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Hansom cabbies killing time over a card game and a pint of beer. Drivers of the two-wheeled hansom cabs earned more and dressed better than the drivers of four-wheeled "growlers". Each driver's license number is displayed on the large brass badge hanging from his lapel.
Source:
Between Fares.
Outing magazine, vol. XLV, 1904, p. 155.
Vance Thompson's Cab Drivers / 18
The London Cabby / 5
How they shouted, those windy fellows; 'twas evidently wit of a high order; well, a severe Roman laughed himself to death once at seeing an ass eat figs. A bent old man in three coats came in. The chair announced him: "Gentlemen, Old George 'Umphries, the Mush." They gave him a salvo. I had a curious, eager wish to know what a "Mush" was; Not the Other explained. A "Mush," my ignorant brother, is the owner of four or five cabs. He is, as the other says, the yeoman of the mews, the crofter of the cab-rank. I trust you do not mind being instructed; there are in London 2,711 cab proprietors and of these 2,224 own fewer than five vehicles. As you see, it is a poor man's industry. There is only one large company – the London Improved Cab Co., which owns five hundred cabs; the Earl of Shrewsbury and Talbot who was once a large owner went out of business. In the main then the small proprietor – the "Mush" – who owns a few cabs and drives one of them himself controls the trade. The average price for hiring a cab is twelve and threepence a day. In addition the cabman has to pay the yard fees. He gets two horses a day and is usually fourteen hours on the box. His license costs him five shillings a year. The tax of two pounds on the cab and the fifteen-shilling wheel-duty are paid by the owner. Taking it day in and day out the cabby makes about five shillings a day. In the season he may take in more money but as the hire is raised on him, it comes to the same thing. If he is not content – and there is no reason why he should be – he does not grumble unduly. Bill Worth, Not the Other One, voiced the general opinion in a song, which did not, I regret to say, take the whip presented by the 'air dresser of Gray's Inn Road and Old Bill Garner. It was a good song, too. A fragment of it hangs still in memory: "Give the chorus, lads – 'earty. Brummy at Young's – chorus!" Smoking much tobacco and drinking ale – there is a deal of satisfaction to be got out of a penn'oth o' shag and a pot of four ale – I learned many things I never dreamed of knowing. An example: The London cabby does not go in for pets; the only animal he cares much for is the 'orse. Now your Paris cabman – nine out of ten of him – has a dog on the box. Out of nearly sixteen thousand cabbies in London only one has the pet habit. The gentleman's name is Peppermint Jack and he is now on the rank, I believe, at Cold Blow Shelter. His pet is a white and yellow tiger-cat; it rides with him on the dickey. It was the opinion of Old Sepoy that Peppermint Jack was barmy. From the foot of the table Jack Smith at P.H.'s – the foggy man, whose misfortune had brought us together – made himself heard for the first time. What he said was: "'E 'ad 'is troubles – 'e did."
"If I wasn't grateful
For getting a plateful
I'd think myself hateful
And fit for the gaol." "Five bob a day,
"Very good pay.
"Quite a nice income for paying your way."