Great British Railway Journeys

by Charlie Bunce

  NO ONE KNOWS JUST WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT, ONLY THAT THE BRIDGE COLLAPSED AS A TRAIN CROSSED AT ITS HIGHEST POINT

  The lesson was further underlined, as if it were necessary, by the poet William McGonagall (1825–1902), widely regarded as the worst verse-writer in British history. His poem about the Tay Bridge catastrophe became his most famous, and it ends like this:

  I must now conclude my lay

  By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,

  That your central girders would not have given way,

  At least many sensible men do say,

  Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,

  At least many sensible men confesses,

  For the stronger we our houses do build,

  The less chance we have of being killed.

  Our next destination was Dark Peat in the heart of the Peak District National Park. In Bradshaw’s day we would have been able to enjoy the natural beauty through the window of our train. ‘The tourists will seldom see such glorious landscape from the window of a railway carriage,’ the guidebook says. ‘Whilst at one moment the bold hills rise up before us, behind us and on either side, the next a winding valley shows us a charming picture stretching away for miles.’

  Although many of the lines that brought Victorian visitors into the National Park have long since gone, more than 10 million people still visit it each year. Britain’s first National Park, created in 1951, is a major tourist attraction, reaching into five counties: Derbyshire, Cheshire, Staffordshire, Yorkshire and Greater Manchester.

  Park Ranger Chris Dean has become something of an expert on the unforeseen cost of the railways which still haunts some of its most beautiful stretches today. Acid rain from coal-fired industries, including the railways, has caused immense damage to the soil. So much so that the vegetation can’t grow back. Where the soil lies bare, the peat – which is a natural store for carbon dioxide from decaying leaf matter – is exposed to the elements and is gradually eroded. As this happens, CO2 is released into the atmosphere, adding to global warming.

  Chris is heading up a team of people dealing with this unfortunate legacy from the Industrial Revolution. They are trying to save the bog and reduce the CO2 emissions by replanting 35 square kilometres of impaired landscape with vegetation that probably grew there in the first place. It is an enormous job. After treating the soil to reduce its acidity, they plan to plant half a million plants. The first phase, due to be completed by 2015, should protect the peat from erosion and even encourage more to be produced.

  The new bath hotel in matlock bath boasts a heated swimming pool fed by natural thermal springs, and has been a popular stop with tourists since the start of the nineteenth century.

  From the peaks we headed to Matlock Bath. Like Buxton, Matlock Bath had long attracted visitors to its thermal springs, and indeed our hotel, which is mentioned in Bradshaw, once boasted its own spa in the basement. When the railways arrived at nearby Ambergate Station in 1840, the town chose a very different route to ensure its survival. No opera house or extensive stables here. Despite being 90 miles from the coast, Matlock Bath decided to model itself along the lines of the big seaside resorts like Blackpool. Funfairs and fish and chip shops opened, along with the town’s own annual illuminations, and they’re still there today, alongside a more genteel café culture, attracting hundreds of thousands of visitors each year.

  For Bradshaw, Matlock Bath conjured up something seemingly rather more international than Blackpool. Our guide calls it ‘unquestionably the sweetest and most charming of the Derbyshire spas. It is at the bottom of Matlock dale, a narrow defile, the rocky limestone sides of which are piled up in the manner of the undercliff in the Isle of Wight but covered with a profusion of pine, fir, yew, box and other hardy trees. The scenes through Matlock Bath are exquisitely beautiful and may be compared to a Switzerland in a nut shell.’ Although the Swiss nut shell reference now seems odd, it was a well-used travel term in Victorian times, designed to attract tourists.

  FOR BRADSHAW, MATLOCK BATH CONJURED UP SOMETHING SEEMINGLY RATHER MORE INTERNATIONAL THAN BLACKPOOL

  Our next stop was just nearby, at the sleepy station of Cromford. Today the two trains an hour which stop there belie its past, because in Bradshaw’s day Cromford was at the heart of the Industrial Revolution. Bradshaw says simply, ‘Here Arkwright built his first mill in 1771.’ As Michael put it, ‘Never was so much important history crammed into such a small half sentence as that.’

  The cotton industry revolved around a network of cottage industries, with people spinning and weaving in their own houses. Entrepreneurial inventor Richard Arkwright (1732–92) brought them all together under one roof in a factory, where they used a mechanical water frame powered by the River Derwent. It was a brand new system, soon to be copied across Britain, and then the world.

  Arkwright was born into a poor family but was taught to read and write by a cousin. He didn’t turn his attention to the cotton industry until his once thriving wig-making business suffered when hairpieces went out of fashion. Although he is credited with the design of the water frame it was in reality a joint enterprise. In fact, many of his attempts to patent his ‘inventions’ were turned down in the courts following opposition from jealous rivals and aggrieved fellow inventors. His one undisputed skill was in organising industry, and his enterprises spread across the Midlands, northern England and Scotland. When he died he was a rich man. Arkwright’s factory is now a museum, but nearby is another factory, opened 13 years later, which is now the oldest factory still working in the world. It was set up in 1784 by Peter Nightingale, a relative of Crimean nurse Florence Nightingale. He had helped finance Arkwright but decided on a new venture. His business partner was a man called John Smedley, whose family has been producing knitwear here ever since.

  Today Smedley knitwear is exported to over 30 countries across the world. Smedley’s claim to fame is that the long underpants called long johns were invented here, named after the man who started this factory more than 200 years ago.

  Smedley salesmen stand by to sell knitwear across the british isles on behalf of a firm that continues to endure.

  John Smedley’s Archives

  At the time the only transport available to take produce from the factories to buyers was horse and cart. The Cromford Canal was completed at extraordinary expense in 1794, but its limitations frustrated burgeoning trade. As early as 1825 Parliament agreed the construction of a wagon way entirely for freight between Cromford and Whalley Bridge – four years before Stephenson’s Rocket was up and running. The rail track was completed in 1831, but it was a decade before locomotives were used, and it was another 14 years before passengers could travel on the line, which ultimately closed in 1967.

  Fifteen miles further down the line we arrived in Derby, to stay in a hotel recommended by Bradshaw. In fact he didn’t just recommend it, he raved about it. Normally, he does little more than list where to stay, but Derby’s Midland Hotel gets a whole paragraph. ‘It’s gratifying to be able to refer to an establishment like this which deservedly enjoys the highest reputation. It possesses all the comforts of a home and there is no lack of spirit necessary to provide to the fullest extent everything which can recommend it to its patron. It is conducted in the most able manner by Mrs Chatfield and may claim to rank amongst the first Hotels in England. If further commendation were needed, we may add that the utmost politeness and economy may be anticipated.’

  Opened in 1841, the Midland Hotel was the second railway hotel in England, and the first outside London. It was reserved exclusively for first-class passengers, and there was a tunnel linking it to the station so that luggage could be transferred directly to a traveller’s room. Unfortunately you now have to carry your own bags, but today its doors are open no matter which class you travelled in.

  Derby, like many places across Britain, was transformed into an industrial centre by the railways. They brought huge wealth and investment to the town. It wa
s a time when great fortunes were made and accordingly beckoned in a golden age of philanthropy. In Derby, one notable act of benevolence was performed by the Strutt family, who gave the town a park. The Strutts had made their fortune in the cotton and silk trade and, in Bradshaw’s words, created ‘the new Arboretum of 16 acres laid out in 1840 by Loudon, given to the town by Joseph Strutt Esq., – a noble gift estimated at £10,000’.

  As Arboricultural Consultant Jonathan Oakes explained to us, this arboretum lays claim to being the first purpose-built public park in England. Up until then, parks had been privately owned by the nobility, but this was gifted to the council and run for the public. At first entry was free two days a week, and from 1882 this was extended so that there were no charges on any day. For the first time the working classes could enjoy these spaces, previously the province of the rich, and it became the model for public parks around the country.

  A locomotive running through a burton brewery yard to be loaded by bowler-hatted workers.

  Ian Peaty’s Collection/Brewery History Society

  As our journey continued through England’s industrial heartland, we headed south towards the home of brewing, Burton-on-Trent. Its entry in Bradshaw states, ‘Bass, Allsopp and Worthington are the chief ale kings here and acres covered with barrels and casks may be seen. Vast quantities of pale ale are exported to tropical climates and drunk by thirsty souls at home as a tonic.’

  Before the railways arrived there were only 10 breweries in Burton, but that number quickly tripled. That’s when 25 ale trains left Burton every day for destinations all over Britain. The railways were seen as so important to the industry that brewers started building their own tracks to connect with the main lines run by the railway companies.

  Miles of track was laid inside brewery yards to bring barrels from the factory to the nearest train station.

  Ian Peaty’s Collection/Brewery History Society

  Arriving in the town today, the first thing you see is that the barrels and casks have been replaced by enormous silver steel vats stretching into the horizon. It is still clearly a town dedicated to producing beer. Geoff Mumford and Bruce Wilkinson, who co-own the largest independent brewery in town, revealed to us why Burton became synonymous with great beer.

  In Bradshaw’s day Burton produced one in every four pints of beer drunk in England. This was just the start, though. By 1890 there were over 30 breweries exploiting the local climate, which was perfect for winter fermentation. According to Bradshaw, the other reason the area was so successful at brewing beer was the local water. Bruce concurred, explaining that the hardness of the water is essential to giving Burton beer its taste and its colour. Hard water makes it crisper, cleaner and clearer, making the perfect ale.

  The purity of the water also meant that Burton beer could be transported all over the world, starting its journey from the breweries on what, according to Geoff and Bruce, was the biggest private rail network in the country.

  There has, not surprisingly, been an environmental cost associated with Burton’s beer production: centuries of intense brewing have scarred the landscape. Action to remedy this is in hand with the creation of the new National Forest, a colossal project spreading forestry into parts of Derbyshire, Leicestershire and Staffordshire. Not only are the scars of Buxton being masked, but also those of some defunct coal mines. Millions of trees are being planted which will eventually cover 200 square miles, with tree coverage already three times bigger than it was in 1991. As on Dark Peat, the damage done by our massive industrial expansion is slowly being put right.

  BEFORE THE RAILWAYS ARRIVED THERE WERE ONLY 10 BREWERIES IN BURTON, BUT THAT NUMBER QUICKLY TRIPLED

  Our journey took us next through Walsall and Birmingham, and down to Bournville, a place synonymous with chocolate. When the railway opened in 1874 the station was called Stirchley Street, and five years later the Cadbury family opened their factory there. They needed the railway to transport cocoa and sugar to the factory from the ports of London and Southampton, and to transport manufactured chocolate bars out. They also needed the canals to bring the milk in. Stirchley Street offered both. Before long three trains a day were leaving the factory, each pulling 60 cars full of chocolate. The Cadburys built six miles of their own internal railway and even ran company engines to take the chocolate to the main line.

  Brothers George and Richard Cadbury came to Bournville in 1879 and built not only a factory but a rich community too, in keeping with their quaker principles.

  Cadbury UK Archives

  As the business grew, brothers George and Richard Cadbury ploughed their profits back into the newly named village of Bournville. Like the best philanthropists of the time, they built new houses for their workers and designed a model community spread over about 1,000 acres. As Quakers, the brothers saw alcohol as the cause of the working class’s social problems, so the amenities they laid on did not include pubs. Their argument was that if they provided good living conditions, job security and green spaces to exercise, the workers and their families would build a happy, healthy community. With Bourneville now acknowledged as one of the best places to live in Britain, that idea seems to be as valid today as it did over 100 years ago.

  Locomotives like this one hauled chocolate bars after they were made at the end of the nineteenth century.

  Cadbury UK Archives

  Our next stop was Coventry, which is now a very different city from the one Bradshaw visited. Its entry in his book runs to a highly respectable 74 lines, all extolling the city’s virtues. ‘The fine steeples of St Michael and the Trinity are the first to strike one in this old city which is the seat of the ribbon trade … many old-fashioned gable houses are to be found in the back streets … handsome buildings with noble halls.’ Bradshaw’s Coventry was essentially a rich medieval city. Built in the fourteenth century, it was once the fourth wealthiest city in England. But one night in 1940, when the Luftwaffe seemed poised to win the battle of the skies in the Second World War, it was all but wiped off the map.

  Resident Judith Durant remembers that night well. Judith was 10 years old at the time and explained that, although it began as a normal night, the air-raid siren started just as they were getting ready for bed. She and her family hid in the air-raid shelter in their garden at the start of what turned out to be one of the worst bombing raids on Britain of the war. The operation called Moonlight Sonata saw 600 planes carpet-bomb Coventry for six hours. Five hundred people died as the city was blown to smithereens – targeted because of its great number of munitions and aircraft parts factories. Judith remembers being able to pick out the sounds of the German planes and the whistling of the bombs as they fell; the acrid taste of the dust, so thick you could chew it; enormous explosion after explosion. Judith’s memories of that horrendous night will be with her for the rest of her life.

  Coventry today is very different from the medieval city that was obliterated that night but, to Judith, every bit as beautiful. One building that encapsulates that rebirth is St Michael’s Cathedral. Built to incorporate the ruins of the fourteenth-century cathedral, which apart from its spire was destroyed in the Blitz, it’s a very clever piece of sixties architecture by Sir Basil Spence which gives reference and reverence to what was there before but looks forward as well as back.

  The surprise about Coventry, though, is that despite the pummelling it received during the Blitz, parts of the medieval city survived. As you wander the streets, there are numerous hints of the Coventry Bradshaw must have seen, and it is certainly somewhere that should still be on the visitors’ trail.

  THE OPERATION CALLED MOONLIGHT SONATA SAW 600 PLANES CARPET-BOMB COVENTRY FOR SIX HOURS. FIVE HUNDRED PEOPLE DIED

  We now headed 60 miles south to overnight in Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, at the beautiful Hartwell House. It was here that Louis XVIII lived for six years with his family and 100 courtiers during his exile from France after the Revolution. Like many stately homes, Hartwell House is mentioned in Bradshaw, which provided
the necessary information for Victorian travellers to arrange their own visit with the owners. These days the arrangements are rather easier to make. Like many other stately homes, it’s now a hotel.

  IN SEPTEMBER 1939, IN JUST ONE WEEK, 3,000 TRAINS WERE USED TO EVACUATE 1.5 MILLION CHILDREN AS PART OF OPERATION PIED PIPER

  It’s impossible to visit Aylesbury without seeking out its duck. In the eighteenth century Aylesbury duck was a delicacy for the rich. But the arrival of the railways in the 1860s changed that. According to the town’s entry in Bradshaw it wasn’t long before ‘as many as three quarters of a million ducks [were being] sent to London from this part’.

  A century ago ‘duckers’, the area’s distinctive white ducks with flesh-coloured beaks, could be found all over the Vale of Aylesbury, but today there is only one farm in the county producing them. Richard Waller’s family have been farming Aylesbury ducks since 1775, but it’s altogether a much tougher business today.

  Until recently, the majority of his ducks were sold directly into London’s market at Smithfield – and were transported there by train. Now, owing to new EU regulations, Richard’s ducks have again become a speciality exclusive to the area, and around 3,000 of them are sold each year to a local pub, The King’s Head, in the village of Ivinghoe. Co-owner George De Maison cooks duck to a recipe perfected over a period of 50 years. For George, the key is using a range of fresh herbs and fruit from their garden, like bay leaves, sage and apples, to lock in and complement the duck’s delicate taste.

  Twenty-five miles further south, Watford gets a simple mention as ‘a busy thriving and populous town consisting of only one street with minor ones diverging from it’. The reason we wanted to stop there wasn’t to investigate how much it had grown and changed, which of course it has, but to highlight its role at a particular point in British history.