Abroad and at Home; Practical Hints for Tourists. Morris Phillips
themselves or be run over. That is why so many of the London police are engaged solely in attending to street traffic. Yet with all their vigilance, more accidents occur in London, proportionately, than elsewhere. London drivers are polite and very civil to each other. If an obstruction appears in front of a horse, or if for any reason he is obliged suddenly to slow up, the driver will immediately notify the driver in the rear by holding out horizontally his left arm; and this sign is passed down from one driver to another, until the very end of the line of blocked vehicles is reached.
People who have not visited London for several years, will find cabs greatly improved. There is a new, patent hansom. In these you are saved the trouble of opening and closing the doors; this is done by the driver by touching a lever on the top of the vehicle. The new style of cab has thick rubber tires, which add considerably to ease and comfort in riding. So little noise does the vehicle make in going over London’s smooth-paved streets, that these cabs are provided with bells to warn pedestrians of their approach. The interior fittings include a holder for lighted cigars, a box of matches, a small, bevelled mirror on either side of the cab, and a swinging rubber bulb attached to a rubber tube with a whistle at the end. You lightly press the bulb, and in this way whistle to Cabbie on top, who hears the summons above the roar of the streets, and responds by opening his trap door in the roof to receive instructions.
The law does not permit the drivers of these well-appointed and rather luxurious vehicles to charge more than do the drivers of the ordinary cabs; but as the new hansoms cost the drivers more to hire, and as they are so much superior to the old style, you do not begrudge paying a trifle extra. The drivers pay for these improved hansoms sixteen shillings (four dollars) per day, except during “the season,” when the owners exact a guinea per day, about five dollars.
The speed with which the London cabs are driven is something alarming—alarming to a stranger. In New York a cab driver has some little regard for the lives and limbs of pedestrians; in Paris the horses are so poor and skeleton-like, and go so slow, that pedestrians have no fear whatever; but in London you must look out wholly for yourself; Cabbie will certainly not look out for you. If he is engaged by the course, he only has his destination in mind. London cab horses are the best horses in the world used for such a purpose. With rubber tires to the wheels, and the wheels going over clean and perfectly smooth roadways, there is nothing to obstruct their speed, and the animals go like the wind. They and their drivers seem to stand in fear of nothing but a policeman, and as London has good laws for regulating vehicles, and as these laws are strictly obeyed, the mere warning look of a policeman is respected and obeyed.
London drivers are not so brutal nor so ill-tempered as New York drivers. They do not, as a rule, curse or swear at each other as ours do, who are always ready with a foul oath. If a “block” occurs they take it good-naturedly and get out of it with the aid of the police as quickly as possible. Our drivers are only satisfied when they can take a mean advantage of their fellows, get in their way and put them to inconvenience. It may be Yankee “goaheadativeness,” or the spirit of freedom and independence which prompts this show of ill-temper, but for my part I prefer the laughing, jocular, good-tempered London driver.
On my last visit to London, where I stayed one month, I saw a great many “blocks,” but heard only one quarrel between drivers, and that was not at all serious. They will, however, chaff each other, saying something like this:—“Oh, come, pull yourself together there;” or “I say, country, why don’t you learn to drive before you come up to London?” The term “up to London,” by the way, is put to singular use there. Although London is in the south of England, you always go “up to London,” if you even go from Carlisle, which is in the extreme north, on the Scotch border.
STREET CARS.
There are no street cars run by the trolley, storage or any other electric system; no cable cars, no horse cars; not a track is laid for a surface road in “the city” proper. Many Americans leave London without ever seeing a street car of any kind, and yet in the metropolis one thousand street cars run daily over one hundred and twenty miles of track, but they are not permitted in crowded thoroughfares; they are confined to the outlying districts. I have only seen them in the east end, in the district known as “The Boro’” and near the Victoria Station. The street cars are “double deckers,” and, like the ’buses, they carry more outside than inside passengers, but the number of passengers is limited. When the car has reached its limit it will take up no more passengers. Every passenger has the right to a seat, and, to use a paradoxical phrase, every Englishman stands up for his right to a seat.
OMNIBUSES.
The two thousand omnibuses keep employed eight or nine thousand horses. The number of miles run annually by the omnibuses is five and a half millions, and the number of passengers carried not less than forty-eight millions.
Such a heavy, slow-going, cumbersome vehicle as the London omnibus could not be used on our rough-and-tumble roads. It is poorly ventilated, if you can call it ventilated, for the windows are closed and are immovable. The only means of ventilation is by the door, in the rear, near which everybody tries to get. As fast as the choice seats near the door are vacated, they are occupied by the less fortunate passengers, and the last comer is always obliged to take the worst place, which is nearest the front. But in fine weather a man never gets inside while there is a vacant seat on top, and it is no strange sight to see women occupying outside seats to escape the stifling air inside.
Nor does wet weather deter an Englishman from taking an open air seat. Most Englishmen wear a “mackintosh” in threatening weather and there’s a great deal of such weather in London. To every seat on the top of a ’bus there is attached a woolen-lined leather apron to protect the knees, and with an umbrella, which is always part of an Englishman’s costume, they manage to keep perfectly dry.
The omnibuses are so freely used for advertising purposes, the outside is so nearly covered with attractive and gaudy signs of business houses that it is exceedingly difficult to read or discover the route or destination of the vehicle. You may be looking for Blackwall or Putney, but you will read “Hyams’ thirteen-shilling trousers “or “Day & Martin’s blacking is the best.”
The ’buses do not confine themselves to the middle of the roadway and allow passengers to pick and fight their way through a crowd of vehicles, New York-like; they pull up to the curb to allow passengers to enter or leave without the least possibility of danger or trouble. Conductors will also leave their perch, approach the sidewalk (Anglice, pavement) to consult or advise with a prospective passenger who is in doubt as to which ’bus he should take. Time seems of no importance: they are not in such a rush or whirl of excitement as we are. Whether from the excessive competition or from some other cause I know not: I do know that public servants in England are much more civil and polite than they are in this “free” country.
There are rules which control London omnibuses, and these it is the duty of the police to strictly enforce. A ’bus is licensed and allowed to carry only so many passengers, and this license or limit must be posted on a conspicuous part of the vehicle. The majority are “licensed to carry twenty-six passengers; twelve inside and fourteen outside.”
In 1890 the London police force numbered thirteen thousand eight hundred and fifty-five men, not counting the nine hundred and two officers who form a special organization in what is termed “the city.” A considerable part of the time and attention of the police is devoted to governing street traffic. Policemen will watch and follow a ’bus for several blocks if they think it contains more passengers than the law allows. When they are assured that this is the case they go to a magistrate and lay a complaint, and then woe betide the poor driver or conductor who disregarded the law.
The ’buses make special stops at certain points of their route and these seem very long and prove tedious to one who is in a