For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Old cabs never die . . . (03.07.12)

A few days ago I was contacted by a retired London cabbie to tell me to his obvious delight that his 54-year-old cab he had bought new was still alive and kicking.

The vehicle had somehow found its way across the Atlantic to a car dealer in Cape Cod rejoicing in the name ‘The Cape Crusader’ who had recently had the cab shipped halfway round the world to his customer in Australia. Old cabs never die; they just turn off their meters.

Then at the weekend one of London’s first cabs was auctioned for a staggering £22,000. The vehicle featured last week on the Radio Taxis website was a 1910 Panhard Levassor, one of only 674 cabs sent to England from France to become the nucleus for London’s early motorised taxi service, which slowly replaced the horse-drawn Hansom carriage.

The vehicle was believed to have worked as a London cab until 1921 when it was used for commercial transport, resurfacing again appearing in the 1955 movie ‘The Man who loved Redheads’ starring Moira Shearer.

It was later bought by a founding member of the Historic Commercial Vehicle Club who among its members included Lord Montague of Beaulieu.

The vehicle had been left in a barn for 15 years before the current owners contacted Wotton Auction Rooms in Gloucester at which time a regular contributor to the BBC Antiques Roadshow Philip Taubenheim became involved.
The winning bidder intends to restore this very rare example of an early cab which still has its meter and many original features to its former glory.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Bee-ing aware (26.06.12)

You know the amazing thing about London is that any hobby that takes your fancy can be found if you dig deep enough, somewhere in the capital there will be an enthusiastic group of like minded individuals.

Now take apiarists (bee keepers to you and me), you would have thought they would be pretty thin on the ground in London, not so as I found out last weekend.

You see I’ve been interested in bees since I were a lad and apart from extolling a bee’s beneficial work pollinating over 70 per cent of our crops, I’ve been droning on to my children about the bees decline (over 16 per cent last year) and the calamitous harvests coming our way if this trend isn’t stemmed.

Well in an attempt to shut me up once and for all my family sent me off on a bee aware experience.

There I discovered that amazingly there are over 1,500 registered hives in London, Fortnum and Mason even have a webcam of the hives on their roof.

The Lancaster Hotel has over half a million bees on its roof and last year hosted the first London Honey Show and was named by the AA Eco Hotel of the Year.

For me my bee day started with the obligatory talk about the benefit of our little friends followed by having to construct a hive super. These are the vertical trays where the bee constructs its honeycomb, then a discussion on the correct apparel to wear. They will even make to measure your protective outfit.

Our bee themed lunch was followed by a walk around the Hotel. This was followed by the highlight of the day. Dressed as if we were off to Chernobyl two hives were opened. There were thousands of bees flying around us. We even managed to see the queen taking a break from laying the hundreds of eggs she lays every day. You know the strange thing was that under the supervision of our tutors having thousands of bees flying around your head, when dress correctly, it’s rather therapeutic.

Will get my own hive, Err No. Lots of commitment and experience are needed before I fly at that hobby.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

An icon’s swansong (19.06.12)

The other day my cab broke down – gearbox in case you were wondering – and I found myself driving, as a replacement, an old Fairway of the type American tourists love. It’s hardly surprising, if your vision of London is of a rather quaint city that is still stuck firmly in the 50s, then the classic Fairway fits the bill for our colonial visitors.

Little changed since its launch in July 1958, few vehicles have matched its longevity. Although the indicators were moved from their original position on the roof (giving them the sobriquet ‘bunny ears’) the vehicle still has the little round indicators last seen on a car being driven by Jack Regan in The Sweeny.

Manual sliding rear windows locked by means of an ineffectual metal lever, no intercom, brakes fit for a go-kart with 2 tonnes of momentum to slow down, top-heavy necessitating roundabouts need to be negotiated at half the speed of a modern car and its acceleration beyond 30 mph is almost impossible especially when travelling up a hill. Clunking doors which open the wrong way – the driver can reach out and open the offside passenger door without leaving his driving seat. Oh yes! and plastic seats.

It was a trip down Memory Lane. The hardwood 3-spoke steering wheel, imitation walnut trim to the doors and a top speed of 60mph. Many passengers could not fathom out how to open the doors and with the stiff buttons on the outside handles, ladies needed strong thumbs to open the door. The chrome door handles have a plastic guard, presumably an early health and safety requirement.

For all its faults driving this London icon has been a privilege, evocating days when London changed little and we worked at a gentler pace. I’m not the only one who loves this cab. Tourists love its quaintness, choosing it over the more brash upstarts. I’ve even had a guy chase me down the road offering to buy the vehicle. Apparently, they are very much in demand abroad and a rather enterprising cabbie buys them for export to of all places Saudi Arabia.

So it looks like the old girl might have a second life after being taken off the road by the Burgers at the Public Carriage Office who following the dictats of Europe have decreed that cabs over 15 years old must die.

Or she might stay in England many owners like them some even write blogs about them.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Liquid History (05.06.12)

The River Thames is etched into England’s psyche, over the years it has played a central role in the life of the nation, historically used for coronations, processions, funerals and as we saw this weekend pageants.

In 1929 the MP John Burns famously described the river as “The St Lawrence is water, the Mississippi is muddy water, but the Thames is liquid history”.

King Henry VIII loved his palaces at Greenwich and Richmond, but once he had sight of Cardinal Wolsley’s palace at Hampton Court he did not rest until he “persuaded” Wolsley to “give” it to him.

Queen Elizabeth I also loved Greenwich and Richmond, and it was at Richmond Palace in 1603 that she died. Her body was brought downstream to Westminster for her funeral on a magnificent black barge; the poet William Campden described the scene as follows:

“The Queen was brought by water to Whitehall. At every stroke of oars did tears fall”.

Less romantic was Henry VIII’s final trip from London to Windsor – he was due to be buried in St George’s Chapel there. During the overnight stop between London and Windsor his barge moored at Syon House in Isleworth. His coffin suddenly split open, and dogs were found licking his remains.

The banks of the Thames became the favoured location for buildings of all kinds, from monastic abbeys to gorgeous palaces. The huge number of famous buildings along the course of the Thames gave rise to the description of the river as a “string” linking a series of “pearls”.

In the 17th and 18th centuries during the hard winter freezes, Frost Fairs were held on the River Thames, complete with ox-roasting, groups of musicians playing, stalls selling a variety of popular novelties and food, fairground amusements and performing animals.

The last fair to be held on the Thames was in February 1814. In 1831 the old London Bridge was replaced, and – with the removal of the “starlings” or piers upon which the old bridge rested – the river no longer slowed down sufficiently for it to freeze over sufficiently to support public events.

The River Thames also provided some of the greatest “shows” seen on the water. In 1422 the Lord Mayor’s Show took to the water. The participating barges of the City Livery companies became ever more ornate. Barges were covered in gold leaf and some rowed with oars of silver.

In the 17th century, the Lord Mayor’s procession included dramas and pageants. However, these came to an end in 1856 as the river had become clogged up with working vessels.

It was an actor who established one of the most enduring traditions of the River Thames. In 1715 Thomas Doggett was so grateful to a local waterman for his efforts to ferry him home on a bad night, pulling against the tide that he set up a rowing race for professional watermen.

The winner receives prize money and also the coveted scarlet coat and badge, made of silver – hence the name of the race “Doggett’s Coat and Badge”. The race is still held on 1st August each year when professional watermen row from London Bridge to Chelsea and is recognised as the world’s oldest rowing race.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Crowns, coronets and coronations (29.05.12)

It was, I think Cecil Rhodes who, without a trace of irony, stated: “Remember that you are an Englishman, and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.”

He might have said those words with more than a hint of arrogance but as we see this week we are blessed with the continuity that a Constitutional Monarchy gives and the pride we can have by being British.

With such a long pedigree as a nation it is not surprising that we have many traditions surrounding our Monarchs and some surprisingly remain with us to this day while alas many barmy ones have been abandoned. It is those curious and quirky anachronisms which bind us together and make us proud to live in this Sceptred Isle.

A Monarch’s spurs Samuel Pepys loved to see a lady who ‘showed off her pretty, neat legs and ankles’, unfortunately for brandy-loving Queen Anne when her turn came to be crowned her ankles had grown too fat for a functionary to buckle on a new pair of spurs and so this quaint custom was abandoned.

Quiet at the back When George III was crowned the service went on for so long – six hours – that the congregation decided they were hungry and sat down to eat, drowning out the ceremony with the clattering of their knives and forks.

Who nicked the silver? When Charles II was to be crowned, marking the restoration of the monarchy, the ceremony had to be postponed as Cromwell had disposed of all the appropriate regalia.

Which finger? The Archbishop of Canterbury is usually a fellow well past his prime, and thus it proved when Queen Victoria was crowned. The Coronation Ring had to be made smaller for her dainty finger, the incompetent cleric then jammed on a ring on the wrong finger and as a result, it got stuck and remained on the wrong finger for the rest of the ceremony.

Somebody has to clear up the mess In 1953 after the Queen’s coronation, cleaning in the Abbey found three ropes of pearls, twenty brooches, six bracelets, twenty golden balls from peers’ coronets, most a diamond necklace, numerous sandwich wrappers and an undisclosed but impressive quantity of empty half-bottles of spirits. It is not recorded who kept the booty.

Regal rag on bone men Three families share the role of the Lord Great Chamberlain a title that has been in existence since Norman times. The present holder the Marquess of Cholmondeley – Lord Carrington’s family and the Earl of Ancaster stand in the wings chomping at the bit – in return for some minor coronation ceremonial duties has the right to demand anything the sovereign wears during the ceremony (including underclothes), also his or her bed, and incredibly the throne.

On the throne Queen Anne was unable to sit on the throne (presumably left behind by the Lord Great Chamberlain) as she was so fat and gout-ridden that she had to be carried into the Abbey in her own chair. Her statue outside St. Paul’s west front doesn’t do her justice, at the time of its creation she was at least twice that size. Catholic Mary I refused to park her trim bum on the seat asserting that it had been defiled by the ‘Protestant heretic’ her brother Edward VI.

Losing it Henry IV trying his best to appear regal was hard pressed when he lost a shoe, followed by a spur from the other foot and finally to complete the indignity the wind blew the crown clean off his head.

Trouble with the ex At the coronation of George IV prize fighters were engaged to bar his estranged and enraged wife who proceeded to spend much of the day battering the doors of Westminster Abbey while wailing loudly that she had been barred.

Coronation chicken George VI’s big day was ruined when the Lord Chamberlain, whilst having an attack of nerves, couldn’t fix the Sword of State his Majesty completed the task at hand. Next, a chaplain fainted and finally completing a hat trick the Archbishop of Canterbury put the crown on back to front.