Now! Then! “Nimrod” of London gets to know a coachman during a journey from Leeds to York

3 November 1826: “Nimrod” of London gets to know a coachman during a journey from Leeds to York

Charles James Apperley (“Nimrod”). 1827. Nimrod’s Yorkshire Tour [1]. Sporting Magazine, Vol. 20 (New Series). London: Pittman. Get it:

Excerpt

When we came to Tadcaster – only 10 miles from York – the door of the coach was opened, and “please to remember the coachman,” tingled in the ears of the passengers. “What now!” said I; “are you going no farther?” “No, Sir; but ah’s goes back at night,” was the Yorkshireman’s answer. “Then you follow some trade here, of course?” continued I. “No, Sir,” said a bystander, “he has got his horses to clean.” I then saw my fellow passengers pull out sixpence each, and give it to John, who was not only satisfied, but thankful. What am I to do? said I to myself – I never gave a coachman sixpence yet, and I shall not begin that game to-day; so chucked him a bob [12p], which brought his hat down to the box of the forewheel. With a fresh team, and a fresh driver we proceeded for York, 14 miles farther. About halfway, the coach stopped at a public house, in the old style; the coachman got down; the gin bottle was produced. Looking out of the window, I espied my friend John, whom I thought we had left behind us at Tadcaster, hard at work with the wisp. “What,” said I, “are you here?” “Why, yes,” answered John; “’tis market at York, and ah’s wants to buy a goose or two.” “Ah,” observed I, “I thought you were a little in the huckstering line.”

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

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Original

On the third of November I took coach at Leeds, and arrived at York at twelve o’clock. It is natural to conclude that, in a strange country, every thing relating to my favorite pursuits should attract my notice, and coaching in the North was certain to be one. I had long been of opinion that – speaking generally – coach work in perfection is not to be met with a hundred miles from the Metropolis – seldom so far; and my journey to Yorkshire most fully confirmed it. The build of the coaches, the manufacture of the harness, and the stamp and condition of the horses, are greatly inferior in these northern countries; and as for the coach-men, I saw but four at all deserving that appellation. The man who drove us on the day I am speaking of reminded me more of a Welch drover than anything else. He had neither gloves, boots, nor gaiters, although the day was cold, which at first excited my surprise; but when I found that he only drove one ten-mile stage, I ceased to wonder, as a glass of gin on leaving the town, one on the road, and towelling his wheel horses, kept his blood on the move for the short time he was at work. As I sate by the side of of him, he was kind enough to amuse me with some hair-breadth escapes he experienced when on one of those galloping opposition coaches, which more than once went from Leeds to London, one hundred and ninety-six miles, in sixteen hours; but I soon lamented having introduced the subject. I accidentally told him he must be a proficient on the bench, or he would not have been put on so fast a coach, and this was near being our death warrant. To give me a specimen of his art, he sprang his horses into a gallop on some falling ground, and in a clumsy attempt to pull them up by the leg, he got his reins clubbed, and I thought nothing could have saved us. I shammed sick, and got into the coach; but the novelty of the scene did not end here. When we came to Tadcaster – only ten miles from York – the door of the coach was opened, and “please to remember the coachman,” tingled in the ears of the passengers. “What now!” said I; “are you going no farther?”-“No, Sir; but ah’s goes back at night,” was the Yorkshireman’s answer. “Then you follow some trade here, of course?” continued I.-“No, Sir,” said a by-stander”-he has got his horses to clean.”-“Oh, that’s the way your Yorkshire coaching is done, is it?” said I to my communicative friend on the pavement. I then saw my fellow passengers pull out six-pence each, and give it to John, who was not only satisfied, but thankful. What am I to do? said I to myself – I never gave a coachman six-pence yet, and I shall not begin that game to-day; so chucked him a bob, which brought his hat down to the box of the fore wheel.
With a fresh team, and a fresh driver, (it will not do to use the word “coachman” upon all occasions,) we proceeded for York, fourteen miles farther. About half way, the coach stopped at a public house, in the old style; the coachman got down; the gin bottle was produced. Looking out of the window, I espied my friend John, whom I thought we had left behind us at Tadcaster, hard at work with the wisp. “What,” said I, “are you here?” “Why, yes,” answered John; “’tis market at York, and ah’s wants to buy a goose or two.” “Ah,” observed I, “I thought you were a little in the huckstering line.”

652 words.