After this Act, and until the year 1888, no further general railway legislation of importance took place.



CHAPTER XVI. BELFAST AND THE COUNTY DOWN RAILWAY

After eighteen years of railway life, at the age of 34, I had attained the coveted position of a general manager. Of a small railway it is true, but the Belfast and County Down Railway, though unimposing as to mileage, was a busy and by no means an uninteresting line. A railway general manager in Ireland was in those days, strange to say, something of a rara avis. There were then in the Green Isle no less than eighteen separate and distinct working railways, varying from four to nearly 500 miles in length, and amongst them all only four had a general manager. The system that prevailed was curious. With the exception of these four general managers (who were not on the larger lines) the principal officer of an Irish railway was styled Manager or Traffic Manager. He was regarded as the senior official, but over the Traffic Department only had he absolute control, though other important duties which affected more than his own department often devolved upon him. He was, in a sense, maid of all work, and if a man of ability and character managed, in spite of his somewhat anomalous position, to acquire many of the attributes and much of the influence of a real general manager. But the system was unsatisfactory, led to jealousies, weakened discipline, and was not conducive to efficient working. Happily it no longer exists, and for some years past each Irish Railway has had its responsible General Manager. Something that happened, in the year 1889, gave the old system the first blow. In that year a terrible accident to a Sunday school excursion of children occurred on the Great Northern Railway near Armagh, and was attended with great loss of life. This led the company to appoint a General Manager, which they did in June, 1890, Thomas Robertson, of the Highland Railway of Scotland, of whom I spoke earlier in these pages, being the capable man they selected.

Curious certainly was the method which up to then prevailed on the Great Northern system. Three different Managers exercised jurisdiction over separate sections of the line, and the Secretary of the Company, an able man, stationed in Dublin, performed much more than secretarial duties, and encroached, so I often heard the managers complain, upon their functions. This divided authority was a survival of the time before 1877, when the Great Northern system belonged to several independent companies; and, in the words of the Allport Commission of 1887, "its continued existence after ten years could hardly be defended."

Very pleasant and very interesting I found my new avocation on the County Down, which for short the Belfast and County Down Railway was usually called. My salary certainly was not magnificent, 500 pounds a year, but it was about 100 pounds more than the whole of the income I earned in Scotland, and now for the 500 pounds I had only my railway work to perform. Now I could give up those newspaper lucubrations, which had become almost a burden and daily enjoy some hours of leisure. The change soon benefited my health. Instead of close confinement to the office during the day, and drudgery indoors with pen and ink at night, my days were varied with out-door as well as in-door work, and I had time for reading, recreation and social enjoyment. My lean and lanky form filled out, and I became familiar with the greeting of my friends: "Why, how well you look!"

The County Down railway was 68 miles long. Situated entirely in County Down, it occupied a snug little corner to itself, bounded on the north by Belfast Lough, on the south by the Mourne Mountains, and on the east by Strangford Lough and the Irish Sea. To the west ran the Great Northern railway but some distance away. The County Down line enjoyed three fine sources of seaside traffic, Bangor, Donaghadee and Newcastle, and was rich in pleasure resorts and in residential districts. It even possessed the attractions of a golf course, the first in Ireland, the Kinnegar at Holywood, but more of that anon. As I have said, it was a busy line, and it was not unprosperous. The dividend in 1885 reached five and a- half per cent., and in spite of considerable expenditure necessary for bringing the line up to first-class condition, it never went back, but steadily improved, and for many years has been a comfortable six and a- half per cent. In 1885 the condition of the permanent way, the rolling stock, and the stations was anything but good, and as the traffic showed capacity for development, to stint expenditure would have been but folly. I do not think, however, the outlay would have been so liberal as it was but for Lord (then Mr.) Pirrie, who was an active and influential director, though there were also on the Board several other business men of energy and position. Indeed, it was a good Board, but the Chairman, though a shrewd far-seeing man, had, like John Gilpin's spouse, "a frugal mind," and Lord Pirrie's bold commercial spirit quite eclipsed his cautious ways. One instance will suffice to exemplify this, and also to illustrate the novelty of my new duties, which were delightful in their diversity and activity to one whose life hitherto had been confined to sedentary work.

It was the rolling stock that demanded the most urgent attention—engines, carriages and wagons and especially carriages. Of carriages there were not enough for the traffic of the line, and many were in a very sorry condition, particularly those which had been taken over with the Holywood and Bangor Railway, acquired by the company the previous year. One weekend, soon after I joined the service, I had all passenger carriages brought into Belfast, except those employed in running Sunday trains, and early on the Sunday morning (it was in the summer) with the company's locomotive and mechanical engineer I examined each carriage thoroughly from top to bottom, inside and out, above and below, and with his practical help and expert knowledge, noted carefully down the defects of each. He worked with a will, delighted that someone as enthusiastic and even younger than himself was now in charge. He little suspected, I am sure, how ignorant I was of practical matters, as I kept my own counsel which was my habit when prudence so dictated. I knew the names of things and was well versed in the theory and statistics of repairs and renewals, but that was all. A fine worker was and is R. G. Miller. Well over 70 now, healthy and energetic still, he occupies the position he did then. Age has not withered nor custom staled his juvenility. I met him on Kingstown promenade the other day walking with an elastic step and with the brightness of youth in his eye. The ordinary age-retirement limit, though a good rule generally, was not for him. Daylight failed and night came on before our task was finished, several carriages remaining unexamined. These and the Sunday running vehicles we subjected to scrutiny during the following week. At the next meeting of the Board I presented a report of what I had done, and urged that a number of new carriages should be contracted for without delay, enlarging upon the return we might confidently expect from a responsive traffic. The Chairman and most of the Board were a little aghast at what appeared, to a small company that had only recently emerged from straitened circumstances, a very large order. But Lord Pirrie came to the rescue, strongly supported my proposal and commended the thoroughness with which I had tackled the subject. The day was won, the carriages secure, and the order for their construction was placed with a firm in Birmingham. This expenditure was the precursor of further large outlays, for it was soon seen that the prospects of the company warranted a bold course.

I may, I am sure, be pardoned if I quote here some words from the report of Sir James Allport's Commission on Irish Public Works. It is dated 4th January, 1888. I had then been less than three years with the County Down, and so could claim but a modicum of the praise it contains, and my modesty, therefore, need not be alarmed. The words are: "The history of the Belfast and County Down Company is sufficient to show how greatly both shareholders and the public may benefit from the infusion into the management of business qualities. In that case a board of business men have in ten years raised the dividend on the ordinary stock from nil to 5.5 per cent., while giving the public an improved service and reduced rates." My satisfaction was the greater as I had given evidence before the Commission, and helped to tell them the cheerful story of the progress and development of the County Down Company. It was my first appearance as a railway witness and before Sir James Allport, who had commanded my unbounded admiration from my first entrance at Derby into railway life. Need I say that to me it was an event of importance.

In the year 1875 the Board of the County Down, after an investigation of its affairs by a Committee of Shareholders, was reorganised, and it was then that Mr. Richard Woods Kelly became Chairman, and Lord (then Mr.) Pirrie a Director. The latter has more than once since told me that the County Down shares were one of his best investments.

Mr. Kelly merits more than a passing word. Before I joined the County Down I was told he was a "terror," and that I ran foolish risk in leaving a service like the Glasgow and South-Western for a position in which I might find it impossible to please. But fears like that never disturbed me. To wrongdoers Mr. Kelly could certainly be "a terror," and wrongdoers there were, I believe, in the service in the early days of his chairmanship. He was a mild-mannered man, tall, rather pale, with refined features and a low-toned pleasant voice. But beneath this smooth and gentle exterior resided great firmness. He would smile and smile with wonderful imperturbability and, in the quietest tones and the blandest way, say severe and cutting things. Economy was his strong point and he observed it in his public and private life with meritorious consistency. Impervious to cold, as to most other human weaknesses, in winter or summer he never wore an overcoat. His smooth face and tall slight figure seemed as indifferent to the angry elements as bronze or stone. By man or Nature I never saw him ruffled or in the least degree disturbed. But he had his human side, as all men have, and in time I discovered it and grew to like him. He was not at heart so cold as he seemed. Though he could not write a page without mis-spelling some of the words, his letters were always concise and very much to the point. But it was only in spelling he was deficient. He spoke well, was a shrewd judge of men, had a keen sense of humour, a clear perception of facts, and was quick to detect and discard everything irrelevant.

Lord Pirrie and Mr. Kelly, in connection with the County Down, were hand and glove, and it was no small part they played in its transformation from dark and dismal poverty to smiling prosperity.

My assistant was James Pinion, afterwards my successor, and later on Manager of the Cheshire Lines Committee at Liverpool. Being a capable fellow and a hard worker, it was only natural that he felt disappointed at not being made general manager of the County Down instead of imported me; but any sign of soreness soon disappeared. The kindness, the consideration and the confidence I had received at Mr. Wainwright's hands, as his assistant, were not forgotten and I felt pleasure in endeavouring to treat my assistant in the same way. It was not long before its effect appeared. He told me one day that it was a new experience for him to be so frankly trusted and so freely consulted, but it made him happier and imparted a greater zest to his work. Certainly he served me with enthusiastic zeal and fine loyalty. Throughout a long period of railway management I have been most fortunate in securing the goodwill and ready help of the staff, and in many instances their strong personal attachment. There are men no doubt whose natures are proof against kindness and consideration, but my experience is that they are few and far between. I have found also that if one refrains from fault- finding, gives praise where praise is due, and overlooks small or venial faults, when reproof becomes necessary, if it be temperately administered, it is always effective and productive of good. But even such reproof may be carried too far as on one occasion I found to my dismay. Pinion, one forenoon, came into my room to tell me he had discovered that the man in charge of the cloak room was guilty of peculation; had been tampering with the tickets, and appropriating small sums. I sent for him, talked to him very severely, sent him home, and told him he should hear what would be done. An hour later, I heard he was dead: that on his way to his home he had purchased a bottle of laudanum and swallowed the contents!

In Scotland a railway manager was rarely worried by outside interference in the management of his men. Well intentioned people either credited him with the possession of good sense and decent feeling, or, themselves resentful of any inter-meddling in their own affairs, refrained from meddling in his. But it was different I found in Ireland, even in Belfast where Scottish traditions and Scottish ways were not unknown. Exceeding good nature, I suppose, is largely accountable for the readiness with which people in the sister isle espouse, often with little consideration, the cause of any railway employee who has or fancies he has a grievance. A rather ridiculous instance of this occurred soon after my installation at the County Down. One of my first duties was to examine the line and the employees at each station. At one small station I found in charge a station master in poor health and well advanced in years—in fact quite beyond his work. I learned that he possessed a small property in land and was quite willing to retire if given a few weeks in which to make his arrangements. This, of course, I gladly granted as well as a little parting gratuity. He was well pleased, and wrote me to that effect. But, to my astonishment, not many days passed before a long and numerously signed Memorial to the Board arrived beseeching the Directors to stay the hand of their General Manager in his harsh and unfeeling treatment of a faithful old servant. He was indeed a faithful old servant; but he was quite ignorant of any memorial on his behalf having been sent to the Directors. Apparently the memorialists did not consider it necessary to consult him.

To be now my own master, subject only to the control of a reasonable and businesslike Board of Directors, a Chairman who resided in Dublin, visiting Belfast once a fortnight only, to have the command of men and the working of a railway, and to be free to move about the line as I thought fit, was a pleasure indeed and made Ireland a pleasant place. I lived near the city, but on its outskirts, with open country and sea views around me, occupied a neat little detached house, with a bit of garden wherein I could dig and cultivate a few roses, where the air was pure and clear—a refreshing change from the confinement of a flat, four stairs up, in the crowded environs of smoky Glasgow.



CHAPTER XVII. BELFAST AND THE COUNTY DOWN—(continued)

During the first few years of my service on the County Down little occurred to disturb the even tenor of my way. In a sense the duties of my new position were simple. There were no such things as joint lines, joint station working, running powers or joint committees, as in England and Scotland, to distract attention or consume time which could more usefully be devoted to the affairs of one's own railway. Gradually I grew familiar with out-door matters, and duties that seemed strange at first grew as easy as second nature. I learned a good deal about signalling, became an adept in single line working, an expert in engine running economies, and attained some success in the management of men.

One thing especially gave me pleasure—my monthly visit to the Managers' Conference at the Irish Railway Clearing House in Dublin. There I met my brother managers in the Irish railway world, and learned something of the other lines. The leading men at the Conference were Ilbery, Great Southern and Western; Cotton, Belfast and Northern Counties; Plews and Shaw, Great Northern; Ward, Midland Great Western; and Skipworth, Manager in Ireland of the London and North-Western. Of all the managers who assembled there I was the youngest, and the greatest personality was Edward John Cotton. By common consent, he had acted as Chairman of the Conference from the year 1864. No one had ever dreamed of assuming the position when he was present. This continued till 1890, when Tom Robertson came on the scene. He was all for change and innovation, and managed to get the principle of formal election to the chairmanship established. Many of us thought it was a pity to make the change in Cotton's time, but Edward John seemed the least concerned of us all, for nothing ever disturbed his good humour. Robertson was a veritable Hotspur and upset for a time the serenity of our meetings. He was overcharged with energy, and a bachelor.

It is my belief that had our genial Cotton chosen the stage for a profession he would have found a place among the distinguished actors of his time, if not in tragedy, certainly in comedy. His face, voice, manner and style all proclaimed it. You had only to hear him read in public, which he loved to do, see how natural his dramatic action was, and feel the effect of a mere wave of his hand through his abundant hair, to be convinced of this. In railway circles throughout England, Scotland and Ireland he was widely known. He attended all railway conferences for he loved movement and travel. Shrewd and well-informed, his knowledge was acquired not from books or study but from close observation of passing events and free and friendly intercourse with all whom he met. His railway was very popular and he and it were held in high esteem. Easily accessible to all, courteous and reasonable ever, he was in many respects a model railway manager. His success lay not so much in the work he performed himself as in obtaining the best results from those around him, and the capacity to accomplish this is certainly one of the most useful qualities a railway manager, or any man in a position of authority, can possess. It is not too much to say that his staff loved him; certainly they all admired him. He was the readiest man I ever met to generously acknowledge the worth of those who served him, and whenever possible he took occasion to do so in public.

[Edward John Cotton: cotton.jpg]

I have spoken previously of the beaux I knew in the higher ranks of the railway service but, strange to say, omitted to mention Edward John who, in some respects outshone all others. His coat may not have been cut by a west-end tailor, his hat may not have been a Lincoln Bennett, or his necktie the latest production of Burlington Arcade, but who could wear a tall white hat with a black band, with the least little rakish tilt, and a light grey frock coat with a rose in the buttonhole, with such an air and grace as he? He appreciated keenly all the good things that life can give and loved his fellow men. Pax vobiscum, kind, warm-hearted Edward John! You were an ornament to the railway world and always my friend.

It was Cotton and his Chairman, the Right Hon. John Young, who put in my way my first arbitration case, to which I have in a previous chapter alluded. This, as far as I remember, occurred in 1886. A dispute had arisen between the Northern Counties Company and a small railway company whose line they worked, concerning, I think, the payment for and use of some sidings. I conducted the proceedings of course with the greatest of care, attended, perhaps, with a little trepidation, summoned every possible witness to appear before me, and visited in state the locus. Edward John was, I think, a little amused. Much older than I he had long since passed through these youthful phases. I issued my award, with the usual result that while each party was fairly well pleased neither was altogether satisfied. I was proud of my debut as an arbitrator, especially as it was rewarded by, what seemed to me then, a very handsome fee.

In January, 1886, an incident that is worth narrating occurred. In my office a new junior clerk was required. An advertisement in the newspapers produced a large number of applications, and about a dozen of the applicants were selected to be seen, one after the other, by Pinion and myself. Before lunch one day we interviewed half a dozen or so. Returning together from lunching in the city, as we neared the station, Pinion drew my attention to a youth who was evidently making for the railway premises. Said I to Pinion: "If that youth is one of the candidates, I'll be surprised if he's not the boy for us." It was only a back view we had of him, but he held himself so well, walked so briskly, looked so neat, smart, and businesslike that he arrested attention. That boy, Charles A. Moore, then fresh from school and just fifteen, is now general manager of the railway!

It was in 1886, too, that I first met Walter Bailey, between whom and myself a friendship sprung up which grew in depth and sincerity as time went on, lasted for thirty years, and was only terminated by his lamented death in January, 1917. The friendship thus formed yielded much pleasure and happiness to me and, I think I may safely say, also to my departed friend. Bailey, who was about my own age, came to Ireland from the South- Eastern Railway, soon after my settlement in Belfast, to fill the position of Accountant to the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway. Two young Englishmen, landed in Ireland, engaged in the same sort of business, in the same city, would naturally gravitate towards each other but, more than this, what made us such intimate friends were, tastes in common, similarity of views, especially concerning railway affairs, a mutual liking for literary matters, and—well, other less definable things that form the foundation of all true friendships. Throughout our long intimacy we often took counsel together on subjects of mutual interest, but it was I who sought his advice and help much oftener than he sought mine, for he was cleverer than I. Indeed in the whole railway world I never met an intellect so quick, or so clear and luminous as his.

Bailey was the most unselfish man I ever knew; the readiest to help others. His pen, his remarkable stores of knowledge, and his spare time too, were always at the service, not only of his friends, but often of those who were scarcely more than mere acquaintances. The amount of work which he cheerfully imposed upon himself in this way was astounding and never was it done grudgingly or half-heartedly, but always promptly and generously. It afforded him a pleasure that only one endowed as he could feel. This part of him was often the subject of talk with those of us who knew him well. But what charmed me most, more even than his brilliant mental gifts, were the sweetness of his disposition and his quaintly quizzical and happy humour. Ambition was not strong in him, was in fact all but absent, and he often rallied me on mine. He never in all his life asked for any improvement in salary or position; but, in spite of his inveterate modesty, rose high, became Chief Accountant of the Midland Railway of England and, I should say, the leading railway accountant in the United Kingdom. On railway matters he was a writer of great skill, and all he wrote was enlivened with the happiest humour. To the Railway News he was a valued contributor, and in railway polemics a master.

[Walter Bailey: bailey.jpg]

The Director on the County Down with whom I became most intimate was the Right Honourable (then Mr.) Thomas Andrews. He was brother to Judge Andrews; brother-in-law of Lord Pirrie; became Chairman of the Company; was made a Privy Councillor; a Deputy Lieutenant of Down; High Sheriff of that County and President of this and that, for he was a man of ability and character, but simple in mind and manners as the best men mostly are. Eloquent in speech, warm-hearted and impulsive, he found it difficult to resist a joke, even at the expense of his friend. In April, 1890, he wrote me: "I hope you were not at all annoyed at my pleasantries to Mr. Pinion. I am not exactly one of those men who would rather lose a friend than a joke, but I find it hard to resist a joke when a good opportunity presents itself. I am bound to say that I would be sorry to annoy you, by a jest or in any other way." His temper was lively but though quickly roused soon subsided, and he never harboured resentment. At the conclusion of the very first Board meeting I attended as general manager at the County Down, he followed me into my room, complimented me on the way I had discussed the business of the day, and added: "I'm sure you'll be successful in Ireland for you have the suaviter in modo combined with the fortiter in re." It was a pretty compliment, and sincere I knew, for no one could meet him without recognising his frank outspoken nature. On the threshold of my new work such encouragement greatly cheered me and increased my determination to do my best. Until his death, not long ago, we often corresponded on railway and other matters, and he was always my staunch friend. He had a taste, too, for poetry which we sometimes discussed. The Thomas Andrews, who went down with the Titanic in the North Atlantic, on the 14th April, 1912, was his son, the story of whose short but strenuous life, and its tragic end, is told in a little book written by Shan F. Bullock. Sir Horace Plunkett wrote an introduction to it, in which he says: "He was one of the noblest Irishmen Ulster has produced in modern times, to whom came the supreme test in circumstances demanding almost superhuman fortitude and self-control. There was not the wild excitement of battle to sustain him; death had to be faced calmly in order that others—to whom he must not even bid farewell—might live." A few minutes before the end, so it is recorded, on the boat deck of the Titanic, the grandest sight of him was seen, as he stood with wonderful calm, throwing overboard deck chairs to those who were struggling in the water below. He had no thought of himself, but only of duty and of others. Then came the end: the Titanic, with a low long slanting dive went down and with her Thomas Andrews. He was only 39, but had attained the high position of a Managing Director of the great firm of Harland and Wolff. I knew him as a boy, manly, handsome, high-spirited, clever—"the father of the man." That this terrible tragedy shortened the life of his father is certain.

In 1887, and again in 1888, Bailey and I took our holidays together, visiting Normandy, Paris, Belgium, Holland and the Rhine, doing a great deal of walking, which he liked as much as I. He was the prince of travelling companions, always gay and sprightly, and spoke French with great fluency. His happy disposition, unfailing good humour, and keen enjoyment of everything, even of the occasional discomforts that arose, as in travelling discomforts will arise, especially when funds are not too plentiful, made every hour of our holiday enjoyable. He had the happy gift of seeing always the humorous and the best side of things. He acted as paymaster on our tours and presented with great regularity records of our joint expenditure with the neatness and accuracy of the perfect accountant. Never a pipe smoker, he had no special interest in pipes, but to me the happiness of our first holiday was increased by the colouring of a new meerschaum. In this delightful art I was a disciple of Samuel Swarbrick, though I needed not, as he did, the services of another in the early stages of the colouring process. Whoever has been the votary of a meerschaum will understand the pride with which I frequently displayed my pipe and its deepening colour to Bailey, often to his great amusement I must admit. In a hotel in the city of Antwerp, where we stayed for several days, we occupied adjoining bedrooms having a communicating door. One night, towards early morn, but before daylight had dawned, I was suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep, and to my astonishment saw Bailey with lighted candle standing by my bedside, with a serious look on his face. "Great Scott! what's the matter?" I exclaimed. "My dear boy, I can't sleep; do let me see your pipe," he answered. With such like pleasantries he beguiled the happy times we spent together.

In these years I had another pleasure: I learned to ride, taking lessons in horsemanship at a riding school in Belfast. I soon acquired a firm seat, and my good friend H. H. (who was a practised horseman, and then lived in Belfast too) and I had many delightful rides in the beautiful country around the city. For many years, so far as opportunity and means allowed, I indulged myself in this best of all exercises.



CHAPTER XVIII. RAILWAY RATES AND CHARGES, THE BLOCK, THE BRAKE, AND LIGHT RAILWAYS

Until the autumn of 1888 nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of my way, and I pursued in peace my daily work at the County Down. It was interesting work and pleasant to become personally acquainted with the customers of the company, many of whom lived in towns and villages some distance from the railway, and to gain their good will. It was interesting and also satisfactory to gradually establish an improved and efficient train service and to watch the traffic expand. It was exhilarating to engage in lively competition with carriers by road who, for short distance traffic, keenly competed with the railway. It was good to introduce economies and improvements in working, and gratifying to do what one could to help and satisfy the staff—a thing, I need scarcely say, much easier to accomplish then than now.

And so the time passed until August, 1888, when the railway world was deeply moved by the introduction of the Railway and Canal Traffic Act.

This Act was the outcome of the Report of the Select Committee of 1881, before which Mr. James Grierson gave such weighty evidence. One of the most important measures Parliament ever passed, it imposed on railway companies an amount of labour and anxiety, prolonged and severe, such as I hope they may not have to face again.

The Act, as I have stated before, altered the constitution of the Railway Commission, and also effected minor alterations in the law relating to railways and canals, but its main purpose was the revision of Maximum Rates and Charges. It ordered each company to prepare a revised classification of goods and a revised Schedule of Maximum Rates, and submit them to the Board of Trade, who, after considering objections lodged against them, were to agree (if they could) with the companies upon a classification and schedule for adoption; and if they failed, to determine a classification and schedule themselves. Public sittings at Westminster, Edinburgh and Dublin, occupying 85 days, took place, but no agreement was reached; and in their Report to Parliament the Board of Trade embodied a Revised Classification and a standard Schedule of Maximum Rates for general adoption. The Schedule included Terminals. In accordance with the Act, it then became necessary for this Revised Classification and Schedule to be confirmed by Parliament. Against them petitions were lodged by both railways and traders, and the whole matter was referred to a Joint Committee of both Houses. This Committee sat in 1891 from April till July; but it was not until January, 1893, that all was completed and the Revised Classification and the new rates brought into force. Little time was afforded to the companies for their part of the work. The whole system of rates was changed. New rates had to be calculated on the new scale; thousands of rate books had to be compiled, and millions of rates altered and revised. It was a colossal task; impossible of fulfilment in the time allowed. The application of the new Schedule forcibly reduced many rates, inflicting much loss upon the companies, and because the companies advanced other rates (within the limits of the new maximum powers of course) to meet this loss, or to meet it to some extent, a storm of abuse arose and swept across the land. A trader from Berwick-on-Tweed, more frank than most, wrote the following "characteristic" letter as it was called at the time:—

"What we want is to have our fish carried at half present rates. We don't care a —- whether it pays the railways or not. Railways ought to be made to carry for the good of the country, or they should be taken over by the Government. That is what all Traders want and mean to try to get."

Perhaps they would not be happy if they got it! In his clear, and most interesting book Railways and Their Rates, my friend Edwin A. Pratt says this letter was quoted in the Report which the Board of Trade made to Parliament after their 85 days' Inquiry. The railway companies announced that the new rates were in no sense final, that the time allowed them was insufficient for proper revision, that they would give an assurance that no increase would be made that would interfere with trade or agriculture or diminish traffic and that, unless under exceptional circumstances, no increase would in any case exceed 5 per cent. But all was in vain, and Parliament passed an Act which provided that any increase whatever (though within the limits of the new statutory maximum) if complained of, should be heard and decided upon by the Railway Commissioners, and that the onus of proving the reasonableness of the increase should rest on the railway company. Sir Alexander (then Mr.) Butterworth, in his book on The Law Relating to Maximum Rates and Charges on Railways, published in 1897, says this remarkable result is presented: that Parliament, "after probably the most protracted inquiry ever held in connection with proposed legislation, decided that certain amounts were to be the charges which railway companies should for the future be entitled to make, and in 1894 apparently accepted the suggestion that many of the charges, sanctioned after so much deliberation, were unreasonable, and enacted that to entitle a company to demand them, it should not be sufficient that the charge was within any limit fixed by an Act of Parliament." Thus Parliament, yielding to popular clamour, stultified itself, and in feverish haste to placate an angry and noisy public tied the hands of the railway companies, doing, I believe, more harm than good. This legislation naturally made the companies very cautious in reducing a rate because of the difficulties to be encountered should circumstances require them to raise it again, and railway rates thus lost that element of elasticity and adaptability so essential to the development of trade. Many a keen and enterprising business man have I heard lament the restrictions that Parliament imposed and declare that such interference with the freedom of trade was short- sighted in the extreme and bad for the country.

Immediately after the passing of the Act of 1888 the railway companies vigorously attacked the work imposed upon them. A special meeting on the subject was held at the Irish Railway Clearing House in Dublin for the purpose of preparing a revised Classification and Schedule of Rates. This was a rare opportunity for me and I eagerly availed myself of it. Before I left Glasgow it will be remembered I had been entrusted with an examination of the statutory charging powers of the Glasgow and South- Western company, and with the drawing up of a suggested scale of maximum rates. No similar work had yet been done in Ireland, and it was altogether new to the Irish companies. I produced copies of the statements which I had prepared in Glasgow, and they served as a basis for what had to be done, saved much time and trouble and gained for me no little kudos. But more than this resulted. As I have hinted before, and as will hereafter appear, this bit of Glasgow work led to my promotion to a greater charge than the busy little County Down, which though I loved it well, I had begun to feel I was now outgrowing. Many other meetings at the Clearing House followed in which I took part with increasing confidence, and in which Walter Bailey also prominently figured. He and I were hand and glove. Cotton, who soon discovered that Bailey was an authority on the subject, as indeed he was on most railway matters, was not slow to profit by his knowledge and ability. He brought him to all our meetings, and valuable was the help that Bailey gave.

In 1889 there came into operation the Regulation of Railways Act. It invested the Board of Trade with power to order any company to adopt block working, to interlock all points and signals, and to use on all trains carrying passengers automatic continuous brakes. Before issuing the order the Board consented to hear any representations which the railways desired to make. The smaller companies, upon which the expenditure involved would press very hardly, and the circumstances of whose traffic seemed scarcely to require the same elaborate precautions for safety in working as the bigger and more crowded systems, banded together and waited on the Board of Trade. Upon me devolved the duty of presenting the case for the smaller Irish companies, and upon Conacher, of the Cambrian, for the smaller English lines. How finely Conacher spoke I well remember. He had an excellent voice, possessed in a high degree the gift of concise and forcible expression, and his every word told. But our eloquence accomplished little—some small modification regarding mixed trains, and that was all. Many of the lines in Ireland serving districts where population is scanty, traffic meagre, and trains consequently infrequent, could well have been spared the costly outlay which the Act involved. Three or four trains each way per day represent the train service on many of these small railways, and some of the sections of the larger lines warrant little more. Take, for instance, the case of the Midland Great-Western. On 330 out of its 538 miles not more than six trains each way in the 24 hours are required, and they could probably be reduced without hurting anyone. These figures relate not to the exceptional war time in which I pen these lines, when stern necessity has sweepingly reduced the train service, but to pre-war days when normal conditions prevailed. Half a dozen trains each way per day! In England there are as many, or more, in the hour!

The Act of 1889 also dealt with the working hours of railway men whose duty involved the safety of trains or passengers, and required each company to make periodical returns of those employed for longer hours than were to be named from time to time by the Board of Trade; and it contained further a useful clause to the effect that the fares were in future to be printed on passenger tickets. I should not be surprised if this simple little clause has not brought more real satisfaction to the minds and hearts of the people of the British Isles than all the laboured legislation on railway rates and charges.

In the year 1889 a great fillip was given to the extension of railways in Ireland by the passing of the Light Railways (Ireland) Act. It was familiarly known as "Balfour's Act." Mr. Balfour was then Chief Secretary of Ireland, and it was due to him that it was passed. The Act was designed "to facilitate the construction of Light Railways in Ireland," and embodied various recommendations of the Allport Commission. It was the first introduction of the principle of State aid by free money grants. Such aid was conditional upon the light railway being constructed or worked by an existing railway company, except in cases where the Baronies guaranteed dividends upon a portion of the capital. The amount which the Treasury was authorised to grant was 600,000 pounds. In 1896 this was increased by a further sum of 500,000 pounds, and both were, in addition to a capital sum, represented by 40,000 pounds per annum which had been granted under previous legislation. Under this Act and Acts of 1890 and 1896, over 300 miles, comprising 15 separate lines, were constructed at a total cost, exclusive of what the railway companies contributed, of 1,849,967 pounds, of which the Government contribution was 1,553,967 pounds. Although the lines were promoted under Light Railway Acts, and the Government grants were based upon light railway estimates, Parliamentary power was obtained to construct, maintain, and work them as other than light railways. This was taken advantage of by some of the working companies who, in eight instances contributed themselves a considerable amount of capital, in order that the lines should be made sound and substantial, of the usual gauge, and such as could be worked by the ordinary rolling stock of the company. The Midland Great-Western, for instance, so expended no less than 352,000 pounds of their capital on "Balfour Lines" in the west. It was a spirited thing to do.

Of the 309 miles of "light" railways, made under the 1889 and subsequent Acts, 194 were constructed on the ordinary gauge of the country, 5 feet 3 inches, and the remainder on a 3-foot gauge.

Several Light Railway or Tramway Acts were passed in Ireland between 1860 and 1883, under which 295 miles of light railways at a cost of 1,389,784 pounds were constructed. With the exception of the small sum of 144,804 pounds, the interest on the whole of this capital was guaranteed by the Baronies, the Treasury repaying the Baronies one-half but not to exceed two per cent.

The lines constructed under "Balfour's Act" are situated mostly in Connemara, Kerry, Mayo and Donegal, serving districts remote and thinly populated, where as commercial ventures they could not have been projected. That they have proved to be of great benefit to the country is beyond question. They have developed fishing and agriculture, and have brought the tourist into districts little visited before. Live stock and farm produce are able to reach their market, and places before isolated are in touch with the outer world.

One of the first of the railways made under the 1889 Act was a short line of 8 miles from the County Down line at Downpatrick to the little fishing village of Ardglass. It stood first on the list of lines recommended for construction in the Report of the Allport Commission. Primarily it was intended for the development of the herring traffic which for years had abounded on the coast, but no sooner was the line opened, than that perverse migratory fish sought other seas, and did not return to Ardglass for I don't know how long.

The promotion of the Ardglass railway, and the steps necessary for obtaining an Order in Council for its construction and working, familiarised me with the Light Railway Legislation of Ireland, with which in subsequent years I was often concerned.

In the autumn of 1889, in company with Mr. Jackson (afterwards Lord Allerton), then Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Andrews and other directors of the County Down, I visited Ardglass. Under the new Act the Treasury, in connection with the projected railway construction, held the purse strings, and the Treasury, so far as we were concerned, was Mr. Jackson. We of the County Down were keen on getting the line sanctioned, and were very anxious concerning Mr. Jackson's visit. He was a man who drove a hard bargain, so it was said. Certainly he was an able man, and I greatly admired him that day. Later in life, when he was Lord Allerton, and Chairman of the Great Northern Railway of England, I met him again and liked him well.

In 1889 there were no light railways in Great Britain, or practically none. Except in Ireland they are of modern growth. What really constitutes a light railway it is not easy to say. Commonly it is thought to be a matter of gauge, but that is not so. Mr. Acworth says: "such a definition is in the nature of things impossible," but that, "a light railway must be something simpler and cheaper than an ordinary railway." Mr. Cole says that "the natural demand for a definition must he frankly met with the disappointing reply that a hard and fast definition, at once concise, exact, and comprehensive is not forthcoming, and that a partial definition would be completely misleading." As such authorities are unable to furnish a definition I shall not attempt it, and will content myself with suggesting that the most recognisable feature of a light railway is its light traffic.



CHAPTER XIX. GOLF, THE DIAMOND KING, AND A STEAM-BOAT SERVICE

Thought not a golfer myself, never having taken to the game in earnest, or played on more than, perhaps, twenty occasions in my life, I may yet, I think, in a humble way, venture to claim inclusion amongst the pioneers of golf in Ireland, where until the year 1881 it was unknown. In the autumn of that year the Right Honourable Thomas Sinclair, Dr. Collier, of "British History" fame, and Mr. G. L. Baillie, a born golfer from Scotland, all three keen on the game, set themselves in Belfast to the task of establishing a golf club there. They succeeded well, and soon the Belfast Golf Club, to which is now added the prefix Royal, was opened. The ground selected for the links was the Kinnegar at Holywood, and on it the first match was played on St. Stephen's Day in 1881. That was the beginning of golf in Ireland. Mr. Baillie was the Secretary of the Club till the end of 1887, when a strong desire to extend the boundaries of the Royal game in the land of his adoption led him to resign the position and cast around for pastures new. Portrush attracted him, engaged his energies, and on the 12th May, 1888, a course, which has since grown famous, was opened there. About this time I made his acquaintance and suggested Newcastle, the beautiful terminus of the County Down railway, as another likely place. On a well remembered day in December, 1888, he accompanied me there, and together we explored the ground, and finished up with one of those excellent dinners for which the lessee of our refreshment rooms and his capable wife (Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence) were famous, as many a golfer I am sure, recollects. Mr. Baillie's practised eye saw at once the splendid possibilities of Newcastle. Like myself, he was of an enthusiastic temperament, and we both rejoiced. I remembered the shekels that flowed to the coffers of the Glasgow and South-Western from the Prestwick and Troon Golf Courses on their line, and visions of enrichment for my little railway rose before me. Very soon I induced my directors to adopt the view that the railway company must encourage and help the project. This done the course was clear. They were not so sanguine as I, but they had not lived in Scotland nor seen how the Royal game flourished there and how it had brought prosperity to many a backward place. Mr. Baillie's energy, with the company's co-operation to back it, were bound to succeed, and on the 23rd March, 1889, with all the pomp and ceremony suitable to the occasion (including special trains, and a fine luncheon given by the Directors of the Company) the Golf links at Newcastle, Co. Down, were formally opened by the late Lord Annesley. From that time onward golf in Ireland advanced by leaps and bounds. Including Newcastle, there were then in the whole country, only six clubs and now they number one hundred and sixty-eight! The County Down Railway Company's splendid hotel on the links at Newcastle, with its 140 rooms, and built at a cost of 100,000 pounds, I look upon as the crowning glory of our golfing exploration on that winter day in 1888. To construct such a hotel, at such a cost, was a plucky venture for a railway possessing only 80 miles of line, but the County Down was always a plucky company, and the Right Honourable Thomas Andrews, its Chairman, to whom its inception and completion is chiefly due, was a bold, adventurous and successful man.

Another experience somewhat removed from ordinary railway affairs that helped to enliven the latter part of my time on the County Down, and added variety to the work imposed by the Railway and Canal Traffic Act and the revision of Rates and Charges, was a project in which I became engaged connected with the Isle of Man.

Joseph Mylchreest was a Manxman, a rough diamond but a man of sterling worth. He left home when young and worked first as a ship's carpenter. An adventurous spirit led him to seek his fortune in various parts of the world—in the goldfields of California and Australia and in the silver mines of Peru and Chili. Later on he went to South Africa, where in the diamond mines he met with great success and made a large fortune. His property there he disposed of to Cecil Rhodes, and it now, I am told, forms part of the De Beers Consolidated Company's assets. In the late eighties he returned to his native island, settled at Peel, and became a magnate there.

One afternoon early in the year 1889 two gentlemen from the Isle of Man called upon me at my office. They were Mr. Mylchreest (the "Diamond King") and a lawyer friend whose name I forget, but I remember they informed me they were both members of the House of Keys. Mr. Mylchreest was anxious to do something to develop the little port of Peel, his native town, and a steamboat service between Peel and Belfast, Bangor or Donaghadee, seemed to him and his friends a promising project. What did the County Down think? Would either Bangor or Donaghadee be better than Belfast? If so, would my company join in and to what extent? We had no power to expend money in steamboat enterprise, but I assured them we would do all we could to help in other ways, and that Bangor was the port to select. My directors heartily approved and other interviews followed. Once, I had hurriedly to go over to Peel to meet Mr. Mylchreest and his lawyer, on a certain day, as some hitch had arisen, and by this time I was desperately keen on getting the steamboat service started. The only way of reaching Peel in time was by a collier steamer, belonging to the East Downshire Coal Co., which plied between Dundrum on the Co. Down coast, and Whitehaven; the manager of the company was my friend, and would allow the steamer to drop me at Peel. It was a memorable crossing, the weather was bad and so was I. But my journey was successful, and soon the Peel and North of Ireland Steamship Company, Limited, in which the "Diamond King" was much the largest shareholder, was established, and on the 26th June, 1889, the first voyage was made from Peel to Bangor. It was a great event for the quiet little town of Peel. Mr. Mylchreest had invited all his friends to the inaugural service, in addition a good number of the public travelled, and the steamer arrived at Bangor with nearly 300 passengers on board. On the return voyage from Bangor to Peel the same evening the "Diamond King" gave a great dinner, champagne and speeches freely flowed, and music and dancing enlivened the proceedings. The service prospered for a time, but the traffic did not reach expectations. Ultimately it was taken over by the Isle of Man Steampacket Coy., and after a few years discontinued.

Little more remains to be told of my five and a-half years' sojourn in the north of Ireland. They were pleasant and profitable years for mind and body. With health improved, experience gained in practical railway work, knowledge acquired by personal contact with men of all sorts and conditions, I felt strong and confident, ready for anything, and, like Micawber, longed for something to turn up.

Early in October, 1890, Walter Bailey and I took our second Continental holiday together. We re-visited Paris, but spent most of our three weeks in a tour through Belgium, finishing up at Brussels. When we reached London I received a letter from my friend, W. R. Gill, Secretary of Bailey's railway, the Belfast and Northern Counties. It was to tell me that the position of Manager of the Midland Great Western Railway of Ireland had become vacant, and suggested that I should return home by way of Dublin and call upon the chairman of the company, Sir Ralph Cusack, in regard to the succession. Now something had turned up, and Bailey declared I was as good as appointed. At dinner that night we indulged in a bottle of sparkling wine—in nothing meaner would my warm-hearted friend drink success to the prospect that had so unexpectedly opened before me.

The Midland Great Western was the third largest railway in Ireland, nor, in the matter of length of line, was there very much between the three. The Great Southern and Western consisted of 522 miles, the Great Northern 487, and the Midland Great Western 432, nearly seven times as long as the County Down. No wonder I felt elated.

How it all came about was in this way. Skipworth, the London and North- Western Manager in Ireland, was on very friendly terms with Sir Ralph Cusack, and Sir Ralph had a high opinion of his judgment. He consulted Skipworth about a manager and asked if he knew any railway man in Ireland, not too old, who would do. Said Skipworth, "Tatlow of the County Down. He has shown up remarkably well at the Clearing House over this terrible Railway and Canal Traffic Act, and seems to know all about it." And so I was appointed, and thus it was that the bit of work in Glasgow, of which I have spoken more than once, brought me this substantial promotion. My friend Gill not long before had left the service of the Midland Great Western, where he was Assistant Secretary, to become Secretary of the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway, and when Sir Ralph wrote to him about me he valiantly backed up Skipworth's fine recommendation. Skipworth was himself for several years manager of the Midland Great Western. He gave up the post when he joined the London and North-Western as their Irish Manager. It is good for a man to have friends, and I have been fortunate throughout my life in possessing many.

In December, 1890, I left the County Down to enter upon my duties as manager of the Midland Great Western. The County Down Directors, at their Board meeting on the 16th of that month, passed a minute recording their "high appreciation of the ability with which he" (my humble self) "has discharged his duties as general manager," adding that "his uniform courtesy, tact and judgment, added to his strict sense of honour, secured him the confidence of the Board." Need I say that I was proud of this testimonial, and as pleased as proud, because it went on to wish me success in my new duties, where I would "have a wider field for the exercise of my talents," and begged my "acceptance of a cheque as a mark of regard." This was better than the walking stick with which a certain railway officer, who was not too popular with his staff, was, it is said, presented by them, when he left for a bigger post on another line.



CHAPTER XX. THE MIDLAND GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY OF IRELAND

I had now completed one half of my active railway life; reached the age of 39; and, no longer a rolling stone, was settled in the service of a company with which I was destined to remain for the rest of my railway career. That my aspirations were satisfied I do not pretend, for ambition forbade any settled feeling of rest or content. Happily, my nature inclined to the sunny side and disappointments never spoiled my enjoyment of life or marred the pleasure I found in my daily work. My friend, Edward John Cotton, who, like myself, was an imported Englishman, had, like me, indulged in dreams of going back to England to fill some great railway post, but he had reached his sixties and his dreams were over. Often, when we talked familiarly together, he would say: "Joseph, if you aspire to be a general manager in England you ought never to have come to Ireland. They don't think much on the other side of Irish railways or Irish railway men." This, I daresay, was true, though he, well known, liked and admired as he was, ought to have been considered an exception, and why no British railway company, when posts were going, ever snapped him up is hard to say. Later on, even I, once or twice narrowly escaped obtaining a good thing on the English side of the Channel, but it never quite came off, and so I was left to make myself as happy as I could in Ireland.

Perhaps it was as well. Railway life in Ireland, though not highly remunerated, had its compensations as most situations in life have. There the pressure of work was less constant and severe than in England. A railway manager was not confined to crowded cities, and enjoyed more breathing space. When he travelled on his line he came in contact with bucolic interests instead of the whirring wheels of trade. Time moved more slowly, greater leisure prevailed, the climate was softer, the country greener, manners easier, and more wit and humour abounded. Yes, on the whole, I was more fortunate than had my ambitious hopes been realised to the full. At least I think so now; and, as Hamlet says, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

One immediate advantage I gained by entering the Midland Great Western service. Until then I had no chance of joining a superannuation fund. The Glasgow and South-Western had none, neither had the County Down; but the Midland Great Western was a party to the Clearing House Superannuation Corporation, and of it I became a member.

The Midland Great Western, as I have said, is the third largest railway in Ireland. It stretches from the Liffey to the Atlantic, serves the plains of Meath, the wilds of Connaught, and traverses large expanses of bog. Galway, Sligo, Westport, Athlone and Mullingar are the principal towns on its system.

When I became its manager, Sir Ralph Cusack had been chairman of the railway for nearly a quarter of a century and was in his sixty-ninth year. He attended daily in his office, devoting much time to the company's affairs. Although my position was not all I could have wished in the matter of that wide authority I coveted, and which, in my humble opinion, every railway manager should possess, it was in many respects very satisfactory, and every lot in life has its crumpled rose leaf. Sir Ralph regarded me as an expert, which, notwithstanding all his long experience as chairman, he did not himself pretend to be, and railway experts he held in high esteem. He supported me consistently, permitting no one but himself to interfere with anything I thought it right to do. I did not, to be sure, always get my own way, but I accomplished much, and, what I cared for most, was able to do good work for the company. Enthusiasm for one's work is a splendid thing, and so is loyalty to one's employers. I make no boast of possessing these, for they were common property; they permeated the railway service and inspired the youngest clerk as well as his chief. Sometimes in these latter days I imagine such things are changed, though I would like to think it is only an old man's fancy, as it was in the case of the dear old Dubliner, who in his time had been a beaux and had reached his eightieth year. One sunny forenoon when airing himself in a fashionable street of the city, he was met by another old crony, who accosted him with:—

"Well, old friend, how are you this morning?"

"Oh, very well, thanks, quite well, only—" he responded.

"Only what?" asked his friend.

"Only the pavements are harder and the girls are not so pretty as they used to be," he replied with a whimsical look of regret in his face and a twinkle in his still bright eye.

Sir Ralph was a man of striking appearance, tall and imposing in figure. His head was massive and fine. His full beard was snowy white, as white as his abundant hair which was of a beautifully soft silky texture, with a sheen like satin. His voice was low and at times not very distinct. This was disappointing as his conversation was always interesting, not only for its intrinsic value, but also by reason of his charmingly varied and copious vocabulary, and his perfectly balanced phrases. Naturally and without the least effort the aptest words sprang to his lips in perfect order and sequence. His letters, too, were always exceedingly well expressed. He wrote a neat, sloping, rather flowing and somewhat old-fashioned hand, which greatly resembled the writing of Beau Brummell, and, like the illustrious Beau's, his numerals, which is rare nowadays, were very clearly and very beautifully formed. The Prince of Beaux was fastidious in his penmanship as in everything else. Sir Ralph's half- yearly speeches to the shareholders, though delivered extempore, were models of perspicuity. He used the scantiest notes, mere headings of subjects, and a few scraps of paper containing figures which he usually remembered without their aid. Of his memory he was proud. One day, at a meeting of the Board, after recalling particulars of some old transaction which no one else could in the least recollect, he turned to me and said: "Well, Tatlow, you see I sometimes remember something." I rejoined: "Well, Sir Ralph, my only complaint is that you never forget anything." The little compliment pleased him. Never in his whole life, he said, had he written out a speech, and hoped he never would, but he lived to do so once. As he advanced in years his voice grew weaker, and on the last occasion on which he presided at a meeting of shareholders, he wrote his speech, or partly wrote it and, at his request, I read it to the meeting. Reported verbatim his addresses read as though they had been composed and written with the utmost care, so precise and correct was the language and so consecutive the matter. Though few could hope to do so well as he, I have always thought that in addressing shareholders, railway chairmen might trust less to formally prepared speeches and more to their powers of extemporaneous exposition. Some chairmen do this I know, but others still read from manuscript. However able the matter, the reading, in my judgment, is much less effective than the spontaneous expression of the speaker. The atmosphere created by the meeting, often a valuable adjunct, cannot be taken advantage of when the speech is read, nor can the chance of improvising a telling point, of enforcing an argument, or of seizing a passing mood of the audience or some fleeting incident of the moment.

Sir Ralph was made a Director of the Midland Great Western Company in 1864, and a year later was elected chairman, a position he occupied for the long period of 39 years. In 1864 the railway was in a very bad condition, wretchedly run down, and woefully mismanaged. Indeed, according to an official report at the time, worse than mismanagement existed. It was stated: "There were grave charges of official corruption which necessitated the retirement of one of the leading officers from the company's service." This was very exceptional in railway history, for British and Irish railways possess a record that has rarely been sullied. In my long career I only remember two other instances—one, the famous Redpath fraud (a name not inappropriate for one whose destiny it was to tread a road that led to his ruin) on the Great Northern in 1856, which Sir Henry (then Mr.) Oakley greatly assisted in discovering, and which, I believe, led to his first substantial advancement; the other on the Belfast and Northern Counties in 1886. This was in Edward John Cotton's time, but it would be superfluous to say that he was clear of blame for he was integrity itself. That the occurrence could have happened during his management distressed him greatly I know.

[Sir Ralph Cusack: cusack.jpg]

When he was elected to the office of Chairman, Sir Ralph, it is said, accepted the position on the understanding that he should have autocratic power. In the task he undertook this was very likely desirable, and once acquired he was not the man to let such power slip from his grasp. His strong hands would firmly retain whatever they wished to hold.

In 1865 no less than 15 directors adorned the Midland Great Western Board, twice too many no doubt the chairman thought for a railway of 344 miles. In 1867 they were reduced to 8; in 1877 to 7; since when they have never numbered more. During the long period of Sir Ralph's occupancy of the chair no deputy chairman existed. The chairman reigned alone. That he was an autocratic chairman, his brother directors, were they now living, would I am sure attest. But though a strong, it was a beneficent sway that he exercised. He could be hard at times, but his nature was essentially kind and generous and his friendships numerous and lasting. He prided himself on his knowledge of the railway staff, down to the humblest member. He had strong likes and dislikes, and those who came under his displeasure had sometimes cause to fear him; but they were amongst the few, and the many remember him with nothing but the kindest feelings. To me he was always a warm and sincere friend, and between us existed, without interruption, the greatest frankness and confidence.

How wonderfully adaptable a creature is man. I had not been a fortnight in my new position when I felt myself quite at home, as though Dublin and the West of Ireland had been my natural habitat. Belfast and the County Down receded into the past; and shall I confess it? much as I had liked the north, much as I admired the industry, manliness and energy of its people, much as I had enjoyed my life there, and highly as I esteemed the friends I had made, something I found in my new surroundings—easier manners, more of gaiety, and an admixture of pleasure with work—that added to life a charm I had hitherto missed, not only in the North of Ireland but in Glasgow and Derby as well.

The Secretary of the Midland Great Western Railway, George William Greene, and Martin Atock, the locomotive engineer, were good fellows, and warm friends of each other. I became and remained the sincere friend of both until death took them hence. My principal assistant, called Assistant Manager, was John P. Hornsby, now in his 85th year and living in New Zealand. Robert Morrison, whom I stole for his good sense, manly worth, and excellent railway ability, from the Belfast and Northern Counties in October, 1891, succeeded Hornsby as my assistant. Afterwards he became goods manager at the time Thomas Elliot was appointed superintendent of the line, two appointments which relieved me of much detailed work.

"The battle of Newcomen Junction" was raging at the time I joined the "Midland," as for shortness we dubbed the Midland Great Western and which, for the same reason, I shall continue to dub it, as convenience may require, during the continuance of my story. If I have occasion to again speak of my alma mater, the Midland of England, it shall, for the sake of clearness, be so designated. "The battle of Newcomen Junction." What of it? In railway circles, not only in Ireland but in England and Scotland too, it caused some talk at the time and no little amusement. Like many another conflict, 'twere better it had never been fought, for it left for long afterwards angry feelings where peace and amity should have existed, and it gained nothing that discussion and compromise could not have effected. The City of Dublin Junction Railway, a small line, a little over a mile in length (worked by the Dublin and South-Eastern Company) was formed to link up the Dublin railways and to provide through routes in connection with the Holyhead and Kingstown Royal Mail steamers and the steamers of the London and North-Western Company. A junction was authorised to be made at Newcomen with the Midland Great Western system. Parliament had sanctioned a junction, but not such a junction, the Midland said, as it was proposed to make. It would be unsafe and unworkable they contended, and they refused to allow it. The promoters insisted, the Midland were obdurate; the promoters invaded the Midland premises, knocked down a wall and entered on Midland land; the Midland gathered their forces, drove back the attacking party, and restored the wall; again the attack was made and repulsed and again the wall was demolished and re-built, and so the warfare continued, until at length an armistice was declared and the casus belli referred for settlement to the Railway Commissioners. Soon I had to prepare the Midland case for the Commissioners' Court and give evidence before them. They decided against us and I am sure they were right, though of course I swore, as I was bound to do, that our opposition to the junction was natural and proper and our opponents were an unreasonable set of people. The Railway Commissioners sat in Dublin to hear the case; it was my first appearance before them, and I was sorry that appearance was not in a better cause.

My first few years in Dublin were as busy as could be. Much was astir in the Irish railway world and particularly on the Midland, which had their share (a larger share than the other companies) of the "Balfour" extension lines in hand. The proceedings under the Railway and Canal Traffic Act were also in full swing, involving frequent meetings at the Irish Clearing House, and many journeys to London. Hard upon all this came the work of preparing for a Parliamentary fight. This I thought a joyful thing, and I was eager for the fray. I had helped to prepare my old chief, Mr. Wainwright, for such contests but had never been in one myself, had never even been inside a committee room. In 1891 the Midland gave public notice of their intention to acquire by Act of Parliament the Athenry and Ennis Railway, and lodged a Bill for the purpose, which was vigorously opposed. It was with great zest that I made my preparations, arranged for witnesses, drafted briefs, consulted with lawyers and counsel, and compiled my evidence, not neglecting the important matter of visiting the district served by the railway we sought to acquire, making friends and working up local feeling in our favour. How the Bill proceeded, and what was its fate, will be set forth in another chapter.

Very soon after I settled in Dublin I was able to carry out a long cherished wish. Ever since I first arrived in Ireland I had hoped to be able to establish an Irish branch of the Railway Benevolent Institution, such as Mr. Wainwright and I had succeeded in forming in Scotland in the year 1880, but whilst I remained in Belfast my efforts were of no avail. When, however, I moved to Dublin and became manager of one of the principal railways, the difficulties disappeared, and The History of the Railway Benevolent Institution, its Rise and Progress from 1858 to 1897, by Mr. W. F. Mills, its late Secretary, contains the following:—

"In February, 1891, Mr. Joseph Tatlow proposed to establish a Committee in Ireland, where supporters were few and far between, and in the report presented at the annual meeting in June, it was stated that 'The Board have great pleasure in announcing the appointment of a Committee in Dublin, presided over by Mr. Tatlow, the manager of the Midland Great-Western, and the founder of the successful Branch in Scotland.'"

Edward John Cotton warmly seconded my efforts, for his heart was in the work, and he was proud of telling us that he was one of the few surviving members of the first Board of Management of the parent Institution, which had its first meeting in London in May, 1858. He was then the newly-appointed manager of the Belfast and Northern Counties Railway, and was only twenty-eight years of age. The Irish Branch, like the Scotch, has been a great success. Its Committee of Management consists of the principal officers of the Irish railways, and they have brought home to the rank and file of the railway service a knowledge of the society and the solid benefits that membership confers. Year by year the membership has increased, and year by year the number of old and needy railway servants, and their widows, who have been pensioned from the funds, and the orphans who have been clothed, educated and maintained, have grown greater and greater. The Irish railway companies, the directors, the officers, and the public in Ireland, generously contribute to the funds of the institution. I filled the office of chairman of the Irish branch for 21 years, until in fact I retired from active railway work, since when the chairmanship has been an annual honour conferred upon the chairman for the year of the Irish Railway Managers' Conference. To quote again from Mr. Mills' book on the Institution:—

"Mr. Joseph Tatlow, at the Dinner in aid of the Institution held in Dublin on October 23rd, 1902, said: 'It is now 30 years since I first became a collector for this Institution, and when I look back on the past, if there is one matter in my life which contains no grain of regret, it is my connection with the Institution, as in regard to it I can feel nothing but honest pride and gratification.'"

I am still a member of the Irish Committee, as well as of the London Board of Management, and those words, spoken sixteen years ago, express my feelings to-day.

Whilst writing the final words of this chapter the news reaches me of the death of Mr. Mills, at the fine old age of eighty-seven. He had a long and useful life, and the railway service owes him much. He it was whose zeal and enthusiasm firmly established the Railway Benevolent as a great institution. When, in 1861, he became its secretary, the income was only 1,500 pounds, and on his retirement in 1897, at the age of sixty-five, it had grown to 53,000 pounds. His mantle fell upon his son, Mr. A. E. Mills, who inherits his father's enthusiasm and carries on the good work with great success, as attested by the fact that for the year 1917 the income reached 106,000 pounds. The invested funds of the society to-day amount to upwards of a million, and in 1897 they were 476,000 pounds.

Mr. Mills senior I knew for forty years; and I often thought that, search the world over, it would be hard to find his equal for the work to which his life was devoted, and for which his talents were so specially adapted.



CHAPTER XXI. BALLINASLOE FAIR, GALWAY, AND SIR GEORGE FINDLAY

A few days before the battle of Waterloo, during the journey to Brussels, partly by canal and partly by road, of Amelia and her party, Mrs. Major O'Dowd said to Jos Sedley: "Talk about kenal boats, my dear! Ye should see the kenal boats between Dublin and Ballinasloe. It's there the rapid travelling is; and the beautiful cattle." "The rapid travelling" was by what was called the fly boat, which was towed by three horses at a jog trot, and as to cattle, the good-humoured eccentric lady, who Thackeray tells us came from County Kildare, was thinking perhaps of the great Ballinasloe Fair where cattle and sheep assemble in greater numbers, I believe, than at any other live stock fair in the United Kingdom.

On the first Monday in October, 1891, to a special train of empty carriages run by the Midland from Dublin for the purposes of this fair, a vehicle, called the directors' saloon was attached, and in it the chairman of the company, most of the directors and the principal officers travelled to Ballinasloe, there to remain until the conclusion of the fair at the end of the week. It was my first introduction to Ballinasloe.

[William Dargan: dargan.jpg]

This saloon merits a word or two. It was built in the year 1844, was originally the property of William Dargan, the well-known contractor and the promoter of the Dublin Exhibition of 1853, whose statue adorns the grounds that front the Irish National Gallery. Dargan made the Midland railway from Athlone to Galway, completed the work before the specified contract time (in itself a matter worthy of note), and on its completion in 1851, presented this saloon carriage to the company, which also, I think, deserves to be recorded. Thus, in 1891, it was nearly 50 years' old and was handsome still. The panels were modelled on the old stage coach design, and a great bow window adorned each end. In the seventies and eighties it enjoyed the distinction of being the favourite carriage, on the Midland, of the Empress of Austria in her hunting days in Meath. This fine old carriage, now in its 75th year, does good work still. It has had a new under frame, its roof has been raised, and it looks good for another quarter of a century. Perhaps, granting an originally sound constitution, its longevity is largely due to the regular life it has led, never having been overworked, and having enjoyed many periods of rest.

Ballinasloe fair has two specially big days—Tuesday and Friday—the former devoted to the sale of sheep and the latter to cattle, though in fact its commerce in cattle, sheep, horses, pigs, calves, rams and goats, not to mention donkeys and mules, goes on more or less briskly throughout the whole week, Saturday being remnant day when jobbers pick up bargains. In 1891 the fair was not, and is not now, what it once was, which recalls the answer a witty editor of Punch once made to a friend. Said the said friend: "My dear fellow, Punch is not so good as it used to be." "No, it never was," came the quick rejoinder. But of Ballinasloe fair I cannot say it never was, for a hundred years ago, in Peggy O'Dowd's time, in the west of Ireland it was the great event of the year, not only for the sale of flocks and herds, but also for social gatherings, fun and frolic, so at least I am told by the oldest inhabitant. An older account still, says these fairs were a time for games and races, pleasure and amusement, and eating and feasting, whilst another record describes them as places "where there were food and precious raiment, downs and quilts, ale and flesh meat, chessmen and chess boards, horses and chariots, greyhounds, and playthings besides." It is curious that dancing is not mentioned, but dancing in the olden days in Ireland was not, I believe, much indulged in. Eighty years ago over 80,000 sheep entered the fair, and 20,000 cattle.

Arrived at Ballinasloe we established ourselves in quarters that were part of the original station premises. These consisted of a good sized dining-room, six bedrooms, and an office for the manager and his clerk. The walls and ceilings of the rooms were sheeted with pitch pine and varnished. They were very plainly furnished, the only thing in the way of decoration being a production in watercolour representing a fair green crowded with herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, and adorned with sundry pastoral and agricultural emblems, from the brush of my friend Cynicus. This I framed and hung in the dining-room. As it had columns for recording statistics of the fair for a period of years, it was instructive as well as ornamental. Three of the bedrooms were on the ground floor and were small apartments. The upstair rooms were much larger, were situated in the roof, and were lit by skylight windows which commanded a limited view of the firmament above but none whatever of the green earth below. These upper rooms were reached by an almost perpendicular staircase surmounted by a trap door, a mode of access convenient enough for the young and active, but not suitable for those of us who had passed their meridian. Two of these rooms were double-bedded and all three led into each other. In the innermost, Atock, our locomotive engineer, and I chummed together. He had slept there for many years, with two previous managers, and, in Robinson Crusoe fashion, had recorded the years by notches in a beam of the ceiling. The notches for him then counted twenty-three years, and number one he notched for me. Every morning an old jackdaw perched on a chimney outside our skylight, and entertained us with his chatter. Atock said the old bird had perched there during all his time; and as long as I visited Ballinasloe—a period of nearly twenty years, he regularly reappeared.

To be able once a year to entertain friends and customers of the company was one of the reasons, probably the main reason, why the directors passed the fair week at Ballinasloe. Their hospitality was not limited to invitations to dinner, for guests were welcomed, without special invitation, to breakfast and lunch and light refreshments during the day. It was an arrangement which gave pleasure to both hosts and guests, and was not without advantage to the company. A good dinner solves many a difficulty, whilst the post-prandial cigar and a glass of grog, like faith, removes mountains. One who, in the last century, became a great English statesman (Lord John Russell) when twenty years of age was in Spain. The Duc d'Infantado was President of the Spanish Ministry at the time. The Duke of Wellington was there too, and great banquets were being given. The Duc had more than once visited Lord John's home and enjoyed its hospitality, but he neglected to invite Lord John to any of his banquets; and this is the cutting comment which the youthful future statesman recorded in his diary: "The Infantado, notwithstanding the champagne and burgundy he got at Woburn, has not asked me. Shabby fellow! It is clear he is unfit for the government of a great kingdom."

[The Dargan Saloon: saloon.jpg]

In the creature comforts provided at Ballinasloe the working staff was not forgotten. Adjacent to the station was a large room in which meals were provided for the men, and another large room was furnished as a dormitory. Two long sleeping carriages had also been built for the accommodation of drivers, guards and firemen, which were used also for other fairs as well as that of Ballinasloe.

Ballinasloe was new to me, and I felt not a little anxious concerning the working of the fair traffic, which I knew was no child's play, and which I was told was often attended with serious delays. Early on Tuesday morning I was awakened, long before daylight, by the whistling of engines, the shunting of wagons and the shouting of men. My friend Atock and I rose early, went along to the loading banks where we found the work in full swing and one special train loaded with sheep ready to start. The entraining of sheep, not so difficult or so noisy a business as the loading of cattle, is attended with much less beating of the animals and with fewer curses; but there was noise enough, and I can, in fancy, hear it ringing in my ears now. Throughout the day I was besieged by grumbling and discontented customers: want of wagons, unfair distribution, favouritism, delays, were the burden of their complaints, and I had to admit that in the working of the Ballinasloe fair traffic all was not perfect. The rolling stock was insufficient; trains after a journey to Meath or Dublin with stock had to return to Ballinasloe to be loaded again, which was productive of much delay; and what added to the trouble was that everyone seemed to have a hand in the management of the business. It gave me much to think about. Before the next year's fair I had the whole arrangements well thrashed out, and when the eventful week arrived, placed the working of the traffic under the sole control of my principal outside men, with excellent results. In the course of a year or two the directors opened the purse strings and considerably increased the engine and wagon stock of the company which helped further, and by that time I had in charge an official, of whose energy and ability it is impossible to speak too highly, Thomas Elliott, then a promising young assistant, now the competent Traffic Manager of the railway. Under his management the work at Ballinasloe has for many years been conducted with clock-work regularity.

In 1891 there were 25,000 sheep at the fair, 10,000 cattle and 1,500 horses, and the company ran 43 special trains loaded with stock. The sheep fair is held in Garbally Park, on the estate of Lord Clancarty, and the counting of the sheep through a certain narrow gap, and the rapidity and accuracy with which it is done, is a sight to witness.

The hospitality part of the business was attended with the success it deserved, and helped to smooth the difficulties of the situation. I remember well our dinner on the Tuesday night. On the Monday we dined alone, directors and officers only, but on Tuesday the week's hospitality began. That night our table was graced with five or six guests, one being Robert Martin, of Ross, a famous wit and raconteur, and the author of Killaloe. It was a delightful party, for your Galway gentleman is a genial fellow, who likes a good dinner, and a good story which he tells to perfection. Sir Ralph never took the head of the table, liking best a less prominent seat; but his seat, wherever he chose to sit, always seemed to be to the central place. Never lacking natural dignity, he was not punctilious in mere matters of form. Secure in his authority, to its outward semblance he was rather indifferent. Another delightful guest was Sir George (then Mr.) Morris, brother of the late Lord Morris, the distinguished judge. Until a few months previously, Mr. Morris had been a director of the company, but had resigned upon his appointment to the position of Vice-President of the Irish Local Government Board. He, too, was a Galway man, big, handsome, with a fine flowing beard, a fund of humour, and the most genial disposition imaginable. His anecdotes were ever welcome, and the smallest incident, embellished by his wit and fancy, and told in his rich brogue, which he loved, were always sufficient to adorn a tale. He was rare company, and though, perhaps, he could not, like Swift, have written eloquently on a broomstick, he could always talk delightfully on any subject he chose.

Whilst Sir Ralph remained chairman of the company, which he did until the year 1904, the directors annual stay at Ballinasloe and its attendant hospitality continued. He was not likely to give up a good old custom. But time inevitably brings changes; for some years now the old hospitality has ceased, the rooms at Ballinasloe are turned into house accommodation for one or two of the staff, and the great fair is worked with no more ado than a hundred other fairs on the line. Not many complaints are made now, for delays and disappointments are things of the past. Yet, I dare say there are some who, still attending the fair, look back with regret on the disappearance of the good old days.

Ballinasloe station is on the main line to Galway, 34 miles distant from the "City of the Tribes." Galway is the principal western terminus of the Midland railway. It was once a famous city, but its glory has gone. In 1831 its population was 33,000; to-day it is 13,000! Then, measured by inhabitants, it was the fifth town in Ireland; now it is the eighth. Then it had a large trade with Spain and France, and was a place of note for general trade and commerce; now its harbour is almost idle, and its warehouses and stores nearly empty. Many of its stately old houses have disappeared, and those that remain are mostly now tenements of the poor. Not so very long ago Galway had a trans-Atlantic steamship service, and when the railway was opened in 1851, there was opened also a fine hotel adjoining the station, which the company had built, chiefly for trans- Atlantic business, at a cost of 30,000 pounds. It may be that better times are in store. Some day great harbour works will adorn the bay of Galway, from which fine steamers, forming part of an Imperial route to our Dominions and beyond, shall sail, and shorten the Atlantic voyage. A tunnel too, uniting Great Britain and Ireland, may be made, which all will agree, is "a consummation devoutly to be wished."

Galway is the gateway to Connemara, and Connemara is one of the best places under the sun for a healthy and enjoyable holiday. To be sure the sun does not always shine when expected, but he is seen much oftener than is generally believed. Of course, it sometimes rains, but the rain never lasts long, for no place has such quick and surprising climatic changes as the west of Ireland or such enchanting atmospheric effects. I soon became enamoured of Connemara, and for several years, in whatever time I could call my own, explored its mountain roads and valleys, sometimes on horseback, sometimes afoot, and sometimes on bicycle or outside car. The construction of our "Balfour" extension line from Galway to Clifden, begun in 1891 and finished in 1895, often called me on business to the wilds it penetrated, and gladly I always answered the call. Sometimes on these excursions one had to rough it a little, for hotel accommodation was scarce and scanty in some of the districts, but in one's early forties such trifles scarcely count.

As soon as I took up office at Broadstone, Sir Ralph informed me I was to be chairman of the Midland Great Western Benefit Society, which was partly a sick fund, partly a pension fund and applied to all the wages staff. It was managed by a committee of twelve, half of whom were appointed by the directors and half by the employees. Gladly I undertook a post which would bring me into close touch with the men. I made a point of never, if I could help it, being absent from a committee meeting; nor, more particularly, from the annual general meeting of the society when I had to give an address. It was always to me a pleasure to meet the men, to learn their views, and to help them as far as I could. This they soon discovered, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that I was liked and trusted. Early in life I had learned to sympathise with the wants and wishes of others, and sympathy I found increased one's power of usefulness. By sympathy I do not mean agreeing always with the men and their views, and I never hesitated to strongly express to them my own convictions, and rarely it was that they ever in the least resented the plainest speaking. I believe if the responsible leaders of labour would follow a similar course, it would be better for themselves, for the men they lead, and for the world at large. The deputy-chairman of the society was Michael O'Neill, the audit accountant of the company, and if ever a plain-spoken man, blunt and direct of speech existed, it was he. Every word he spoke had the ring of honest sincerity. To the men he spoke more plainly even than I, and him they never resented. I think their trust in him exceeded their trust in me. True he was Irish and I was not, and then they had known him much longer than me; and so, small blame to them, said I. One good thing for the society I managed to do. I induced the directors to treble the company's annual contribution to its funds, a substantial benefit, of course, to the men. I remained chairman of the society, and Michael O'Neill its deputy chairman till 1912, when the National Insurance Act came into operation. Then, by a resolution of a majority of its members, it was wound up, to the regret, however, of many of them, who preferred their own old institution which they knew so well, and in the management of which they had a voice, to what some of them styled "a new-fangled thing."

The occasions on which I have met, for the first time, men eminent in the railway world, and for whom I have had great admiration, have always left upon me very clear impressions, and this was particularly so in the case of Sir George Findlay, the General Manager of the London and North-Western Railway. He was not, however, Sir George when I met him first, but plain Mr. Findlay. It was in the year 1891, the occasion being one of the periodical visits to Ireland of the London and North- Western chairman, directors, and principal officers. They gave a dinner at their hotel in Dublin to which, with other Irish railway representatives, I was invited. My seat at dinner was next to Mr. Findlay, and I had much conversation with him. Then in his sixty-third year, he was, perhaps, interested in a young Englishman, 21 years his junior, who had not long begun his career as a railway manager, and who showed some eagerness in, and, perhaps, a little knowledge of, railway affairs.

I remember well the impression he made upon me. I felt I was in the presence of a strong, natural man, gifted with great discernment and ability but full also of human kindness. His face was one which expressed that goodness which the consciousness of power imparts to strong natures. He was a notable as well as what is called "a self-made" man, a fact of which he never boasted but I think was a little proud. He commenced work at the early age of fourteen as a mason—a boy help he could only have been—and continued a mason for several years. He was employed in the building of the new Houses of Parliament and much of the stone work and delicate tracery of the great window at the east end of Westminster Hall is the work of his hands. In his twenty-third year he became manager of the Shrewsbury and Ludlow Railway—probably the youngest railway manager recorded. Ten years later the Shrewsbury railway was acquired by the London and North-Western company, and Findlay, to use his own words, "was taken over with the rest of the rolling stock." This was how his London and North-Western railway career began. He was a tall, portly man of fine presence, distinguished by a large measure of strong, plain, homely commonsense, an absence of prejudice, a great calmness of judgment, and a fearless frankness of speech. His sense of honour was very high, and he impressed upon the service of which he was the executive head that the word of the London and North-Western Railway must always be its bond. "Be slow to promise and quick to perform," was his guiding precept. A born organiser and administrator, he knew how to select his men. Before Parliamentary Committees he was the best of witnesses, always cool and resourceful, with great command of temper, full of knowledge, and blest with a ready wit. His services as witness and expert adviser were in great request by railway companies. At the long Board of Trade Inquiry in connection with the Railway and Canal Traffic Act and Railway Rates and Charges, in 1889, he was the principal railway witness and was under examination and cross-examination for eight consecutive days. He had a real love for Ireland, was partly Irish himself, his father being Scotch and his mother Irish—a fine blend. Fishing was his chief recreation and this often brought him to the lakes and rivers of Ireland. He asked, was I the son of William Tatlow of the Midland Railway, whom he had met a good many years before on some coal rates question? On my saying, Yes, he was pleased to know that I belonged to a railway family; and said what a fine service the great railway service was, how absorbing the work and what scope it afforded for ambition and ability. He asked about my railway experience, was amused at my reason for leaving Derby and the Midland, and interested at hearing of my work with Mr. Wainwright, whom he had known and esteemed. He was sure I had learned nothing but good from him. I was able, and very glad, of course, to tell Mr. Findlay with what interest Bailey and I had listened for several days to his evidence at Westminster Hall at the Railway Rates Inquiry, and how much we had profited by it. This led to some talk on the great rates question, of which he was a master. I felt he was just a bit surprised to find that I was rather well informed upon it, which made me not a little proud. Altogether it was a memorable night, and left me with a feeling of elation such as I had experienced in the meetings I had in Glasgow some years before with Mr. John Burns and Mr. John Walker. How little I thought then, that in less than two years I should follow Mr. Findlay's remains to the grave.