For Victorian Britons,
George Bradshaw was a household name.
At a time when railways were new,
Bradshaw's guidebook inspired them to take to the tracks.
I'm using a Bradshaw's guide
to understand how trains transformed Britain -
its landscape, its industries,
society and leisure time.
As I crisscross the country, 150 years later,
it helps me to discover the Britain of today.
I've embarked on a new journey that begins in Wales -
a territory once thought so troublesome
the English monarchs peppered it with castles.
Since 1301, they've taken care to name their heir apparent
Prince of Wales.
The Industrial Revolution transformed the South,
so that by Victorian times,
despite its remoteness from the seat of power,
it was valued by the national economy
and by the Royal Family.
My journey will take me across Bradshaw's Britain
from west to east.
From the industrial powerhouse of South Wales,
I'll see how the railways left no corner of the land unchanged
through the agricultural heartlands
of the Welsh borders and the Cotswolds.
I'll finish by travelling between the twin pillars of English academia
at Oxford and Cambridge.
The first leg will cover 65 miles
from the Welsh west coast,
via Carmarthenshire, to Swansea.
I'll visit the dockyard
that built Queen Victoria's Royal yacht.
When she was launched,
she was the biggest yacht of any kind in the world.
Discover a 19th-century rural railway
being given a new lease of life.
It is the most beautiful summer's day
and this lovely restored track threads its way along
the scenic valley of the Gwili River,
and I'm on my own private train.
What bliss!
And learn how to pose for a photograph Victorian style.
Try not to smile, because in Victorian times,
if you're smiling, you seemed a bit of a buffoon.
I wish someone had told me that long ago.
My first stop will be Pembroke Dock,
which Bradshaw's tells me
"is the seat of a Royal dockyard
"at the head of that magnificent inlet called Milford Haven".
"The town takes its name from the Welsh Penfro,
"meaning head of a peninsula."
The dockyard is celebrating its bicentenary.
It was built in 1814,
when we were still at war with Napoleon Bonaparte.
By Victorian times, it was still serving country
and, especially, Queen.
Before the arrival of the railway in 1864,
this was an isolated corner of the country,
but the deep waters of the haven
made it an ideal site for a shipyard.
And as Britain battled Napoleonic France
in the early 19th century,
the admiralty built naval vessels here.
I'm surveying the town's history
from a 19th-century gun tower
with Martin Cavaney.
The dockyard only opens
as the Napoleonic Wars are coming to an end.
Was that a problem for the dockyard at Pembroke?
No, far from it. Pembroke Dock became boomtown Wales.
People came from all over the country here
to work at the dockyard.
It employed 3,000 men at its height.
And, of course, you had to service them
with shops and pubs and houses.
So, this place suddenly expanded out
from a greenfield site into a town.
The gun tower dates from the town's Victorian heyday,
by which time Britannia ruled the waves
with the biggest and best navy in the world.
Victory over Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815
had marked the start of a new era of peace.
But the admiralty remained watchful.
1848-49, the year of revolution in Europe, especially in France,
it was realised that the British dockyards
were wide open to attack from the sea.
So, in 1849, Lord Palmerston ordered a defence-building programme
and a chain of fortifications was built to protect the dockyard,
stretching the 12 miles down to the mouth of the Haven waterway.
Were these guns ever fired?
Never fired in anger.
Its defences were three of these canons on the roof
and then, on the ground floor, there were three 12-pound howitzers,
which could be moved around the building to fire
from any of the windows. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Yes.
From sailing boats to Industrial Age steamships,
263 naval vessels were built here
over the lifetime of the Royal dockyard.
But not all of them were designed with war in mind.
The Pembroke Dock Heritage Centre
commemorates the yachts that added prestige
to Queen Victoria's travels.
Ted Goddard is my guide.
Ted. Welcome, Michael. Great to be here.
Ted, that is the most handsome vessel. Which one is this?
This is the third Victoria and Albert.
There were five Royal yachts built here at Pembroke Dock.
That's the first V&A over there, by the wall. Yeah.
Much smaller. So, they got bigger and bigger, did they?
Yeah, the first one was about 1,200 tonnes.
The second V&A was twice that - 2,400.
And this one was 5,500 tonnes.
She was a mighty ship.
When she was launched, she was the biggest yacht
of any kind in the world.
That was in 1899,
and that record held right until the 1930s.
I remember from my days in the Ministry of Defence that
the yachts were traditionally crewed by the Royal Navy.
Presumably, that was true of this one.
Yes, there was a crew of just over 360,
who were accommodated in this section of the ship,
just forward of the bow.
The officers were next then,
their wardroom was underneath the bridge here.
And then the Royal apartments here and along here were...
occupied the rest of the ship,
and the crew were crammed in there like sardines.
Launched in 1899, the third Victoria and Albert
wasn't commissioned for service until 1901,
the year of the Queen's death.
But the yacht lived on to serve her descendants.
TELEVISION ANNOUNCER: And a salute of 21 guns booms out over the Solent
and echoes back seconds later to its King.
In 1939, King George VI, the Queen's father,
the Queen Mother, the two princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret,
were taken on a cruise to the West Country,
and the V&A anchored off Dartmouth.
And that evening, a young Philip Mountbatten came on board to dine.
Of course, now the Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen's husband.
And it's believed to be the first recorded time
that...Philip Mountbatten and Princess Elizabeth met.
So, the yacht has a romantic as well as a Royal connection.
Indeed...indeed it has.
The Royal dockyard closed in 1926
and shipbuilding declined.
Today, just one firm remains.
And before I leave,
I'm meeting its operations director, Kevin Lewis.
Kevin. Ah, good morning.
A 200-year-old dockyard that used to produce
Royal yachts and frigates and so on.
Good to see something still happening here.
Yeah, it is good. It's, you know, the history of the place
and we...we're, I guess, trying to make sure that it continues.
I've known the place since I was around 14 or 15,
when I first came down here with my father.
And I stood on the end of the dock with my father,
looking down into the dock, watching the welders.
And I said to him, "I think that's what I want to do when I grow up.
"That's what I want to do."
And what are you having to do to this boat?
This boat's just come in, we slipped it yesterday.
It's coming in for a refit and refurb.
We're going to put new accommodation into it,
going to modify the superstructure, amongst other things.
Big job. Quite a big job, yeah.
I'm glad to have glimpsed
a reminder of Pembroke Dock's shipbuilding heritage.
It's now time to turn my back on the sea
and join the West Wales railway.
This branch was extended to serve the dockyard in the 1860s.
I'm following it inland,
where local people relied on farming in Bradshaw's day.
I'll leave this train at Narberth,
Bradshaw's tells me it "has no particular object of attraction,
"being a small, neat town".
A picture of provincial tranquillity, you might think,
but you'd be wrong.
Shortly after Victoria came to the throne,
its placidity was shattered
by a severe outbreak of public disorder.
The mid-19th century was a difficult time
for Britain's agricultural communities,
due to population growth, poor harvests
and economic depression.
Here in South West Wales,
growing discontent found extraordinary expression,
as masked men donned women's clothing
to stage violent protests across the countryside.
Historian Rhian Jones is filling me in on the story.
So, you've brought me to this imposing stone building, why?
Well, this is Narberth Workhouse.
It was built in 1820.
And in 1843, it was a target of Rebecca rioters.
Rebecca rioters were mainly tenant farmers from this area
who had several grievances in the 1840s,
and they took out their grievances on various targets,
including workhouses and tollgates.
And these workhouses... Now, if I remember,
there'd been a new Poor Law in 1834. That's right.
So, conditions inside were wretched, weren't they, wretched?
Yes, conditions in workhouses were meant to be deliberately harsher
than the worst conditions that you might suffer outside,
deliberately to deter people from accessing that support.
Choosing idleness.
Exactly, exactly.
As well as demanding better conditions in workhouses,
the Rebecca rioters destroyed the tollgates,
used to collect fees from road users
which had grown in number since the early 19th century.
Dressed as women, the culprits were hard to identify.
And surely there was a reason for choosing the name Rebecca.
There's two conflicting theories about this.
The first is that the leader of the fist riot, in 1839,
borrowed a disguise, a dress, from a local lady called Rebecca,
who was the only woman around sufficiently statuesque
to have a dress that would fit him.
The other idea is that they took it from a verse in Genesis
which begins "and they blessed Rebecca".
And it goes on to prophesise that
Rebecca's children will possess the gates of those that hate them.
Rebecca and her daughters didn't succeed
in abolishing the tolls completely,
but in 1844, new legislation was brought in
to simplify the toll rates.
And new technology brought some relief.
Well, the expansion of the railways into Wales in the 19th century
was hugely beneficial.
And, of course, it obviously did a lot to make roads less important.
So there was far less reliance on private transport,
cos people used trains instead.
So that was probably quite handy for local farmers, I would've thought.
And a general increase in living standards. Yes, absolutely.
I'm rejoining those transformative tracks,
in search of a bed for the night.
The West Wales line continues to serve the local community.
Some of the smaller stations are request stops.
Hello. Hi.
Do I need to request the train to stop at Carmarthen?
No, Carmarthen's a main station. OK, great.
There we go. You don't have too many trains on this line,
but they're very full when they run, aren't they? Oh, they are, yes.
Always a busy train. That's great.
I'm using the line to reach
one of South West Wales' most historic towns, Carmarthen,
where my Victorian guidebook tells me
that I'll find the Ivy Bush Hotel.
Before the arrival of the railways,
it was a thriving coaching inn,
whose patrons included naval personnel travelling to and from
the sheltered waters of the haven.
I'm moved by the true love
between Admiral Horatio Nelson,
a national hero and married man,
and Emma Hamilton,
a former prostitute and married woman.
They came here together, to the Ivy Bush Hotel, in 1802,
accompanied by her husband,
who often provided cover for their illicit affair.
I've often thought it was lucky
that we didn't have a tabloid press in those days,
otherwise, Nelson would have been hounded out of public life
and we would have had to find someone else
to fight the Battle of Trafalgar.
A fresh day dawns
and it's time for me to explore the beautiful county
to which Carmarthen gives its name.
Bradshaw's says "Carmarthenshire is mountainous and woody,
"the air is mild and salubrious,
"and the whole country is remarkably healthy and fertile".
After all the rain that it must have taken to produce this vivid green,
today, the colour is outstanding in the summer sun.
Carmarthenshire is known as the Garden of Wales,
and its rolling hills appear to have changed little in centuries.
But in the 1860s, with the arrival of the railways,
the Industrial Age burst upon this peaceful landscape.
In Victorian times,
this service was known as the lazy line,
because the farmer with his sheep,
the farmer's wife with her cheese,
bound for the market in Carmarthen,
could flag down the train at any point,
an arrangement that combined convenience
with total unpredictability.
Could you take my Bradshaw's, please?
I'm hearing the history of the Carmarthen to Aberystwyth railway
from enthusiast Jeremy John.
Jeremy, this lovely line, what was it first built for?
Well, initially the directors of
the Carmarthen and Cardigan Railway Company
wanted to reach Cardigan and not Aberystwyth.
I think the idea was to use Cardigan as a deep sea port
for purposes of trade. And a lot...
And in the middle of the 19th century,
a lot of the railway companies were really fed up
with the stranglehold that Liverpool docks had.
So that was the initial plan.
In fact, the railway company ran out of money
before the tracks reached Cardigan.
But even so, it changed life in Carmarthenshire.
I think the farmers made good use of it, didn't they? Yes, I mean...
Of course, the result of it all
was the economy of the rural areas expanding.
I mean, it was a tremendous boost for people
in the middle of the 19th century, you know.
And a good example, really, is that
you could milk your cows here
and get the fresh milk to London within hours.
Because, I mean, I doubt if many cows were kept
in the middle of Central London
in the middle of the 19th century.
By 1867, tracks built by different companies
connected Carmarthen with Aberystwyth,
56 and a half miles away, on the West coast.
It wasn't exactly a high-speed railway, was it?
No, it took hours to get to Aberystwyth, you know, with 24 stops
and all these various halts, you know.
So, in some ways, maybe it didn't make an awful lot of money.
And especially later on, in the 1960s,
when, of course, you had the minicar. I mean, if people took about
three and a half hours to get to Aberystwyth
and could drive there in an hour,
then really they would elect to go by car.
By 1973, both passenger and freight services had ceased
on the Carmarthen to Aberystwyth railway.
But five years later, a short stretch reopened
as the Gwili Heritage Line,
sustained by passionate volunteers.
That was a great run, thank you.
You're welcome. Oh, what are you doing there?
Just cooking up some dinner.
We've got some bacon and some sausages,
some egg and a nice lamb chop.
Well, you do know how to treat yourselves don't you? We do.
That's excellent. Railwayman's lunch.
There are big plans afoot for the railway's future.
Hello! Hello.
To hear more, I've donned my boiler suit
to switch from steam to diesel.
HORN BLARES
It is the most beautiful summer's day
and this lovely restored track
threads its way along the scenic valley of the Gwili River,
and I'm on my own private train.
What bliss!
Volunteers are extending the railway
to provide an extra one-and-three-quarter miles of track
and a new station.
Hi!
I've travelled to the end of the line to pitch in.
Checking the so-called keys that hold the track in place
with volunteer Matt Bowen.
Now perhaps you'd like to have a go.
Where are there any to do? There's quite a few over here.
Oh, yeah, all of these are out.
That's right, just like that.
And then give it a good whack.
That's it.
There we are, that should do.
How long have you been with the railway, Matt?
Well, I first started when I was 11, and I'm now 36.
That's amazing. Yes.
And, today, you're getting kids coming in at that age in?
Yes, we are. We've got a new generation coming in,
which is great for the future.
But, hopefully, you know, we'll have people of all ages here
and they all find enjoyment.
Are you moved by the history of this railway line? Very much so, yes.
There's a lot of social history as well as railway history.
It's a glimpse of the past.
And just wonderful to bring it back. Absolutely, absolutely.
I'm now rejoining the 21st-century railway network
to reach my final stop on today's journey.
And this stretch of the West Wales line is a real treat.
Snaking along the valley of the River Towy,
this railway showcases the best of South Wales.
I had no idea it was going to be such a beautiful ride.
Lovely journey. A lovely journey, isn't it?
You've got the best side there. Oh, yeah? The right ride, OK, great.
You going far?
Yeah, I'm going to Cardiff.
Do you know this line quite well? Yeah, I've travelled it...
Well, up to year ago, I used to come on this line every week,
down to Cardiff and back.
I live in Carmarthen.
Nice line? It's a brilliant line, it's beautiful line, actually,
from Carmarthen down to Llanelli.
So, you get some fantastic views of castles.
And, of course, if you're into wildlife,
then there's fantastic bird variety.
Well, thank you, enjoy your journey.
I know I'm going to enjoy mine more
because you've given me some pointers, thank you.
The view is spectacular,
but I'm about to swap the lush green of the countryside
for the urban landscape of Swansea,
which was, in Bradshaw's day,
the "important seat of the copper trade".
Ore shipped from Cornwall and elsewhere
was smelted using the abundant local coal.
And the finished product was in hot demand,
used by 19th-century engineers in everything
from locomotive fireboxes to electrical wires.
In that era of dizzying technological change,
the railways were just one of the developments revolutionising life.
From Bradshaw's snapshot of Swansea,
I want to focus on two things -
the Royal Institution of South Wales,
which was established in 1835,
and Penllergaer,
which is described as "the seat of John Llewelyn esquire",
and I'm sure that I'll develop a connection between the two.
The technology in my sights is photography,
which reached new heights in Victorian Swansea.
To find out more, I'm heading for the Swansea Museum,
set up by members of the Royal Institution of South Wales
in 1841.
Here, local industrialists, businessmen and amateur scientists
came together to discuss the latest breakthroughs
in science, technology and the arts.
I'm meeting Michael Pritchard from the Royal Photographic Society.
Michael, hello. Hello, Michael, nice to meet you.
Very good to see you. Take a seat.
Now, I believe I'm in the former Royal Institution of South Wales,
and I've come in pursuit of John Llewelyn.
Can you help me?
Yes, indeed.
John Llewelyn - in fact, John Dillwyn Llewelyn
to give him his full name -
was one of the pioneers of British photography.
He got very involved in the process
as soon as photography was announced.
Was there a connection with the Royal Institution of South Wales?
Yeah, Llewelyn's father and Llewelyn himself
were involved in setting up the institution.
The son of a Swansea landowner,
John Dillwyn Llewelyn was a Victorian renaissance man
with interests including astronomy, horticulture and local politics.
His passion for photography was sparked
after he married Emma Talbot in 1833.
Her cousin, William Henry Fox Talbot,
created the world's first photographic negative.
The Dillwyn Llewelyns created some of the first family albums,
including this remarkable one shot from 1853.
What we have here...
..is Llewelyn's family on Guy Fawkes Night
at his estate at Penllergaer.
How superb! That is superb!
Now, I mean, was it quite revolutionary
to do these, kind of, family shots?
It was unusual, certainly.
But because there were so many photographers in the family,
that suspect he had rather more leeway
in getting people to stand still.
But also, Llewelyn was important because
he developed new ways of photographing,
he developed a new process
that would allow him to photograph at faster shutter speeds.
So he was able to capture some of these subjects
that some of his contemporaries were not able to do.
It really is amazing.
And one of the things that is so good is the dynamism.
I mean, this figure here, who is actually John Llewelyn himself,
appears to be pitchforking the bonfire.
But he will have been posed to do that, will he?
Yes, he would. I mean, I think we have to accept that
photography wasn't quite as advanced as it is today,
and so there's an element of posing. But you're right,
it has that sense of movement,
the way the smoke... You know,
it gives it a very ethereal feel
and a sense of movement and wind.
I think, you know, it's a fantastic example of what was...
what photography was capable of at that time.
Dillwyn Llewelyn soon developed a following,
with works bought by Queen Victoria herself.
Some of his most beautiful images were inspired by
his family estate at Penllergaer.
And this is the upper waterfall on the estate.
The water appears to be moving, it's absolutely full of light.
The tree in the foreground is perfectly in focus.
All the woods in the background have been thrown out.
That is a fantastic piece of work.
His artistic talent leaps from the page.
Yeah, it does, and this is where I think
he really does add something to it, that...
You know, people like Talbot...
Although he nominally invented photography,
Talbot approached it as a scientist.
Llewelyn approached it as an artist.
And I think that's the real difference between the two.
Just outside Swansea,
the waterfall immortalised by Dillwyn Llewelyn is still there.
And the techniques he used to capture it
are practised today by photographer, Tony Richards.
Tony, hello. Hello there, Michael.
Lovely piece of equipment, that.
Around the vintage of John Dillwyn Llywelyn?
Yes, yes, the camera is just after, lens is exact.
I'd like to have a Victorian portrait of myself taken here.
What would be your pointers for a Victorian portrait?
For a Victorian portrait, stand very still,
they're long exposures.
Try not to smile.
The tradition for portraiture was unsmiling, a serious face.
If you're smiling, you seemed a bit of a buffoon.
I wish someone had told me that long ago.
Tony's using the so-called wet plate collodion process,
developed in the 1850s.
A sheet of chemically-treated glass
is bathed in light-sensitive silver nitrate
before being placed in the camera.
20 seconds...
From now.
When the plate is exposed to light,
the chemical reaction creates a negative image.
And relax.
Well done.
To fix the image, more chemicals are added,
then the result can be revealed.
That was quick. You've just done that in the back of the van?
Yes, a little dark room in the back.
I can't see very much at the moment. What's going to happen next?
Now we're going to pour on some photographic fixer,
which will wash away the un-activated silver
and we're left with a positive image.
There I am appearing!
And, if I say it myself, looking rather good.
Well done, Tony. Thank you very much.
And there you go.
That is fantastic.
From photography to railways to shipbuilding,
on this part of my journey,
I've searched for reminders of Victorian Wales.
But I've also been struck by a forgotten darker side
of 19th-century history.
I am moved by the Rebecca rioters,
those desperate farmers driven to violence by their poverty.
Their grievances were lifted during Bradshaw's time
as railways opened new markets for Welsh farm produce.
They've been partly forgotten
because they predate the development of photography,
which has bequeathed to us those unmistakeable formal images
which define the Victorian age.
On the next leg of my journey,
I discover the Welsh talent for tongue twisters.
There's Llandeilo to Llandovery, Llandovery to Llanwrtyd.
You never get confused with all your Llans, do you?
Well, I don't.
Step into my dancing shoes for a quadrille.
And put my school boy scrumping days to good use.
That is delicious. Nice and fruity isn't it? Oh!
Be even better when it's alcoholic.
Definitely. Part of your five a day, that.