nb: please look at 10th March for an admission of guilt.
The Diaries of William Codd
D
|
uring the current
refurbishment of Ropley Station workmen came upon a bundle of dusty, yellowing
documents dating from Victorian times. Among these papers were some diaries
written by William Augustus Codd, stationmaster at Ropley and other LSWR
stations around the 1860 – 1870s. We reproduce here, with some explanatory
notes, some of the more illuminating entries, with the permission of his
descendant, the Lady Lucinda Codd-Peece, wife of Sir Alexander Sutherland
Peece, recently retired MP for Medstead Town (North).
Wednesday September 14th 1860: Drizzle. On morning rounds, tripped over Porter
Gribble who was sprawled insensible in the domestic coal heap. nb., fined
Porter Erasmus Gribble 1¼d for reporting for duty improperly dressed and being
in drink. A flock of sheep having strayed onto the railroad from Farmer
Blenkinsop’s fields, employed signalman/porter Daffydd Jones in moving them
back. Fined Porter Gribble 0¾d for making lewd remarks at Jones’ expense
concerning Welshmen and sheep.
Thursday September 15th 1860: Hail. An urchin from the locomotive shed begs leave
to report that as Mr. Beattie’s divided firebox has puzzled the fitters again,
they are attempting to save the day by screwing down the safety valve.[i]
As this is outside my jurisdiction, I neither know nor care what the outcome
may be. Booking Office Clerk Jeremiah Tharp arrives attired in an embroidered
waistcoat, with silver buckles upon his shoes. Reprimanded and fined ½d for
reporting out of uniform, he remarks that he cares not a fig as he will soon
make it back. Porter Gribble seeks to ingratiate himself by alluding to an
irregularity in the ticket receipts and the cash book. I give the insolent
fellow a hearty blow for informing on his workmates, and a reward of 1½d for
saving me the embarrassment of explaining some discrepancies to the District
Auditor. J.Tharp dismissed and sent to Winchester Assizes to be whipped and
branded, then transported as a Thief.
[i]
Records indicate that the locomotive of the 11-25 Ropley to Guildford stopping
train exploded at Alton with the locomotive crew being propelled 100 feet into
a dung heap, but miraculously unhurt.
The Diary of Wm. Codd
Part the Second
30th November1861: Fog. Spied in a.m. some ragamuffin
urchins gleaning for cinders amongst the ashes in the locomotive ashpit. Instructed
the Shed Foreman to direct a Steam Hose at the wretches, to instil in them a
proper sense of Theft’s Wrongness and to entertain the Platform Staff with the jigs
of pain danced by the larcenous rogues. Thence to morning prayers. In p.m.
reprimanded Porter Gribble for holding a cock fight in the Lamp Room.
Sequestered his winnings (13/8d.) as a Lesson and a Warning. Ordered a good
moleskin waistcoat from McCaroon & Bunn, haberdashers and general merchants
of Alresford: cost 13s. 8d.
2nd December 1861: Gales. 10:23 Down Train
immobilised at Platform Two owing to a Disturbance in its Mechanism. The
driver, Abraham Flout, climbed beneath the locomotive in an attempt to right
the defect. After a short time had passed, and a not inconsiderable string of
profane oaths had issued from under the locomotive, Driver Flout emerged having
successfully remedied the fault, viz. a newt caught in the clack valve.
Admonished Driver Flout for his ill language and returned the newt to the water
tank, wherein I am conducting an Experiment to Confound Dr. Darwin’s
blasphemous exposition on Heredity and Natural Selection, by observing the
random patterns of spots upon the backs of succeeding generations of newts.
The Diary of Wm.
Codd
Part the Third
Thursday 17th December 1868: Snow. Upon reprimanding Jeremiah Wregg, locomotive
engine driver, for his tardy arrival, I saw a brace of fresh pheasants ill
concealed beneath some sacking in a corner of the footplate. The Marquis of
Ropley having suffered severe depredations on his estate from poaching rogues,
I confronted Wregg and his fireman Samuel Crutt. Their explanation was risible:
the pheasants had struck the locomotive on the buffer beam and fireman Crutt
had despatched them from their misery with his firing shovel. I expounded upon
the Game Laws as they are applied in the County of Hampshire to poachers caught
with game, viz. mutilation and transportation to New South Wales. They then
agreed to my proposal of leniency in that if I agreed to remove the evidence
they would be protected from prosecution. In gratitude Messrs. Crutt and Wregg
agreed to compensate me for my trouble by heaving some coals off the tender every
day by the occupation crossing, where my son George will retrieve them to keep
our fire blazing merrily. Set Porter Gribble to plucking the pheasants. He may
keep the feathers but he may not eat them.
Friday 18th December: Frost. The signal wires having frozen to their
pulleys, I send Porter Gribble to the outer home signal to act as flag man. I
walk up to Gribble’s position to ensure that the fellow, little better than a
simpleton, understands his duties. I
find him lying face down in the snow. I revive the idle wight with a blow and a
curse, upon which it appears that he has been wounded in the head. The story
soon emerges that, leaning against the signal post, he fell into swinish
slumber and soon became covered with snow. The footplate crew of the 08.57 up
train exercised their wit by pelting him with coals, one of which deservedly
struck him on his addled pate.
The Diary of Wm.
Codd
Part the Fourth
Christmas Eve 1865: Up by times and onto the platform to meet
the 8:23 from London in my best frock coat and silk top hat. Feigned surprise
at the arrival of Samuel Limb, Comptroller of Operational Traffic; my nephew,
Shadrach Codd, is employed at head office and warned me of Mr.
Limb’s coming down on a surprise inspection. These past few days have been
spent in a fury of polishing, cleaning and re-writing of the ledgers. The
family of the Irish ganger has temporarily been driven out of the coal cellar,
whence they have been dwelling at a generous rent and Porter Gribble has done a
fair job of re-tiling the cess pool. So it was with a clear conscience that I
greeted Mr. Limb with every expression of delight. He wore his
disappointment on his face, obviously having had the intention of catching me
out, and began by roundly damning my eyes and demanding to see the ticket
receipt book. Pausing only to belabour the train guard with the knobkerrie he
invariably carries, a memento of his days in the Cape Colony militia, he
preceded me into the office. After two hours of close scrutiny, and having
found me out in nothing, he gave a bark of disgust, threw down his quill,
damned my eyes again and set off like a whirlwind on an inspection. Ascending
the steps into the signal box he threw the levers all askew, as an exercise and
test, and asked the terrified Daffydd Jones what he would do to resolve the
disorder, given that the Itchen Abbas Flyer had just been accepted. Here I
interposed the observation that Jones had been promoted upon Mr.
Limb’s own recommendation, whereupon the test was brought to a rapid halt and
the levers restored to sanity by Mr. Limb’s own hand. After
delivering another bark of disgust, a further remnant of his time in the Cape
Colony, where he was brought up in a family of hyenas, the Comptroller voiced
his intention of moving his inspection onto Alresford. I gave him a plum
pudding, as a seasonal gift, and he departed, just missing my head with a wild
swing of his knobkerrie. 1¼d. for a packet of senna pods which Mrs. Codd
stirred into the plum pudding mixture as a purgative.
The Diary of Wm.
Codd
Part the Fifth
Thursday 15th March 1866: Rain.
Obadiah Nargs died of the Strong Fives. As I arrive to unlock the station
buildings I am greeted by a deputation of the lower orders, namely Porter
Gribble, Signalman/porter Jones, the lamp boy whose name escapes me and
Nathaniel Reeks, booking office clerk. They have the impudence to inform me
that they have combined to form an Union, to feed their intemperate greed.
Having taken a pint of Brandy to counter the shock, I confront their insolence
by setting Gribble to retile the cess pool once again, Jones to burnish all the
signal wires until they gleam, Reeks to justify his accounts (his face went the
colour of whey at this): the boy I sold to the poor house as a Warning and an
Example. Shuffling their feet, they offered to dispute my orders. Crying aloud
Psalms 2:2, “Thou shalt break them with a
rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel.” I laid about me with my
hunting crop and drove them to their work. There will be no more talk of
unions, I think.
Friday 16th
March 1866: Floods. Shot a Methody preacher on Blakes
Crossing. Decided to offer a carrot after yesterday’s stick to the work force.
At luncheon time I uncovered a Wholesome Feast for the workers’ delectation;
viz a Steamed lung and Rooks head Pie, to be washed down with a gallon of gin
each. At the end of the meal I proposed the loyal toast, the Downfall of the
Great Western Railway and Confusion to Brunel! This was drunk with a bumper,
and no heel taps. The staff being unable to continue their duties, I declared
the station closed, due to an outbreak of the marthambles. I did not neglect to
enter the absence of the staff in the Ledger, as this will be a useful antidote
to future unrest.
The Diary of Wm.
Codd
Part the Sixth
10th February
1856: Mud. Continence Whortleberry
died of the Moonpall. As Sir Theodore Nosebagg, late Member of Parliament for
the Pocket Borough of Bighton, has fled to France to avoid his creditors, the
seat has become vacant and a bye-election has been called. Captain Horatio
Arbelaster, a Director of the Railway, is standing representing the Tories and
it has been made clear that it will be in the best interests of all employed by
the London and South Western Railway to further the efforts of his supporters.
11th February
1856:
Ice. Evicted the family of Ebeneezer Quargs, former locomotive cleaner, maimed
by escaping steam on account of his own negligence, and unable therefore to
carry out his duties. Their tied cottage must be cleared and rented out.
Signalman/porter Daffydd Jones exhibits the Insolence to stand in the Bighton
bye election as an Independent Candidate supporting Methody preachers, Trades
Unions and Free Beer for all the workers, no doubt. I summon him to my office
and make it clear to him that if he persists in his Wrong Headed actions he may
soon be conducting a close personal inspection of the Poor House.
20th February
1856:
Fog. Captain Horatio Arbelaster declared unopposed victor in the Bighton bye
election, having been unanimously chosen by all the electorate, viz. the parson
and myself. An hogshead of sillery wine having been left at my house by persons
unknown the day before the vote, I feel generous and I console signalman/porter
Jones by sending round to his cottage (tied) a bundle of religious tracts and a
basketful of rotten apples. Not all railway servants are so fortunate in their
superiors, I think.
Wm. Codd, his Diary
Part the Last
17th June 1867: drought. Ananias Clott died of a surfeit of turnips.
A competition has been announced in which the station deemed best kept on the
Alton to Winchester Railway will be awarded a Prize of half a sovereign, to be
distributed among the staff. As winning will unite the station staff in healthy
toil to achieve success, I direct their efforts to this end. Imagine Porter
Gribble’s delight when the local carter delivers two thousand pre owned cess
pool tiles, purchased at my own expense, which need but to be scrubbed and
washed before replacing those which he applied and grouted only last month. He
disguises unmanly gratitude masterfully.
18th June 1867: plague of ants in waiting room. I find that Porter
Gribble has been busy with the topiary on platform two. To my incandescent
rage, he has re-cut the peacock to depict a figure in a station master’s
uniform in an inelegant posture viz. satisfying micturition. I shall have
something to say to the wretched fellow once I get this d----d collar off.....
The rest of the entry is a trailing scrawl, alas quite
illegible. Research has revealed that Stationmaster Codd suffered an apoplectic
fit while writing his diary and died soon after this event.
Porter Gribble, far from being penalised for his act
of lewdness, was rewarded with promotion by Samuel Limb, Comptroller of
Operational Traffic who had harboured a grudge against William Codd since an
incident involving a sjambok and a putty knife.
The
Diaries of William Codd
Previous
publication of the diaries of William Augustus Codd, Stationmaster at Ropley
and other stations on the London & Southwestern Railway, has proved to be
such an important event that further research has been stimulated. This has
resulted in the discovery of further diaries relating to Codd’s time at Ropley
and it is with much satisfaction that we produce them below.
ThurÇday, AuguÌ the Eighth. Gales. Today I celebrate
my Äftieth Birthday and it is with a benign Countenance that I Ìep upon the
Platform at Ropley Station. To my annoyance, I trip over the kneeling form of a
mendicant orphan, who has the inÇolence to beg me for a cruÌ of bread.
Summoning a nearby Porter, whoÇe name is as unimportant as his rank is obÇcure,
I inÌruÀ him to whip the child oÁ Railway PremiÇes. At this junÀure, the ReÀor of
Ropley and Bighton joins us on the platform and aids the Porter in his task
with many a hearty kick, accompanied by quotes from Holy Scripture relating to
HoneÌ Toil, and beggary being a Çure path to Eternal Damnation. The ReÀor and I
then repair to the OÂce to Çample Çome excellent Madeira wine, a birthday gift
from Égnalman/porter Jones in return for my obnubilating the record of his Çeveral
miÇdemeanours. To the Çervices of a
Cleaning Wench to reÌore cleanlineÇs to the oÂce, after the ReÀor’s unfortunate
indiÇpoÉtion: 2¾d. To Carbolic Soap, Ammonia and Turpentine to remove all traces
6½d.
Friday, AuguÌ the Ninth. Hail. I am obliged to
operate the Égnals as Égnalman/porter Jones requeÌs a half day’s leave of abÇence
on account of the death of his daughter. Nb
deduÀ two day’s pay from Égnalman/porter Jones, as a LeËon and a Warning. SuÁering as I am from a Severe and Serious
ache in the head – unrelated to the very Çmall number of bottles of Portwine
and Gin that I conÇumed yeÌerday, celebrating my Birthday – I confuÇe the Bell
Codes Çent to me on Mr. Tyer’s ingenious InÌrument, and I prepare the
Locomotive Yard to receive a Çnow plough attached to an OÂcers Special with
eight banking engines. A Çmall crowd of rude mechanics gathers, muttering in a
mutinous manner. Their inÇolence increaÇes when inÌead of a Çnow plough with
eight banking engines, the local freight appears. Open laughter at my miÌake
breaks out and I am obliged to diÇperÇe them with a Ìeam hoÇe, their jeers
turning to howls of pain.
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