For our Four-legged friends - When Dogs Travelled on the Railway

After a survey of my many railway books I have determined that seemingly no one has ever written about the conveyance of our four legged friends by train in the Victorian era. This is a shame and hopefully this post will try and shed some illumination on this apparently forgotten subject.

The dog ticket was an early invention of the emergent railway industry and the National Archives holds a document that lists dog tickets issued between 1849 and 1854 on the Great Western Railway (GWR).[1] Furthermore, in 1848 the Daily News recorded events from two years earlier in which how dog-tickets were issued was detailed. On the 11^th September 1846 a Mr Wallop was returning from a day’s shooting to Gosport. Allegedly, Wallop fired his gun out of the first class carriage window, damaging it and the door. On arrival a railway employee demanded Wallop’s name, which he refused to give. But, the official persisted and demanded to see the dog ticket on which the name of the passenger was usually written. [2]

Thus, given that the dates of the GWR document and the events of Gosport, it could be suggested that companies had started issuing special dog tickets in the late 1840s. Yet, given the lack of research on the early railway, this cannot be confirmed. Secondly, the Daily News report also indicates that the early procedure of writing the names of the owner on the dog ticket. The one thing that was missing from these pieces of evidence is whether dogs travelled in a prescribed manner.

However, special procedures for the conveyance of dogs was definitely in place by the 1850s, and a court case from 1858 detailed that procedures for canine carriage had become rather unpleasant for the animals involved. The case involved a man who was pursuing a claim against the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway for his dog that had escaped in the course of a journey. Ordinarily, it was recalled, dogs were conveyed in ‘dog-boxes’ which throughout the journey were stashed under the seats of second class passenger carriages.[3] Indeed, correspondence from the period indicates that these dog boxes were common.

However, the rules laid down that dogs be carried in this manner were sometimes breeched in this period as the accompanying picture from 1882 in the Illustrated London News evidences. Indeed, a book from 1868 called Romey’s Rambles on Railways, stated that many women, who owned small dogs, hid them ‘under shawls and in hand baskets.’ However, other methods of concealment ‘more erudite are occasionally practiced,’ such as one man who concealed his dog in a carpet bag.[4]

Yet, some railway companies attempted to stamp out the and breeches of the rules. A London and South Western Railway Appendices to the working timetable from 1911 stated that ‘complaints have been made of Passengers being permitted to take dogs with them into carriages to the annoyance and inconvenience of passengers. This is contrary to the Regulations and Guards of Trains and the staff of stations should insist firmly but courteously on the animals being placed in the Guards’ vans. However, interestingly this did not apply to ‘ladies’ lap dogs.’[5]

But this raises an interesting question as to whether the aforementioned ‘dog-boxes’ were still used by this time, as the order does not mention a dog-box was required. This said, a London, Brighton and South Coast Railway Appendices from 1922, suggests that railways may have still used them. It stated that no dog ‘unpacked’ was to be received for transport without a muzzle. Additionally, it also orders that the boxes for dogs, that were to travel in the guards van, were not to be accepted if they were ‘not sufficiently large.’ Furthermore, ‘the labels of dogs must be inspected at all points, and any instructions re watering at any particular point &c, written thereon must be carried out as far as is practicable and consistent with the safe custody of the animal.[6] Thus, while the boxes were still used, it seems that, firstly, the practice of putting the dogs under seats had long since passed by the early twentieth century. But, secondly, the rule implies that the safe, comfortable and humane transit of dogs was a prime concern when they were transported.

This change was due to a shift in the attitudes to animal welfare in the late Victorian period. Amongst other letters that have been found regarding the treatment of dogs on trains, The Times recorded in 1900 that the Kennel Club had sent out a circular to ‘the principal railway companies’ suggesting improvements in the method of conveying dogs. They asked that dogs be placed in boxes, side by side, in guards vans and these new boxes would be available at stations, much in the manner of horse boxes, for an extra fee. After this, the boxes would be disinfected. In the Kennel Club’s opinion many dogs have had to be destroyed due to infections caught while using the old boxes that were too small and dirty.[7] Thus, given the rules cited above, it seems that this suggestion was taken up by some railway companies.

Overall, like most things I blog about, there needs to be research on this area of railway history. However, two things can be noted. Firstly, the dog ticket was established early on in British railway history, and a 1950s example I have testifies to its persistence. But, secondly, the accommodation given to dogs improved, possibly because of welfare concerns and public pressure.

------

[1] The National Archives [TNA], RAIL 631/60, Dog Tickets, 1849-1855

[2] Daily News, Saturday, March 4, 1848; Issue 552

[3] The Law Times, Harrison vs. The London, Brighton and South Coast Railway, June 14^th 1862, p.468

[4] Roney, Sir Cusack Patrick, Rambles on Railways, (London, 1868), p.172

[5] Author’s collection, London and South Western Railway, Appendix to the Book of Rules and Regulations, 1^st January 1911, p.150

[6] Author’s Collection, London, Brighton and South Coast Railway, Appendix to the Working Timetable and to the Book of Rules and Regulations, May 1922, p.142

[7] The Times, Thursday, May 31^st 1900, p.6

The Life of 'Sevenpence,' the Templecombe Station Cat - b.1864/65

In the course of my research I find the most wonderful, weird and interesting things associated with the railways of Britain. I should also confess that I have a love for cats and everything they do. So, when the following tale was discovered on-line, I found it endearing and sweet. In the 2^nd May 1870 edition of ‘the Children’s Friend’ was the story of ‘Sevenpence,’ the station cat at Templecombe (shown in 1885). The station was on the London and South Western Railway’s main line to the west of England and was located 108 miles from Waterloo. On account that it was an interchange station on the company’s main line, the article described it as having ‘more traffic and bustle going on than is usually found in rural districts or small provincial towns.’

It seems that Sevenpence had an unfortunate youth. As a kitten, in about 1863 or 1864, she was sent from Bishopstoke (now Eastleigh) to a local resident. Indeed, the name was given to her was because of the cost of her transportation. On arrival, for whatever reason, the proposed owner declined to give her a home and Sevenpence was passed between different individuals before being given to the station staff. She was placed in the company’s stable, which was ‘infested with vermin,’ and did her job well, soon showing that she “knew what rats and mice meant.” Indeed, such was the value of her service that a ‘small weekly sum’ was allowed by the company for her maintenance. This sum, unsurprisingly, I cannot find within the company’s accounts. (I did look. It surely came under ‘miscellaneous expenses.’) However, still young, she was a timid cat and never ventured much beyond the stable doors. Indeed, she was also startled by anyone who crossed her path.

With age she became more adventurous and went further into the unknown, becoming ‘a favourite with the porters and the servants of the company, who have ever treated her with kindness and consideration.’ By 1870s it seems that she had grown ‘fiercely bold,’ and whenever a train blew a whistle, or a bell rung, she appeared, ready to greet the passengers. She behaved in a gentle and good mannered way to all. Furthermore, Sevenpence was regularly to be seen jumping onto the track, between the wagons and carriages, and regularly got between the spokes of locomotive wheels, jumping off just as they began to move.

Yet, on many occasions this bold nature got Sevenpence into trouble and danger. As the article stated, ‘Many strange vicissitudes have befallen her, and were she gifted with, speech, numerous ups and downs of a cat life, and hair-breadth escapes, could she relate.’ On one occasion she became concealed in a meat wagon that was destined for London (‘for no good purpose, I fear.’) Station staff were only alerted to the distressed cat by a loud mewing, and, had they not found her sooner, Sevenpence would have found her way to the Nine Elms station staff. On another occasion a heavy weight fell from a crane and missed the oblivious Sevenpence by an inch. At the time she was ‘basking in the sun.’ She was also not particularly concerned by ‘pilot engines and trains in motion,’ and many times, while ‘taking her usual promenade,’ she was nearly crushed to death. But, ‘gifted with more than ordinary sagacity, and nimble in all her movements, she has yet been preserved unhurt.’

Apparently, in her later years Sevenpence did not look as good as she did as a younger cat. But, her life did improve and she abandoned her home in stable for the more comfortable quarters of the waiting room. Here she had a good fire, warm rug, ‘not to mention sundry bits and scraps from kind-hearted travellers, by whom she is much petted and caressed.’

The unknown author of the article concluded the tale by saying that he or she hoped that ‘many of my young friends may become acquainted with the station cat’ who was ‘a useful member of the feline community.’ Further ‘I feel sure all my young readers will join me in wishing that poor puss may be kept from accident, preserved in danger, and live to a good old age, in the full enjoyment of the pleasures and privileges her somewhat peculiar life affords her.’ Whether she did or not, we’ll never know.