Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 3, Episode 23 - Dundalk to Portadown - full transcript
In 1840, one man transformed
travel in Britain and Ireland.
His name was George Bradshaw,
and his railway guides inspired
the Victorians to take to the tracks.
Stop by Stop
he told them where to travel,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm making a series of journeys across
the length and breadth of these islands
to see what of Bradshaw's world remains.
I'm now completing my journey
across Northern Ireland,
using my trusty Bradshaw's Guide.
I shall be sorry to leave
the island of Ireland
because of the warmth of the people
that I've met,
both south and north of the border.
On today's part of my journey, I'll be
marvelling at a giant's handiwork...
It is the most amazing,
awe-inspiring sight.
Hearing how women, famous
for their dexterity with the needle,
built a city...
If there wasn't a shin factory,
this would be a desert.
And discovering how emigration
profoundly shaped
families and nations...
When you went to America in the '50s, it
was kind of goodbye for ever, you know?
My Victorian guidebook
has brought me to a country
that in the 19th century was one Ireland
living under the rule of Queen Victoria.
Starting in Dublin,
where the first railways were laid,
We been led north along the unfurling
railway history of this land.
On this last stretch,
I'm visiting tourist attractions
that fascinated the Victorians,
before exploring moving histories
of industrial might and mass exodus.
I shall be getting off at Ballymoney
and heading for what Bradshaw's calls
"the famous Carrick-a-Rede rock,
which stands out 60 feet from the shore,
to which it is joined only
by a slender rope bridge
across the chasm, 80ft from the water...
"A fine view from the heights above it."
And that prospect has me in suspense.
In Victorian times, visitors flocked
to the Carrick-a-Rede bridge.
But right from the early 18th century,
this spectacular crossing,
dangling over the roaring sea,
was also key to the locality's
industry and economy.
I read Bradshaws description
of this bridge,
but nothing prepared me
for what it's really like.
The plank that I'm walking on
is so narrow.
The fall beneath me is immense
and the sea looks like it can't wait
to gobble me up.
And, of course, the thing
is shaking from side to side.
And just to add to the fun,
there's quite a stiff wind as well.
Made it!
Safely across, I'm hereto meet Caroline
Redmond from the National Trust.
Hello, Caroline.
Pleased to meet you.
Welcome to Carrick-a-Rede island.
I had the most exciting experience.
It's thrilling on that bridge.
(Caroline) I'm glad you think so.
It's a little bit hairy at times.
(Carmichael) My Bradshaw's recommended
that I come on the rope bridge.
He talked about it being 80ft above
the water and having a fantastic view.
So I imagine even in Victorian times,
this was a very popular place.
That's right. We have anecdotal evidence
from the mid-1700s and early-1800s
that this was even then starting to be
something that tourists had to do.
Scare themselves senseless.
But this bridge wasn't built
as a tourist attraction.
For over 300 years, fishermen have been
risking We and limb
to cross to the island, there to catch
migrating North Atlantic salmon.
From March to September, the plump fish
return from feeding out at sea
to the Antrim rivers of the Bann
and the Bush to spawn.
Intrepid fishermen
would ready their nets
all the way from the easternmost
point of the coast
to the mouth of the Foyle
at Deny/Londondeny.
(Caroline) The salmon,
unable to go through the vent
over which the bridge is,
they would go round this rock
in their road.
Carrick-a-Rede,
rock in the road of the salmon.
It meant they would run themselves
into bag nets
and be nicely caught ready for us
to eat, and that was a huge industry.
At one point, there were upwards of
300 salmon per day being caught here.
You had to be able to get across
to take advantage of where
the salmon were running?
(Caroline) Absolutely. When the tide
would start, they would watch that
and that would tell them
when they could put the nets out,
how far they could put the nets out, to
catch that tide and that run of salmon.
In the 19th century,
catching and trading fish
constituted one of the area's
primary industries.
The landowners had the fishing rights
and paid the fishermen a wage,
and a bonus if the catch was good.
Are there still salmon here?
There used to be upwards of 300 salmon
per day being caught here,
but the last fisherman, Acky Colgan,
in the very last season,
which was 2002,
barely caught 300 the entire season.
So, yes, there are some salmon.
They're not in any catchable quantity.
They're practically
an endangered species.
Salmon fishing provided a living
on this coastline for 300 years.
And although sadly
that's no longer the case,
the rope bridge has remained.
And just as in the Victorian era,
adventurous tourists
are drawn to its delights.
We have anything from
240,000 to 250,000 visitors a year.
(Carmichael) And they come, just as
in Bradshaws time, for the thrill
of being 80ft above the water
and having that fantastic view.
(Caroline) That's right.
To have legs of jelly.
To go on to the island
and sit a while with the views
over the seas of Moyle, Rathlin,
Islay, Jura, the Mull.
It's paradise.
My time in this atmospheric location
is up
and I must gingerly return
across the Carrick-a-Rede bridge.
But I'm continuing
on the North Antrim coast
to head to Ireland's
most iconic natural landmark.
Next stop for me, the Giant's Causeway,
which my Bradshaw's says
"is properly so-called, consisting
of a low promontory or rocky pier
sloping into the sea
for eight or nine hundred feet".
I've never seen it before.
I don't really know what to expect.
I've always wanted to visit it, and
the best way to get there is by steam.
Steam engines always attract me,
but this line carried
another revolutionary railway system
in Victorian times.
It once operated
an innovative electric tramway
taking tourists to the Giant's Causeway.
I'm joined on my journey
by heritage consultant John Bustard.
This is a charming railway.
What is its history?
The history of the railway dates back
to 1879 when a plan was put forward
by William Acheson Traill
to the Board of Trade to put
in a fabulous new hydro-electric tram.
Hydro-electric? Meaning that falling
water produced the electricity?
It was the first hydro-electric tram
in the world, yes.
A rail carrying 250 volts
naturally put some local Victorians
in fear for their lives.
To prove its safety, the crafty
Mr Tram came up with a cunning plan.
(John) The story goes that Mr Traill
arrived in rubberised boots
and actually bared pan of his anatomy
and sat on the rail
to prove that this wasn't a danger.
He didn't go up in smoke
and it convinced the Board of Trade
that it was OK to operate.
What they didn't know was that
he had his own men running trams
at other pans of the line
to take the pressure off.
According to accounts from his daughter,
when he was asked if it hurt he said,
"Yes, it hurt like blazes!"
The tramway ran for 65 years,
eventually closing in 1949.
The line reopened a decade ago
and just as in the Victorian era,
it ferries eager tourists like me
to the Giant's Causeway.
That was great. Thank you.
Reputed in folklore to be built
by a giant,
the Causeway's interlocking honeycomb
of basalt columns
captivated the Victorians.
Renowned author William Thackeray
described it as looking like
“the beginning of the world.
A remnant of chaos“.
John, it is the most amazing,
awe-inspiring sight.
I had no idea what to expect.
If we don't believe it was created by
a giant, what's the other explanation?
(John) Well, the volcanic activity
of the Tertiary period
over 60 million years ago
was when the lava flow hit the sea
and cooled very quickly.
Essentially, that crystallised the rocks
into the various shapes that we see.
This rock you're standing on originally
when the tectonic plates
would have moved
would have been probably as far away
as Sub-Saharan Africa.
Bradshaw's doesn't always get it right,
so tell me if this is true.
He says, "There are 40,000 dark basalt
pillars, mostly five or six sided,
while some have only three
and others have as many as nine sides."
- ls that true?
- (John) That's true.
Although there were only 39,998 rocks
the last time we counted!
The Victorians shrewdly marketed
the Causeway as a tourist attraction,
fencing off the rocky splendours
and charging a not inconsiderable
entry fee of two shillings.
A tea room was erected, stalls lined
the pathway down to the Causeway
and local guides conducted tours.
Thackeray hated the clamour
of guides, boatmen and vagrants
and lamented that,
"If, as no doubt will be the case,
the Giant's Causeway shall be a still
greater resort of travellers than ever,
the country must put policemen
on the rocks to keep the beggars away,
or fling them in the water
when they appear."
Why do you think the Victorians were
so fascinated by sights like this?
I think it was the curiosity they had
for geology and for landscape.
The period they were in,
the world had opened up quite a lot
and so many wonders were being
shipped in from all over the world.
To find things like this
actually within the United Kingdom
was quite interesting in its own right.
This fascinating place is full
of wonderful geological features,
such as the Giant's Organ,
whose array of stone pipes
would look at home in a cathedral
and caused Bradshaw to describe
the area as a “remarkable coast“.
We been a great day on the northern
shores and it's not over yet.
I'll make one more stop on my journey
before I retire for the evening.
I'll be getting off at Bellarena.
My destination is Dungiven,
home to an important Irish clan.
And as I head for my overnight stay,
a song is in the air.
("Danny Boy" Plays)
In his guide,
Bradshaw mentions the O'Neills,
just one of the many clans
who ruled the area for centuries.
Another was the O'Cahans,
and I've come to Dungiven Castle
to meet historian John Hamilton
to discover more about them.
John.
- Hello.
- What should I know about Dungiven?
(John) It was one of the seats
of the O'Cahan clan
who dominated this area
for many centuries.
There's one little thing about the
O'Cahan clan that you might not realise.
They're known worldwide
because of a song.
- The song being?
- Danny Boy.
Danny Boy.
Picture right back
to the start of the 1600s
when the clan system was falling apart.
The local piper, Rory Dall O'Cahan,
tried to write a tune
that would sum up the parting,
people going away, things falling apart,
but a hope that some day
they might come back together.
According to legend,
Rory Dali O'Cahan was mourning
the confiscation of family lands
and the destruction of the clan system,
which brought to an end
the line of O'Cahan rulers.
It's a lament. It's a really sad,
emotive tune, isn't it'?
It is. The thing was, he tried to write
the tune but he couldn't get it.
So he fell asleep
on the banks of the River Roe
and when he woke up in the morning,
there was this harp playing itself.
That tune was a gift from the fairies.
I think this is a slightly tall story.
Am I right that Danny Boy is also known
as The Londonderry Air?
Well, many centuries later,
into Victorian times,
a lady heard the tune
being played by a piper
and she published it
through a Dublin publisher.
He called it The Londonderry Air
because he'd got it as an unnamed tune.
It then went round the world,
and over in Colorado
an English lady heard it being played
at a gold camp.
She wrote it down,
sent it to her brother in England,
who already had a set of words,
which fitted the tune perfectly.
The two came together
and we have the tune today,
The Londonderry Air, and the song,
Danny Boy, known worldwide.
But it all goes back to the O'Cahan clan
and their lament.
It does indeed.
The old O'Cahan chiefs are buried just a
few minutes' walk from Dungiven Castle.
And as I turn in for the night,
I shall listen for the pipes calling
from “glen to glen
and down the mountain side“.
A new day and, sadly,
my final one in Ireland.
So I'm back on the tracks
and heading towards my last destination.
What's in a name?
The city where I'm headed now,
some call Derry and others, Londonderry.
Both names occur in Bradshaw's.
Nowadays, the difference can be regarded
as politically significant.
So I'd best use both names
with equal emphasis.
In fact, there's a story I was told
about a train some years ago.
The Nationalist guard announced
that it was going to Deny,
so the Unionist driver refused to move.
Tell me, do you think it matters what we
call the city where we're headed now?
- To some people, it does.
- Are you one of them?
Not really. I was brought up here
in the village of Eglinton
and as a child, we called it Derry.
Then, as the Troubles came,
it got more political.
People took sides.
Some people call it Derry,
some call it Londonderry.
- Does it really matter?
- That's what I'm asking you.
Well, it's always been Londonderry
for me, so I call it Londonderry.
Some other people might call it
something else because they want to,
but to me, it's Londonderry.
Derry or Londonderry is the second
largest city in Northern Ireland.
The River Foyle intersects it,
with the old walled city,
one of the finest examples in Europe,
on the west bank
and waterside on the east.
The London prefix was added
after Derry was granted a Royal Charter
by King James I in 1613.
The city retains
its beautiful, fortified walls.
It withstood the siege
of the Catholic King James ll.
And, like most history in this city,
that remains contentious to this day.
The city has been at the heart
of religious and political turmoil
for centuries.
From Catholic King James's encirclement
of the Protestant population
to the sectarian violence
of the Irish Civil War in the 1920s.
In the 1960s and 70s,
the city was once more the flashpoint
of disputes between
Nationalists and Unionists
and on Bloody Sunday in 1972,
14 were killed when the British Army
fired into a crowd.
But in a city that suffered so much,
the history of one industry
offers examples of the people's
fine spirit and resilience,
away from the political struggles.
My Bradshaw's tell me that
"the people hereabouts
were principally employed
in the linen trade".
That began a long history in the city
of involvement in textiles.
And the common feature
of all those industries,
is that they employed
principally women.
Weaving linen
had been a hugely important industry
in the 18th and 19th centuries.
But as Belfast became a centre
for production from the 1830s onwards,
Derry lost out and found itself
with a plentiful supply
of unemployed, skilled women
hungry for work.
As British cities grew fast
and demand for clothing escalated,
the factory system was gaining ground.
And in the 1850s,
the sewing machine was invented,
giving rise to shirt manufacture.
It flourished we" into the 20th century
and at Austins, the worlds oldest
independent department store,
I'm meeting Jeanette Warke
and Avril Campbell,
who both worked in shirt-making
for many years.
What was life like
in the shin factories?
I found it, you know,
all the companionship,
the fun and the banter and working
with the other girls, it was just great.
Everybody shared their problems.
(woman 2) Girls from every pan
of the city.
(Carmichael) You had girls
from both communities?
(woman 2) Oh, yes.
(Michael) You were nearly all ladies.
Is that true?
(woman 2) That's true, yes.
Was there a tradition in the city
of women being in employment?
- Yes, always.
- There was no jobs for the men.
There was never jobs for men.
Men mostly stayed at home
and looked after the kids.
During Queen Victoria's reign,
a female workforce
powered industrial development
and the city's prosperity.
Shirt factories dominated the city
and its industry was once claimed
to be the largest of its kind
in the world.
How important was shirt-making
to the city?
- Very important.
- Very important.
It was the most important industry
and that's where the money came from.
If there wasn't a shin factory,
this would probably be a desert.
There would be nobody here.
At the peak,
there were 44 shin factories in Deny,
with an industry employing
a remarkable 18,000 people,
whose products were sold worldwide.
The shirts from the city
were definitely perfection.
- Quality.
- It was the stitching.
(woman 1) Every stitch had to be perfect
on those shirts.
(woman 2) If you had a Derry shin,
you had a quality item.
I remember the girls used to put
their name and address on the shins.
Slip little notes in the pockets.
They hoped that if a nice gentleman
bought the shirt,
that they would get in touch.
I'm sure there was a few marriages made
from a shin from Londonderry or Derry.
(woman 2) When I went down
in the middle '50s,
there were enormous great cast-iron
irons which weighed a tonne.
And it was lit with gas.
It was used for making toast
for breakfast.
They got brown paper,
and they put bread in between the brown
paper and sat the iron on top.
It was the most gorgeous toast
ever you could eat.
- We weren't supposed to do that.
- No.
- And...
- "Ruins the iron, ruins the iron."
(woman 1) The girls did work very hard.
I can remember girls working
through their tea break.
Working all the time,
they never stopped.
They worked really, really hard.
In the 18th century,
linen passed through Londonderry port,
and in the 19th and 20th,
shirts were shipped to the world,
most importantly to America.
But in the 1850s,
the growth of Ireland's railway network
provided the city with
an even more important outbound flow.
Bradshaw's tells me that Londonderry
"carries on a considerable
commercial intercourse with America".
"Being favourably situated for commerce
and possessing an excellent,
secure harbour
with a splendid line of quays."
But the most significant export from
the city was not goods, but people.
Londonderry became
one of the main ports in Ireland
for emigration to the United States.
To explore this poignant story,
I'm on the banks of the River Foyle,
in rather inclement weather,
to meet genealogist, Brian Mitchell.
- Brian, hello.
- Hello, Michael.
When did Derry become a major port
for emigration to America?
I would say from the early 1700s
when the first of the Ulster Scots,
as they're known in America,
the Scotch-Irish,
headed out of here in big numbers.
It continued right though the 1800s
and the famine years.
In the peak years, some 12,000
were leaving here in sailing ships.
Unprecedented famine afflicted
impoverished Irish families
in the 1840s, with the repeated failure
of the staple potato crop.
It's estimated that in a single decade,
at least a million died of starvation
and another million emigrated,
primarily to the United States.
By the 1860s,
the newly developed railway network
assisted the unparalleled exodus
from Ireland's shores,
funnelling emigrants from the northern
nah' of Ireland into the city.
Do you think the railways capitalised
on emigration?
- Did they see a commercial opportunity?
- I think they did.
The railway companies and the
steam-ship companies worked together.
Effectively, you could've booked
from any railway station
in the northern half of Ireland,
to wherever you wanted
your final destination.
For example, a potential emigrant
from Clones in County Monaghan,
could've purchased a ticket
that would've got them to Derry,
then on the boat to North America,
New York or wherever.
Then a through passage to Chicago
or wherever they wanted
their end destinations.
Victorian emigrants would arrive
at the railway station
to be met by
an agent of the shipping lines.
A tug would then convey them
18 mites downstream to Moville,
where the transatlantic liners
were moored in deep water.
As the ships conveyed emigrants
towards their new world,
it was customary to light a bonfire
on the hills above the city,
a beacon that might well offer
the passengers
their last glimpse ever
of the Emerald Isle.
I've seen pictures of these tenders.
They're nearly lopsided.
There's 400 people crammed
into these tenders
that were taking them down to Moville.
Every week there was at least
one ship from Glasgow or Liverpool
coming into Moville
to collect emigrants.
I've heard a figure that eight million
people emigrated from Ireland
between 1800 and 1922.
The population
of Ireland today is only six million,
it gives you an idea of the scale of it.
The determination, regrets and hopes
of those 19th-century emigrants
can only be guessed at.
But mass emigration continued
well into the 20th century.
As the weather clears,
I'm meeting someone
who can tell me of that mix of emotions,
Brigid Makowski.
I understand that you emigrated
to America.
I did. 1955.
I went out and I married an American.
(Carmichael) How had you met this American?
He came up that river on
the USS Johnson, an American Navy ship.
I met him at a dance hall,
I was 18 and he was 21.
Me daddy said it was OK. I went out
on the SS Saxonia Cunard line.
I remember it well.
Did you have an tremendous sense
of adventure, of starting a new life'?
I did. At that time,
Derry was well depressed.
Derry now is coming on grand.
But in them days, in the '50s,
it was mass emigration.
- There didn't seem to be any future.
- Did you get much of a send off?
Yes. There was always in those days
a thing called an American Wake.
The family would all get together.
In the '50s, it wasn't like now
where you can come back and forth.
When you went to America in the '50s, it
was kind of goodbye for ever, you know?
I remember my father when I was leaving,
I was in the taxi and he kissed me.
He says, "Goodbye,
I'll hardly see you again."
It turned out to be true.
He died before I'd seen him again.
Brigid's new life in the United States
brought change oh every front.
(Brigid) I was born in a wee house.
There were seven kids, my mother
and father in two bedrooms.
No inside toilet, no inside water.
When I went out to the States,
in Philadelphia,
Leo's house,
I thought they were millionaires.
They had TV and a refrigerator
and a freezer.
They all had their own bedrooms,
and, you know.
After 18 years in America,
Bridget and her husband
returned to live in Ireland.
Are you glad to be living now
back in Derry?
I'm just across the border in Donegal.
I'm in Derry all the time,
because Derry and Donegal,
everybody in Derry
has a granny in Donegal.
But I love it.
I'm as happy as the day is long.
Brigid's family is typical
of many in Ireland,
with relatives still in America,
including one of her sisters
and her son,
who left during the 1980s recession
to seek work.
And echoing the past, recent figures
show that as this recession bites,
Ireland is once again seeing
a large increase in emigration,
with over 3, 000 leaving each month,
the highest figure
in more than a century.
My railway journeys across England,
Wales and the island of Ireland,
have brought me at last to
the Peace Bridge in Londonderry/Derry,
built as a symbol of hope
to join communities together.
My Bradshaw's says, "To those
who rush from the cares of business
to feast upon beauty
and to inhale the fresh air
of fields, lakes and mountains,
we recommend a trip to Ireland."
And I would only add,
that for all its gifts of nature,
Ireland is made by its people.
travel in Britain and Ireland.
His name was George Bradshaw,
and his railway guides inspired
the Victorians to take to the tracks.
Stop by Stop
he told them where to travel,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm making a series of journeys across
the length and breadth of these islands
to see what of Bradshaw's world remains.
I'm now completing my journey
across Northern Ireland,
using my trusty Bradshaw's Guide.
I shall be sorry to leave
the island of Ireland
because of the warmth of the people
that I've met,
both south and north of the border.
On today's part of my journey, I'll be
marvelling at a giant's handiwork...
It is the most amazing,
awe-inspiring sight.
Hearing how women, famous
for their dexterity with the needle,
built a city...
If there wasn't a shin factory,
this would be a desert.
And discovering how emigration
profoundly shaped
families and nations...
When you went to America in the '50s, it
was kind of goodbye for ever, you know?
My Victorian guidebook
has brought me to a country
that in the 19th century was one Ireland
living under the rule of Queen Victoria.
Starting in Dublin,
where the first railways were laid,
We been led north along the unfurling
railway history of this land.
On this last stretch,
I'm visiting tourist attractions
that fascinated the Victorians,
before exploring moving histories
of industrial might and mass exodus.
I shall be getting off at Ballymoney
and heading for what Bradshaw's calls
"the famous Carrick-a-Rede rock,
which stands out 60 feet from the shore,
to which it is joined only
by a slender rope bridge
across the chasm, 80ft from the water...
"A fine view from the heights above it."
And that prospect has me in suspense.
In Victorian times, visitors flocked
to the Carrick-a-Rede bridge.
But right from the early 18th century,
this spectacular crossing,
dangling over the roaring sea,
was also key to the locality's
industry and economy.
I read Bradshaws description
of this bridge,
but nothing prepared me
for what it's really like.
The plank that I'm walking on
is so narrow.
The fall beneath me is immense
and the sea looks like it can't wait
to gobble me up.
And, of course, the thing
is shaking from side to side.
And just to add to the fun,
there's quite a stiff wind as well.
Made it!
Safely across, I'm hereto meet Caroline
Redmond from the National Trust.
Hello, Caroline.
Pleased to meet you.
Welcome to Carrick-a-Rede island.
I had the most exciting experience.
It's thrilling on that bridge.
(Caroline) I'm glad you think so.
It's a little bit hairy at times.
(Carmichael) My Bradshaw's recommended
that I come on the rope bridge.
He talked about it being 80ft above
the water and having a fantastic view.
So I imagine even in Victorian times,
this was a very popular place.
That's right. We have anecdotal evidence
from the mid-1700s and early-1800s
that this was even then starting to be
something that tourists had to do.
Scare themselves senseless.
But this bridge wasn't built
as a tourist attraction.
For over 300 years, fishermen have been
risking We and limb
to cross to the island, there to catch
migrating North Atlantic salmon.
From March to September, the plump fish
return from feeding out at sea
to the Antrim rivers of the Bann
and the Bush to spawn.
Intrepid fishermen
would ready their nets
all the way from the easternmost
point of the coast
to the mouth of the Foyle
at Deny/Londondeny.
(Caroline) The salmon,
unable to go through the vent
over which the bridge is,
they would go round this rock
in their road.
Carrick-a-Rede,
rock in the road of the salmon.
It meant they would run themselves
into bag nets
and be nicely caught ready for us
to eat, and that was a huge industry.
At one point, there were upwards of
300 salmon per day being caught here.
You had to be able to get across
to take advantage of where
the salmon were running?
(Caroline) Absolutely. When the tide
would start, they would watch that
and that would tell them
when they could put the nets out,
how far they could put the nets out, to
catch that tide and that run of salmon.
In the 19th century,
catching and trading fish
constituted one of the area's
primary industries.
The landowners had the fishing rights
and paid the fishermen a wage,
and a bonus if the catch was good.
Are there still salmon here?
There used to be upwards of 300 salmon
per day being caught here,
but the last fisherman, Acky Colgan,
in the very last season,
which was 2002,
barely caught 300 the entire season.
So, yes, there are some salmon.
They're not in any catchable quantity.
They're practically
an endangered species.
Salmon fishing provided a living
on this coastline for 300 years.
And although sadly
that's no longer the case,
the rope bridge has remained.
And just as in the Victorian era,
adventurous tourists
are drawn to its delights.
We have anything from
240,000 to 250,000 visitors a year.
(Carmichael) And they come, just as
in Bradshaws time, for the thrill
of being 80ft above the water
and having that fantastic view.
(Caroline) That's right.
To have legs of jelly.
To go on to the island
and sit a while with the views
over the seas of Moyle, Rathlin,
Islay, Jura, the Mull.
It's paradise.
My time in this atmospheric location
is up
and I must gingerly return
across the Carrick-a-Rede bridge.
But I'm continuing
on the North Antrim coast
to head to Ireland's
most iconic natural landmark.
Next stop for me, the Giant's Causeway,
which my Bradshaw's says
"is properly so-called, consisting
of a low promontory or rocky pier
sloping into the sea
for eight or nine hundred feet".
I've never seen it before.
I don't really know what to expect.
I've always wanted to visit it, and
the best way to get there is by steam.
Steam engines always attract me,
but this line carried
another revolutionary railway system
in Victorian times.
It once operated
an innovative electric tramway
taking tourists to the Giant's Causeway.
I'm joined on my journey
by heritage consultant John Bustard.
This is a charming railway.
What is its history?
The history of the railway dates back
to 1879 when a plan was put forward
by William Acheson Traill
to the Board of Trade to put
in a fabulous new hydro-electric tram.
Hydro-electric? Meaning that falling
water produced the electricity?
It was the first hydro-electric tram
in the world, yes.
A rail carrying 250 volts
naturally put some local Victorians
in fear for their lives.
To prove its safety, the crafty
Mr Tram came up with a cunning plan.
(John) The story goes that Mr Traill
arrived in rubberised boots
and actually bared pan of his anatomy
and sat on the rail
to prove that this wasn't a danger.
He didn't go up in smoke
and it convinced the Board of Trade
that it was OK to operate.
What they didn't know was that
he had his own men running trams
at other pans of the line
to take the pressure off.
According to accounts from his daughter,
when he was asked if it hurt he said,
"Yes, it hurt like blazes!"
The tramway ran for 65 years,
eventually closing in 1949.
The line reopened a decade ago
and just as in the Victorian era,
it ferries eager tourists like me
to the Giant's Causeway.
That was great. Thank you.
Reputed in folklore to be built
by a giant,
the Causeway's interlocking honeycomb
of basalt columns
captivated the Victorians.
Renowned author William Thackeray
described it as looking like
“the beginning of the world.
A remnant of chaos“.
John, it is the most amazing,
awe-inspiring sight.
I had no idea what to expect.
If we don't believe it was created by
a giant, what's the other explanation?
(John) Well, the volcanic activity
of the Tertiary period
over 60 million years ago
was when the lava flow hit the sea
and cooled very quickly.
Essentially, that crystallised the rocks
into the various shapes that we see.
This rock you're standing on originally
when the tectonic plates
would have moved
would have been probably as far away
as Sub-Saharan Africa.
Bradshaw's doesn't always get it right,
so tell me if this is true.
He says, "There are 40,000 dark basalt
pillars, mostly five or six sided,
while some have only three
and others have as many as nine sides."
- ls that true?
- (John) That's true.
Although there were only 39,998 rocks
the last time we counted!
The Victorians shrewdly marketed
the Causeway as a tourist attraction,
fencing off the rocky splendours
and charging a not inconsiderable
entry fee of two shillings.
A tea room was erected, stalls lined
the pathway down to the Causeway
and local guides conducted tours.
Thackeray hated the clamour
of guides, boatmen and vagrants
and lamented that,
"If, as no doubt will be the case,
the Giant's Causeway shall be a still
greater resort of travellers than ever,
the country must put policemen
on the rocks to keep the beggars away,
or fling them in the water
when they appear."
Why do you think the Victorians were
so fascinated by sights like this?
I think it was the curiosity they had
for geology and for landscape.
The period they were in,
the world had opened up quite a lot
and so many wonders were being
shipped in from all over the world.
To find things like this
actually within the United Kingdom
was quite interesting in its own right.
This fascinating place is full
of wonderful geological features,
such as the Giant's Organ,
whose array of stone pipes
would look at home in a cathedral
and caused Bradshaw to describe
the area as a “remarkable coast“.
We been a great day on the northern
shores and it's not over yet.
I'll make one more stop on my journey
before I retire for the evening.
I'll be getting off at Bellarena.
My destination is Dungiven,
home to an important Irish clan.
And as I head for my overnight stay,
a song is in the air.
("Danny Boy" Plays)
In his guide,
Bradshaw mentions the O'Neills,
just one of the many clans
who ruled the area for centuries.
Another was the O'Cahans,
and I've come to Dungiven Castle
to meet historian John Hamilton
to discover more about them.
John.
- Hello.
- What should I know about Dungiven?
(John) It was one of the seats
of the O'Cahan clan
who dominated this area
for many centuries.
There's one little thing about the
O'Cahan clan that you might not realise.
They're known worldwide
because of a song.
- The song being?
- Danny Boy.
Danny Boy.
Picture right back
to the start of the 1600s
when the clan system was falling apart.
The local piper, Rory Dall O'Cahan,
tried to write a tune
that would sum up the parting,
people going away, things falling apart,
but a hope that some day
they might come back together.
According to legend,
Rory Dali O'Cahan was mourning
the confiscation of family lands
and the destruction of the clan system,
which brought to an end
the line of O'Cahan rulers.
It's a lament. It's a really sad,
emotive tune, isn't it'?
It is. The thing was, he tried to write
the tune but he couldn't get it.
So he fell asleep
on the banks of the River Roe
and when he woke up in the morning,
there was this harp playing itself.
That tune was a gift from the fairies.
I think this is a slightly tall story.
Am I right that Danny Boy is also known
as The Londonderry Air?
Well, many centuries later,
into Victorian times,
a lady heard the tune
being played by a piper
and she published it
through a Dublin publisher.
He called it The Londonderry Air
because he'd got it as an unnamed tune.
It then went round the world,
and over in Colorado
an English lady heard it being played
at a gold camp.
She wrote it down,
sent it to her brother in England,
who already had a set of words,
which fitted the tune perfectly.
The two came together
and we have the tune today,
The Londonderry Air, and the song,
Danny Boy, known worldwide.
But it all goes back to the O'Cahan clan
and their lament.
It does indeed.
The old O'Cahan chiefs are buried just a
few minutes' walk from Dungiven Castle.
And as I turn in for the night,
I shall listen for the pipes calling
from “glen to glen
and down the mountain side“.
A new day and, sadly,
my final one in Ireland.
So I'm back on the tracks
and heading towards my last destination.
What's in a name?
The city where I'm headed now,
some call Derry and others, Londonderry.
Both names occur in Bradshaw's.
Nowadays, the difference can be regarded
as politically significant.
So I'd best use both names
with equal emphasis.
In fact, there's a story I was told
about a train some years ago.
The Nationalist guard announced
that it was going to Deny,
so the Unionist driver refused to move.
Tell me, do you think it matters what we
call the city where we're headed now?
- To some people, it does.
- Are you one of them?
Not really. I was brought up here
in the village of Eglinton
and as a child, we called it Derry.
Then, as the Troubles came,
it got more political.
People took sides.
Some people call it Derry,
some call it Londonderry.
- Does it really matter?
- That's what I'm asking you.
Well, it's always been Londonderry
for me, so I call it Londonderry.
Some other people might call it
something else because they want to,
but to me, it's Londonderry.
Derry or Londonderry is the second
largest city in Northern Ireland.
The River Foyle intersects it,
with the old walled city,
one of the finest examples in Europe,
on the west bank
and waterside on the east.
The London prefix was added
after Derry was granted a Royal Charter
by King James I in 1613.
The city retains
its beautiful, fortified walls.
It withstood the siege
of the Catholic King James ll.
And, like most history in this city,
that remains contentious to this day.
The city has been at the heart
of religious and political turmoil
for centuries.
From Catholic King James's encirclement
of the Protestant population
to the sectarian violence
of the Irish Civil War in the 1920s.
In the 1960s and 70s,
the city was once more the flashpoint
of disputes between
Nationalists and Unionists
and on Bloody Sunday in 1972,
14 were killed when the British Army
fired into a crowd.
But in a city that suffered so much,
the history of one industry
offers examples of the people's
fine spirit and resilience,
away from the political struggles.
My Bradshaw's tell me that
"the people hereabouts
were principally employed
in the linen trade".
That began a long history in the city
of involvement in textiles.
And the common feature
of all those industries,
is that they employed
principally women.
Weaving linen
had been a hugely important industry
in the 18th and 19th centuries.
But as Belfast became a centre
for production from the 1830s onwards,
Derry lost out and found itself
with a plentiful supply
of unemployed, skilled women
hungry for work.
As British cities grew fast
and demand for clothing escalated,
the factory system was gaining ground.
And in the 1850s,
the sewing machine was invented,
giving rise to shirt manufacture.
It flourished we" into the 20th century
and at Austins, the worlds oldest
independent department store,
I'm meeting Jeanette Warke
and Avril Campbell,
who both worked in shirt-making
for many years.
What was life like
in the shin factories?
I found it, you know,
all the companionship,
the fun and the banter and working
with the other girls, it was just great.
Everybody shared their problems.
(woman 2) Girls from every pan
of the city.
(Carmichael) You had girls
from both communities?
(woman 2) Oh, yes.
(Michael) You were nearly all ladies.
Is that true?
(woman 2) That's true, yes.
Was there a tradition in the city
of women being in employment?
- Yes, always.
- There was no jobs for the men.
There was never jobs for men.
Men mostly stayed at home
and looked after the kids.
During Queen Victoria's reign,
a female workforce
powered industrial development
and the city's prosperity.
Shirt factories dominated the city
and its industry was once claimed
to be the largest of its kind
in the world.
How important was shirt-making
to the city?
- Very important.
- Very important.
It was the most important industry
and that's where the money came from.
If there wasn't a shin factory,
this would probably be a desert.
There would be nobody here.
At the peak,
there were 44 shin factories in Deny,
with an industry employing
a remarkable 18,000 people,
whose products were sold worldwide.
The shirts from the city
were definitely perfection.
- Quality.
- It was the stitching.
(woman 1) Every stitch had to be perfect
on those shirts.
(woman 2) If you had a Derry shin,
you had a quality item.
I remember the girls used to put
their name and address on the shins.
Slip little notes in the pockets.
They hoped that if a nice gentleman
bought the shirt,
that they would get in touch.
I'm sure there was a few marriages made
from a shin from Londonderry or Derry.
(woman 2) When I went down
in the middle '50s,
there were enormous great cast-iron
irons which weighed a tonne.
And it was lit with gas.
It was used for making toast
for breakfast.
They got brown paper,
and they put bread in between the brown
paper and sat the iron on top.
It was the most gorgeous toast
ever you could eat.
- We weren't supposed to do that.
- No.
- And...
- "Ruins the iron, ruins the iron."
(woman 1) The girls did work very hard.
I can remember girls working
through their tea break.
Working all the time,
they never stopped.
They worked really, really hard.
In the 18th century,
linen passed through Londonderry port,
and in the 19th and 20th,
shirts were shipped to the world,
most importantly to America.
But in the 1850s,
the growth of Ireland's railway network
provided the city with
an even more important outbound flow.
Bradshaw's tells me that Londonderry
"carries on a considerable
commercial intercourse with America".
"Being favourably situated for commerce
and possessing an excellent,
secure harbour
with a splendid line of quays."
But the most significant export from
the city was not goods, but people.
Londonderry became
one of the main ports in Ireland
for emigration to the United States.
To explore this poignant story,
I'm on the banks of the River Foyle,
in rather inclement weather,
to meet genealogist, Brian Mitchell.
- Brian, hello.
- Hello, Michael.
When did Derry become a major port
for emigration to America?
I would say from the early 1700s
when the first of the Ulster Scots,
as they're known in America,
the Scotch-Irish,
headed out of here in big numbers.
It continued right though the 1800s
and the famine years.
In the peak years, some 12,000
were leaving here in sailing ships.
Unprecedented famine afflicted
impoverished Irish families
in the 1840s, with the repeated failure
of the staple potato crop.
It's estimated that in a single decade,
at least a million died of starvation
and another million emigrated,
primarily to the United States.
By the 1860s,
the newly developed railway network
assisted the unparalleled exodus
from Ireland's shores,
funnelling emigrants from the northern
nah' of Ireland into the city.
Do you think the railways capitalised
on emigration?
- Did they see a commercial opportunity?
- I think they did.
The railway companies and the
steam-ship companies worked together.
Effectively, you could've booked
from any railway station
in the northern half of Ireland,
to wherever you wanted
your final destination.
For example, a potential emigrant
from Clones in County Monaghan,
could've purchased a ticket
that would've got them to Derry,
then on the boat to North America,
New York or wherever.
Then a through passage to Chicago
or wherever they wanted
their end destinations.
Victorian emigrants would arrive
at the railway station
to be met by
an agent of the shipping lines.
A tug would then convey them
18 mites downstream to Moville,
where the transatlantic liners
were moored in deep water.
As the ships conveyed emigrants
towards their new world,
it was customary to light a bonfire
on the hills above the city,
a beacon that might well offer
the passengers
their last glimpse ever
of the Emerald Isle.
I've seen pictures of these tenders.
They're nearly lopsided.
There's 400 people crammed
into these tenders
that were taking them down to Moville.
Every week there was at least
one ship from Glasgow or Liverpool
coming into Moville
to collect emigrants.
I've heard a figure that eight million
people emigrated from Ireland
between 1800 and 1922.
The population
of Ireland today is only six million,
it gives you an idea of the scale of it.
The determination, regrets and hopes
of those 19th-century emigrants
can only be guessed at.
But mass emigration continued
well into the 20th century.
As the weather clears,
I'm meeting someone
who can tell me of that mix of emotions,
Brigid Makowski.
I understand that you emigrated
to America.
I did. 1955.
I went out and I married an American.
(Carmichael) How had you met this American?
He came up that river on
the USS Johnson, an American Navy ship.
I met him at a dance hall,
I was 18 and he was 21.
Me daddy said it was OK. I went out
on the SS Saxonia Cunard line.
I remember it well.
Did you have an tremendous sense
of adventure, of starting a new life'?
I did. At that time,
Derry was well depressed.
Derry now is coming on grand.
But in them days, in the '50s,
it was mass emigration.
- There didn't seem to be any future.
- Did you get much of a send off?
Yes. There was always in those days
a thing called an American Wake.
The family would all get together.
In the '50s, it wasn't like now
where you can come back and forth.
When you went to America in the '50s, it
was kind of goodbye for ever, you know?
I remember my father when I was leaving,
I was in the taxi and he kissed me.
He says, "Goodbye,
I'll hardly see you again."
It turned out to be true.
He died before I'd seen him again.
Brigid's new life in the United States
brought change oh every front.
(Brigid) I was born in a wee house.
There were seven kids, my mother
and father in two bedrooms.
No inside toilet, no inside water.
When I went out to the States,
in Philadelphia,
Leo's house,
I thought they were millionaires.
They had TV and a refrigerator
and a freezer.
They all had their own bedrooms,
and, you know.
After 18 years in America,
Bridget and her husband
returned to live in Ireland.
Are you glad to be living now
back in Derry?
I'm just across the border in Donegal.
I'm in Derry all the time,
because Derry and Donegal,
everybody in Derry
has a granny in Donegal.
But I love it.
I'm as happy as the day is long.
Brigid's family is typical
of many in Ireland,
with relatives still in America,
including one of her sisters
and her son,
who left during the 1980s recession
to seek work.
And echoing the past, recent figures
show that as this recession bites,
Ireland is once again seeing
a large increase in emigration,
with over 3, 000 leaving each month,
the highest figure
in more than a century.
My railway journeys across England,
Wales and the island of Ireland,
have brought me at last to
the Peace Bridge in Londonderry/Derry,
built as a symbol of hope
to join communities together.
My Bradshaw's says, "To those
who rush from the cares of business
to feast upon beauty
and to inhale the fresh air
of fields, lakes and mountains,
we recommend a trip to Ireland."
And I would only add,
that for all its gifts of nature,
Ireland is made by its people.