Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 2, Episode 24 - Roybridge to Glenfinnan - full transcript
In 1840, one man
transformed travel in Britain.
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 the country
to see what of Bradshaw's Britain
remains.
I'm continuing my journey
through the Scottish Highlands
steered by my 19th-century
Bradshaw's Guide.
Anybody who comes to visit
these marvellous hills and valleys
must be awestruck
by this fantastic landscape.
But in all the decades
I've been visiting these parts,
it never struck me that the Victorians,
in their quest to understand
how the world came to be what it is,
made breakthrough discoveries
in this remarkable geology.
When the railways reached
the Highlands,
they opened the eyes of
Victorian scientists and adventurers
to striking natural phenomena.
Now my guidebook
is helping me to appreciate
how their understanding advanced.
On this leg of the journey,
I'll be unravelling
one of the great 19th-century
geological mysteries...
So, Charles Darwin, who got
so much right, actually got this wrong?
Yeah, he sees it as a blunder.
...experiencing one of Britain's
most stunning journeys by steam train...
The Jacobite has panted its way
up the steep incline.
Somehow the wheels
are gripping the wet rails
and now we're on
the wonderful Glenfinnan Viaduct.
...and admiring Ben Nevis,
where Victorian scientists went
to extraordinary lengths
in their quest for knowledge.
We're talking about people
going up there to take readings?
They didn't have to go up there,
they had to live up there.
I'm well into a journey
that began in Ayr
and has carried me north along
the historic West Highland Line.
Now my route veers west,
tracing a path
through mountains and lochs
on the way to the coast and my
final destination, the Isle of Skye.
My first stop today is Roybridge
before I move on to
the garrison town of Fort William
then cross Scotland's
most famous viaduct to Glenfinnan.
As I head through the Highlands,
the train window offers
a scene of wild, natural beauty.
This is Inverness-shire.
My Bradshaw's Guide is eloquent.
"Vast ranges of mountains separated from
each other by narrow and deep valleys."
"These mountains stretch across
the whole country
from one end of the island to another,
and lie parallel to every valley,
rising like immense walls
on both sides,
while the intersecting country
sinks deep between them
with a lake or rapid river
or an arm of the sea."
Wonderful description.
To look more closely at
this dramatic terrain,
I'm getting off at the next village.
Roybridge,
and my Bradshaw's Guide says,
"You may visit
the heads of the Spey River,
and the parallel roads
of Glenroy in Lochaber."
Sounds intriguing.
My "Bradshaw's" gives
a single line to what was
a great geological mystery
of the 19th century.
How had three parallel roads
been etched onto these mountains?
Their precision suggested
human intervention
and Highlanders once believed them
to be the work of Fingal,
the Celtic warrior king.
In fact, they're a natural phenomenon
which puzzled great Victorian minds.
- Adrian, good morning.
- Good morning.
Physical geographer
Dr Adrian Palmer knows the story.
I saw in my Bradshaw's Guide
a reference to parallel roads.
Now I'm quite intrigued it gets
a mention in the guidebooks.
What was the understanding
in the middle 19th century
of what had caused all this?
(Adrian) It was a phenomenon that had
obviously been recorded in the landscape
and it attracted
huge amounts of interest,
even to the extent of attracting
a young geologist by the name of Darwin.
He had seen similar features
in Chile whilst on the Beagle.
He suggested these had actually
been formed by marine processes.
All of this valley would have been
inundated by marine water.
- By sea?
- By sea.
Charles Darwin
believed the lines indicated
the positions of ancient sea shores.
Others agreed,
although their precise cause
was disputed.
There were other people
who considered them to be
developed as freshwater phenomena,
freshwater lakes.
There was this big debate.
What they couldn't quite understand
was if they were freshwater lakes,
how they were dammed up.
How did they actually form
if you can't see the barrier?
Then a Swiss geologist
named Louis Agassiz
came to cast his eye
over the Glenroy landscape.
He was working on
a controversial new theory
that just a few thousand years ago,
much of Europe had been covered in ice.
He believed that this Ice Age
could explain the parallel roads.
(Adrian) He suggested these elusive
barriers that no longer existed
were formed by ice.
The modern interpretation
of these lake systems
is that ice formed somewhere
in the Rannoch Moor area
and it advanced into the Great Glen.
That ice blocked up the natural
drainage systems of the Roy River
and also the Spean River,
forcing the lake levels to rise.
It's effectively like a bath
with an overflow plug
at 260 metres in the landscape.
As well as solving a local mystery,
Agassiz's work on the parallel roads
lent weight to his Ice Age theory
and helped to lay the foundation
of modern geology.
So, Charles Darwin, who got
so much right, actually got this wrong?
Yeah, he does...
He sees it as a blunder.
He writes that he gradually became more
persuaded by the ideas of Louis Agassiz.
He does actually refer to it
as a massive blunder.
I'm now leaving
the parallel roads behind
as it's time to continue my journey.
I'm travelling 12 miles down the line
to Fort William.
Built on the shores of Loch Linnhe,
today this town is a tourist hub,
but it first developed
as a military outpost.
This is Fort William,
and the name says it all.
It's a garrison town that was built
by William of Orange
who was a Protestant king
who was fighting against the supporters
of the deposed
Catholic-leaning King James I,
and those supporters
were known as Jacobites.
Indeed, before the railway line arrived
in Fort William in 1894,
probably the best way of getting here
would have been on the military roads
that were built by various armies
fighting recalcitrant Highlanders.
The original 17th-century fort
was an important stronghold
used for over a century
to subdue the Highland clans.
In the 19th century, it fell into disuse
and when the railway came,
it was largely demolished
to make way for the new line.
With Highland history in my mind,
I'm following up
an interesting reference in my guide.
My Bradshaw's Guide mentions
Lochiel, the seat of the Camerons.
This is Achnacarry,
the present seat of the Cameron clan.
It's not surprising
that "Bradshaw's" mentions this clan.
In the 19th century, its chief,
Cameron of Lochiel,
was an influential advocate of
the new West Highland Railway Line.
I've come to the ancestral seat,
Achnacarry Castle,
to meet the current chief,
Donald Cameron,
and hear how his predecessors
helped to shape Highland history.
- Donald, what a pleasure.
- Very nice to meet you.
- Very good to see you.
- Brought some lovely weather.
Absolutely.
How far back does the clan Cameron go?
About early 15th century, 14-something.
The first ten chiefs,
slightly lost in the mists of time.
But we number from ten, really.
I'm 27, so we've had
17 generations that we know of.
Would it be true
that most people called Cameron
could ultimately trace their origins
to the Highland clan?
Let's take at random
the example of the Prime Minister.
I have been told,
whether it's right or wrong,
that the Prime Minister
is my ninth cousin once removed
and the genealogy looks quite strong.
Pinch of salt, but possibly.
I met him once, introduced to him.
I said, "Very pleased to meet you.
I'm your clan chief."
He took it very well.
(Michael) Is there a reason
why the clans come into existence?
I think it was probably
a way of combining a little army
to hold your territory
in which you found yourself.
Gradually other people
take the name of Cameron
so as to protect themselves
from other clans nearby.
The Camerons' big moment
came in the 1740s.
They were Jacobites,
supporters of the deposed
Catholic Stuart pretenders to the throne
who had lived in exile for decades.
In 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie
landed in the Highlands
and called on the clans
to support his bid for the crown.
(Donald) My ancestor, I think,
probably thought it was a forlorn chance
of anything being achieved
so went to see him to put him off.
But when he discovered
the French ships had left
and the Prince was alone
in what is almost clan land here,
I think he felt he couldn't desert him.
So when he raised his standard
at Glenfinnan in August 1745,
700 Camerons
came marching over the hill.
The decision
to support Bonnie Prince Charlie
had terrible consequences
for the clan.
In 1746, Charles was defeated
at the Battle of Culloden
and around 225 Camerons
were amongst the dead.
The victorious Duke of Cumberland
on behalf of the King
then set about
brutally crushing the rebels.
Thousands of Highlanders
were imprisoned or killed
and their families driven off the land.
Their way of life was all but destroyed.
Cumberland was pretty awful,
Butcher Cumberland.
I think what he did after '45
was horrific and violent.
He destroyed the clan system.
In our case, it was about the 1880s
when clansfolk began saying,
"Let's re-establish ourselves
as aclan."
Since then, there has been
a huge amount of interest.
You now do this
on a global basis, do you?
It's very much bottom up now.
It's the clansfolk
who want to be part of the clan.
The chief, I think, is a focal point.
We have gatherings
every seven or eight years
and last year, 800 Camerons came
from mostly North America,
New Zealand, Australia
and of course Scotland.
For 27 generations,
the Cameron clan has helped to shape
the land where they live.
Including the building of the railway.
(Donald) It was presented to my
grandmother by Concrete Bob McAlpine
when she cut the first sod
of the Mallaig extension
to the West Highland Railway.
My goodness. That is a trophy, isn't it?
"21st January, 1897."
"On the occasion of cutting
the first sod of the Mallaig extension
of the West Highland Railway."
Wonderful, that is splendid memento.
Some of the earliest visitors to Fort
William after the new railway was built
were plucky mountaineers
aiming to scale
its most famous landmark, Ben Nevis.
Britain's tallest mountain
is spectacular.
It towers over the town and the loch
and even in the height of summer,
snow clings to its north face.
The Victorians were captivated by it.
My Bradshaw's Guide says,
"The highest peak in Scotland
or the United Kingdom
is 4,406 feet above the sea
and 20 miles around the base."
"The ascent takes
three to four hours to the top
from which there is a grand prospect
in clear weather."
And in an age of scientific discovery,
some Victorians used Ben Nevis
to find out more about that great
British talking point, the weather.
I'm hoping weather expert
Marjory Roy can explain.
- Hello, Marjory.
- Hello, Michael, nice to meet you.
We're lucky with our view
of Ben Nevis today.
It held quite a fascination
for Victorians, didn't it?
It did indeed.
Of course,
it was the highest mountain in Scotland.
It so happened they wanted to have
somewhere to put a weather observatory
so they could observe
at higher levels in the atmosphere.
Ben Nevis was ideally located
in the path of Atlantic storms.
In 1877,
the Scottish Meteorological Society
decided to build a cutting-edge
observatory on top of the mountain.
When they couldn't find funding,
one man offered
to record the weather the hard way.
A very flamboyant character
called Clement Wragge
volunteered to climb the Ben each day
during the summer months
between June and October
and do observations on the way up
and then for two hours at the summit
and then again on the way down.
Apparently, he went up on some days
which the weather
was absolutely atrocious.
- Even in summer, it can be.
- It can be.
There are some conditions in summer
where you're actually having to hang on
and crawl over the summit plateau
in order to get to it.
Clement Wragge's gruelling daily treks
were the first attempt
to document the weather at Ben Nevis.
His dedication made front-page news
and the society launched
a fresh appeal for funds.
The public interest was so great
that the money came flooding in.
In 1883, they actually managed to start
building the pathway up to the top
and the observatory, and it was actually
finished more or less by October 1883.
(Michael) Now, obviously, at the end
of the 19th century, we're not talking
about an automatic weather station
that is sending readings down.
We're talking about people
having to go up there
and take the readings, is that right?
They didn't go up there,
they had to live up there.
In the winter,
it's quite impossible to get up and down
the path on many of the days
and of course,
the path is covered in snow.
The conditions were so bad,
they couldn't use
automatic recording instruments.
If you ever see the photographs
of the period,
everything is completely encased in ice.
They had to go and chip it all away
in order to make the readings.
Despite those hardships,
the team succeeded in creating
one of the earliest
systematic records of British weather.
It remains one of the best sets of data
that scientists have
about mountain conditions.
(Marjory) It lasted almost 21 years,
so you've got a full 20 years
of hourly weather observations
with very few gaps.
It's very difficult even with
modern automatic weather stations
to have a continuous record.
It certainly showed how severe
the conditions are at the summit.
The extraordinarily detailed
weather records
weren't the only legacy
left by the observatory.
The path to the summit made
climbing Ben Nevis much easier.
Pony trips became fashionable
and after the railways came in 1894,
a hotel was established at the peak.
In 1904, lack of money
forced the observatory to close.
But the mountain still attracts visitors
and today, more than 100,000 people
ascend it every year.
There were in fact two observatories
built in the late Victorian era:
one of the top of the mountain
and the other one here
to take weather readings at sea level.
The lower observatory
is now a bed and breakfast
and the place
where I'm staying the night.
There could be no better place
to reflect on
the Victorians' thirst for knowledge.
Having woken to
a misty Highland morning,
it's time to embark on
the final stretch of my journey
from Fort William to Glenfinnan.
I'm taking one of
Britain's favourite heritage services.
And so to my great excitement,
another journey by steam train.
This one is called appropriately
the Jacobite.
I once got into terrible trouble
for calling the Ribble Head Viaduct
the best crossing
over a valley in Britain.
Somebody said,
"No, you've got to go over
the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland.”
So beautiful that they put it on
the Scottish £10 note.
This train is very popular.
It's full of people taking
its photograph.
Why? Not only because
it's a magnificent railway
but also because it was once taken
by a small boy called Harry Potter.
Good morning.
The chance to ride on
the real-life Hogwarts Express
is certainly entertaining.
But for me, the real draw
is the romance of steam.
Travelling by steam train
is completely different
from any other railway journey.
That chug, chug, chug sound
at the front.
And the smoke and vapour
flying past the window.
It's just wonderful.
The West Highland Line
was originally planned to connect
the west coast fishing ports
with markets in the south.
But objections from landowners forced
the line to stop short of its target.
In 1897 after a long campaign
by the railway's supporters,
work began on an extension
from Fort William to Mallaig.
Building the line led to
a landmark piece of railway engineering.
Do you know much about
the Glenfinnan Viaduct?
I think we did pass it
and we looked across.
Is it the one that looks like
the Noddy books?
It could do.
What does a Noddy book look like?
The front cover of the Noddy books
always had a viaduct on it.
Right. Well, it would look like that.
It's about 18 arches.
It's a little bit of a curve.
Yeah, and we go over that?
We do. You'll see it
out of the left-hand side window.
I've been looking forward
to crossing this viaduct
since [ joined the West Highland Line,
and it doesn't disappoint.
The Jacobite has panted
its way up the steep incline.
Somehow the wheels
are gripping the wet rails
and now we're on
the wonderful Glenfinnan Viaduct,
100 feet above the valley.
This built in concrete,
one of the last great
railway engineering achievements
of the Victorian age.
The Jacobite is taking me only as far
as its first stop at Glenfinnan Station.
Lovely journey.
- Glad you enjoyed it.
- I loved it.
(train whistle)
(blows whistle)
I'm heading down into the valley by foot
to see the viaduct from underneath.
Spanning 416 yards
and towering 100 feet above the glen,
this was the first large-scale
concrete structure in Britain.
Writer Michael Pearson
has researched its history.
It's rather exciting for me to be here.
The famous Glenfinnan Viaduct.
Why is it so special?
(Pearson)
Traditionally, a railway company
would use what they could see
around them.
If you go to the Settle-Carlisle Railway
in the Yorkshire Dales,
they built it from the rock around it.
But here, the rock was so brittle
they couldn't use it like that.
That's where concrete came in.
(Michael) Concrete at the end
of the 19th century? Pretty novel.
(Pearson) Cutting edge.
The London South Western Railway
had used it in Devon
and the West Country.
But they'd used it
in traditional manner in brick form.
Solid-shaped form.
Here it's a mass, so it's like
a jelly mould, you might say.
They create a framework for it,
they pour this in and it sets
and they take the framework away
and there you have,
hey presto, your viaduct.
This innovative material concrete
was used all along the line.
At one point it required
more than 400 joiners
just to build the wooden frames.
It was championed
by Sir Robert McAlpine,
earning him the nickname Concrete Bob.
Initial fears that the viaduct would
scar the landscape proved unfounded
and over the last 100 years,
the concrete has weathered beautifully.
These apparent stains on the concrete,
what do they consist of?
(Pearson) They are salts probably.
Leaching out.
They give it an almost organic look.
I think they look a little bit like
varicose veins, don't they?
(Michael) They've got a lot of depth
and texture to them.
Here you'll see where
the wood shuttering was.
You can actually see
the grain of the wood
when they poured the concrete
into it. It's been fossilised.
We tend to think of concrete
as an ugly material
but you just see
how beautiful this really is.
People come from far and wide to see it.
Standing beneath
the viaduct's enormous arches
makes me marvel at
the achievement of the engineers.
Round here,
people have had to get used to bumping
into awestruck visitors like me.
- Good morning, sir.
- How are we?
I'm very, very well. I take it
you may be a local by your attire.
There's a fair chance
you're right there.
Local stalker, forester,
estate manager, Alastair Gibson.
Have you seen many people
come down and look at the viaduct?
There's a constant stream.
(Michael) What about engineers,
you get any of those?
We get several engineers
from all over the world.
They come here to worship this
because it was the largest
poured-concrete construction of its time
and they just want to have
a good touch and feel of it.
There were many folk
for years coming and looking at it.
Then Harry Potter came along
and now we get enough an awful lot more
with their kids.
(Michael) Were you around when
they were doing the Harry Potter film?
Aye, they just left in April
after nine years.
(both laugh)
(Michael) A pretty small
production team, I imagine.
Well, we only had the first unit once.
I was glad to see them go at 400.
The second unit that did most of
the action shots of the train
was 90 people and that's more manageable
for our village of 100 people.
Wow. Makes quite an impact
when they come, then?
It does. It takes over,
but it's got to be good for the area.
Thank you so much.
Lovely to talk to you. Bye-bye now.
Before I return to the station,
my "Bradshaw's Guide" recommends
one more site in the glen below.
It describes,
"Prince Charles's monument,
where he hoisted his standard
in 1745 at Glenfinnan
between Lochiel and Loch Shiel."
Built in 1815, it marks the spot
where the Cameron clan joined forces
with Bonnie Prince Charlie
in his attempt to take the throne.
It's not actually the Prince on top
but a kilted Highlander.
(bagpipe music)
It seems I've stumbled on
a fitting accompanist for my visit.
Well played, sir. Well played.
(German accent)
Sounds not very good today.
- You're not Scottish.
- No, I'm German.
How come you play the bagpipes?
We've a band in the Black Forest
in the Southwest of Germany.
This year, we decided to take part
in Pipefest in Edinburgh
which was last Saturday.
It was very fantastic.
Are there many German people
who can play the bagpipes?
Yes, we have our own bagpipe scene
in Germany.
I think there are about 30 or 40 bands
all over Germany
and there are
really good pipers among them.
Forgive me, I had no idea
it was so played in Germany.
- That's fantastic.
- Bagpipes are all over the world.
- All over the world.
- Yes.
Thank you.
What a pleasure to talk to you.
- Nice to meet you.
- Good piping.
- Thank you.
- Bye-bye now.
On my journey today,
I've been struck
that the ambition of the Victorians
was sustained
till the very end of the Queen's reign.
The West Highland Line
was completed just before her death,
carrying her subjects into the mountains
of her beloved Scotland.
Mountains present challenges
to which Victorian geologists,
meteorologists
and railway builders responded.
The Scottish Highlands
have always been militarily strategic
and here have been the great battles
between different claimants
to the British throne,
between Protestant and Catholic
and Lowlander and Highlander.
These hills have seen great heroism
and great slaughter, too.
On my next journey, I'll be finding out
how the railways helped to train
the first generation of commandos...
This is wonderful.
"An agent enters the room and says,
'I have important information."
"An enemy train will pass through
Lochailort on its way to Mallaig
at 1115 hours today.
That train must be wrecked."
...visiting a coastal village
transformed by the trains
into Britain's biggest herring port...
Did the kippers go out on the train?
There wasn't a box of fish landed here
that didn't go by train.
...and crossing the sea to Skye
to find out how modern crofters
make a living.
(woman) This is a savoury
smoked salmon cheesecake.
Hmm! You haven't lived
till you've tasted that.
Thank you.
transformed travel in Britain.
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 the country
to see what of Bradshaw's Britain
remains.
I'm continuing my journey
through the Scottish Highlands
steered by my 19th-century
Bradshaw's Guide.
Anybody who comes to visit
these marvellous hills and valleys
must be awestruck
by this fantastic landscape.
But in all the decades
I've been visiting these parts,
it never struck me that the Victorians,
in their quest to understand
how the world came to be what it is,
made breakthrough discoveries
in this remarkable geology.
When the railways reached
the Highlands,
they opened the eyes of
Victorian scientists and adventurers
to striking natural phenomena.
Now my guidebook
is helping me to appreciate
how their understanding advanced.
On this leg of the journey,
I'll be unravelling
one of the great 19th-century
geological mysteries...
So, Charles Darwin, who got
so much right, actually got this wrong?
Yeah, he sees it as a blunder.
...experiencing one of Britain's
most stunning journeys by steam train...
The Jacobite has panted its way
up the steep incline.
Somehow the wheels
are gripping the wet rails
and now we're on
the wonderful Glenfinnan Viaduct.
...and admiring Ben Nevis,
where Victorian scientists went
to extraordinary lengths
in their quest for knowledge.
We're talking about people
going up there to take readings?
They didn't have to go up there,
they had to live up there.
I'm well into a journey
that began in Ayr
and has carried me north along
the historic West Highland Line.
Now my route veers west,
tracing a path
through mountains and lochs
on the way to the coast and my
final destination, the Isle of Skye.
My first stop today is Roybridge
before I move on to
the garrison town of Fort William
then cross Scotland's
most famous viaduct to Glenfinnan.
As I head through the Highlands,
the train window offers
a scene of wild, natural beauty.
This is Inverness-shire.
My Bradshaw's Guide is eloquent.
"Vast ranges of mountains separated from
each other by narrow and deep valleys."
"These mountains stretch across
the whole country
from one end of the island to another,
and lie parallel to every valley,
rising like immense walls
on both sides,
while the intersecting country
sinks deep between them
with a lake or rapid river
or an arm of the sea."
Wonderful description.
To look more closely at
this dramatic terrain,
I'm getting off at the next village.
Roybridge,
and my Bradshaw's Guide says,
"You may visit
the heads of the Spey River,
and the parallel roads
of Glenroy in Lochaber."
Sounds intriguing.
My "Bradshaw's" gives
a single line to what was
a great geological mystery
of the 19th century.
How had three parallel roads
been etched onto these mountains?
Their precision suggested
human intervention
and Highlanders once believed them
to be the work of Fingal,
the Celtic warrior king.
In fact, they're a natural phenomenon
which puzzled great Victorian minds.
- Adrian, good morning.
- Good morning.
Physical geographer
Dr Adrian Palmer knows the story.
I saw in my Bradshaw's Guide
a reference to parallel roads.
Now I'm quite intrigued it gets
a mention in the guidebooks.
What was the understanding
in the middle 19th century
of what had caused all this?
(Adrian) It was a phenomenon that had
obviously been recorded in the landscape
and it attracted
huge amounts of interest,
even to the extent of attracting
a young geologist by the name of Darwin.
He had seen similar features
in Chile whilst on the Beagle.
He suggested these had actually
been formed by marine processes.
All of this valley would have been
inundated by marine water.
- By sea?
- By sea.
Charles Darwin
believed the lines indicated
the positions of ancient sea shores.
Others agreed,
although their precise cause
was disputed.
There were other people
who considered them to be
developed as freshwater phenomena,
freshwater lakes.
There was this big debate.
What they couldn't quite understand
was if they were freshwater lakes,
how they were dammed up.
How did they actually form
if you can't see the barrier?
Then a Swiss geologist
named Louis Agassiz
came to cast his eye
over the Glenroy landscape.
He was working on
a controversial new theory
that just a few thousand years ago,
much of Europe had been covered in ice.
He believed that this Ice Age
could explain the parallel roads.
(Adrian) He suggested these elusive
barriers that no longer existed
were formed by ice.
The modern interpretation
of these lake systems
is that ice formed somewhere
in the Rannoch Moor area
and it advanced into the Great Glen.
That ice blocked up the natural
drainage systems of the Roy River
and also the Spean River,
forcing the lake levels to rise.
It's effectively like a bath
with an overflow plug
at 260 metres in the landscape.
As well as solving a local mystery,
Agassiz's work on the parallel roads
lent weight to his Ice Age theory
and helped to lay the foundation
of modern geology.
So, Charles Darwin, who got
so much right, actually got this wrong?
Yeah, he does...
He sees it as a blunder.
He writes that he gradually became more
persuaded by the ideas of Louis Agassiz.
He does actually refer to it
as a massive blunder.
I'm now leaving
the parallel roads behind
as it's time to continue my journey.
I'm travelling 12 miles down the line
to Fort William.
Built on the shores of Loch Linnhe,
today this town is a tourist hub,
but it first developed
as a military outpost.
This is Fort William,
and the name says it all.
It's a garrison town that was built
by William of Orange
who was a Protestant king
who was fighting against the supporters
of the deposed
Catholic-leaning King James I,
and those supporters
were known as Jacobites.
Indeed, before the railway line arrived
in Fort William in 1894,
probably the best way of getting here
would have been on the military roads
that were built by various armies
fighting recalcitrant Highlanders.
The original 17th-century fort
was an important stronghold
used for over a century
to subdue the Highland clans.
In the 19th century, it fell into disuse
and when the railway came,
it was largely demolished
to make way for the new line.
With Highland history in my mind,
I'm following up
an interesting reference in my guide.
My Bradshaw's Guide mentions
Lochiel, the seat of the Camerons.
This is Achnacarry,
the present seat of the Cameron clan.
It's not surprising
that "Bradshaw's" mentions this clan.
In the 19th century, its chief,
Cameron of Lochiel,
was an influential advocate of
the new West Highland Railway Line.
I've come to the ancestral seat,
Achnacarry Castle,
to meet the current chief,
Donald Cameron,
and hear how his predecessors
helped to shape Highland history.
- Donald, what a pleasure.
- Very nice to meet you.
- Very good to see you.
- Brought some lovely weather.
Absolutely.
How far back does the clan Cameron go?
About early 15th century, 14-something.
The first ten chiefs,
slightly lost in the mists of time.
But we number from ten, really.
I'm 27, so we've had
17 generations that we know of.
Would it be true
that most people called Cameron
could ultimately trace their origins
to the Highland clan?
Let's take at random
the example of the Prime Minister.
I have been told,
whether it's right or wrong,
that the Prime Minister
is my ninth cousin once removed
and the genealogy looks quite strong.
Pinch of salt, but possibly.
I met him once, introduced to him.
I said, "Very pleased to meet you.
I'm your clan chief."
He took it very well.
(Michael) Is there a reason
why the clans come into existence?
I think it was probably
a way of combining a little army
to hold your territory
in which you found yourself.
Gradually other people
take the name of Cameron
so as to protect themselves
from other clans nearby.
The Camerons' big moment
came in the 1740s.
They were Jacobites,
supporters of the deposed
Catholic Stuart pretenders to the throne
who had lived in exile for decades.
In 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie
landed in the Highlands
and called on the clans
to support his bid for the crown.
(Donald) My ancestor, I think,
probably thought it was a forlorn chance
of anything being achieved
so went to see him to put him off.
But when he discovered
the French ships had left
and the Prince was alone
in what is almost clan land here,
I think he felt he couldn't desert him.
So when he raised his standard
at Glenfinnan in August 1745,
700 Camerons
came marching over the hill.
The decision
to support Bonnie Prince Charlie
had terrible consequences
for the clan.
In 1746, Charles was defeated
at the Battle of Culloden
and around 225 Camerons
were amongst the dead.
The victorious Duke of Cumberland
on behalf of the King
then set about
brutally crushing the rebels.
Thousands of Highlanders
were imprisoned or killed
and their families driven off the land.
Their way of life was all but destroyed.
Cumberland was pretty awful,
Butcher Cumberland.
I think what he did after '45
was horrific and violent.
He destroyed the clan system.
In our case, it was about the 1880s
when clansfolk began saying,
"Let's re-establish ourselves
as aclan."
Since then, there has been
a huge amount of interest.
You now do this
on a global basis, do you?
It's very much bottom up now.
It's the clansfolk
who want to be part of the clan.
The chief, I think, is a focal point.
We have gatherings
every seven or eight years
and last year, 800 Camerons came
from mostly North America,
New Zealand, Australia
and of course Scotland.
For 27 generations,
the Cameron clan has helped to shape
the land where they live.
Including the building of the railway.
(Donald) It was presented to my
grandmother by Concrete Bob McAlpine
when she cut the first sod
of the Mallaig extension
to the West Highland Railway.
My goodness. That is a trophy, isn't it?
"21st January, 1897."
"On the occasion of cutting
the first sod of the Mallaig extension
of the West Highland Railway."
Wonderful, that is splendid memento.
Some of the earliest visitors to Fort
William after the new railway was built
were plucky mountaineers
aiming to scale
its most famous landmark, Ben Nevis.
Britain's tallest mountain
is spectacular.
It towers over the town and the loch
and even in the height of summer,
snow clings to its north face.
The Victorians were captivated by it.
My Bradshaw's Guide says,
"The highest peak in Scotland
or the United Kingdom
is 4,406 feet above the sea
and 20 miles around the base."
"The ascent takes
three to four hours to the top
from which there is a grand prospect
in clear weather."
And in an age of scientific discovery,
some Victorians used Ben Nevis
to find out more about that great
British talking point, the weather.
I'm hoping weather expert
Marjory Roy can explain.
- Hello, Marjory.
- Hello, Michael, nice to meet you.
We're lucky with our view
of Ben Nevis today.
It held quite a fascination
for Victorians, didn't it?
It did indeed.
Of course,
it was the highest mountain in Scotland.
It so happened they wanted to have
somewhere to put a weather observatory
so they could observe
at higher levels in the atmosphere.
Ben Nevis was ideally located
in the path of Atlantic storms.
In 1877,
the Scottish Meteorological Society
decided to build a cutting-edge
observatory on top of the mountain.
When they couldn't find funding,
one man offered
to record the weather the hard way.
A very flamboyant character
called Clement Wragge
volunteered to climb the Ben each day
during the summer months
between June and October
and do observations on the way up
and then for two hours at the summit
and then again on the way down.
Apparently, he went up on some days
which the weather
was absolutely atrocious.
- Even in summer, it can be.
- It can be.
There are some conditions in summer
where you're actually having to hang on
and crawl over the summit plateau
in order to get to it.
Clement Wragge's gruelling daily treks
were the first attempt
to document the weather at Ben Nevis.
His dedication made front-page news
and the society launched
a fresh appeal for funds.
The public interest was so great
that the money came flooding in.
In 1883, they actually managed to start
building the pathway up to the top
and the observatory, and it was actually
finished more or less by October 1883.
(Michael) Now, obviously, at the end
of the 19th century, we're not talking
about an automatic weather station
that is sending readings down.
We're talking about people
having to go up there
and take the readings, is that right?
They didn't go up there,
they had to live up there.
In the winter,
it's quite impossible to get up and down
the path on many of the days
and of course,
the path is covered in snow.
The conditions were so bad,
they couldn't use
automatic recording instruments.
If you ever see the photographs
of the period,
everything is completely encased in ice.
They had to go and chip it all away
in order to make the readings.
Despite those hardships,
the team succeeded in creating
one of the earliest
systematic records of British weather.
It remains one of the best sets of data
that scientists have
about mountain conditions.
(Marjory) It lasted almost 21 years,
so you've got a full 20 years
of hourly weather observations
with very few gaps.
It's very difficult even with
modern automatic weather stations
to have a continuous record.
It certainly showed how severe
the conditions are at the summit.
The extraordinarily detailed
weather records
weren't the only legacy
left by the observatory.
The path to the summit made
climbing Ben Nevis much easier.
Pony trips became fashionable
and after the railways came in 1894,
a hotel was established at the peak.
In 1904, lack of money
forced the observatory to close.
But the mountain still attracts visitors
and today, more than 100,000 people
ascend it every year.
There were in fact two observatories
built in the late Victorian era:
one of the top of the mountain
and the other one here
to take weather readings at sea level.
The lower observatory
is now a bed and breakfast
and the place
where I'm staying the night.
There could be no better place
to reflect on
the Victorians' thirst for knowledge.
Having woken to
a misty Highland morning,
it's time to embark on
the final stretch of my journey
from Fort William to Glenfinnan.
I'm taking one of
Britain's favourite heritage services.
And so to my great excitement,
another journey by steam train.
This one is called appropriately
the Jacobite.
I once got into terrible trouble
for calling the Ribble Head Viaduct
the best crossing
over a valley in Britain.
Somebody said,
"No, you've got to go over
the Glenfinnan Viaduct in Scotland.”
So beautiful that they put it on
the Scottish £10 note.
This train is very popular.
It's full of people taking
its photograph.
Why? Not only because
it's a magnificent railway
but also because it was once taken
by a small boy called Harry Potter.
Good morning.
The chance to ride on
the real-life Hogwarts Express
is certainly entertaining.
But for me, the real draw
is the romance of steam.
Travelling by steam train
is completely different
from any other railway journey.
That chug, chug, chug sound
at the front.
And the smoke and vapour
flying past the window.
It's just wonderful.
The West Highland Line
was originally planned to connect
the west coast fishing ports
with markets in the south.
But objections from landowners forced
the line to stop short of its target.
In 1897 after a long campaign
by the railway's supporters,
work began on an extension
from Fort William to Mallaig.
Building the line led to
a landmark piece of railway engineering.
Do you know much about
the Glenfinnan Viaduct?
I think we did pass it
and we looked across.
Is it the one that looks like
the Noddy books?
It could do.
What does a Noddy book look like?
The front cover of the Noddy books
always had a viaduct on it.
Right. Well, it would look like that.
It's about 18 arches.
It's a little bit of a curve.
Yeah, and we go over that?
We do. You'll see it
out of the left-hand side window.
I've been looking forward
to crossing this viaduct
since [ joined the West Highland Line,
and it doesn't disappoint.
The Jacobite has panted
its way up the steep incline.
Somehow the wheels
are gripping the wet rails
and now we're on
the wonderful Glenfinnan Viaduct,
100 feet above the valley.
This built in concrete,
one of the last great
railway engineering achievements
of the Victorian age.
The Jacobite is taking me only as far
as its first stop at Glenfinnan Station.
Lovely journey.
- Glad you enjoyed it.
- I loved it.
(train whistle)
(blows whistle)
I'm heading down into the valley by foot
to see the viaduct from underneath.
Spanning 416 yards
and towering 100 feet above the glen,
this was the first large-scale
concrete structure in Britain.
Writer Michael Pearson
has researched its history.
It's rather exciting for me to be here.
The famous Glenfinnan Viaduct.
Why is it so special?
(Pearson)
Traditionally, a railway company
would use what they could see
around them.
If you go to the Settle-Carlisle Railway
in the Yorkshire Dales,
they built it from the rock around it.
But here, the rock was so brittle
they couldn't use it like that.
That's where concrete came in.
(Michael) Concrete at the end
of the 19th century? Pretty novel.
(Pearson) Cutting edge.
The London South Western Railway
had used it in Devon
and the West Country.
But they'd used it
in traditional manner in brick form.
Solid-shaped form.
Here it's a mass, so it's like
a jelly mould, you might say.
They create a framework for it,
they pour this in and it sets
and they take the framework away
and there you have,
hey presto, your viaduct.
This innovative material concrete
was used all along the line.
At one point it required
more than 400 joiners
just to build the wooden frames.
It was championed
by Sir Robert McAlpine,
earning him the nickname Concrete Bob.
Initial fears that the viaduct would
scar the landscape proved unfounded
and over the last 100 years,
the concrete has weathered beautifully.
These apparent stains on the concrete,
what do they consist of?
(Pearson) They are salts probably.
Leaching out.
They give it an almost organic look.
I think they look a little bit like
varicose veins, don't they?
(Michael) They've got a lot of depth
and texture to them.
Here you'll see where
the wood shuttering was.
You can actually see
the grain of the wood
when they poured the concrete
into it. It's been fossilised.
We tend to think of concrete
as an ugly material
but you just see
how beautiful this really is.
People come from far and wide to see it.
Standing beneath
the viaduct's enormous arches
makes me marvel at
the achievement of the engineers.
Round here,
people have had to get used to bumping
into awestruck visitors like me.
- Good morning, sir.
- How are we?
I'm very, very well. I take it
you may be a local by your attire.
There's a fair chance
you're right there.
Local stalker, forester,
estate manager, Alastair Gibson.
Have you seen many people
come down and look at the viaduct?
There's a constant stream.
(Michael) What about engineers,
you get any of those?
We get several engineers
from all over the world.
They come here to worship this
because it was the largest
poured-concrete construction of its time
and they just want to have
a good touch and feel of it.
There were many folk
for years coming and looking at it.
Then Harry Potter came along
and now we get enough an awful lot more
with their kids.
(Michael) Were you around when
they were doing the Harry Potter film?
Aye, they just left in April
after nine years.
(both laugh)
(Michael) A pretty small
production team, I imagine.
Well, we only had the first unit once.
I was glad to see them go at 400.
The second unit that did most of
the action shots of the train
was 90 people and that's more manageable
for our village of 100 people.
Wow. Makes quite an impact
when they come, then?
It does. It takes over,
but it's got to be good for the area.
Thank you so much.
Lovely to talk to you. Bye-bye now.
Before I return to the station,
my "Bradshaw's Guide" recommends
one more site in the glen below.
It describes,
"Prince Charles's monument,
where he hoisted his standard
in 1745 at Glenfinnan
between Lochiel and Loch Shiel."
Built in 1815, it marks the spot
where the Cameron clan joined forces
with Bonnie Prince Charlie
in his attempt to take the throne.
It's not actually the Prince on top
but a kilted Highlander.
(bagpipe music)
It seems I've stumbled on
a fitting accompanist for my visit.
Well played, sir. Well played.
(German accent)
Sounds not very good today.
- You're not Scottish.
- No, I'm German.
How come you play the bagpipes?
We've a band in the Black Forest
in the Southwest of Germany.
This year, we decided to take part
in Pipefest in Edinburgh
which was last Saturday.
It was very fantastic.
Are there many German people
who can play the bagpipes?
Yes, we have our own bagpipe scene
in Germany.
I think there are about 30 or 40 bands
all over Germany
and there are
really good pipers among them.
Forgive me, I had no idea
it was so played in Germany.
- That's fantastic.
- Bagpipes are all over the world.
- All over the world.
- Yes.
Thank you.
What a pleasure to talk to you.
- Nice to meet you.
- Good piping.
- Thank you.
- Bye-bye now.
On my journey today,
I've been struck
that the ambition of the Victorians
was sustained
till the very end of the Queen's reign.
The West Highland Line
was completed just before her death,
carrying her subjects into the mountains
of her beloved Scotland.
Mountains present challenges
to which Victorian geologists,
meteorologists
and railway builders responded.
The Scottish Highlands
have always been militarily strategic
and here have been the great battles
between different claimants
to the British throne,
between Protestant and Catholic
and Lowlander and Highlander.
These hills have seen great heroism
and great slaughter, too.
On my next journey, I'll be finding out
how the railways helped to train
the first generation of commandos...
This is wonderful.
"An agent enters the room and says,
'I have important information."
"An enemy train will pass through
Lochailort on its way to Mallaig
at 1115 hours today.
That train must be wrecked."
...visiting a coastal village
transformed by the trains
into Britain's biggest herring port...
Did the kippers go out on the train?
There wasn't a box of fish landed here
that didn't go by train.
...and crossing the sea to Skye
to find out how modern crofters
make a living.
(woman) This is a savoury
smoked salmon cheesecake.
Hmm! You haven't lived
till you've tasted that.
Thank you.