The Manchester and Glasgow Road, Volume 1 (of 2): This Way to Gretna Green — John Shaqi
The Manchester and Glasgow Road, Volume 1 (of 2): This Way to Gretna GreenHarper, Charles G. (Charles George)
History
The Manchester and Glasgow Road, Volume 1 (of 2): This Way to Gretna Green
Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
England -- Description and travel; Scotland -- Description and travel
But Joe Wall was the unapproachable, the unsurpassed, at whose
magnificence the road gaped with astonishment. In the height of his
fame he drove the “Telegraph” the thirty-seven miles between London
and Hockliffe. He was “a tremendous swell,” keeping one or two hunters
at that place, and thus occupying the hours he passed there, waiting
to take his seat on the up coach. On one occasion he had a fall in
the hunting field, preventing him taking the “Telegraph” up to town
that night. Fortunately an able and experienced amateur hand was on
the coach, and took his place. None other less accomplished could have
been trusted with so fast a coach, going at night through the crowded
approach to town.
[Sidenote: _WHIPS OF THE “TELEGRAPH”_]
Meecher, on the other hand, although a competent whip on the
“Telegraph,” was a satirical and gloomy person: a kind of masculine
Gummidge. He was a reduced gentleman, and as such found the world out
of joint. In revenge, he “took it out of” the commercials travelling on
the coach, and lost much by refusing to allow any one who was not also
a gentleman to treat him. Exactly how he arrived at his estimate of
gentility or the want of it does not appear.
His humour was certainly of the sardonic kind, as appears by a story
told of him. “Pity those women have nothing to do,” exclaimed a
passenger on the box-seat, eyeing a gossiping group in the road.
“I’ll give them something,” said the saturnine Meecher; and, pulling
up to them, he asked in his gloomiest tones if any of them missed any
of their children; “for,” said he, “I’ve just run over and killed one,
down the road.” They all flew off, agonised, and Meecher grinned.
He came at last, in the general ruin of coaching, to drive a one-horse
railway omnibus; but he never ceased to consider himself a gentleman.
Another whip on the same coach, Samuel Inns, who—if names go for
anything—should certainly have become an innkeeper, became, instead,
a farmer, and grew prosperous; and yet another, Tom Davies, was
discovered, years afterwards, as a rural postman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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