大象传媒

After a couple of weeks on late duties I was given my first early turn and soon discovered why the early duties had been delayed so long. I was mobbed with passengers at every stop, dashing in to issue many tickets as I could and then elbowing my way back to the platform to regulate the next onrush, trying to take fares from alighting passengers while counting on the next load. The first journey was chaos from start to finish and left me ringing off about twenty tickets after the last passenger was off and away. To my relief I was given a snatcher for my return journey from Victoria to Clapham Junction and life became just bearable again. Some time later, when I鈥檇 had lots more experience, I did several snatching duties myself and thoroughly enjoyed the work.

Snatchers were, of course, conductors working spread-over duties which consisted of boarding a tram in the rush period and working entirely on the upper deck, allowing the duty conductor to work the lower deck, regulate the load at stops and ring off the tram. In some depots this work was known as doddling - although busy all the time, there was nothing else to do except issuing tickets, taking fares and shouting down the stairs the number of seats available. So an easy journey was often described to as 鈥渏ust a doddle鈥� and though snatching or doddling is no longer necessary these days, busmen still use the expression to describe an easy duty. When the snatcher swung off the tram at a change point he, or she, would call out, 鈥淚t鈥檚 all yours, mate,鈥� to remind the conductor that he was again in full charge of the vehicle, and busmen still use the expression when handing over a bus on the road today.

My snatcher was allowed to stay with me for the return journey to Victoria before being taken off and put on another route but, by this time, daylight was breaking, I had got my breath back and, though still busy, I could manage on my own. Besides, I had been promised a cup of hot tea and, though I didn鈥檛 know quite how we could work and drink tea, I was eager to learn. The tram pulled up further along the road and the driver stamped on the gong three times before coming round to the front platform for me. He then took me to a small coffee shop and, as we stepped through the door, we were handed a blue enamel can, swinging on a handle. 鈥淗ello, Joe. This is Doris. Give him fourpence, ducks, and let鈥檚 be off.鈥� So I duly paid fourpence to the little man holding up the can and received a quick nod and a toothless grin as I was swept out to the tram again. Back on the platform I was shown how the very deep lid of the can converted into a cup that held almost half of the strong, sweet, hot tea. 鈥淣ow, don鈥檛 forget, ducks. When we pull up here and you hear the gong go three times then drop whatever you are doing and run over for the tea. Joe will always have it ready because he is listening out for the gongs too. Take your half and bring the can through to the driver. No one will complain about the delay as long as we don鈥檛 waste time.鈥� So here was a new art I had to learn - how to drink hot tea on a heaving, swaying tram. I suppose I lost about half of it that first time but I gradually improved, finding it easier to wedge my cup against my box in the locker and working on till it got a little cooler. Joe鈥檚 place was only one of dozens dotted about London on all the tram routes and this practice of picking up tea cans on the road prevailed throughout the fleet and dated from the days when a ten hour duty was worked right through with no proper meal breaks. The cans may have dated back that far too for all I knew - I never came across them anywhere else. They were always returned empty on the next journey though not always by the same crew. If there was a crew change then someone else 鈥渃arried the can鈥� for you. Did tram men originate this phrase I wonder or was it just a coincidence?

There is no doubt that passenger transport workers evolved a language of their own and I鈥檝e often wondered whether some of it was handed down from even earlier days. On a very late or a very early journey, for instance, where passengers are few and far between a busman will refer to it as, 鈥渘ot much doing - just picking up a few rabbits.鈥� It is hardly likely that rabbits would be hopping about the streets even in the wee small hours but the old stage coach drivers might have bagged a few - they were usually armed with a shotgun to discourage footpads and highwaymen in the days of long ago and 鈥減icking up a few rabbits鈥� wouldn鈥檛 be difficult.

After the next journey it was time for our meal break at Clapham Junction - only thirty minutes so there wasn鈥檛 time to go back to the Depot and use the canteen - and I was introduced to Tony and his daughter who ran a cafe there. Of course, the fare depended on supplies but there was always something hot to eat whatever the time of day. Cafe owners worked hard, long hours those days too - no instant mashed potato, microwave ovens or frozen, pre-packed food in those days. Sausage and mash was quite a favourite, especially with fried onions - when they were available. So was egg and chips but it wasn鈥檛 often eggs featured on the menu and, when they did, it was strictly an under the counter transaction.

Tony was proud of the fact that we had adopted his as our official Transport Cafe out of the several in the district and we got the best he could obtain. A stranger would doubtless be annoyed to see us tucking into egg and bacon only to be assured that 鈥淭here isn鈥檛 an egg in the place, sir,鈥� but Tony kept us going, especially in the bitterly cold weather when we would dash in stamping our feet and swinging our arms to get some warmth back into them after several hours on a freezing cold tram. No public transport had heaters those days and we often had to warm our hands round the big mug of hot tea to thaw them out sufficiently to be able to handle a knife and fork. Our thirty-minute meal break was over all too soon but, warmed and rested, we faced the second half of our duty with much more enthusiasm than the first half.

So, slowly, I became a real conductor and left my rookie days behind until the day arrived when I was put on the Greyhound Special. Almost the entire male population of the area 鈥渨ent to the dogs鈥� at least once a week and I thought the Loading Inspector at Tooting Broadway was trying to squeeze the lot of them on my trolley bus! Packed way over the limit, we were sent off to do a trip lasting about eight minutes - and nearly a hundred fares to get in! Of course, it was quite impossible and it took ages, once we had arrived, to take tu鈥檖ence from everyone and give change - standing on the platform so I could deal with upper deck as well as those packed inside. I tried hard to count the number of fares I had taken between issuing tickets as fast as I could go. Then back to Tooting Broadway dead (not in service) to pick up another load, packing my ticket rack with plenty of tu鈥檖enny tickets in readiness for the next invasion. After about three journeys the loads got smaller for the racing had begun and on my last journey I actually managed to clear the bus by the time we arrived. After a cup of tea and refilling the ticket rack we started operating in the reverse direction, taking back the unlucky punters who had lost all their money and couldn鈥檛 wait till all the races were over. Then the loading got heavier and heavier till it became impossible to cope again. By this time I had a box full of five-shilling bags of coppers and it weighed a ton - or so it seemed - and still they came. This went on for about an hour after the Greyhound Stadium closed down because the men whose bets had come up on the profit side went into the local pub to celebrate and some got so tipsy in that time they must have been sinking pints almost as fast as I was issuing tickets.

At last the duty was over and I staggered into the office, my moneybag bulging with silver and my box almost too heavy to carry, and I sat down exhausted, to make up my waybill and count the takings. To my horror I found I had fifteen shillings too much! Although only equivalent to seventy five pence these days it was an enormous sum then - my wages were only about four pounds a week so it would be like finding myself with an extra eight pounds these days! What on earth was I to do? Diffidently I approached the Depot Inspector waiting behind the counter for me to pay in and began to stammer out an explanation. He grinned, held up a hand to stop me in mid sentence and called up another conductor, 鈥淟ook, Joe, young Doris here has just done her first Greyhound Special. Show her the drill will you?鈥� So Joe took me in a corner to explain that the general rule was that a conductor would make a swift calculation at the end of each journey to get a rough idea of what takings should be and issue extra tickets to stay somewhere near the right total. Then, at the end of the duty and travelling back to the depot, count all the cash and any money that was over the top would be shared with the driver. They usually reckoned about half a crown each was about fair. Of course, I鈥檇 got far too much so we compromised with five shillings each for my driver and myself, half a crown for Joe and the other half crown went under my box when I pushed it over the counter - and honour was satisfied all round.

Of course, we had the occasional conductor with sticky fingers, as we called the dishonest ones, but they were soon found out and instantly dismissed. These fiddlers apart, we were proud of our good reputation and the half crown bunce on the Greyhound Special was the only time I ever cheated and I made jolly sure it was never any more than that too. Occasionally it was less but I always gave the driver his half crown. A reputation for being a goody-goody was almost as bad as being labelled 鈥渇ast鈥� and women conductors have always had to tread a very narrow margin between the two. Men, who would not dream of swearing in front of women in public or at home, would sometimes forget that we were around in the garage and canteen and I soon learnt to develop a deaf ear and a blank face to save their genuine embarrassment. It鈥檚 a lot easier now than it used to be, I really am a little hard of hearing - my doctor says it鈥檚 nerve deafness, probably caused by the constant noise of the engine - but I blushed furiously at the slightest provocation and some drivers used to playfully make a pass just to see the red tide rush into my face but I turned away any suggestions that I should become rather more than friendly with a remark inferring that their wives were tougher or bigger than me and they soon took the hint. They were a lovely crowd and working with them was like belonging to a big, happy family with lots of uncles and big brothers to laugh and joke with.

Then the day came when I set out to work early one morning and found a deep blanket of snow everywhere. Despite the fact that the all night trams should have been running past every half-hour the tracks were completely covered and obviously unused. So I decided to walk to Lambeth Bridge to see if the snowplough had cleared the tracks from there. The sky was clear and the moon quite bright and even the bombed buildings seemed touched by magic. And the silence was so intense that the sound of Big Ben made me almost jump out of my skin - 5 a.m. and nothing moved as far as the eye could see. The air was very crisp and I tool off my woollen scarf and wore it over my cap and across my face to keep my ears warm and to trap the warmth of my own breath and to prevent the falling snow from freezing as it brushed my face.

The snow was about eight inches deep and still falling softly and, despite my exertions to walk or stumble as swiftly as possible, the snow soon worked through my shoes and trouser legs and when I reached Lambeth Bridge and found the tracks there were also covered with virgin snow I could have cried with disappointment. I had just about reached the point of no return so decided to struggle on. It was a little easier as time went by because I began to see a few people and I had company from Vauxhall to Battersea. I finally staggered into the depot at 7.45 a.m., completely exhausted. No trams had left the depot so the conductors鈥� room was pretty full and a ragged cheer went up when I unwound the scarf and they were able to recognise me. The Depot Inspector hustled me over to the ladies room where the gas fire plopped and bubbled and two other girls were wrapped in blankets, huddling over it. The inspector went off to the canteen for the inevitable mug of hot, sweet tea while the other girls helped me off with my snow covered overcoat, wet shoes, socks and slacks. And into a warm blanket I went, still chattering with cold and hardly able to speak. My clothes went off to be dried in the boiler room and I started to drink the tea that I thought tasted a bit different but very, very warming. 鈥淒id he put whisky in yours too?鈥� the other girls asked and I realised what it was that was starting the warm glow right through me - very soon I was laughing with the other girls. Our clothes came back bone dry within an hour but the shoes were hard and stiff as a board - it was almost impossible to get real leather shoes at that time - and we all knew we would have to spare the coupons to buy new ones.

The inspector came back about 9.00 a.m. to report that the snow plough was operating in the area and some buses were running but there was no question of making us work that day - indeed he was very proud of his girls. A lot of men had decided not to come in but all the early turn girls had made it, even if one was two hours late! So I travelled back on the snowplough which was a tram fitted with a big scoop which swept the snow off the track. The driver didn鈥檛 leave me on the Embankment till he handed me over to his buddy who was to sweep the tracks to New Cross and thus drop me off right opposite 234 New Kent Road. It was almost 10 a.m. by then and I had strict instructions not to try and walk it the next day but to phone the depot for further instructions. In the event the snow turned to rain and by the next day all the services were running normally. Whether by my own youth and fitness or the potency of the whisky laced tea I didn鈥檛 even catch a cold but the Depot Inspector sent in a very strongly worded report which resulted in a transfer to New Cross Depot which was much nearer home. I was glad to make the change but very sorry to say 鈥淕ood-bye鈥� to all my friends at Wandsworth.

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