CHAPTER XX.. The Midland Great Western Railway of Ireland

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.

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.