My railway life began on a drizzling dismal day in the early autumn.  My father took me to the office in which I was to make a start and presented me to the chief clerk.  I was a tall, thin, delicate, shy, sensitive youth, with curly hair, worn rather long, and I am sure I did not look at all a promising specimen for encountering the rough and tumble of railway work.

The chief clerk handed me over to one of his assistants, who without ceremony seated me on a tall stool at a high desk, and put before me, to my great dismay, a huge pile of formidable documents which he called Way Bills.  He gave me some instructions, but I was too confused to understand them, and too shy to ask questions.  I only know that I felt very miserable and hopelessly at sea.  Visions of being dismissed as an incompetent rose before me; but soon, to my great relief, it was discovered that the Way Bills were too much for me and that I must begin at more elementary duties.

A few weeks afterwards, when I had found my feet a little, I was promoted from the simple tasks assigned to me in consequence of my first failure and attached to the goods-train-delays clerk, a long-bearded elderly man with a very kind face.  He was quite fatherly to me and took a great deal of trouble in teaching me my work.  With him I soon felt at ease, and was happy in gaining his approbation.  One thing found favour in his eyes; I wrote a good clear hand and at fair speed.  In those days penmanship was a fine art.  No cramped or sprawling writing passed muster.  Typewriting was not dreamed of, and, at Derby, shorthand had not appeared on the scene.

One or two other juniors and myself sedulously practised imitating the penmanship of those senior clerks who wrote fine or singular hands.  At this I was particularly successful and proud of my skill, until one day the chief clerk detained me after closing time, gave me a good rating, and warned me to stop such a dangerous habit which might lead, he said, to the disgrace of forgery.  He spoke so seriously and shook his head so wisely that (to use Theodore Hook’s old joke) “I thought there must be something in it,” and so, for a long while, I gave up the practice.

Office hours in those days were nominally from nine till six, but for the juniors especially often much longer.  In 1868 or 1869, 1 do not remember which, a welcome change took place; the hours were reduced to from nine till five, and arrangements made for avoiding late hours for the juniors.  This early closing was the result of an “appeal unto Caesar.”  The clerical staff in all the offices had combined and presented a petition in the highest quarter.  The boon was granted, and I remember the wave of delight that swept over us, and how we enjoyed the long summer evenings.  It was in the summer time the change took place.

Combined action amongst railway employees was not common then, not even in the wage-earning class, but Trade Unionism, scarcely yet legalised, was clamouring for recognition.  Strikes sometimes occurred but were not frequent.