Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 2, Episode 6 - Ledbury to Shrewsbury - 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.
In the mid-19th century, Britain was
in the grip of a railway revolution.
George Bradshaw's timetables
were an essential tool
for the new wave
of Victorian travellers.
His handbook gave them travel tips
and tourist information.
Today I'm using it
to plan my journeys around Britain.
The journey I'm starting now
is along a line that was built
for speedy communication.
Ireland was part of the United Kingdom
in George Bradshaw's day.
The railway was extended
to Holyhead in 1848
to cut five hours off the journey time
between Dublin and London
for really important things,
everything from urgent documents
to Members of Parliament.
This historic railway
was built to carry the Irish mail.
But it also brought changes
to the crafts, industries
and places along the way.
Bradshaw wrote about many of them,
and, with his help,
I'll find out
how the railways transformed
almost everything that they touched.
On the first leg of my route, I'll be
sampling a classic Victorian drink...
How much cider or perry?
There are 1200 gallons in that one
and about 40,000 in Pip and Squeak.
(Michael) Pip and Squeak! You'd get
quite a hangover from one of those.
...meeting Britain's
finest pedigree bulls...
It's extraordinary that he is so docile.
Just not the reputation
bulls have at all.
.And discovering an engineering first.
(man) This is the grandfather
of the skyscraper.
Really?
The skyscraper was born in Shropshire.
The skyscraper is born right here.
Following my "Bradshaw's Guide",
I'm journeying north through
the Welsh border towns of Shrewsbury
and Chirk towards Chester.
Then I'll follow the scenic
coastal route to Liandudno,
before travelling inland
to explore Snowdonia,
and crossing
the Isle of Anglesey to Holyhead.
Starting in Ledbury,
today I'll travel 65 miles via Hereford
to the pretty market town of Shrewsbury.
For city dwellers like me,
Herefordshire seems impenetrably rural.
But in the days of horse and cart,
its towns and villages would have been
days away from the major English cities.
The railways brought rapid connections
and the products of the countryside
found markets throughout the kingdom.
We pass through the most spectacular
green, rolling fields
and that's brought us
into my first stop, Ledbury.
"Bradshaw's" describes Ledbury
as "a place remarkable
for its manufacture of rope,
twine and also cider and perry.”
Perry has been made in this area
for over 150 years.
But apparently,
few people know much about it today.
- Do you know what perry is?
- Perry?
- It's a drink, isn't it?
-It is.
- It doesn't mean anything to you?
- No, it doesn't.
I'm following a 19th-century guidebook.
It says that this place
is remarkable for cider and perry.
Do you know what perry is?
Erm... It's like a sparkling...
Like a sparkling... Not quite sure.
(Michael laughs)
- What's it made from, do you know?
- No, I don't.
(Michael) Can you tell me what perry is?
Perry is an alcoholic drink made from
pears rather than apples for cider.
There's local perry producers
in and around.
- Do you drink it yourself?
- Yes, I do, chilled. Very nice.
One of the oldest perry producers
is just up the road.
I've walked through a beautiful garden
up to this historic house.
It's surrounded by an industrial
complex, what looks like a brewery,
evidently where they make
the perry and the cider.
- Helen. Hello, I'm Michael.
- Hi, Michael.
- How lovely to see you.
- And you.
Helen Thomas's family has been
making perry for over 100 years,
since her great-grandfather,
Henry Weston, began farming here.
But it wasn't always a business.
When it was first made, what was it for?
Presumably for people locally.
Mainly it was for home consumption.
Also it was part of the wages that
they used to pay their labourers with.
They'd have so much cider
and so much pay at the same time.
The drink used to pay the workers
was also known as haymakers' cider
and had little alcoholic content.
To make extra cash, it was sold
to passing travellers at the gate,
who often added
a little something of their own.
Bradshaw says that
the cider and the perry
are sometimes "qualified" with brandy.
What does that mean?
I think they must have put extra brandy
with the perry and cider
to make it a little stronger.
I haven't actually tried that.
- That would make you pretty drunk.
- I'm sure it would.
How did it go from being something
enjoyed by villagers and farm workers
to being a commercial proposition?
Henry Weston made
a particularly good cider and perry
and he was encouraged to make more of it
and start to sell it commercially.
He would have used the railway
to get it further afield.
He would have used a horse and cart
to take it to the railway station.
- And from there to the nation.
- That's right.
As the railway network
expanded through Herefordshire,
Henry Weston's perry business
began to grow.
Other farmers brought their perry pears
here to be processed and bottled
before being sent all over Britain.
But Henry had his own orchards as well.
These are the cider apple trees.
The taller trees you see in front
are perry pears.
This is a perry pear tree.
You can see it's much larger than the
cider apple trees which are behind you.
They take years and years to grow.
They say you plant a perry pear tree
for your heirs.
(Michael) Bradshaw might have been
drinking perry from trees like this.
- (Helen) I'm sure.
- If I come back in 20 years,
I'll still be able to see some of
these magnificent old, tall trees.
(Helen) I want them here
for another hundred years.
The varieties of pears used
for perry are native to Herefordshire
and are still processed
in traditional ways.
- This is fantastic.
- (Helen) This is our vat house.
All these immense casks...
Vats, you call them.
(Helen) They've all got
a particular name.
When you refer to something,
you know where it is
and what you're talking about.
We have three that Henry Weston...
The first vats that he bought.
They are called Gloucester,
Worcester and Hereford.
(Michael) Is this a museum?
- You don't still use these vats?
- All these vats are used.
We can't get these vats now,
so these are part of our heritage,
and very important
to how we make our cider.
(Michael) How much cider or perry
would they contain?
There are 1200 gallons in that one
and about 40,000 in Pip and Squeak.
Pip and Squeak.
Bit of an understatement.
You'd get quite a hangover
from one of those.
There's one change to perry
since Bradshaw's day.
Victorian perry was still.
But Helen also makes
a sparkling variety,
which these days is sold as pear cider.
I'm happy to try both.
- Any technique to this?
- I don't think so.
- You drink it like a fine wine.
- Slight... slight smell of pear.
- Soft and mellow.
- Soft, mellow, completely flat.
- Not a bubble in sight.
- This is what Henry Weston made.
Then this fellow I can see has bubbles.
(Helen) Slightly sparkling.
Yeah. Stronger smell of pear, I'd say.
Much sweeter. More pear-like.
I like the bubbles on the tongue.
I remember perry being advertised
when I was a child
with a little Bambi hopping around
on the edge of a champagne glass.
- It's not for men, is that right?
- It is today.
It's served in pubs
and you buy it by the pint.
You can go into a pub
and say, "I want some perry."
Yes, you can.
(Michael) Well done. Cheers. Happy days.
Before the perry goes to my head,
I need to retrace my steps to Ledbury
and unearth more
about its very unusual station.
- Hello.
- Morning.
Very beautiful ticket office.
We do our best
to keep standards up here.
Unlike at most stations,
the ticket office isn't run
by a railway company,
but by a small-scale entrepreneur,
John Goldrick.
I'm paid on commission basis
rather than a salary from the railways.
I want to see people
travelling by train.
It's up to me to encourage people
to use the railways.
(Michael) Have you got a lot of people
using the line?
(John) We're jammed. We've gone from
a forgotten country station to capacity.
Let me boost your commission
a tiny bit.
Can I have a single ticket
standard class to Hereford, please?
OK. That will cost you £5.
Next stop, Hereford.
My "Bradshaw's Guide" describes
this next part of the line
as "one of the most
picturesque in the country”.
This is the very essence of England,
isn't it?
Deep, beautiful, rich greens.
Rolling countryside. Fantastic.
(conductor) Tickets and passes, please.
Thank you very much.
This is a very beautiful
stretch of line.
We're seeing it at its best today.
- Lovely. Nice day for it.
- Thank you very much. Bye-bye.
Next stop is Hereford,
which I know a bit.
Beautiful cathedral city.
Although there are things
I haven't seen there.
But I'm going in particular
because Bradshaw mentions the cattle.
He says, "They are a splendid breed,
white-faced with soft,
reddish brown coats."
I'm really looking forward
to meeting my Herefords.
(conductor) We will shortly
be arriving at Hereford,
where this service will be terminating.
All change, please, all change.
In the 19th century, the Hereford
was one of the country's top breeds
and Hereford beef
graced many Victorian dinner tables.
Astonishingly, there were three trains
a day leaving Hereford
carrying cows acquired in
the city's market down to London.
I'm interested to know what made
this pedigree breed so successful.
So I'm heading to a farm
whose speciality
is grass-fed organic Hereford cattle.
It's been owned by the Watkins family
for five generations
and once enjoyed its own railway link.
Hello. Michael.
- Hello, David Watkins.
- George Watkins. Welcome to Ballingham.
This is an old railway bridge.
(George) This is in fact
the old Ballingham station.
(Michael) Not much trace of a line now.
When did this close?
'64, I think, with the rest
of the Beeching closures.
(Michael) So you would remember this,
David?
Yes, I can remember a steam train
coming through here. Very, very young.
(Michael) Were you a passenger
or were you bringing your cattle here?
(David) We used to bring cattle down,
so my grandfather used to tell me,
to load them on the train
to go to Hereford and Ross markets.
In Victorian times,
the farm and the cattle began to thrive
thanks to the railway.
It really is a very handsome animal.
It really is strikingly red.
What are its characteristics
as an animal and as a meat?
The animal itself, why it was originally
so popular, was its hardiness.
They get fat off the land here.
They don't need a lot of grass
to get them fat
in comparison with a more modern breed.
This old Welsh breed
was so resilient that,
in the 19th century,
farmers around the world imported them
to improve the quality
of their cattle stock.
I think they first started going off
in the 1850s,
firstly to America, then Australia,
and then pretty much everywhere
in between.
That coincided with the railways.
That enabled them to take them
to the ports.
And then off to wherever else.
(Michael) Herefords are now globalised.
(George) Yeah.
You'll see Herefords as far as
the States, Mongolia,
Australia, Argentina.
They're pretty much everywhere.
(Michael) George Bradshaw
describes Herefords
as having the red coat and white face.
That's the same.
But would he otherwise recognise
these Herefords of today?
(George) I think he'd recognise them.
Sometimes you see old photographs
of Hereford cattle
that might be
a bit more dumpy and short,
whereas now we try and get a longer
animal with less wastage in the leg.
Herefords were known for
their succulent meat marbled with fat.
But as tastes changed in the
20th century, they fell out of fashion.
In England they were replaced
by larger, leaner European cattle.
Today, Hereford meat is marketed as a
niche product for discerning customers.
(George) People are much more interested
in where their food comes from.
Obviously here we can oversee the whole
thing from the moment I pull the calf
to the moment it ends up
on the plate in Hereford.
So traceability is really important.
And why? Why is it
such a good breed to have?
I think it's because
they're very relaxed and very docile.
As you can see now, they're not
bothered too much about us.
I think it comes through
into the flavour of the meat.
(George) We've got a bull just over
there. We can go up and stroke him.
- You're not serious?
- He's pretty docile.
As part of my Spanish heritage,
I'm not used to doing that.
We have a rather more aggressive
approach normally.
George, this is an immense animal.
It's extraordinary
that he is so docile.
Just not the reputation
bulls have at all.
What a friendly guy.
Well, I didn't think
I would ever touch a bull.
George and David sell
most of their meat locally.
And some of it ends up on the plate at
their hotel in the centre of Hereford,
where I'm going to spend the night.
Isn't this absolutely wonderful?
Quintessentially English.
The medieval cathedral
rising above the river.
The bridge, 1490,
damaged in the English Civil War.
A perfect summer's evening.
A superb view.
And now, at last,
I think an excellent steak dinner.
Traditionally, Hereford beef is hung
for 25 days to enhance the taste.
I'm about to enjoy
the result of all that patient effort.
Thank you very much indeed.
Marvellous.
Tender. Delicious.
- Full of flavour. Fantastic.
- Excellent.
Morning in Hereford.
I'm on my way to the cathedral,
which I've seen before,
but there's something I haven't seen
and I have long wanted to.
Today I will fulfil that ambition.
My "Bradshaw's Guide" talks about
"a curious Saxon map of the world"
kept in the cathedral's library.
I'm meeting the commercial director
of the cathedral, Dominic Harbour,
to find out more.
Dominic. Michael. You're admiring
your beautiful cathedral.
The map is fragile
and must be kept in a darkened room.
This is the most extraordinary thing,
Dominic.
So point out to me the great places.
Where's Jerusalem?
(Dominic) Jerusalem at the very centre
of the map, shown as a circle.
Really it's from there where the rest of
the known habitable world spreads out.
This extremely rare manuscript
is called the Mappa Mundi.
It's a 13th-century concept of the world
drawn onto animal skin.
In a way, this is what we would
almost call a virtual map,
or a conceptual map.
It's not geographically accurate.
Absolutely. Geography isn't really
the greatest priority on this map.
You've got illustrations
from the Bible.
You've got information
about flora, fauna.
It's like cyberspace
at the end of the 13th century.
Originally, the map would have
been visited by religious pilgrims.
But by the 19th century,
Hereford Cathedral
was increasingly attracting Victorians
who were simply curious
about their history.
George Bradshaw calls it
"a curious Saxon map".
Why was he really rather dismissive
of this thing?
(Dominic)
Particularly to Bradshaw's time,
this was something that illustrated
perhaps everything that was bad
about what we think of medieval today.
It's chaotic, it's barbaric,
it's dirty, it's complete chaos.
(Michael) Is it unique to Hereford?
(Dominic) There would have been other
Mappa Mundi that existed across Europe.
In fact they were quite common
at that time.
However, certainly by Bradshaw's time,
this was a very rare,
exceptional survival.
- Did you tell me it was on hide?
- Yes. It's a single piece of calfskin.
- It could be a Herefordshire, could it?
- Possibly.
(Michael) Really remarkable visit.
Thank you so much.
I'm now leaving Hereford
for the last leg of my journey.
Busy, busy.
50 miles along the track
towards Shrewsbury.
And there's one thing I'd like to
straighten out before I arrive there.
Excuse me.
- Do you know the line quite well?
- Erm, yes.
- (Michael) Such beautiful country.
- It's gorgeous.
I love the ride
going into Shrewsbury Station
and the castle up above
and the gorgeous station.
I notice you say Shrewsbury.
Should I say Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury?
You could ask people in Shrewsbury
or Shrowsbury what they say.
I think that's a good idea.
- It's like tomahto, tomayto.
- It is.
(Michael) Hmm. OK.
(tannoy) This train
is for Manchester Piccadilly.
The next stop is Shrewsbury.
The electronic voice
thinks it's Shrewsbury.
But I think I'll check with real
human beings when I get there.
My "Bradshaw's Guide"
offers no advice on this thorny matter,
but it does make me focus
on the town's impressive station.
Bradshaw is really keen on it
because it's built in the Tudor style
with these lovely tall chimneys
and he's kind of shocked
at how much it cost.
£100,000, including acquiring the site.
But he really approves of it, too,
and it is beautiful.
It's testimony that Shrewsbury
was really keen on the railways,
and this palace indicates Shrewsbury's
enthusiasm for the new age.
Time now, though, to find out
just how the good folk of Shrewsbury
pronounce their town's name.
Excuse me.
Am I in Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury?
- (both) Shrewsbury.
- You're very clear about that.
It's always known that that side
of the bridge say Shrowsbury,
- that side say Shrewsbury.
- (Michael) What's the difference?
The private school tends
to bring a lot of the Shrowsbury.
- The private school is Shrowsbury. OK.
- Yeah, I think so.
Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury,
in Bradshaw's day,
this place was very different
from the rural market town
that we see today.
It was once at the centre
of the Industrial Revolution,
surrounded by mills and foundries.
There's one mill in particular
that I've been urged to see.
- John.
- Hello, Michael.
- Good to see you.
- Welcome to Ditherington flax mill.
Showing me around the mill
is John Yates,
inspector of historic buildings
for Shropshire.
Forgive me, it doesn't look all
that special. What is the point of it?
It's special on the inside,
as you'll see in a minute.
But it's an actual first.
The world's first iron-framed building.
This is absolutely at the cutting edge
of technology.
The new technology of the time, an
iron building, an experimental building.
200 feet long, five storeys high,
40 feet wide.
An astonishing act of confidence
and bravado and virtuosity and skill.
(Michael) You've whetted my appetite.
How do we get in?
The owners of the site had just suffered
a financial catastrophe.
They'd lost thousands of pounds when
one of their timber-frame mills in Leeds
had burned down.
(John) Onwards and upwards.
Desperate to avoid more losses,
they hired engineer Charles Bage
to design a new mill in Shrewsbury.
Bage knew that cast iron was being used
to make rails at nearby Coalbrookdale.
He decided to make use of it
in a building.
That's what it's all about.
Isn't it wonderful?
(Michael) These supports,
they're made of iron?
(John) They're made of cast iron.
Iron poured molten into a bed of sand
that's been shaped to go
to this lovely, slender shape,
just tapering out a little
in the middle,
just like the columns on the Parthenon.
Significantly, Charles Bage's iron frame
was fireproof.
When the railways arrived, it became
easier to transport large pieces of iron
and then steel around the country
and many other new buildings
adopted the technology.
(John) These columns all support iron
beams that run right across the building
from one side to another.
Then the beams themselves
support shallow brick vaults,
just half a brick thick,
that span from one beam to the other.
Then to stop the vaults
simply collapsing by pushing apart
in the way that arches always do,
there are wrought-iron,
even stronger iron, formed into bars
that run the whole length
of the building, all 200 foot of it.
So this three-way metal frame,
that's up, across and along,
- is the grandfather of the skyscraper.
- Really?
The skyscraper was born in Shropshire.
The skyscraper is born right here.
(John) Shropshire may seem
a sleepy place now,
but in 1800, this was Silicon Valley.
This was absolutely at the cutting edge
of the technological
and industrial revolution.
The use of a metal frame
in place of wood
enabled architects
to design taller buildings
and eventually led to the steel-framed
skyscrapers of the 20th century.
Before I leave Shrewsbury,
there's an intriguing reference in
my guidebook that I must investigate.
This high spire
is the Church of St Mary's.
Bradshaw is clearly quite amused
by an incident that occurred here.
He says, "Many years ago
a hare-brained fellow
undertook to slide down a rope
laid from the top of this spire
to the other side of the river,
but he was killed in the attempt.”
That's rather sad.
I've come to find out more about
the tragic events of 1739
from Robert Milton,
who works at St Mary's Church.
(Robert) Robert Cadman
was a steeplejack by trade.
He was asked by the church council
to repair the weather vane
on top of the spire.
Having done so, he then requested
permission to do his party trick,
which was the tying of a rope
to the bell frame,
bringing it through the Louvres
behind us.
It then extended
to the very far side of the river,
to ground just short of the railway box.
- About 500 yards.
- Good Lord.
He would then walk up the line
performing tricks
and the firing of pistols.
I suppose hundreds of people would have
turned out to watch this stuff.
It was a craze of its day.
Of course his wife would go round
and collect the pennies
and whatever was
being offered at the time.
His final trick was to slide
all the way down the rope
from the spire to the ground.
That's where it went wrong,
unfortunately.
Where the rope had come through
the bell louvres,
it parted, and poor Robert
plummeted to his death.
It snapped here?
It snapped here where it came through
the wooden frame.
Is Cadman regarded
as the hero of Shrewsbury?
Do people celebrate his birthday?
(Robert) No. I think relatively speaking
he's quite unknown within the town.
I hope George Bradshaw has done
something to revive his memory.
I hope so. I think it's well deserved.
I'm often surprised by details
that Bradshaw thought to include
in his guidebook.
From hare-brained tightrope walkers
to white-faced cows
and the origins of perry,
the full breadth of life and death
is captured in its pages,
and all of it accessible
because of the new railways.
In Herefordshire,
farmers made use
of the arrival of the railways
to find new markets for their products.
In Shropshire,
inventors and entrepreneurs
grasped the railways enthusiastically
to pursue their industrial revolution.
The railways transformed everywhere.
But the nature of the change
depended upon the geography and the
character of the people in each county.
On my next journey,
I'm following Bradshaw to see
the world's first iron bridge...
- Where do I go to see it?
- Down the bottom.
It's amazing, you'll love it.
...visiting a place where the railways
weren't initially welcome...
My ancestor at the time of the railway
was particularly disenchanted
with the idea of a railway
being built across his land.
So he tried very hard
to disrupt the surveyors.
...and discovering
the secrets of good cheese.
It's just exactly as my great
grandfather would recognise.
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.
In the mid-19th century, Britain was
in the grip of a railway revolution.
George Bradshaw's timetables
were an essential tool
for the new wave
of Victorian travellers.
His handbook gave them travel tips
and tourist information.
Today I'm using it
to plan my journeys around Britain.
The journey I'm starting now
is along a line that was built
for speedy communication.
Ireland was part of the United Kingdom
in George Bradshaw's day.
The railway was extended
to Holyhead in 1848
to cut five hours off the journey time
between Dublin and London
for really important things,
everything from urgent documents
to Members of Parliament.
This historic railway
was built to carry the Irish mail.
But it also brought changes
to the crafts, industries
and places along the way.
Bradshaw wrote about many of them,
and, with his help,
I'll find out
how the railways transformed
almost everything that they touched.
On the first leg of my route, I'll be
sampling a classic Victorian drink...
How much cider or perry?
There are 1200 gallons in that one
and about 40,000 in Pip and Squeak.
(Michael) Pip and Squeak! You'd get
quite a hangover from one of those.
...meeting Britain's
finest pedigree bulls...
It's extraordinary that he is so docile.
Just not the reputation
bulls have at all.
.And discovering an engineering first.
(man) This is the grandfather
of the skyscraper.
Really?
The skyscraper was born in Shropshire.
The skyscraper is born right here.
Following my "Bradshaw's Guide",
I'm journeying north through
the Welsh border towns of Shrewsbury
and Chirk towards Chester.
Then I'll follow the scenic
coastal route to Liandudno,
before travelling inland
to explore Snowdonia,
and crossing
the Isle of Anglesey to Holyhead.
Starting in Ledbury,
today I'll travel 65 miles via Hereford
to the pretty market town of Shrewsbury.
For city dwellers like me,
Herefordshire seems impenetrably rural.
But in the days of horse and cart,
its towns and villages would have been
days away from the major English cities.
The railways brought rapid connections
and the products of the countryside
found markets throughout the kingdom.
We pass through the most spectacular
green, rolling fields
and that's brought us
into my first stop, Ledbury.
"Bradshaw's" describes Ledbury
as "a place remarkable
for its manufacture of rope,
twine and also cider and perry.”
Perry has been made in this area
for over 150 years.
But apparently,
few people know much about it today.
- Do you know what perry is?
- Perry?
- It's a drink, isn't it?
-It is.
- It doesn't mean anything to you?
- No, it doesn't.
I'm following a 19th-century guidebook.
It says that this place
is remarkable for cider and perry.
Do you know what perry is?
Erm... It's like a sparkling...
Like a sparkling... Not quite sure.
(Michael laughs)
- What's it made from, do you know?
- No, I don't.
(Michael) Can you tell me what perry is?
Perry is an alcoholic drink made from
pears rather than apples for cider.
There's local perry producers
in and around.
- Do you drink it yourself?
- Yes, I do, chilled. Very nice.
One of the oldest perry producers
is just up the road.
I've walked through a beautiful garden
up to this historic house.
It's surrounded by an industrial
complex, what looks like a brewery,
evidently where they make
the perry and the cider.
- Helen. Hello, I'm Michael.
- Hi, Michael.
- How lovely to see you.
- And you.
Helen Thomas's family has been
making perry for over 100 years,
since her great-grandfather,
Henry Weston, began farming here.
But it wasn't always a business.
When it was first made, what was it for?
Presumably for people locally.
Mainly it was for home consumption.
Also it was part of the wages that
they used to pay their labourers with.
They'd have so much cider
and so much pay at the same time.
The drink used to pay the workers
was also known as haymakers' cider
and had little alcoholic content.
To make extra cash, it was sold
to passing travellers at the gate,
who often added
a little something of their own.
Bradshaw says that
the cider and the perry
are sometimes "qualified" with brandy.
What does that mean?
I think they must have put extra brandy
with the perry and cider
to make it a little stronger.
I haven't actually tried that.
- That would make you pretty drunk.
- I'm sure it would.
How did it go from being something
enjoyed by villagers and farm workers
to being a commercial proposition?
Henry Weston made
a particularly good cider and perry
and he was encouraged to make more of it
and start to sell it commercially.
He would have used the railway
to get it further afield.
He would have used a horse and cart
to take it to the railway station.
- And from there to the nation.
- That's right.
As the railway network
expanded through Herefordshire,
Henry Weston's perry business
began to grow.
Other farmers brought their perry pears
here to be processed and bottled
before being sent all over Britain.
But Henry had his own orchards as well.
These are the cider apple trees.
The taller trees you see in front
are perry pears.
This is a perry pear tree.
You can see it's much larger than the
cider apple trees which are behind you.
They take years and years to grow.
They say you plant a perry pear tree
for your heirs.
(Michael) Bradshaw might have been
drinking perry from trees like this.
- (Helen) I'm sure.
- If I come back in 20 years,
I'll still be able to see some of
these magnificent old, tall trees.
(Helen) I want them here
for another hundred years.
The varieties of pears used
for perry are native to Herefordshire
and are still processed
in traditional ways.
- This is fantastic.
- (Helen) This is our vat house.
All these immense casks...
Vats, you call them.
(Helen) They've all got
a particular name.
When you refer to something,
you know where it is
and what you're talking about.
We have three that Henry Weston...
The first vats that he bought.
They are called Gloucester,
Worcester and Hereford.
(Michael) Is this a museum?
- You don't still use these vats?
- All these vats are used.
We can't get these vats now,
so these are part of our heritage,
and very important
to how we make our cider.
(Michael) How much cider or perry
would they contain?
There are 1200 gallons in that one
and about 40,000 in Pip and Squeak.
Pip and Squeak.
Bit of an understatement.
You'd get quite a hangover
from one of those.
There's one change to perry
since Bradshaw's day.
Victorian perry was still.
But Helen also makes
a sparkling variety,
which these days is sold as pear cider.
I'm happy to try both.
- Any technique to this?
- I don't think so.
- You drink it like a fine wine.
- Slight... slight smell of pear.
- Soft and mellow.
- Soft, mellow, completely flat.
- Not a bubble in sight.
- This is what Henry Weston made.
Then this fellow I can see has bubbles.
(Helen) Slightly sparkling.
Yeah. Stronger smell of pear, I'd say.
Much sweeter. More pear-like.
I like the bubbles on the tongue.
I remember perry being advertised
when I was a child
with a little Bambi hopping around
on the edge of a champagne glass.
- It's not for men, is that right?
- It is today.
It's served in pubs
and you buy it by the pint.
You can go into a pub
and say, "I want some perry."
Yes, you can.
(Michael) Well done. Cheers. Happy days.
Before the perry goes to my head,
I need to retrace my steps to Ledbury
and unearth more
about its very unusual station.
- Hello.
- Morning.
Very beautiful ticket office.
We do our best
to keep standards up here.
Unlike at most stations,
the ticket office isn't run
by a railway company,
but by a small-scale entrepreneur,
John Goldrick.
I'm paid on commission basis
rather than a salary from the railways.
I want to see people
travelling by train.
It's up to me to encourage people
to use the railways.
(Michael) Have you got a lot of people
using the line?
(John) We're jammed. We've gone from
a forgotten country station to capacity.
Let me boost your commission
a tiny bit.
Can I have a single ticket
standard class to Hereford, please?
OK. That will cost you £5.
Next stop, Hereford.
My "Bradshaw's Guide" describes
this next part of the line
as "one of the most
picturesque in the country”.
This is the very essence of England,
isn't it?
Deep, beautiful, rich greens.
Rolling countryside. Fantastic.
(conductor) Tickets and passes, please.
Thank you very much.
This is a very beautiful
stretch of line.
We're seeing it at its best today.
- Lovely. Nice day for it.
- Thank you very much. Bye-bye.
Next stop is Hereford,
which I know a bit.
Beautiful cathedral city.
Although there are things
I haven't seen there.
But I'm going in particular
because Bradshaw mentions the cattle.
He says, "They are a splendid breed,
white-faced with soft,
reddish brown coats."
I'm really looking forward
to meeting my Herefords.
(conductor) We will shortly
be arriving at Hereford,
where this service will be terminating.
All change, please, all change.
In the 19th century, the Hereford
was one of the country's top breeds
and Hereford beef
graced many Victorian dinner tables.
Astonishingly, there were three trains
a day leaving Hereford
carrying cows acquired in
the city's market down to London.
I'm interested to know what made
this pedigree breed so successful.
So I'm heading to a farm
whose speciality
is grass-fed organic Hereford cattle.
It's been owned by the Watkins family
for five generations
and once enjoyed its own railway link.
Hello. Michael.
- Hello, David Watkins.
- George Watkins. Welcome to Ballingham.
This is an old railway bridge.
(George) This is in fact
the old Ballingham station.
(Michael) Not much trace of a line now.
When did this close?
'64, I think, with the rest
of the Beeching closures.
(Michael) So you would remember this,
David?
Yes, I can remember a steam train
coming through here. Very, very young.
(Michael) Were you a passenger
or were you bringing your cattle here?
(David) We used to bring cattle down,
so my grandfather used to tell me,
to load them on the train
to go to Hereford and Ross markets.
In Victorian times,
the farm and the cattle began to thrive
thanks to the railway.
It really is a very handsome animal.
It really is strikingly red.
What are its characteristics
as an animal and as a meat?
The animal itself, why it was originally
so popular, was its hardiness.
They get fat off the land here.
They don't need a lot of grass
to get them fat
in comparison with a more modern breed.
This old Welsh breed
was so resilient that,
in the 19th century,
farmers around the world imported them
to improve the quality
of their cattle stock.
I think they first started going off
in the 1850s,
firstly to America, then Australia,
and then pretty much everywhere
in between.
That coincided with the railways.
That enabled them to take them
to the ports.
And then off to wherever else.
(Michael) Herefords are now globalised.
(George) Yeah.
You'll see Herefords as far as
the States, Mongolia,
Australia, Argentina.
They're pretty much everywhere.
(Michael) George Bradshaw
describes Herefords
as having the red coat and white face.
That's the same.
But would he otherwise recognise
these Herefords of today?
(George) I think he'd recognise them.
Sometimes you see old photographs
of Hereford cattle
that might be
a bit more dumpy and short,
whereas now we try and get a longer
animal with less wastage in the leg.
Herefords were known for
their succulent meat marbled with fat.
But as tastes changed in the
20th century, they fell out of fashion.
In England they were replaced
by larger, leaner European cattle.
Today, Hereford meat is marketed as a
niche product for discerning customers.
(George) People are much more interested
in where their food comes from.
Obviously here we can oversee the whole
thing from the moment I pull the calf
to the moment it ends up
on the plate in Hereford.
So traceability is really important.
And why? Why is it
such a good breed to have?
I think it's because
they're very relaxed and very docile.
As you can see now, they're not
bothered too much about us.
I think it comes through
into the flavour of the meat.
(George) We've got a bull just over
there. We can go up and stroke him.
- You're not serious?
- He's pretty docile.
As part of my Spanish heritage,
I'm not used to doing that.
We have a rather more aggressive
approach normally.
George, this is an immense animal.
It's extraordinary
that he is so docile.
Just not the reputation
bulls have at all.
What a friendly guy.
Well, I didn't think
I would ever touch a bull.
George and David sell
most of their meat locally.
And some of it ends up on the plate at
their hotel in the centre of Hereford,
where I'm going to spend the night.
Isn't this absolutely wonderful?
Quintessentially English.
The medieval cathedral
rising above the river.
The bridge, 1490,
damaged in the English Civil War.
A perfect summer's evening.
A superb view.
And now, at last,
I think an excellent steak dinner.
Traditionally, Hereford beef is hung
for 25 days to enhance the taste.
I'm about to enjoy
the result of all that patient effort.
Thank you very much indeed.
Marvellous.
Tender. Delicious.
- Full of flavour. Fantastic.
- Excellent.
Morning in Hereford.
I'm on my way to the cathedral,
which I've seen before,
but there's something I haven't seen
and I have long wanted to.
Today I will fulfil that ambition.
My "Bradshaw's Guide" talks about
"a curious Saxon map of the world"
kept in the cathedral's library.
I'm meeting the commercial director
of the cathedral, Dominic Harbour,
to find out more.
Dominic. Michael. You're admiring
your beautiful cathedral.
The map is fragile
and must be kept in a darkened room.
This is the most extraordinary thing,
Dominic.
So point out to me the great places.
Where's Jerusalem?
(Dominic) Jerusalem at the very centre
of the map, shown as a circle.
Really it's from there where the rest of
the known habitable world spreads out.
This extremely rare manuscript
is called the Mappa Mundi.
It's a 13th-century concept of the world
drawn onto animal skin.
In a way, this is what we would
almost call a virtual map,
or a conceptual map.
It's not geographically accurate.
Absolutely. Geography isn't really
the greatest priority on this map.
You've got illustrations
from the Bible.
You've got information
about flora, fauna.
It's like cyberspace
at the end of the 13th century.
Originally, the map would have
been visited by religious pilgrims.
But by the 19th century,
Hereford Cathedral
was increasingly attracting Victorians
who were simply curious
about their history.
George Bradshaw calls it
"a curious Saxon map".
Why was he really rather dismissive
of this thing?
(Dominic)
Particularly to Bradshaw's time,
this was something that illustrated
perhaps everything that was bad
about what we think of medieval today.
It's chaotic, it's barbaric,
it's dirty, it's complete chaos.
(Michael) Is it unique to Hereford?
(Dominic) There would have been other
Mappa Mundi that existed across Europe.
In fact they were quite common
at that time.
However, certainly by Bradshaw's time,
this was a very rare,
exceptional survival.
- Did you tell me it was on hide?
- Yes. It's a single piece of calfskin.
- It could be a Herefordshire, could it?
- Possibly.
(Michael) Really remarkable visit.
Thank you so much.
I'm now leaving Hereford
for the last leg of my journey.
Busy, busy.
50 miles along the track
towards Shrewsbury.
And there's one thing I'd like to
straighten out before I arrive there.
Excuse me.
- Do you know the line quite well?
- Erm, yes.
- (Michael) Such beautiful country.
- It's gorgeous.
I love the ride
going into Shrewsbury Station
and the castle up above
and the gorgeous station.
I notice you say Shrewsbury.
Should I say Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury?
You could ask people in Shrewsbury
or Shrowsbury what they say.
I think that's a good idea.
- It's like tomahto, tomayto.
- It is.
(Michael) Hmm. OK.
(tannoy) This train
is for Manchester Piccadilly.
The next stop is Shrewsbury.
The electronic voice
thinks it's Shrewsbury.
But I think I'll check with real
human beings when I get there.
My "Bradshaw's Guide"
offers no advice on this thorny matter,
but it does make me focus
on the town's impressive station.
Bradshaw is really keen on it
because it's built in the Tudor style
with these lovely tall chimneys
and he's kind of shocked
at how much it cost.
£100,000, including acquiring the site.
But he really approves of it, too,
and it is beautiful.
It's testimony that Shrewsbury
was really keen on the railways,
and this palace indicates Shrewsbury's
enthusiasm for the new age.
Time now, though, to find out
just how the good folk of Shrewsbury
pronounce their town's name.
Excuse me.
Am I in Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury?
- (both) Shrewsbury.
- You're very clear about that.
It's always known that that side
of the bridge say Shrowsbury,
- that side say Shrewsbury.
- (Michael) What's the difference?
The private school tends
to bring a lot of the Shrowsbury.
- The private school is Shrowsbury. OK.
- Yeah, I think so.
Shrewsbury or Shrowsbury,
in Bradshaw's day,
this place was very different
from the rural market town
that we see today.
It was once at the centre
of the Industrial Revolution,
surrounded by mills and foundries.
There's one mill in particular
that I've been urged to see.
- John.
- Hello, Michael.
- Good to see you.
- Welcome to Ditherington flax mill.
Showing me around the mill
is John Yates,
inspector of historic buildings
for Shropshire.
Forgive me, it doesn't look all
that special. What is the point of it?
It's special on the inside,
as you'll see in a minute.
But it's an actual first.
The world's first iron-framed building.
This is absolutely at the cutting edge
of technology.
The new technology of the time, an
iron building, an experimental building.
200 feet long, five storeys high,
40 feet wide.
An astonishing act of confidence
and bravado and virtuosity and skill.
(Michael) You've whetted my appetite.
How do we get in?
The owners of the site had just suffered
a financial catastrophe.
They'd lost thousands of pounds when
one of their timber-frame mills in Leeds
had burned down.
(John) Onwards and upwards.
Desperate to avoid more losses,
they hired engineer Charles Bage
to design a new mill in Shrewsbury.
Bage knew that cast iron was being used
to make rails at nearby Coalbrookdale.
He decided to make use of it
in a building.
That's what it's all about.
Isn't it wonderful?
(Michael) These supports,
they're made of iron?
(John) They're made of cast iron.
Iron poured molten into a bed of sand
that's been shaped to go
to this lovely, slender shape,
just tapering out a little
in the middle,
just like the columns on the Parthenon.
Significantly, Charles Bage's iron frame
was fireproof.
When the railways arrived, it became
easier to transport large pieces of iron
and then steel around the country
and many other new buildings
adopted the technology.
(John) These columns all support iron
beams that run right across the building
from one side to another.
Then the beams themselves
support shallow brick vaults,
just half a brick thick,
that span from one beam to the other.
Then to stop the vaults
simply collapsing by pushing apart
in the way that arches always do,
there are wrought-iron,
even stronger iron, formed into bars
that run the whole length
of the building, all 200 foot of it.
So this three-way metal frame,
that's up, across and along,
- is the grandfather of the skyscraper.
- Really?
The skyscraper was born in Shropshire.
The skyscraper is born right here.
(John) Shropshire may seem
a sleepy place now,
but in 1800, this was Silicon Valley.
This was absolutely at the cutting edge
of the technological
and industrial revolution.
The use of a metal frame
in place of wood
enabled architects
to design taller buildings
and eventually led to the steel-framed
skyscrapers of the 20th century.
Before I leave Shrewsbury,
there's an intriguing reference in
my guidebook that I must investigate.
This high spire
is the Church of St Mary's.
Bradshaw is clearly quite amused
by an incident that occurred here.
He says, "Many years ago
a hare-brained fellow
undertook to slide down a rope
laid from the top of this spire
to the other side of the river,
but he was killed in the attempt.”
That's rather sad.
I've come to find out more about
the tragic events of 1739
from Robert Milton,
who works at St Mary's Church.
(Robert) Robert Cadman
was a steeplejack by trade.
He was asked by the church council
to repair the weather vane
on top of the spire.
Having done so, he then requested
permission to do his party trick,
which was the tying of a rope
to the bell frame,
bringing it through the Louvres
behind us.
It then extended
to the very far side of the river,
to ground just short of the railway box.
- About 500 yards.
- Good Lord.
He would then walk up the line
performing tricks
and the firing of pistols.
I suppose hundreds of people would have
turned out to watch this stuff.
It was a craze of its day.
Of course his wife would go round
and collect the pennies
and whatever was
being offered at the time.
His final trick was to slide
all the way down the rope
from the spire to the ground.
That's where it went wrong,
unfortunately.
Where the rope had come through
the bell louvres,
it parted, and poor Robert
plummeted to his death.
It snapped here?
It snapped here where it came through
the wooden frame.
Is Cadman regarded
as the hero of Shrewsbury?
Do people celebrate his birthday?
(Robert) No. I think relatively speaking
he's quite unknown within the town.
I hope George Bradshaw has done
something to revive his memory.
I hope so. I think it's well deserved.
I'm often surprised by details
that Bradshaw thought to include
in his guidebook.
From hare-brained tightrope walkers
to white-faced cows
and the origins of perry,
the full breadth of life and death
is captured in its pages,
and all of it accessible
because of the new railways.
In Herefordshire,
farmers made use
of the arrival of the railways
to find new markets for their products.
In Shropshire,
inventors and entrepreneurs
grasped the railways enthusiastically
to pursue their industrial revolution.
The railways transformed everywhere.
But the nature of the change
depended upon the geography and the
character of the people in each county.
On my next journey,
I'm following Bradshaw to see
the world's first iron bridge...
- Where do I go to see it?
- Down the bottom.
It's amazing, you'll love it.
...visiting a place where the railways
weren't initially welcome...
My ancestor at the time of the railway
was particularly disenchanted
with the idea of a railway
being built across his land.
So he tried very hard
to disrupt the surveyors.
...and discovering
the secrets of good cheese.
It's just exactly as my great
grandfather would recognise.