TAXI-drivers and, more particularly, the operator at their control centre, seem to talk in code. I am not just referring to the exchange of call-signs, for how anyone can determine what comes through on the airwaves and over the static and out of that speaker in the cab, is beyond me.

"Juggerblurtee," says the controller, his voice emanating from the speaker in the taxi.

"I'm entering Sarratt now," the driver replies.

"Nechifeel forppup," comes the reply, accompanied by another liberal dose of static.

You sit at the back of the taxi vaguely wondering what the hell they are talking about, while you check the meter and start assembling your change.

It transpires, the controller is inquiring presumably in Esperanto as to whether the driver has dropped me off and is now free, because the taxi can then make a pick-up in Chipperfield.

I am told that your ear can become attuned to these exchanges and this must certainly be the case, because taxis seem to propel themselves around the locality their movements scheduled and monitored by a controller without any apparent confusion.

It is a far cry from the days of the horse-drawn cabs, which were the mode of transport when Lucketts, probably Watford's oldest firm and certainly the oldest taxi service, first opened for business.

Down at Luckett's base, in King Street, Watford, the man they joshingly describe as "the Miserable Controller", masterminds the operations of the firm's taxis during the day.

In fact, Vic Morgan justifiably lays claim to a sense of humour.

"The Miserable Controller, eh? I'm only miserable most of the time," says the 59-year-old.

"You have got to have sense of humour in this business," he almost smiles before the buzzer draws his attention back to a call from a taxi.

He looks deadpan and, with a matching laconic tone, he deals with what to me is a garbled sound coming from his loudspeaker.

"Your ears get attuned to these things," he says.

I look at him sceptically.

"Well," he concedes, "the driver calls you and you know where he should be and, if the radio is a bit bad, you guess what he is saying and generally you get used to it.

"But you guess most of it," he admits, pointing to the loudspeaker while he enters the latest activity on a slip.

There are small, immaculate piles of slips in front of him, denoting bookings for taxis, accounts, the drivers' numbers and the time sequences of the orders.

There, at mission control, he is in contact with anything from half a dozen to 20 taxis during the day, all at the press of a button or the foot pedal.

It is a long, long day. He leaves home in order to get to work by 4.45am by taxi, of course and works from five until four in the afternoon. He does that five days a week and on Saturday takes a relatively easier shift from 6am until one or two in the afternoon.

He has Sundays off, "getting to know the Mrs again", so it is small wonder that Vic sports a very matter-of-fact, succinct tone, almost a verbal shorthand, after hours on the microphone.

If you think those hours are somewhat onerous, it is a sobering reflection on the business that he should concede, while he had a better standard of living as a driver, he would not wish to go back to it because of "the overheads and unsociable hours".

He is not only the key figure for the firm and customers but also for the taxi drivers. The drivers are all self-employed, providing their own cars, and Vic constitutes the link between them and the next fare.

"As a taxi driver," says Vic, "you are looking to get half your miles paid. If you get any more than that, it is a bonus. You drop someone off at Moor Park and then get some job from Holywell or a pick up at South Oxhey, that is good.

"The drivers rely on me to a great degree so, if they have any sense, they should keep in with the controller."

There is something unflappable about Vic. He has worked for the firm for 36 years, the last 20 as a controller. He knows all the angles, passes the time of day with the drivers while they hang around between assignments, and deals with all the incoming calls, moving his slips of paper to their precise piles.

When he was a driver, "doing mostly nights", he chalked up 16 or 17-hour days. However, he must have got back home sometime during waking hours because he has six children and 13 grandchildren.

"I started when we had the rank up by The Pond, before the one-way system was introduced," says Vic, remembering how Watford's central redevelopment upset the drivers and the customers.

"It was the customers who complained because, when you set off, you might have to go nearly a mile before you started heading in their direction."

Another driver chipped in. "People have always found it hard to understand how it is cheaper to get from Bushey to our office here in King Street than to go from King Street to Bushey. But the fact is , you have to head away from Bushey first before coming back on yourself via the one-way system."

Vic made a detour himself, a return journey, career-wise, for he had a brief spell in Peterborough before coming back to Watford as Lucketts controller.

"Yes, of course things have changed," he says. "The very first job I had was taking someone to Heathrow. It cost him £2-2s-6d (212p) when petrol was 2s 6d a gallon and the charge was 2s-6d (12p) per mile. Now the charge is £25."

Certainly the founders of Watford' oldest business, Richard and Elizabeth Luckett, would recognise very little of the town and even less of their enterprise. The couple, who had three children George, Charles and Emma started the business in 1860, based at the Railway Hotel, by Bushey Arches, in the days of horse-drawn cabs.

Richard, who was listed in the local directory as a beer retailer in 1858, ran the pub but the couple hired out horses and conveyances.

Richard Luckett died in 1870 and his widow changed the name of the pub to the Railway Tavern, but there is some confusion in the tracing of the family history because an Esther Luckett briefly entered the scene before the business passed to George Luckett, Richard's son, in 1910.

By then, Lucketts were well-established as jobmasters and bought and sold horses to local and London gentry. The family has a letter, written in 1908, from a gentleman expressing willingness to buy two bay horses for £225, subject to the sanctioning of the deal by the vet, a Mr Batt.

Clearly, they were at the upper end of such wheeling and dealing for £225 was a significant sum in 1908, and the would-be purchaser gave his address as 31, Lowndes Street, London, SW.

George took up the pub and stables and expanded the business in keeping with the then modern trends, by setting up a garage, to one side of the pub, and car hire business.

In 1935, lock-up garages were built on the other side of Chalk Hill, where the main garage and car hire business was later transferred. George Luckett was a bachelor and remained at the helm of the business until 1946, when the running of it passed, on his death at the age of 80, to his nephew, Jack Hutchings.

Jack had worked for the company and his son, George Hutchings, had worked part-time on the hand-operated petrol pumps that had been Lucketts' pride and joy from the day of their installation.

Jack Hutchings had experience in the pub trade as well, having previously run the Malden Hotel in Station Road, Watford.

July 4, 2002 17:30