In 1901, British Journalist John Foster Fraser travelled from Moscow to Vladivostok, and back again, mostly by rail. On his return, he recorded his experiences (and prejudices) in “The Real Siberia”.In today’s excerpt, Fraser takes a Droshki ride through Omsk, and meets his first Russian policeman:
The droshki I was in was a real droshki. The thing they call a droshki in Petersburg is a sort of abortive Victoria. The genuine article has a humped-up seat with no back, so that every bump you are jolted in a way to mike your bones rattle, and you are in constant imminent peril of being pitched into the adjoining pool.
At one violent lurch off went a bag of mine into the mud. I tried to be indignant, but the driver, as he went back, only laughed and exclaimed, “Nitchevo!” - a word which takes the Russian happily through life, and means “What does it matter; nothing matters; why worry?”
It was midnight, and pitch dark. The horse, though a sorry animal, could go well - perhaps because its stable was at Omsk; and we jolted on, far ahead of anyone else. We were tearing across a bleak and muddy plain. I addressed my driver, a hulking fellow, as “My little dove!” which is the proper thing to call your coachman in Russia when you want to please him, though he was as much like a dove as I am like a man-o’-war. He was delighted, and whacked the horse again.
Omsk looked as though it had gone to bed. It was like a big village, with the streets very wide and uneven, and most of the houses one-storey and ram-shackle. There were tipsy wooden posts at the corners, and on their summits were flickering little back-kitchen kind of oil lamps. Not a soul was to be seen.
Suddenly there was a clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter of a wooden rattle. I had not heard that sound since I was in Western China. Siberia is next-door neighbour to China. I knew what it was. It was the policeman on his rounds. In England we make our constables wear rubber-soled boots at night so they may move about stealthily and surprise thieves. In Siberia the police keep the rattles going, so the thieves have full warning when the guardian of the peace is approaching!
You can’t convince a Siberian any more than you can a Chinese that the thing is stupid. “Ours is the best plan,” says the Siberian, “for it gives householders confidence that the police are about.”
This post is one of a series of excerpts from John Foster Fraser’s “The Real Siberia”. Further excerpts can be found in the Siberian Light archive.
The full text of The Real Siberia is available online at Friends & Partners.
