Stage-coach and Mail in Days of Yore, Volume 2 (of 2): A picturesque history of the coaching ageHarper, Charles G. (Charles George)
History
Stage-coach and Mail in Days of Yore, Volume 2 (of 2): A picturesque history of the coaching age
Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
Coaching (Transportation) -- History
“‘Half an hour for supper,’ exclaimed the waiter, as we pulled up
at the ‘Crown.’ Down I got, entered the room, where there was a
bright fire blazing, devoured some cold beef, drank a glass of hot
brandy-and-water, and bravely went forth to face the elements. By this
time the snow had increased, the wind had got up, and my heart failed.
Back I rushed to the bar, ordered a bed, and remained there for the
night, finishing my journey the following day.
“Again, in coming from Bath by a night coach, I was so saturated with
wet and shivering with cold that I got out at Reading, rushed to the
‘Bear,’ and slept there the night.”
Such was the best travelling that money could buy in the days before
England was--according to the coachmen--made a gridiron by the
railways.
CHAPTER VII
SNOW AND FLOODS
Severe weather, in the shape of frosts, thunderstorms, or hurricanes,
was powerless to stop the coach-service, but exceptionally heavy
snowfalls occasionally did succeed in doing so for very brief
intervals; and floods, although they never were or could be so general
as to wholly suspend coaching, often brought individual coaches to
grief.
In the severe winter of 1798–9, when snow fell heavily and continuously
at the end of January and during the first week of February, several
mails, missing on February 1st, were still to seek on April 27th, and
St. Martin’s-le-Grand mourned them as wholly lost. By May Day, however,
they did succeed in running again!
Very few details survive of that exceptional season, or of that other,
in 1806, when Nevill, a guard on the Bristol Mail, was frozen to death;
but the records of the great snowstorm that began on the Christmas
night of 1836 are very full.
Christmas Day, 1836, fell on a Sunday, and it is worth notice, as
a singular coincidence in this country of only occasional heavy
snowfalls, that the Christmas night of 1886, also a Sunday night,
exactly half a century later, was marked by that well-remembered
snowstorm which disorganised the railway service quite as effectually
as that of 1836 did the coaches, and broke down and destroyed nearly
every telegraph-post and wire in the land.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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