which smites one like a blow,
And everywhere that porter comes
That "slam" is sure to go.
It strikes upon the tym-pa-num
Like shock of dynamite;
By day it nearly makes you dumb—
It deafens you at night.
When startled by the patent "slam"
The pious "pas-sen-jare,"
Says something else that ends in "am"
(Or he has patience rare).
Not only does it cause a shock,
But—Manchester remarks—
"Depreciates the rolling stock,"
Well, that is rather larks!
That's not the point. The porter's slam
Conduces to insanity,
And, though as mild as Mary's lamb,
Drives men to loud profanity.
If Manchester the "slam" can stay
By raising of a stir,
All railway-travellers will say,
"Bully for Man-ches-ter!"
Tuesday, July 31, 1849.—Prevailed upon by my wife to carry her to Bath, as she said, to go see her aunt Dorothy, but I know she looked more to the pleasure of her trip than any thing else; nevertheless I do think it necessary policy to keep in with her aunt, who is an old maid and hath a pretty fortune; and to see what court and attention I pay her though I do not care 2d. about her! But am mightily troubled to know whether she hath sunk her money in an annuity, which makes me somewhat uneasy at the charge of our journey, for what with fare, cab-hire, and vails to Dorothy's servants for their good word, it did cost me altogether £6 2s. 6d. To the Great Western station in a cab, by reason of our luggage; for my wife must needs take so many trunks and bandboxes, as is always the way with women: or else we might have gone there for 2s. 6d. less in an omnibus. Did take our places in the first class notwithstanding the expense, preferring both the seats and the company; and also because if any necks or limbs are broken I note it is generally in the second and third classes. So we settled, and the carriage-doors slammed to, and the bell rung, the train with a whistle off like a shot, and in the carriage with me and my wife a mighty pretty lady, a Frenchwoman, and I did begin to talk French with her, which my wife do not well understand, and by and by did find the air too much for her where she was sitting, and would come and take her seat between us, I know, on purpose. So fell a reading the Times, till one got in at Hanwell, who seemed to be a physician, and mighty pretty discourse with him touching the manner of treating madmen and lunatics, which is now by gentle management, and is a great improvement on the old plan of chains and the whip. Also of the foulness of London for want of fit drainage, and how it do breed cholera and typhus, as sure as rotten cheese do mites, and of the horrid folly of making a great gutter of the river. So to Swindon station, where the train do stop ten minutes for refreshment, and there my wife hungry, and I too with a good appetite, notwithstanding the discourse about London filth. So we out, and to the refreshment-room with a crowd of passengers, all pushing, and jostling, and trampling on each others' toes, striving which should get served first. With much ado got a basin of soup for my wife, and for myself a veal and ham pie, and to see me looking at my watch and taking a mouthful by turns; and how I did gulp a glass of Guinness his stout! Before we had half finished, the guard rang the bell, and my wife with a start, did spill her soup over her dress, and was obliged to leave half of it; and to think how ridiculous I looked, scampering back to the train with my meat-pie in my mouth! To run hurry-skurry at the sound of a bell, do seem only fit for a gang of workmen; and the bustle of railways do destroy all the dignity of travelling; but the world altogether is less grand, and do go faster than formerly. Off again, and to the end of our journey, troubled at the soup on my wife's dress, but thankful I had got my change, and not left it behind me at the Swindon station.
Little Podgers (who considers himself rather a lady-killer). "Oh, I'm not going into that empty carriage; put me into one with some pretty gals."
Porter. "You jump in, sir, and put yer 'ead out of the winder, you'll soon have a carriage-full."
[Podgers sees it immediately, and enters.
Lionel (to his rich uncle's coachman, who has driven him over to the station). "And look here, Sawyer, give the governor this accidental insurance ticket with my love. I haven't forgotten him, and if anything happens to me, there's a thousand pounds for him!"
Guest. "It's very kind of you to——"
Hosts. "Oh, we should not have felt comfortable unless we'd come with you, and—seen the last of you——"!!
Newsboy (to irritable old gent who has just lost his train). "Buy a comic paper, sir?"
[Luckily, the old gentleman was out of breath from his hurry.
The tympanum! The tympanum!
Oh! who will save the aural drum
By softening to some gentler squeak
The whistle's shrill staccato shriek?
Oh! Engine-driver, did you know
How your blast smites one like a blow,
An inward shock, a racking strain,
A knife-like thrust of poignant pain,
Whilst groping through the tunnel murk
You would not with that fiendish jerk
Let out that sudden blast of steam
Whose screaming almost makes us scream
Thy whistle weird perchance may be
A sad and sore necessity,
But cannot Law and sense combine
To—well, in short to draw the line?—
Across the open let it shrill
From moor to moor, from hill to hill,
But in the tunnel's crypt-like gloom,
The station's cramped reverberant room,
A gentler, graduated blast!
Do let it loose, whilst dashing past,
So shall it spare us many a pang;
That dread explosive bursting "bang"
Which nearly splits the aural drum,
The poor long-suffering tympanum!
Affable Old Lady (to ticket clerk—morning express just due). "No, I'm not going up this morning, but one of your penny time-tables, if you please; and can you tell me"—(Shouts from the crowd, "Now then, mum!")—"if the 10.45 stops at Dribblethorp Junction, and if Shandry's 'bus meets the trains, which it always does on market days, I know, 'cause my married sister's cousin, as is a farmer, generally goes by it. But if it don't come o' Toosday as well as Wednesday, I shall have to get out at Shuntbury and take a fly, which runs into money, you know, when you're by yourself like. If you'll be good enough to look out the trains—and change for half a sovereign, if you please. Oh no, I'm in no hurry, as I ain't a goin' till next week. Fine morn——"
[Bell rings. Position stormed.
Wonder whether accidents will be as numerous as usual during this excursion season.
Wonder if a train, conveying third-class passengers, was ever known to start without somebody or other exclaiming, "Now we're off!"
Wonder why it is that foreigners in general, and fat Germans in particular, always will persist in smoking with the windows shut.
Wonder whether anybody was ever known to bellow out the name of any station in such a manner that a stranger could succeed in understanding him.
Wonder whether it is cheaper to pay for broken bones, or for such increase of service as, in very many cases, might prevent their being broken.
Wonder how a signalman can by any means contrive to keep a cool head on his shoulders, while working as one sees him in a signal-box of glass, and the temperature of the tropics.
Wonder if upon an average there are three men in a thousand who have never been puzzled by the hieroglyphics in Bradshaw.
Wonder whether any railway guard or porter has ever been detected in the very act of virtuously declining to accept a proffered tip, on the ground that money, by the bye-laws, is forbidden to be taken by servants of the company.
Wonder how many odd coppers the boys who sell the newspapers pocket in a week by the benevolence of passengers.
Wonder what diminution there would be in the frequency of accidents, supposing directors were made purse-onally liable.
Wonder whether people take to living at Redhill because it is so redhilly accessible by railway.
Wonder if my watch is right, or slow, or fast.
Wonder if that church clock is right.
Wonder if the cabman will take eighteenpence from my house to the station.
Wonder if the porter understood what I said to him about the luggage.
Wonder if I shall see him again.
Wonder if I shall know him when I do see him again.
Wonder if I gave my writing-case to the porter or left it in the cab.
Wonder where I take my ticket.
Wonder in which pocket I put my gold.
Wonder where I got that bad half-crown which the clerk won't take.
Wonder if that's another that I've just put down.
Wonder where the porter is who took my luggage.
Wonder where my luggage is.
Wonder again whether I gave my writing-case to the porter, or left it in the cab.
Wonder which is my train.
Wonder if the guard knows anything about that porter with the writing-case.
Wonder if it will be "all right" as the guard says it will be.
Wonder if my luggage, being now labelled, will be put into the proper van.
Wonder if I've got time to get a sandwich and a glass of sherry.
Wonder if they've got the Times of the day before yesterday, which I haven't seen.
Wonder if Punch of this week is out yet.
Wonder why they don't keep nice sandwiches and sherry.
Wonder if there's time for a cup of coffee instead.
Wonder if that's our bell for starting.
Wonder which is the carriage where I left my rug and umbrella, so as to know it again.
Wonder where the guard is to whom I gave a shilling to keep a carriage for me.
Wonder why he didn't keep it; by "it," I mean the carriage.
Wonder where they've put my luggage.
Wonder if my change is all right.
Wonder for the second time in which pocket I put my gold.
Wonder if I gave the cabman a sovereign for a shilling.
Wonder if that was the reason why he grumbled less than usual and drove off rapidly.
Wonder if any one objects to smoking.
Wonder that nobody does.
Wonder where I put my lights.
Wonder whether I put them in my writing-case.
Wonder for the third time whether I gave my writing-case to the porter or left it in the cab.
Wonder if anybody in the carriage has got any lights.
Wonder that nobody has.
Wonder when we can get some.
Wonder if there's anything in the paper.
Wonder why they don't cut it.
Wonder if I put my knife in my writing-case.
Wonder for the fourth time whether I gave, &c.
Wonder if I can cut the paper with my ticket.
Wonder where I put my ticket.
Wonder where I could have put my ticket.
Wonder where the deuce I put my ticket.
Wonder how I came to put my ticket in my right-hand waistcoat pocket.
Wonder if I can read by this lamp-light in the tunnel.
Wonder (to myself) why they don't light the carriages in a better way.
Wonder (to my fellow-passengers) that the company don't provide better lights for their carriages. Fellow-passengers say they wonder at that, too. We all wonder.
Wonder what makes the carriages wiggle-waggle about so.
Wonder if we're going off the line.
Wonder what station we stop at first.
Wonder if there will be a refreshment-room there.
Wonder (for the fifth time) whether I gave my writing-case to the porter, or left it in the cab.
Wonder if I left the key of my writing-case in the lock.
Wonder what the deuce I shall do if I've lost it.