ON THE SPARE LIST,

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 244, 12 October 1907, Page 9

ON THE SPARE LIST,

(By CONDUCTOR.) I. I was lat? in turning out this morning, so I had to trot half the way to the Bara to make up for lost time. How bare and uninviting it looked, in the mingled light of electricity and early morning. It was 6.13 when I signed the attendance booK — only two minutes to spare! All spare men signing after 6.15 (unless on late shift the night before) lose their seniority on the list to' the day, and have to await their turn for work at the bottom. Sometimes a man reached the Barn, thinking he has a minute to spare, only to find the "before six-fifteens" ruled off. Naturally the men below him who have, signed "on time" insist upon this rule b?ing enfoiced. It is rather annoying to find that someone lower on the list has been given a "straight," i.e., full day's work, bee—use of his industry, which I might have had had I been there. It's still more annoying on pay day. Three runs have gone. This wet weather may make some of the "straights" (regulars) find their beds too comfortable to leave. There is still a chance for a Grey Lynn rcn; but no! the owner comes along with a minute to spare. Never mind, I'm second on the list for this evening. Surely there will be something going. I'll wait anyway. No good going home to loaf about at this hour of the morning. There are lo of us left, with nothing to do, and all feeling fit. We play cards for half an hour, then as the rain has eased up a little, some of us go out into the yard, to try and discover who can jump the furthest. A few minutes later we wander off home in two's and three's, wondering what to do with our time, until two in the afternoon, when we have to report for work again. At 2.15 we are all back once more. —nd a queer collection we are. From the old-time 'bus driver to the Board School educated youngster, who **,-}pc;s some day to be a Labour aeritator. Everything is discussed, anel settled —whether politics, or religion, or footbai_ The Government and the tramway management is criticised, brushes with the travelling public of the day, or year before, are related with not always welcome detail. The senior conductor is now called for. That leaves mc next. Anxiously I compare the time with the number of runs that are left. A certain amount of alertness is necessary, as there are men here who would take a run, whilst the attention of the rightful owner is engaged elsewhere. As all the runs have gone, 1 come to the mournful conclusion that there will be no -work worth having to-day.

"You're booked for an opera special to-night. Get out at 9.30," says the attendant. At 9.15 I report once mow, and sign for my ticket block and way-bill. Aft?r seeing whether the tickets are correct, I enter the numbers in my way-bill, which also contains the times of arrival and departure. Ninethirty! Time's up! 1 run out and jump on my car. It's a miserable wet night, so there are only a few passengers to be picked up at the stopping places, and we arrive at the Queen-street terminus on time, for which the motorman is duly pleased. At the terminus I have to swing my trolley pole, and tie the rope, change the coloured glasses in the oil lamp, reverse the backs of the seas, put up the inner side chain, have an argument with

a "drunk," ring the bell, and we drift along up the street, until opposite His Majesty's, having to wait there for the end of theej performance. Here comes th? rush! No more, thank you! Full up! Off we go for the home trip. At 10.30 I am signed offj; I now have to balance the, ticket numbers with the cash in hand, and give everything over to the cashier. Free to go home, 1 have the* satisfaction of knowing that I have earned ninep?nce half-penny for the day, one penny being deducted foil shortage. j 11. To-day, when least expecting it, I was' given a full shift; I had come out without my lunch! For five days past I had' brought a few sandwiches with mc, and t took them back again to my landlady, l handing them to her with a sheepish grin aud muttered excuse. No work! It's ai saying amongst us: H you want work, don't take lunch with you! Sometimes we're able to send word home by a chum to forward some to the Queen-street de-! spatchcr. He does his best, but it generally means a hungry uay. When the dust is up on a fine day, it's a question which one swallows most of, dust or ] lunch. "Bite and pennj' grab," someone called it. However, about my run. I discovered, to my dismay, aftec-we had started, that I "hadn't prepared any' : workmen's return tickets by previous snipping of tho dates. This can only j be done to a limited extent; if more are, snipped than there is a sale for, the ex-! cess is useless for a later date, and this means that I shall be "wanted," i.e., 1 the head office wants mc to come and explain, and notifies mc of the fact by putting my name upon the "wanted" board, which sometimes means that I am wanted no longer!

Every second tells in a rush, and if the tickets can be plucked off and sold, without having to twice snip each one, the ability to "do" a car before a penny section is reached is doubled. Missed fares are a great worry and menace to the spare man. There were the usual number of workers travelling to-day I suppose, but to mc they appeared to swarm like bees around a hive. I longed for eight o'clock, which seemed as if it would never come. After eight the sale of workmans' returns stops, and the rush eases up. Car-conducting is then a gentleman's job, especially on a fine morning after heavy rain. It is then that we are courteous and attentive to passengers, give,r- the right change, and remember to stop at the right stopping places.

This morning I carried two people past the places they wanted to get out at. One was a lady, of course; as soon as she stood up I remembered her asking mc to stop somewhere or the other. My heart sann. at the sight of her face, already I have learned to know the types. Stout of tigure, short of breath, and hating the thought of having to walk back after paying her penny to be carried. It would all come out at the end of a practised, vigorous tongue, and it did! To ease the situation a little, I rang the bell again as we went whizzing along to the next stopping place; the old lady's wrath increasing with the distance she would have to walk back. You ask: Why don't we remember? How can we with so many things to distract our attention? The remedy for this nuisance which causes so much trouble is simple. Give notice, by pressing the bell provided for that purpose, by standing up, or by giving a nod of the head when the conductor is looking, within

seventy-five yards of the place you wish to get out at. Remember, the neglect is never inlentiefoal. On the back trip from town there was some more trouble for mc. I was taking advantage of a slight lull in the bustle to enter some of the ticket numbers in my waybill for the return trip, when an inapector boarded the car; after '"checking" half-way through, he gave the bell at my end of the car one ring. Signal for the conductor to come to the front! I caught a fragment of his con\-ersation with a passenger. Are you quite sure you saw him pull this ticket off the block? Turning to mc, he said: "Here's I a ticket with a lower than your way- \ bill shows. How do you account for j it?" I don't know! "With a caution, he enters this fact in his report-book. "I'll put ii—doxvn as an error in way-bill." The rest of the day slipped by easily. During lunch hours there is a slight : increase in the traffic, just enough to keep the work from becoming monotonous. At three o'clock I am relieved by the second shift. After I reached home, and had a much-needed wash to get the awful dust out of my ears, mouth, nose, eyes, and throat, I made a calculation of .the hours I'd worked during the week.- They are I just that means twentyI three shillings. If over twenty-four ; hours I'd get tenpence halfpenny an hour. If I go to the barn to-morrow 1 may have to do a ''Scotch Express," which only runs for two hours. I've decided to stay at home. 111. On Friday afternoon I was informed jof what were, to mc, two important i ■ facts. One was that I was booked up for [a football special on a double-decker for | Saturday, and the other was, two of the ' regulars had been discharged. I am now second on the list, with the prospects of j regular employment looking brighter ■ than they have done for some months . past. In fact, being first and second on j the list is almost as good as being on a ("straight run." At 1.30 on Saturday I I take up my position as junior conductor on the bottom platform. There are not many passengers until we get to QueenStreet, but then, how they rush! Much! struggling and argument! Now the ] j motor man is impatient to be ofi". I ring jthe bell, and am still entreating and arguing with them to clear the way as we pass the dispatcher's post. I see the traffic manager watching the disturbance with a look of displeasure on his face. Now for the tickets. 'Squeezing and jamming through, issuing tickets, taking the money and giving change, watching the passengers getting on and off, ringing I the bell and answering questions! Conducting under these conditions is anyi thing but nice work. When I got fairly ! inside someone asked mc how many more I was going to allow on? My answer was just as many as the v company would permit. Certainly 1 might have been more civil; but there is some excuse tor impatience. The car is already overloaded, I and goes very slowly. Will the brakes hold the weight going down hill ? They may, and they do; but it's risky. The very fact of being overloaded and having to travel slowly allows more and | more people to jump on; every time ij stop the car to drop one passenger a- } dozen get on, never thinking to see first whether there is room or not, and I am helplessly jammed inside, trying to collect all the fares, having to squeeze and struggle to move an inch.

At Newmarket there is a climax. The passenger who had quesJtioneji mc previously happened to be a magistrate, and

he called a constable, tellingrhim to count the passengers. The bottom platform was licensed to carry forty-six. and there were thirty-five in excess! With the assistance of the constable and two inspectors I cleared the car of everyone standing. The protests were loud and long, but off they had to go. Now there is a chance to manage the car as a car should be managed. I begin to realise, however, that there trouble in store for mc later on; but by great good luck my magistrate came back with mc on a return .trip, when the car was almost empty. He. questioned mc closely, asking mc why I allowed so many to get on. As I now knew who he was, and had next to nothing to do, I explained at some length. That trip taught mo my lesson. Now, whenever I see signs of a rush, I leave the fares alone and guard the. chains. Now darkness has set in, and with it rain. My mate upstairs is getting the full benefit of it. His oilskin is supposed to keep him dry, but somehow it does not. His boots squelch water, and his hands are stone, cold. He laughs as he. comes downstairs to show mc his tickets in a sodden mass, all curled up with the water. Poor beggar! All through the long Saturday night we run to and fro. Tho traffic is heavy, and the car has to travel fast to keep anywhere near the time-table. Kow it's the conductor's turn to help the motor-man; he judges the active young man who can, and likes to. jump on, and gives a bell to go on before the car is fairly stopped. Risky? Well, yes, but by not making any mistakes it saves a lot of time. After ten the drunks come along. They are a real nuisance, since they never seem to know whether a car has stopped or not, and that means accidents, which we hate. Fancy having to sit down and fill in a report form at about eleven at night, explaining how John Jones fell off the car. However, Saturday is over. I give a glance at the time sheet as I leave the barn to see what time I'm booked for to-morrow. IV. I think that of all the days in the week, Sunday is the day I prefer for tram-conducting. On this day the order of the names on the spare list is reversed, the last man is booked up first, so that it is very seldom that regular men get any Sunday wort, as the pay is at the rate of time and a-half. system enables the man well down, the list at least to pay his lodging, which he otherwise could not do. The traffic on Sundays is never excessive, and the passengers seem to be on their best behaviour; they are certainly more tolerant of the mistakes which the best of conductors are apt to make. The time-table too, is slower, which gives us a chance to dodge the charge of "careless and indifferent management of car," which seems to include everything we may not do, from pulling out a trolley pole, "or not being on the platform when it was pulled out," to carrying passengers free, commonly known as "scaling."

There are some people who, because they have a nodding acquaintance with a conductor, wait for him, so as to get a free ride. Is the conductor to pay for them? Of course the remedy is to charge them, but that gives offence, or is put down as meanness, and the number of such people is incredible. Then, again, there is the (may'l call him) professional dodger, who rides on the front of a full car, and jumps off before the conductor reaches him. We make a point of "nabbing" that sort every time. The direct opposite of the professional is that particular type of honest person,

nearly always of the softer sex -by the way; who, having been passed, bvef, comes to the conductor when an inspector is v'th him, and says, with a sweet smile, "Conductor,, you have forgotte— to take my fare!" When I reached the barn after my day's work,'l found that .I had lo express my willingness to join in refusing to carry strap-hangers. My answer was, Yes! There will be more work for the spare men, it will • put an end to tho slavery we have to go through in "rush* times, and it will compel the company to do now what they should have done before, i.e., put on more cars. The only question is, Will it alienate the good feeling which the public have toward us? My days as a spare man are numbered. My name is up on the timeboard as a regular, morning shift next week. No more coming to the barn in a state of glorious uncertainty about getting work, which was the most unpleasant feature of the spare list.