In 1840, one man transformed travel in the British Isles.
His name was George Bradshaw,
and his railway guides inspired the Victorians to take to the tracks.
Stop by stop, he told them where to travel,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later, I'm making a series of journeys across the length
and breadth of these isles to see what of Bradshaw's Britain remains.
I'm now more than halfway through my journey from London to
Newton Abbott, and now I've reached North Devon
and the most unusual Victorian railway.
On today's journey, I get up close with a piece of natural history.
It's a moa egg. It's an extinct bird from New Zealand.
There's only 36 specimens of a decent size being
catalogued in the world.
I visit a garden used as a viewing platform for public hangings.
We've got the three tiers going up,
and, apparently, according to the records, they were full.
They were shoulder to shoulder, line to line of people.
And experience a timepiece like no other.
You know, in my political career, Peter, I met a few two-faced liars,
but this is my first experience of a four-faced liar.
One of them's correct though! HE LAUGHS
Using my Bradshaw's Guide, I'm following the tracks
of Isambard Kingdom Brunel,
master engineer of the Great Western Railway.
I started at Paddington Station, one of his greatest structures,
and I'll finish in Newton Abbott in Devon,
where one of his boldest ideas proved a failure.
The fourth leg of my journey begins in Lynton and Lynmouth,
heads south west to Barnstaple, through Eggesford
and on to the city of Exeter.
My Bradshaw's tells me that the scenery in the neighbourhood
of Lynton and Lynmouth is wild, beautiful, magnificent
and lovely beyond the powers of description.
Such is the scenery abounding in this fascinating neighbourhood.
The steepness of this landscape,
required Victorian railway builders to exercise a special ingenuity.
The twin villages of Lynton and Lynmouth stand atop
and at the foot of a steep cliff that posed a major obstacle to both,
and villagers relied on horses to move from one to the other.
The Lynmouth Cliff Railway opened on Easter Monday, 1890.
Engineering manager, Ashley Clarke,
has worked on the railway since 1979.
So, Ashley, how does this machine work?
It works on a counter-balance system. We fill the top car with water,
which I'm going to do now. You fill the car with water?
That's right, it's got a 700-gallon tank underneath,
which is about three tonnes of water.
When they're both full up, they weigh the same, obviously.
When the drivers have given each other the signal,
the bottom car releases water.
The water comes out which makes that car lighter, and in doing so,
the top car being heavier pulls the lighter car up to the top.
I had no idea you were putting water inside the car.
Where does the water come from?
It comes from the West Lynn river, about a mile and a half away,
through the roads and into holding tanks at the top here.
Is there any difference in the way in which you operate this railway
today from the way it was operated originally by the Victorians?
No, it works in exactly the same way. There's no difference whatsoever.
An Act of Parliament in 1888 gave the company the right
to pump 60,000 gallons of water per day from the river, a mile away.
So whose masterplan was this? It was the masterplan of Sir George Newnes.
And he was a man of grand visions, I think. He was, yes.
He had a three-stage plan for Lynton and Lynmouth.
One, to build the esplanade at Lynmouth.
Secondly, to build a pier off the end of that esplanade.
And, thirdly, to build the railway.
Unfortunately for Lynton and Lynmouth,
they didn't actually build the pier
because Sir George Newnes decided
that he didn't want to spoil the tranquil place in which he lived.
He didn't want steamerloads of people coming over from Wales
to drink for the day? Exactly, yes.
Because you couldn't drink on Sundays in Wales, could you?
No, that's right.
Well, I'd better let you do some braking here,
otherwise we're going to visit the beach.
I've never travelled by water-powered railway.
There's always a first, isn't there? There certainly is. Thanks so much.
At my next destination, less than five miles away,
I'm hoping to catch a very old train.
I've left Lynmouth and climbed nearly 1,000ft above sea level
which may seem like a strange place to look for a railway station,
but from the end of the 19th century until 1935
a line linked Lynton to Barnstaple.
And in recent years, along a short stretch of that line,
the chugging of steam engines has been heard again.
Keen to keep his beloved Lynton tranquil,
Sir George Newnes ensured that this railway,
which he also championed, would avoid Minehead and Ilfracombe,
which he apparently believed were,
"being scandalised by drunken Welsh on Sundays."
The Lynton and Barnstaple Railway Trust is currently renovating
the line and has bought Woody Bay Station.
Tony Nicholson is a trustee.
Tony. Michael. Very good to see you.
This railway had quite a brief life, didn't it?
Yes. It was opened in 1898, so quite late as railways go,
and closed in 1935.
It's only 37 years.
So it died young and stayed beautiful.
You've got a little bit of the railway open now. How much?
Just a mile so far, but we have big plans. What are your plans?
Well, eventually to go right back to Lynton and right back to Barnstaple.
Recreate the Lynton to Barnstaple railway.
And that would be, what, about 20 miles?
19 miles.
From sea level at Barnstaple Town Station where it connected
with the standard-gauge line to Ilfracombe, the line curved
through Barnstaple and snaked up the Yeo Valley to Exmoor, where,
for eight miles, it climbed at
an almost continuous one in 50 gradient.
Entrusted today with making that same ascent is the railway's
lovingly-restored Joffre Class Locomotive.
One of 70 60cm gauge engines built in Stoke-On-Trent
in 1915 for the French Army to use along The Western Front.
Hello there! This doesn't look like standard steam engine equipment.
We sneak that in in the morning when we have breakfast.
We get the engine ready, get the fire lit and then we have breakfast.
And so you're cooking the bacon there?
We're cooking the bacon now, yeah.
In the fire box?
That's about ready, that. Would you like to try one? I certainly would.
Thank you very much. Not at all.
You are an engine driver and a gentleman, sir.
Although it's going to leave me somewhat stranded,
I'm determined to take a ride to the only stop on the line.
The food service on this train certain beats any buffet trolley.
This is the bacon butty express.
So the train's arrived at Killington Lane, end of the line.
It looks like it's ended in a field.
I can't wait for the line to be completed to Barnstaple.
As there's still 18 miles of unrestored line,
I'm left with no choice but to continue my journey by road.
My next destination is Barnstaple on the River Taw,
which in the late 16th and early 17th centuries became a busy port
whose Great Quay and Little Quay were built to accommodate the import
of tobacco, wine and spices, and the export of Devon wool and pottery.
Bradshaw's tells me that Barnstaple is a sea port
situated on the River Taw which is crossed by a bridge of 16 arches.
Apparently the principle manufactures are baize,
woollens, bobbin net, paper, pottery, tanning, malt and ship
building to which Bradshaw's could have added furniture.
In 1851, Barnstaple entrepreneur Henry Shapland
returned from America.
He'd discovered modern woodworking techniques
and set about constructing a wavy moulding machine.
His business flourished, particularly
when the railway enabled goods to be transported
swiftly from production line to London emporia.
His factory, which now produces specialist doors,
became renowned for fitting out cruise liners
and, of even greater interest to me, Pullman railway carriages.
I'm meeting production analyst Peter Jenkins to find out more.
Peter. Michael, nice to meet you.
I see evidence here of railway tracks.
Was it used by the factory
for sending its furniture out to the markets?
It was used for the furniture industry really,
and also for doing carriages which they refurbished in
and out of their main sort of design of furniture.
It was another addition to what they did,
because it was quite skilled.
High quality stuff.
Very high quality stuff.
And predominantly setting out by train.
Predominantly setting out by train, true.
Freight operations on the Barnstaple to Ilfracombe branch,
which serviced the factory, ceased in the 1960s as part of the cuts
made by the Chairman of The British Railways Board, Dr Richard Beeching.
And in 1970, its passenger services also ceased.
I'm hoping some of Shapland's older staff might remember it and the
long-since-demolished bridge that carried it across the River Taw.
Hello, gentlemen.
I hear that you are long-serving employees here.
Yes. How far do you go back?
Well, I'm the youngest one. I've been here 44 years.
Fantastic. And I'm 47 and a half. And I'm just coming up for 50 years.
Amazing.
Do you remember the bridge that used to go across here?
It looked rather rickety really or almost infirm,
because it was only a single carriageway track
and when you were on it, it went over it very, very slow
because I suppose it was obviously a speed limit,
because it wasn't that clever.
And whenever there was bad weather,
they would always have the divers out to check the bridge
before the trains could go over it again.
Watching the divers checking the bridge doesn't
increase your confidence, does it?
No. Thank you so much, gentlemen.
I've enjoyed sharing your memories very much. Bye-bye now.
Enjoy the rest of your journey!
Barnstaple does retain one historic bridge
which apparently confused my Bradshaw's.
I'm hoping the town council's Peter Doel can explain.
Good afternoon, Michael.
It's a very beautiful bridge here in Barnstaple.
My Bradshaw's guide tells me it has 16 arches,
but I can only count 15.
It's an easy mistake to make because the final arch on the town end
is actually a subway on dry land,
and, at one time, the bridge is often described as having 13,
because the final three at the town end were in wood, and only later
replaced in stone.
So sometimes you hear it described as having only 13.
So my Bradshaw's was not wrong. No, no. Not wrong as such.
There is only 15 actually spanning the river today.
Now, we are standing in front of the most handsome clock tower
not mentioned in Bradshaw's. Was it here in the 1860s?
It was completed in 1862.
So it probably just misses your Bradshaw's.
Let's go and have a closer look.
Like so many towns across these islands,
Barnstaple has a memorial to Queen Victoria's prince consort, Albert.
And I hear that this one has a quirk.
Can we see signs that it's dedicated to Albert?
Yes, there are two memorial panels either side
and incorporated in the architecture there is the letter A.
You see it over and over again, once you start looking for it.
Now, I don't want to be rude, but I'm looking up at two faces
at the moment and they tell different times.
Do you not keep it up to speed?
We do. All four faces actually tell a different story.
They're known locally as the four-faced liar.
Supposedly, when the clock was installed, it was never fully
synchronised, and when the town council restored
the clock in 2009 we decided to fossilise that four-faced
liar within the electronic regulator that's in there today.
You know, in my political career, Peter, I met a few two-faced liars
but this is my first experience of a four-faced liar.
One of them's correct though!
How very nice to see you. I'm very interested in your clock,
which tells a different time on every face.
Can you explain that to me? No.
It used to be called a lying clock, because each face was different.
Does it make people in Barnstaple confused? Yes.
You always look at your watch as it goes bong. "No".
You look at which face sort of relates to your watch.
Well, enjoy the summer's weather.
As the Devon evening draws in, my thirst needs quenching.
This is the Golden Lion,
which scores a mention in my Bradshaw's guide.
It seems a good place to end the day. Cheers!
My first stop on this new day will be the delightfully-named
Eggesford, which is hardly a metropolis.
Indeed my Bradshaw's describes it as having no particular attraction,
and yet every train on this line stops there.
It's not even a request stop as many of the stations are.
And I'm thinking there must be a reason why.
I'm travelling towards Exeter on the Tarka Line,
so named because it follows the gentle river valleys
of Henry Williamson's classic novel Tarka the Otter.
Hello. Hi. I notice that all the trains stop at tiny little
Eggesford. Yes.
Do you know why that is?
Yes, it's the point of exchange of the tokens.
Because it's a single line everywhere else,
each train has to have its own specific token,
because the token runs from Eggesford to Barnstaple,
back to Eggesford.
Right, so it's a single line. Of course.
So it's the safest way of operating the actual line,
so no two trains can be on the same section of track.
Exactly. You can only have one train at a time.
As we arrive into Eggesford,
I'm keen to see whether the single line token system
has become as automated as the rest of the railways.
OK, Crediton signalman, I've removed the Eggesford-to-Crediton key token.
The whole scene could be Victorian apart from the Portakabin.
Token in hand. Signalman informed.
He is indeed. How was the journey for you, sir? Very nice.
Have a good one yourself. Thank you. Thank you. Bye-bye now.
I understand why trains stop at Eggesford today,
but tokens were introduced on this line only in 1987.
I'm hoping that local Derek Dyer will be able to tell me
why they've been stopping in sleepy Eggesford
ever since Bradshaw's day.
This is downtown Eggesford, is it? Yes, this is Eggesford.
It's been known locally as the church without a village,
as there's not much else around here.
Now why have we come to this vantage point?
We've come here because if we look up the hill we can see Eggesford House.
It came into the Earls of Portsmouth's family
by marriage in the 18th century.
And the chap that became the fourth Earl of Portsmouth,
Newton Fellowes, got the road built through here and also the railway.
And what conditions had he put on,
allowing the railway though his land?
He made it quite clear, I think, in a legal covenant, that he
wanted every train to stop at Eggesford,
and clearly he wanted to show off his country estate, as well.
What remnants are there of the Earls of Portsmouth?
Do you see their name around?
Yes, in the local area.
They owned about 10,000 acres of land around here,
a huge, huge estate, considering it wasn't the main estate -
there are estates in Hampshire, as well.
They built a school in the area,
there's workers cottages, which have built-in pigsties -
probably at the time quite forward-thinking.
I think it would have been fantastic,
I mean not for me companion of honour,
not for me a knight of the garter,
to be remembered as the man who
made the train stop in perpetuity, that's all I want.
Yes, he's very well-loved in the area, I think, still,
the Earl of Portsmouth.
Mainly because there's a pub named after him.
THEY LAUGH
My next stop will be Exeter, which my Bradshaw's tells me
is "The capital of Devon and of the west of England.
"A bishop's see, city and parliamentary borough
"on the Great Western Railway,
"194 miles from London."
So I'm going from one of Devon's least-used stations
to one of its busiest.
Back in the second century,
the Romans built a sturdy wall around Exeter,
a Norman castle and cathedral followed.
The city's more recent prosperity was built on engineering,
iron, brewing, papermaking and printing.
The first train of the Great Western Railway
steamed into St Davids Station from London on 1st May 1844.
"Exeter," says Bradshaw's, "stretches for nearly two miles
"over a hill above the river and is therefore
"not only pleasantly seated, but well drained.
"At the top north of the town are the picturesque
"ruined walls and gate of Rougemont Castle."
And then it talks about the "fine elm walk of Northernbay."
But I think that's either a mistake or a misprint,
because the gardens in Exeter, I believe, are called Northernhay
and they overlook Exeter Central station.
'Incorporating a stretch of Roman wall
'and the only length of Saxon town wall seen in England,
'Northernhay Gardens underwent major re-landscaping in 1860,
'including the terraces overlooking the railway.
'Galvin Short looks after the gardens now.'
For the railway enthusiast, the great thing about these gardens
is that you can see the gardens from the railway
and you can see the railway from the gardens.
Were the Victorians keen to come here and look at the trains?
Absolutely. We also have a view of, what, the jail over there?
The county jail, yes.
It was built in 1853 and it was the location for all our
public executions until 1866.
So, you could stand here, watch the trains go by,
afternoon, catch a hanging, and then go off and do other things.
We've got the three tiers going up
and apparently, according to the records, they were full.
It was shoulder to shoulder,
line to line of people watching both.
Yeah, the Victorians could be a bit ghoulish, couldn't they?
'Above the tiered walkway is the park proper.
'Galvin appears to be as passionate about it
'as his Victorian predecessors.'
What is the history of this lovely verdant space?
Northernhay Gardens is officially designated
the oldest public open space in the country
and that's dated at 1612.
And what I'm looking at today?
You're looking at today is a quintessential Victorian lay out.
Got a nice wide avenue of footpaths,
but the purpose of the footpaths was that Victorian habit of
going out for a stroll, perambulating around,
exchanging business cards, exchanging pleasantries
and, most importantly, being seen.
Being seen doing it.
The Victorians also took their parks very seriously, didn't they?
They did. The first official public park
was built and designed by Paxton,
Joseph Paxton, who passed away in 1865 and every public park
should have a statue of him on the main gate, because without
his drive at the time, parks would still be the realm of the rich.
Who are the other great Victorian figures in the park world?
Well, if I could have a statue
of Joseph Paxton at one end of the park,
James Veitch senior would have to be at the other end of the park.
Who was he? James Veitch senior was the powerhouse
behind the House of Veitch,
which was the internationally-acclaimed nurseries,
which were Exeter-based.
And we can look around any part of the Exeter skyline
and there's the heritage for all to see.
'At the end of the Napoleonic Wars, importing plants became easier
'and James Veitch took full advantage.
'He started in Devon, but in 1853
'his family opened a nursery in Chelsea.
'Their plant houses attracted high society,
'as royalty and scientists, including Charles Darwin,
'admired and studied the Veitch collections.
'Galvin is replanting the park in the Veitch style.'
What I'd like you to do, if you don't mind,
is help me with this project.
Here's a sweet pea.
And if we can get a couple of the sweet peas
in that frame, hopefully, by about August,
we'll have a tower of flowers.
Thank you very much.
In the best traditions of a Victorian head gardener,
I'll just push that in with my foot.
To satisfy the Victorian demand for exotics, Veitch sent
plant hunters to the corners of the globe
and his passion for precise knowledge was typical of the age.
The urge to gather plants from around the world was
part of a broader Victorian mentality.
They were collators, cataloguers and curators.
Everything from beetles to bottles,
and tortoises to tyrannosaurus
was, for the Victorians, collectible.
When Prince Albert died, Exeter responded by building
The Albert Memorial Institution on Queen Street.
The building housed a museum, art gallery, public library,
school of art and a college.
'These days it's known as the Royal Albert Memorial Museum
'and contains many and varied Victorian collections,
'now cared for by the conservation department,
'led by Alison Hopper-Bishop.'
I've come in search of Victorian collections.
Hello. Well, you'll find plenty of those here.
This is a prime example.
What are these?
Well, this is a small selection of shells
from the collection donated to us
by Miss Linter, who was an avid shell dealer
and collector of land snails.
This is her.
She made it her mission to try to collect every land snail
that was known about.
The collection is very important to us today,
because many of the snails that she did collect
are now extinct in the part of the world that they came from,
in particular Hawaii.
'At least 50 animal species have become extinct since
'Bradshaw's day, including mammals, reptiles, amphibians and birds.'
I don't know much about shells,
but my guess is that this thing here is not a snail shell.
What is that? It's a moa egg, it's an extinct bird from New Zealand.
How rare is that?
There's only 36 specimens
of a decent size been catalogued
in the world, but at the moment
we're thinking this might be a 37th one.
How exciting. What are you having to do with it?
Basically, clean it up, but because of the DNA, you have to use
dry methods, if possible.
DNA of an extinct species. Yes.
Wonderful.
So, Kirsty, what do you actually have to do to these shells?
Do you want to have a go?
Yes, I'd love to.
Gloves. Yes, please...
So here, that's a shell for you.
So this one is in its original box...
In its original box, with its original packaging.
You've got two shells in there. I have.
I have I don't know if you want to use tweezers.
'Kirsty's cleaned around 20,000 snail shells
'in three and a half years,
'that's almost the entirety of Miss Linter's collection.
'But the snail catalogue numbers in excess of 60,000,
'and they all need cleaning.'
Do you think that little fellow's clean? I think he's clean.
Very satisfying to think that that another little Victorian shell
has taken a bath.
Thank you very much. Thank you.
Both the clock tower in Barnstaple and the museum in Exeter
were memorials to Prince Albert,
the beloved husband of Queen Victoria,
who, with his support of progress and innovation,
was a typical Victorian.
George Bradshaw might be especially grateful to him, for it was he
who persuaded Her Majesty that it was safe and ladylike
and fit for a queen to travel by train.
'On my next journey, I'll take to sea with
'the heroes of the RNLI...
Couple of big waves coming now.
There we go. Whoa!
At the moment, it feels a bit like, I imagine,
a jockey in the Grand National.
We're going up and down and over the fences.
'..I'll visit a stormy coastal railway...'
When the waves hit this section, the plumes of water go right over the top
of the footbridge at the station.
'..and have a close encounter with a boyhood hero.'
This is exciting. Is this genuinely a section of Brunel's pipe?
It is indeed, yes.
Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd