OLD CABBIES

Southland Times, Issue 19458, 24 January 1925, Page 11

OLD CABBIES

THE LOCAL JEHU. (By “Spectator.”) Fifty years ago when James Anthony Froude, the English historian and essayist, passed through Invercargill on his way to Queenstown, he recorded the fact in his diarj' that the town boasted only one cab. Thus are we immortalised. Really, we must have been a one-horse show then, but it seems possible that long before another half-century has passed by we will be without even one solitary representative of the equine-powered vehicle. Alas, and alack, we will be horseless. Joe Weaver was the sole cabbie of early Invercargill made famous by J. A. Froude. He was a nuggety little fellow, obviously English and decidedly horsey. His job was no light one, because he had to face all the untoward vicissitudes of the pioneer. In the first place the so-called roads were bad, and again and again he had to make trips to parts of the town which were nothing better than bogs. Whenever Joe Weaver, first cabman, started out with a fare he was never quite sure where he would land. Perhaps in a deep ditch, or be buried axledeep in a swamp. Every trip was a real adventure. But he had compensations. To begin with there was no competition. He was the king-pin, the geebung, the only pebble on the beach. When a governor or celebrity visited the town, “old Joe”— quite young then—would be an important personage, for without him the visit would be a sorry failure. No man can be great and merely walk beside his admirers. That is why Napoleon always rode a horse, and that is why Sir George Grey always hired Joe’s cab. Joe Weaver was enterprising, and a few years later we find him running two cabs, and his son with him in the business. He later became an hotel keeper and dabbled in all sorts of speculations. He prospered considerably and in the late nineties was running a ’bus service to South Invercargill. People at that time used to say that he didn’t use a very good stamp of equine; that the ’bus service was consequently slow. But he was getting old then, and preferred aged horses to young ones. On one occasion the hardy old veteran with a drag and two horses almost as old as himself, had arranged to take a couple of visitors to Seaward Bush. The horses were apparently tired, and came to a standstill at the foot of Nith street hill, and poor old Joe could not induce them to go another step. The lady passenger refused to remain with the irate Jehu, and left the drag, her companion following her. She told the veteran cabbie what she thought of him, saying that his horses were “sick and ill” and that he seemed more capable of pulling the bus himself. Joe answered, “At my age?” “What about the horses then ?” the lady quickly replied. The next cabbie to go on the rank was old Steve Dewe from Oxford, the University town, who arrived here in 1874. Later his son Steve became a cabman and was driving up to a few years ago. Old “Dad” Dewe was your typical rural Englishman, with a strong accent, and weak on his aspirates. He was what is described as a fine old fellow, honest, deeply religious, and a hard worker. His numerous family to the third and fourth generations have made a mark in this and other towns. He lived to a great age and weilded the whip with a fine flourish to the last. In appearance he was not unlike the RU Hon. W. E. Gladstone, and as he was clean-shaven and wore the Victorian choker, he looked exactly what he was —the go.m. of the cab rank. At a later period the two Boyces, Greenaway and Walker, put in an appearance. They were both distinguished Jehus who hailed from the North of Ireland. I do not know whether they knew’ anything about the rocky road to Belfast, but we had muddy enough roads in those days to try out these brothers twain with. Greenaway was black-haired with a full beard of jet, and he was known as the “black Boyce.” Still hale and hearty, he is always pleased to look back on the happy days on the old rank when he drove many a distinguished visitor. His wedding carriage was a real old-time brougham, and was “the thing” if you wished to “tie up” in style. His brother Walker, who died some years ago, was a witty gentleman with a red mop and beard. He was always “the red Boyce.” Perhaps one of the quaintest characters on the rank was old Domigan, who was proud of his handsomecab. He had worked on the Bluff railway cutting, and had numerous stories to tell of navvies and bosses. Domigan knew Sir Joseph Ward, when the politician was a boy at Bluff, and said that when that noted financier came south from Wellington during his Parliamentary hey-day, he would always insist that the old cabman of the Bluff cutting would drive (jim about. Domigan also knew Sir Joseph’s mother, and she also was loyal to the navvy of a former day who now had risen to the elevated seat of a handsome cab. This oldtimer was a friend of the late Robert McNab, historian of Murihiku, and his runholder father. Robert, during electioneering campaigns, would get Domigan to drive him as far as Woodlands. It seemed strange, the cabman used to say, to see the son of such a thoroughly-going Conservative joining the ranks of the aggressive Liberals of the Seddon regime. Old Joss was an early cabman, and his son Steve followed the family calling. With the Dewes and Josses there were no less than four Steves on the rank, and this often led to awkward complications. The fares were a shilling in those good old days, and a mix-up over a shilling was to be deplored. Later men were Troon, of Seaward Bush, the late Watt, of East Road, the late James Robertson, of North Invercargill, Garrett of Ness street, the late Constable of Dalrymple Road, the late Milne of Bowmont street, Hughes, back in the ’seventies—an early driver, and others. The old cabby was certainly a romantic figure who represented a phase of local life which is already dead, and he is one of a world-famous profession which has its place in literature* art, and society. Famous cabmen in life and letters would make a formidable list. The local rank was in front of the Athenaeum as at present, and the rankers used to fill in time by playing marbles and other boys’ games in season. But the quaintest of pastimes was the flying of kites. There was objection taken that it frightened horses, the complaints being laid by riders, carters, teamsters, but never by brother cabbies. Probably the chief recreation of the sons of Jehu was story-telling, and it would be something too good to be true to have all these stories put into print. I do not for a moment think that all the yarns would be printable, but I’ve an idea they’d all be worth having. When the cab was the height of fashion, its private counterpart was the gig, ■ and while some old-time doctors, Dr Gregor of Forth street for instance, always hired a cab, others of the medical profession had gigs of their own. Of these Dr Young had a decidedly smart turn-out with a fine display of equine steed, his groom for many years being that sterling horsemen, the late Wm. Carnahan. Dr Hogg also was an admirer of the horse beautiful, and was often seen driving tandem. His groom was Mr Watson, and he took a pride in the doctor’s stable. The

late Dr Fullarton was nothing if not a lover of horse-flesh and his turn-out was a joy to behold. The doctor liked a good mount, and was a figure with the Southland Mounted Rifles. His groom was Mr Moody Wallis, and he knew horses from hoof to mane. An early personage, Mr McCulloch, R.M., that is Royal Magistrate, (the S.M. of to-day seems a less dignified title), had his gig with groom in livery. But the acme of style was displayed in the carriages of Mrs J. T. Thomson, and Mrs Walter Guthrie. These were the last word, grooms in full livery, top hat and all. Those were the days of aristocratic exclusiveness, and no motor car, Rolls Royce, or other make could give quite the same thrill of ancient England and its lords and ladies, as a carriage of black and silver.