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Railways also played a part in popularising the game, by taking teams across the country for matches and supporters to games.
KING’S LYNN WAS ONE OF THE FEW TOWNS TO FEEL THE PINCH WHEN THE RAILWAY TURNED UP IN THE TOWN IN 1846
As the line heads further into the Fens the land is not only flat but low-lying. The Norman founders of the immense Ely cathedral sited it on the highest piece land in the region, and its vast tower with its magnificent octagonal lantern can be seen from many miles away. The surrounding land was at best marshy, at worst underwater, and in the seventeenth century the first attempts at reclamation began. In 1670 Dutchman Cornelius Vermuyden constructed enormous drains that wiped out parts of the traditional wetlands.
The drainage was not entirely successful, and wind-powered pumps were installed to finish the job. Once drained of water, however, the peaty bottom of the fens shrank and the fields became lower still. After rivers burst their banks the fens were underwater once more. Only when coal-powered steam engines were introduced did man finally overcome nature. According to Bradshaw, ‘The productive and remunerative farming of the Fens of Norfolk is one of the greatest triumphs of steam, for that was the effective agent employed to give value to, or rather to create, this extensive territory. Even within a recent period land estimated at £3 or £4 an acre has been enhanced in value, not only one hundred percent but even one hundred fold.’
As sluices were built to back high tides and help drain excess rainfall, more of the Fens were conquered. The land turned over to agriculture was so productive that the region has become known as the breadbasket of England.
The station at King’s Lynn on the Norfolk coast is the terminus of the Fen Line from Cambridge. King’s Lynn was one of the few towns to feel the pinch when the railway turned up in the town in 1846. The once bustling port went into decline when coal was then transported by rail rather than sea. But the town made a swift recovery as the railway shifted produce and seafood to London and welcomed train-loads of tourists.
King’s Lynn sits on The Wash, an extensive area of estuaries, marshes and tidal mud flats. For centuries the ambitious have dreamed of reclaiming land from the sea there. According to Bradshaw, ‘Here since 1850 works on a large scale have been carried out for reclaiming part of The Wash but its practicality is doubtful.’ Now hopes of extending the land at the expense of the sea have come to an end with the realisation that, left untouched, the salt marshes provide a natural buffer to coastal erosion by exhausting the power of the waves. Consequently the area remains as it has always been, and a perfect habitat for wading birds and seals. Our journey then took us east across Norfolk to Norwich, which was linked to the national railway grid in 1845. Already its pre-eminence in the textile industry had been lost, probably because other mill towns had been quicker to join up with the railways.
THE AREA REMAINS AS IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN, AND A PERFECT HABITAT FOR WADING BIRDS AND SEALS
Norwich maintained a measure of magnificence, though, as Bradshaw reveals. ‘The prospect of the city from a little distance is both imposing and beautiful. The massive walls of the old castle crowning the summit of the hill form the central object in view; the lofty spire of the cathedral and those of the numerous parish churches rising in all directions, give it an air of great magnificence and, mixed with this architectural grandeur, is much more than the usual share of rural scenery … many large spaces laid out as gardens or planted with fruit trees.’
Norwich was home to Gurney’s Bank, founded in 1770 by a respected Quaker family, the fate of which became inextricably linked with that of the railways. The bank was highly regarded, as Bradshaw confirms. ‘On Bank Plain is Gurney’s Bank, established by an old Norfolk family, equally known for their good works and philanthropy.’ Prisoner reformer Elizabeth Fry (1780–1845) was born into the Gurney family.
Through a subsidiary – Overend, Gurney & Company – the bank was drawn into ‘railway mania’, which amounted to feverish share buying followed by a financial crash. For, while the railways frequently brought prosperity, investment in some other railway schemes spelled ruin for a number of people and institutions. For this reason the railway companies had a dubious reputation.
There were two bouts of ‘railway mania’. The first was in the 1840s when there was a headlong rush to exploit the riches that railways were thought to yield. But lines and locomotives were costly to build. Those that became operational weren’t always profitable. People lost money after investing in plans that failed to become reality or companies that couldn’t sustain services.
It was a similar story in the 1860s when Overend, Gurney & Company was heavily committed in railway investments. Creditors panicked and rushed to withdraw their savings. The bank went into liquidation in June 1866 owing about £11 million – that’s equivalent to about £1 billion today.
Colman’s mustard was established in Norwich in 1823 and made history 55 years later by starting contract farming.
Colman’s Unilever Archives
Cromer’s golden age has gone and its fight for a share of the tourist shilling is made more arduous by the loss of rail services.
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Overend, Gurney & Co. were among 200 companies that failed in the crisis. Writer Charles Dickens laid the blame at the door of the overly ambitious railway companies and a government which had allowed them to perpetuate chaos. Happily, Gurney’s of Norwich survived and merged with others to form Barclay’s Bank in 1896.
Investors might have done better putting their money with another Norwich firm, J. & J. Colman, the mustard makers who have been in business since 1823. Colman’s initiated contract farming in 1878, an agreement that meant the farmer was assured of a buyer for his crops while the buyer was certain of supplies for his company.
By the end of the nineteenth century Colman’s was such a huge concern that it had its own railway system serving its warehouses and factory, and its own station. The company also provided a school for employees’ children from 1857 and a company nurse from 1864. Since 1866, the year it was awarded a Royal Warrant, the mustard has been sold with its hallmark red and yellow packaging.
Due north of Norwich lies the charming coastal town of Cromer. Once a small fishing village, it was not connected with the rest of Britain by rail until 1877, but when it was discovered by Britain’s holidaymakers its streets and beaches were soon filled. Most sampled Cromer crab, for which the resort is famous.
Trippers, who could disembark at three stations from destinations across the Midlands and the North, walked on the promenade, which was in fact a massive sea wall installed by the Victorians to fend off coastal erosion. For later generations this has meant major maintenance costs and the growing realisation that defences don’t stop erosion but move the problem on to a different section of coast. As the battle against the encroaching sea continues, in areas away from towns authorities have been compelled to take the attitude ‘let it be’.
Like Brighton at the start of the journey, Cromer was propelled into the public’s affection in the age of the train. Along the way there are numerous examples of how financial disaster followed in the wake of the railways: a bankrupt business here, a squeezed industry there. The trump card played by the railways was always the arrival of visitors. Brighton, which still has a vibrant railway service, continues to prosper. Cromer, where rail services have been cut, must battle harder for its share of the tourist trade.
JOURNEY 9
BORDER LINES
From London to Hastings
Kent is a county of contrasts. On the one hand it is like London’s allotment, with a history of growing food and fruit aplenty on its fertile fields. Yet throughout history it has also been England’s first line of defence. In the nineteenth century, an era when again England’s enemies were close by in Europe, it was Kent that was specially fortified to keep them at bay.
There are few ways to better illuminate the light and shade of south-east England tha
n a train journey from London. And any trip heading towards Kent from the capital traditionally began at London Bridge station, which receives fulsome praise from Bradshaw. ‘The platforms are spacious and extensive; the wooden roofs over them are light and airy; and the plates of glass diffuse sufficient light to every part of the vast area …’
Those words would be enough to make today’s commuters who pass through the station choke on their cappuccinos. It’s now dark, overcrowded and quite confusing thanks to a 1970s rebuild. The current multimillion pound redevelopment should see it transformed again into something light and airy.
London Bridge station was the terminal for the city’s first railway line heading south-east. Unlike most other railways around the country, this three-and-a-half-mile stretch was built with passengers rather than cargo in mind. The line travelled on viaducts through heavily populated districts, in turn spawning colonies that lived and worked in the 878 railway arches beneath. It opened in 1836, and within 20 years there were 10 million passengers using the line, travelling between London and the suburb of Greenwich.
Not everyone, though, saw the railways as something that would last. A writer in the Quarterly Review declared: ‘Can anything be more palpably ridiculous than the prospect held out of locomotives travelling twice as fast as stage coaches? … we will back Old Father Thames against the Greenwich railway for any sum.’
Three years before it became the terminal on this early railway, Greenwich already had another historic role to play in the history of transport. It became home in 1833 to the influential time ball installed at the Royal Observatory, which had been built on the highest point in Greenwich Park in 1675.
The time ball had been invented by a Royal Navy captain in 1829 and was first in action at Portsmouth Harbour. Its purpose was to give passing ships an accurate time, which in turn would help them determine longitude and thus their position.
London Bridge Station, which opened five years after the Thames Bridge, was initially praised for being spacious, light and airy.
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The red ball atop Greenwich Observatory still falls at 1 p.m. to help mariners determine the correct time, although radio signals have long made its function obsolete.
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At Greenwich the distinctive red ball straddles a pole perched on top of the Observatory. Each day at lunchtime the ball is hoisted to the top of the pole and then, at exactly 1 p.m., it is released, falling to the bottom of the pole within easy view of London’s shipping. Although midday seems a more significant moment in time, 1 p.m. was traditionally the time when mariners worked out longitude by the position of the sun. Time balls acted like a bridge between sundials and accurate clocks. After radio time signals were introduced in the 1920s they were largely obsolete.
The time ball at Greenwich has particular importance as this location was chosen as the prime meridian of the world in 1884. The prime meridian is the starting point for different time zones. It was an obvious choice because the US had already established its time zones in accordance with Greenwich, as had many of the existing sea charts.
Bradshaw highlights another Greenwich tradition that sadly no longer exists. ‘Approaching Greenwich reach, where large quantities of whitebait are caught in the season … Whitebait dinners form the chief attraction to the taverns adjacent, and here Her Majesty’s ministers for the time being regale themselves annually on that fish; the season is from May to the latter end of July when parliament generally closes for the season.’
The ministerial whitebait dinners haven’t been held since 1894, the last being on August 15 at the invitation of the Prime Minister.
For railway buffs there’s a recently opened line in London linking north and south. This addition to the network brought new life to a tunnel built under the Thames by Marc Isambard Brunel, with the help of his son Isambard Kingdom. When it opened in 1843 the Wapping to Rotherhithe tunnel was the first ever built under a river. Its construction was an arduous process which took almost 20 years, during which time a deluge of river water nearly claimed Marc Brunel’s life. Following the accident he invented a tunnel shield to protect workers from collapse, and the associated perils of drowning. This device, which kept the exposed face to a minimum and allowed the newly dug section to be shored up, is still used today in underwater tunnelling. Despite that, it was still a dreary task, with sewage from the Thames seeping through the tunnel walls and dangerously compromising workers’ health.
THE TIME BALL AT GREENWICH HAS PARTICULAR IMPORTANCE AS THIS LOCATION WAS CHOSEN AS THE PRIME MERIDIAN OF THE WORLD IN 1884
The original plan to use the tunnel for carriages was abandoned because money ran out before the approaches could be completed. Nevertheless it was initially a popular attraction as a pedestrian tunnel, housing underground shops and stalls, until it got a reputation for thievery and prostitution. In 1865 it was taken over by the East London Railway Company, who built a railway through it linking existing lines north and south of the river. This was eventually absorbed into the underground system as the East London line, and has recently been revamped as an overground line for London’s 2012 Olympics. The history of the tunnel can be studied at a museum in the original engine house at Rotherhithe built to hold the machinery that pumped water out of the tunnel.
GETTING THE TUNNEL OFF OR UNDER THE GROUND WAS A HUGE STRUGGLE AND ONE OF WHICH MICHAEL JOKES HE STILL BEARS THE SCARS
To continue our journey into Kent we decided that instead of using the slower Victorian line that still exists, we would take the High Speed Link from St Pancras to Kent, opened in 2007 and the first domestic line of its kind in the country. Michael was transport minister when the plans were initially drawn up. Getting the tunnel off or under the ground was a huge struggle and one of which Michael jokes he still bears the scars.
Chatham and its historic dockyard on the Medway are just 40 minutes from St Pancras station, saving us 20 minutes or more on the London Bridge route.
Ever since Henry VIII set up the dockyard there in the early sixteenth century Chatham has been famous as a place where ships, including Nelson’s Victory, were built, repaired and maintained. But in the nineteenth century, with the threat from Europe looming, there was a major escalation of scale. The dockyard was made five times its original size and a narrow-gauge railway was installed to move men and equipment around it. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind at the time that a strong navy could deter would-be invaders and maintain the British Empire.
Bradshaw was admiring, if not entirely accurate: ‘The Dockyard was commenced by Queen Elizabeth,’ he states, ‘and is about a mile long. It contains six buildings, slips, wet and dry docks. Rope House 1,140 ft long. Blacksmith’s shops. Steam saw-mills, oar and block machinery by Brunel.’
Although the dockyard is now open only as a museum, its rope-making facilities are still operational and remain unrivalled. Rope has been made on the site since 1618. After 1826 the process was mechanised with steam-powered machines positioned in a rope-walk building that is about a quarter of a mile in length, to accommodate laying the longest rope. Some of the kit from that era is still in use today. However, the rope that’s made there now isn’t for the Royal Navy but is used for sailing ships. Being made of natural fibres, it’s also perfect for zoos, where it is used to help cage animals who try to gnaw to freedom.
Chatham dockyard has a proud history from when the Royal Navy’s ‘wooden walls’ were Britain’s best defence, through two world wars until its closure.
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To protect Chatham docks a number of brick-lined ditches were built, known as ‘the lines’. More than a mile long and reinforced by two square redoubts, they were once the site of mock battles staged by servicemen at Chatham.
A few miles to the south on the old line to Maidstone is the village of Aylesford, which in Bradshaw’s day was known entirely for its hop production. Hops were used to preserve and flavour beer. The arrival of the trains in Kent’s hop grounds solved
a seasonal labour shortage for farmers there, as they carried women and children from London’s East End on ‘hopping specials’. These city folk would set about the annual harvest, staying in ‘hopping huts’ and being rewarded with food and some wages. Although they rose at dawn, they got fresh air and exercise, which were widely believed to improve their health and that of the children. The evenings were the most popular time, with dinner, usually cooked on a camp fire, and a sing-song. At weekends extra trains were laid on so that the pickers could be joined by family and friends.
By the twentieth century hop picking attracted some 250,000 men, women and children to Kent at harvest time. Most thought of it as a holiday with pay, but it was not universally popular. Writer George Orwell (1903–50) was unhappy with the wages and conditions and insisted: ‘Hop picking is in the category of things that are great fun when they are over.’
After the Second World War machines were brought in to replace labourers, and London’s East Enders found other places to holiday. The hop farms that remain in business use their crops for herbal remedies and decoration rather than brewing. It’s usually imported hops that go into beers these days.
From Aylesford the line continues into Maidstone, further up the River Medway. When a railway was first proposed for Maidstone there was a barrage of opposition, led by the mayor, who suggested it would be ‘ruined as a commercial town’. Consequently the main line to Dover was built six miles to the south of the town. Of course, it was a mammoth mistake. Within a few years there was a branch line to Maidstone and it was directly linked to London by rail after 1874. Immediately trains were transporting a new innovation in paper from the mills of Maidstone to some of the highest and most influential houses in the land. James Whatman (1702–59) was a craftsman who developed a more even product called ‘wove’ paper to replace the rough stuff that had existed before. His son, also called James, introduced further refinements, to make it whiter and smoother than ever.
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