Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 4, Episode 15 - Invergordon to John O'Groats - full transcript
In 1840, one man transformed travel
in the British Isles.
His name was George Bradshaw,
and his railway guides inspired
the Victorians to take to the tracks.
Stop by Stop
he told them where to travel,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm making a series of journeys across
the length and breadth of these isles
to see what of Bradshaws Britain
remains.
I'm on the last leg
of my Scottish journey,
travelling on the well-named
Far North Line.
By 1874, the Victorians had built
tracks to very top of Scotland
and I'm going to ride them to the end.
On today's stretch,
I'll learn now one man's vision
helped to bring train travel
to the Highlands...
He really saw the social value
of railways
and in opening up
the county of Sutherland.
Discover how farming has changed
since Bradshaw's day...
We have about a ton
in the grain tank there.
That would hopefully produce about
400 litres of neat whisky.
WOW!
And re-live the drama
of Scotland's Victorian gold rush.
Gold! We've found gold!
So far on this journey,
We uncovered the Victorian heritage
of eastern Scotland
and been dazzled by the beauty
of the Highlands.
Now, I'm following the coastline
northwards on the home straight.
Starting in Invergordon, I'll pass
through the county of Sutherland
to the end of the line at Wick,
finishing my journey in John o'Groats.
I've swapped my usual 1860s
"Bradshaw's" for a later edition,
which shows me how the railways
opened up this windswept coast.
I'm going to leave the train
at Invergordon to reach Cromarty,
where, my Bradshaw's tells me,
"Hugh Miller, a native,
made his discoveries
in the granite
and red sandstone cliffs."
I don't know that name, but he must
have been a prominent Victorian
to feature in my guidebook, so I'm
intrigued to hear Hugh Miller's tale.
On the trail of this forgotten figure,
I'm taking the ferry across
the Cromarty Firth.
This sheltered bay is
an important centre for North Sea oil,
which we now know was formed
hundreds of millions of years ago.
It was 19th-century scientists
who first recognised
how great is the age of the Earth,
and here, in the harbour town
of Cromarty,
self-taught geologist Hugh Miller
played an important role.
He was born in 1802
in this humble cottage,
which now has a museum attached.
We where I'm meeting
Dr Alix Powers-Jones
from the National Trust for Scotland.
- Alix.
- Michael, welcome. Do come in.
Bradshaw's tells me that Hugh Miller
was a native of Cromarty
and that he made his discoveries in the
granite and the red sandstone cliffs.
What were the discoveries?
He found fossils. He found fossil fish.
On the shore,
there were nodes of limestone
that had weathered out of the cliff.
They don't look very exciting,
but if you take the top off...
- (Michael) Ah!
- Fossils, and this is a fossil fish.
(Michael) Lovely.
The 19th century witnessed
a new fashion for fossil hunting
and the work of enthusiastic amateurs
like Miller helped people to understand
that the Earth was older
than they'd been taught to believe.
He began collecting in childhood,
then trained as a stonemason
and, later, banker,
but he continued to pursue his passion.
Over his life time,
he collected and catalogued
an astonishing 6,000 specimens.
So, he was pushing at the edges
of scientific knowledge.
This was a very interesting period,
wasn't it?
We're running up to
Darwin's theory of evolution.
Yes. in fact, Darwin and Hugh Miller
were in communication with one another.
Darwin wrote to Hugh Miller,
congratulating him on his work.
Fossil evidence was vital
to Darwin's groundbreaking work
“On the Origin of Species”,
published in 1859.
In his letter to Miller,
he praises not just his research,
but also his writings,
for Miller was a talented author.
He wrote a book called First Impressions
of England and Her People
and he travelled by railway.
- I'm delighted to hear that.
- He was not a great fan.
"One soon wearies of the monotony
of railway travelling,
of hurrying through a country
stage after stage
without incident or advantage,
and I felt quite glad when
the train stopped at Wolverhampton.
Oh, dear. I think I could
be going off Hugh Miller.
Alongside his scientific research
and travel writing,
Miller was also a prolific journalist
and social commentator.
And while, these days,
his name has been largely forgotten,
in his day, he was a huge celebrity.
He was quite a showman, I think.
He'd got a great swash of red hair
and mutton-chop whiskers.
He wore a shepherd's plaid, a tartan,
tossed over his shoulder.
He was known as Old Red.
On the day of his funeral,
the whole of Edinburgh,
where he died, ground to a halt.
Thousands of people
attended his funeral.
And then, just after he died,
three years,
a column was erected in Cromarty,
like a Nelson's Column,
a Hugh Miller Column,
by the people.
No wonder, then, that decades later
he still gets a mention
in my Bradshaw's Guide.
We good to know that,
in Cromarty at least,
Miller's memory is being kept alive.
I'm now rejoining the Far North Line
to continue my Highland adventure.
For most of the route,
the railway hugs the coast,
but it was also built
to serve the rural hinterland.
My next stop is Tain,
which my Bradshaw's tells me is
"a royal borough of considerable
antiquity."
"Weekly grain markets are held here
and there is a rich agricultural
district around the town;
Easter Ross being famous
for its large and early crop."
This region's farmers
enjoy an unusual microclimate,
thanks to high ground to the west,
which protects them from the worst
of the Scottish weather.
The arrival of the railway boosted their
competitive advantage even further.
But, surprisingly,
the Victorian railway builders
were just as reliant on agriculture
as the farmers were on the trains.
We come to Rhynie Farm
to meet Donald Ross.
- Hello!
- Hello, Michael.
Donald's family have farmed the land
here for five generations,
but they also have a link
with tracks that I've travelled
on my Scottish railway adventure.
Tell me about
your great-great-grandfather.
My great-great-grandfather
was a contractor
on the Inverness-to-Aviemore line.
He built the bridge
over the River Findhorn at Tomatin.
I went on that line very, very recently.
The Findhorn Viaduct is spectacular.
This gentleman here is
my great-great-grandfather.
That is the most wonderful photograph!
"Opening of the Aviemore line,
October 29, 1898."
And you have it in pride of place
in your hallway here,
so it must mean something
to your family.
It's been there
since the photo was taken,
so we are very proud of him, yes.
Building the Victorian railways
was a massive task,
requiring vast numbers of men
and huge quantities of materials.
And Donald's great-great-grandfather
came up with an ingenious way
to improve efficiency.
- What took him into farming?
- He needed to feed his animals.
Because he didn't have any lorries
or anything to work, he had horses.
His horses were very important to him,
as they caned all the spoil away
and to the embankments
on the railway line.
They needed to eat hay
and they needed to eat oats.
The farm was a form
of vertical integration,
to supply the animals with feed.
- Do you know when he bought the farm?
- The farm was bought in 1886.
Indeed we have an entry
in this diary here.
14th Of April,
"Bought property,
jointly with Balaldie."
"£12,500."
Amazing.
In Victorian times,
farming was changing fast,
as new machinery was invented.
Forward-thinking farmers
like Donald's great-great-grandfather
embraced this new technology.
This is a fine old piece of machinery!
What kind of date is this, Donald?
Michael, this is an 1894 Kemp reaper.
How was it powered?
It's pulled by two horses either side
of the main bar up the middle.
There's a knife which goes back
and forth, and the barley, or the crop,
falls onto the louvres at the back,
and when there's sufficient in it,
the man picked up his rake...
while he was sitting in that seat
and would shove it back.
Mechanised reapers like this
dramatically reduced the manpower
needed to harvest crops,
which could then be taken
to a threshing machine
to separate the grain from the stalks.
But a later invention was to streamline
the process even further.
And so, a combine harvester
is exactly that.
It's bringing two jobs together
that before were entirely separate.
That's correct, Michael.
It brings together the cutting
as well as the threshing.
Now, if you come over here,
this is what we use now.
Ah! Splendid vehicle.
Yeah, it's 18 years old,
but it serves our purposes very well.
It's up there with most of the big boys
in the modern technology stakes.
Invented in the United States
in the 19th century,
the combine harvester didn't become
widespread in Britain until the 1950s.
Thanks to machinery like this,
the work done by 30 men in
Donald's great-great-grandfather's time
is now done by just three.
I can see the teeth going backwards
and forwards at high speed.
- They're chopping down the barley.
- Cutting the barley.
Apart from anything else, you get
a wonderful view of your crop.
You must be able to tell a lot
just from driving over it like this.
You can. You can see...
When it's ripe, the heads are down.
This barley is destined
for the whisky trade.
As the vital ingredient
in Scotland's world-famous tipple,
it has to be top quality.
Have you any idea how many bottles
of whisky
we've harvested in the last few minutes?
Well, if I look behind me, we have
about a ton in the grain tank there
and I would be saying
that would hopefully produce
- about 400 litres of neat whisky.
- Wow!
So, in effect, we probably have
1,000 bottles of whisky behind us.
(laughs) That's quite a thought.
Let's keep going!
That would be a good night,
wouldn't it?
I'm sure George Bradshaw
would be astonished
by the technology
that allows one man to harvest so much.
I'm now rejoining the railway
to make one more trip before nightfall.
Last stop of the day, Regan,
which my Bradshaw's tells me is
"in the midst of a hilly district
abounding in traces of Danish camps."
Well, I fear there are no Danes left
to welcome me,
but I do intend to encamp here
for the night.
Tonight's stopover is
something out of the ordinary
and its kicking off
with a traditional Scottish welcome.
(bagpipe music)
- Hello!
- Hello, Michael. Welcome to Rogart.
- Who's the young piper?
- My son, Fraser.
Good lad.
Kale Roach
offers weary railway travellers
the chance to sleep by the tracks
in a converted railway carriage.
- Thank you.
- If you'd like to go in.
Ah!
You have a shower in the vestibule end.
- (Michael) Yes.
- Then your bedroom's through here.
(Michael) Oh, that is very homely!
(Kate) Then we have a sitting room.
Oh, that's great!
An old first-class compartment
in a corridor train
with a wonderful library
of railway books...
I'm sure my “Bradshaws Guide” and I
will feel perfectly at home here.
(sighs contentedly)
Perfect. After a day on the tracks,
I've become a railway sleeper.
A new day beckons, and there's just time
to rustle up some breakfast
before I hit the tracks.
Superb! My compliments to the chef.
I'm now venturing into ever more
sparsely populated territory.
Many of the stations on this tine
are so remote
that there are no scheduled stops.
Dunrobin Castle. It's a request stop.
Can you ask the driver to stop, please?
- It is. I'll tell the driver for you.
- Thank you very much.
It might seem surprising that such an
isolated region has a railway at all.
But its all thanks
to the energy and determination
of one very eminent
Victorian railway fan.
My Bradshaw's tells me that,
"The part of the line to Helmsdale
is called the Duke of Sutherlands Line,
having been made at his cost,"
which tells you quite a lot
about the mid-19th century.
I shall be getting off
at Dunrobin Castle,
where the station is a private one,
"for the use of Dunrobin Castle,
the Duke's seat;
a magnificent pile of buildings,
enlarged within last 20 years
at great expense
and finely placed
for land and sea views."
Perched above the Moray Firth,
Dunrobin Castle certainly lives up
to my guidebook's description.
It was rebuilt in the style
of a French chateau in the 1840s,
complete with fairy-tale spires
and elegant gardens.
But I'm here to explore
its unique station,
which helped to shape the history
of the Far North Line.
Still privately owned by the estate,
today ifs looked after by
rail enthusiast Daniel Brittain-Catlin.
Michael, welcome
to Dunrobin Castle Station.
(Michael) Thank you very much indeed.
Apparently, according to my Bradshaws,
the Duke of Sutherland
paid for this line.
(Daniel) He really saw the social value
of railways
and in opening up
the county of Sutherland.
And, of course, he was able to build
this line comparatively easily
because, being a duke,
he was a member of the House of Lords,
he was able to promote
his own Act of Parliament,
which was modestly called
the Duke of Sutherlands Railway Act.
He put that through the House of Lords,
paid for it himself
and he created his own railway line,
ending up as pan
of the national network.
The railway-mad Duke built 14 and a half
miles of track to link Dunrobin
with the coal mine
that he owned at Brora
and the fishing village of Helmsdale.
Owning the line
was just the start of his passion.
What kind of rolling stock
was he running on his railway line?
He ran trains for the public
when it opened,
but he had his own engine and two
carriages, and they were pretty plush.
One contained a sleeping car
and one was a day coach.
The Duke had the right
to run his private train
between Inverness and Wick.
In 1872, it carried Queen Victoria
when she visited the Sutherland estate.
They came up on the train,
they left from Inverness
and from Inverness onwards,
they were on the Sutherlands' own train.
The Duchess and Queen Victoria
were in the carriage,
but she did slightly wonder
where the Duke was.
But once they reached what was
then called Bonar Bridge Station,
is now called Ardgay Station, a slightly
sort of dirty man in overalls appeared,
shook hands rather too enthusiastically
with the Queen and, of course,
it turned out to be the Duke who'd
been driving his own railway engine
fired with his own coal
from his own coal mine.
How absolutely magnificent!
What did the Queen think of that,
do we know?
Well, it could be that this is one
of the very rare occasions
that Queen Victoria was amused.
The Queen spent ten days
enjoying a lavish reception
amid the splendour
of Dunrobin Castle
and the bed she slept in
still takes pride of place
in the opulent green and gold room.
The station, however, is altogether
on a more domestic scale.
This building doesn't seem
to have any Victorian feel to it.
It's 1902, so just the first year
of Edward VII.
It's the second building.
The first was a kind of Wild West
ranch-style building, amazingly.
This one is a classic piece of
English arts and crafts architecture,
plonked in the middle of Sutherland.
By the Kate 20th century,
this remarkable building
was suffering after years of neglect,
but since then,
it's been lovingly restored.
Until recently, there was just one room
which remained unloved,
but it turns out that We timed
my visit perfectly
for the unveiling
of this special project.
Michael, this is very much
our pride and joy at Dunrobin. It's...
You've got quite a queue of admirers!
It's our newly restored
Edwardian cloakroom.
The last piece of restoration
and it's only just been completed,
so I hope you will do us
the honour
of doing an official opening
of this loo.
I'm very, very, very touched.
- Here we are.
- Oh, thank you very much indeed.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure
this ought to be done by a celebrity,
but I'm here in lieu...
(all laugh)
I'd like to congratulate
those involved in this,
carpenter, tiler and everybody else,
and, erm...
Well, good luck to everyone
who may... sail in it, you know...
(all cheer)
(Daniel) And I hope
you'll be the first to try it!
(all laugh)
impressive as the facilities are,
it's time for me to bid goodbye
to the station and continue my journey
along the Duke of Sutherland's Line.
As I travel north, I'm passing
alongside the beautiful Moray Firth.
This stretch of water
is an important haven for wildlife,
including grey seals and their pups,
and there's no better way to enjoy it
than from my railway carnage.
This seascape is dreamy.
I'm passing by golden beaches,
entirely deserted.
I have this scenery
completely to myself.
Stunning as the coastline is,
to reach my next stop,
I must leave the sea behind
and tum inland.
Bradshaw's tells me that this line
passes over a moory district
by 12 or 13 stations,
including Kildonan, where I'll get off,
"where the Duke
has his reclamation farms
of 80 to 100 acres for small farmers."
But I understand that, in the 1860s,
the land brought forth something
even more valuable than oats or barley.
(announcement) We are now approaching
Kildonan. This is a request stop.
(Michael) 150 years ago, this remote
part of the Sutherland estate
was the setting for Scotland's
very own gold rush.
I'm meeting modern-day prospector
Lorna Smith
to hear the extraordinary tale.
- Hello!
- Hello! Michael.
- Pleased to meet you.
- Panning for gold?
Yes, aye, one or two little specks
just from the surface gravel.
The second half of the 19th century
witnessed a gold-hunting craze,
as, dazzled by the discoveries
made in 1840s California,
prospectors scoured the globe
for new places to get rich quick.
Before long, they turned their gaze
on Scotland.
It was a chap called Robert Gilchrist
who started the gold rush.
He was a local man
and he was interested in the gold.
He went to Australia
to try his hand there.
He met a few experienced miners
out there and learnt quite a lot.
He was beginning to feel homesick
after a few years,
so he thought he would just come home
and try his hand in Strath of Kildonan,
because he recognised similarities
between the rock structures
and gravels in Australia
to what he had left at home.
In 1868, Gilchrist struck it lucky
and the news of his success soon spread.
At that time, the Duke of Sutherlands
railway was yet to be built,
so prospectors faced a ISO-mile walk
from the nearest station.
But that did nothing to deter
the hopeful hordes.
(Lorna) The potato blight
had ruined the food for the winters.
People were beginning to be hungry.
Once they heard about
how Robert was doing on the river,
they reckoned they would like
to come and have a try too.
And how many people did come?
500 people came at the height
of the gold rush.
Extraordinary.
The Duke of Sutherland issued licences,
at a cost of a pound a month,
while the Crown took 10%
of all the prospectors found.
Although much of the gold
probably went undeclared,
it's thought the official haul totalled
around £850,000 in today's money.
But the heady days of the gold rush
were not to last long.
The Duke decided that there was too
much disruption to the salmon parr,
whose gills were being clogged
by the suspended gravel in the stream.
He was worried it would affect
the salmon fishing.
The winter was setting in and they had
rough wooden shelters on here.
When you're talking about
maybe 15 or 16 degrees of frost
in the middle of the winter,
it's not good. It's not good.
And so, that brought the gold rush
to an end?
The Duke decided
that for everybody's safety and comfort
that he should really end
the gold rush.
He did that by not issuing
any more licences
and not renewing licences
after they had been issued.
By the end of 1869,
the Kildonan gold rush was over.
These days, anyone can come and search
for gold on the estate,
but the only method
allowed is hand-panning.
It works oh the principle that gold
is the heaviest mineral in the river.
That's just a case of swirling it round,
so the heavy pieces get a chance to sink
right down to the bottom and the lighter
gravels and stones are on the top.
And then, gradually
wash off the lighter stuff?
It takes patience and hard work,
but retrieving even a tiny amount
is quite a thrill.
There's just a little sample
from the side of the burn,
but you can see there's gold there.
(Michael) I never thought I'd see this.
All the times I've seen in movies
people doing this, and, of course,
in the movies they never do find gold,
poor things, but there it is.
(Lorna) There it is.
Gold! We've found gold!
- Gold!
- (chuckles)
- ls that not what you do?
- No.
(both laugh)
Sadly, I don't have time to seek
my fortune,
as I'm rejoining the Far North Line
to complete my Scottish odyssey.
Finished in 1874, this final section
opened up some of the wildest reaches
of northern Scotland,
previously accessible
only to wealthy travellers.
I'm now on the very last segment
of my journey, taking me into Wick,
which my Bradshaw's describes as
"the present ultima Thule of railway
enterprise, the furthest extremity,"
and, as in Victorian days,
this is the end of the line.
In Bradshaw's day,
Wick was a busy herring port
and the new railway line
helped to transport the fish
to markets further south.
It also attracted
crowds of Victorian tourists,
disembarking to make
the short coach trip
to that most symbolic
of coastal villages, John o'Groats.
Bradshaw's says of John o'Groats,
"This famous locality lies at
the south side of the Pentland Firth
and gives one of the finest sights
in the North."
"The view, on a favourable day..."
Thank goodness, today is favourable,
"of land and water,
is very interesting."
"Orkney is seen to great advantage."
Since, a few years ago,
I stood at Land's End,
it's been my ambition
to come to this other
most far-flung pan of our kingdom.
Every year, tourists come to marvel
at the wild beauty of the setting,
amid the stunning cliffs
of Duncansby Head,
and thousands
of so-called end-to-enders
undertake the tong journey between
Britain's most distant inhabited spots.
I just couldn't resist.
As my lengthy trek up Scotland's
east coast draws to an end,
it strikes me that the railways
helped this nation
to share its blessings
with the rest of the world.
Victorian tracks have brought me to
the uppermost edge of mainland Britain.
From my seat on the train, I've gawped
in admiration at Scotland's grandeur.
The railways in the Highlands
brought not industrial revolution
so much as continuity,
enabling communities to survive
and traditional skills to flourish.
My Bradshaw's Guide has now
enabled me to appreciate Britain,
this great country, from toe to tip.
On my next journey,
HI be travelling from London to Devon,
along master engineer Isambard Kingdom
Brunel's Great Western Railway.
This is exciting. is this genuinely
a section of Brunel's pipe?
I'll visit a Victorian tourist
hot spot, ..
This is the granddaddy of all castles
and cathedrals and skyscrapers.
This is the beginning of architecture.
Explore a church that moves
in mysterious ways...
That's extraordinary, Rod.
It really is moving from side to side.
And work up a sweat
turning a grand old loco.
(groans) She's moving!
I can't believe it, she's moving.
in the British Isles.
His name was George Bradshaw,
and his railway guides inspired
the Victorians to take to the tracks.
Stop by Stop
he told them where to travel,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm making a series of journeys across
the length and breadth of these isles
to see what of Bradshaws Britain
remains.
I'm on the last leg
of my Scottish journey,
travelling on the well-named
Far North Line.
By 1874, the Victorians had built
tracks to very top of Scotland
and I'm going to ride them to the end.
On today's stretch,
I'll learn now one man's vision
helped to bring train travel
to the Highlands...
He really saw the social value
of railways
and in opening up
the county of Sutherland.
Discover how farming has changed
since Bradshaw's day...
We have about a ton
in the grain tank there.
That would hopefully produce about
400 litres of neat whisky.
WOW!
And re-live the drama
of Scotland's Victorian gold rush.
Gold! We've found gold!
So far on this journey,
We uncovered the Victorian heritage
of eastern Scotland
and been dazzled by the beauty
of the Highlands.
Now, I'm following the coastline
northwards on the home straight.
Starting in Invergordon, I'll pass
through the county of Sutherland
to the end of the line at Wick,
finishing my journey in John o'Groats.
I've swapped my usual 1860s
"Bradshaw's" for a later edition,
which shows me how the railways
opened up this windswept coast.
I'm going to leave the train
at Invergordon to reach Cromarty,
where, my Bradshaw's tells me,
"Hugh Miller, a native,
made his discoveries
in the granite
and red sandstone cliffs."
I don't know that name, but he must
have been a prominent Victorian
to feature in my guidebook, so I'm
intrigued to hear Hugh Miller's tale.
On the trail of this forgotten figure,
I'm taking the ferry across
the Cromarty Firth.
This sheltered bay is
an important centre for North Sea oil,
which we now know was formed
hundreds of millions of years ago.
It was 19th-century scientists
who first recognised
how great is the age of the Earth,
and here, in the harbour town
of Cromarty,
self-taught geologist Hugh Miller
played an important role.
He was born in 1802
in this humble cottage,
which now has a museum attached.
We where I'm meeting
Dr Alix Powers-Jones
from the National Trust for Scotland.
- Alix.
- Michael, welcome. Do come in.
Bradshaw's tells me that Hugh Miller
was a native of Cromarty
and that he made his discoveries in the
granite and the red sandstone cliffs.
What were the discoveries?
He found fossils. He found fossil fish.
On the shore,
there were nodes of limestone
that had weathered out of the cliff.
They don't look very exciting,
but if you take the top off...
- (Michael) Ah!
- Fossils, and this is a fossil fish.
(Michael) Lovely.
The 19th century witnessed
a new fashion for fossil hunting
and the work of enthusiastic amateurs
like Miller helped people to understand
that the Earth was older
than they'd been taught to believe.
He began collecting in childhood,
then trained as a stonemason
and, later, banker,
but he continued to pursue his passion.
Over his life time,
he collected and catalogued
an astonishing 6,000 specimens.
So, he was pushing at the edges
of scientific knowledge.
This was a very interesting period,
wasn't it?
We're running up to
Darwin's theory of evolution.
Yes. in fact, Darwin and Hugh Miller
were in communication with one another.
Darwin wrote to Hugh Miller,
congratulating him on his work.
Fossil evidence was vital
to Darwin's groundbreaking work
“On the Origin of Species”,
published in 1859.
In his letter to Miller,
he praises not just his research,
but also his writings,
for Miller was a talented author.
He wrote a book called First Impressions
of England and Her People
and he travelled by railway.
- I'm delighted to hear that.
- He was not a great fan.
"One soon wearies of the monotony
of railway travelling,
of hurrying through a country
stage after stage
without incident or advantage,
and I felt quite glad when
the train stopped at Wolverhampton.
Oh, dear. I think I could
be going off Hugh Miller.
Alongside his scientific research
and travel writing,
Miller was also a prolific journalist
and social commentator.
And while, these days,
his name has been largely forgotten,
in his day, he was a huge celebrity.
He was quite a showman, I think.
He'd got a great swash of red hair
and mutton-chop whiskers.
He wore a shepherd's plaid, a tartan,
tossed over his shoulder.
He was known as Old Red.
On the day of his funeral,
the whole of Edinburgh,
where he died, ground to a halt.
Thousands of people
attended his funeral.
And then, just after he died,
three years,
a column was erected in Cromarty,
like a Nelson's Column,
a Hugh Miller Column,
by the people.
No wonder, then, that decades later
he still gets a mention
in my Bradshaw's Guide.
We good to know that,
in Cromarty at least,
Miller's memory is being kept alive.
I'm now rejoining the Far North Line
to continue my Highland adventure.
For most of the route,
the railway hugs the coast,
but it was also built
to serve the rural hinterland.
My next stop is Tain,
which my Bradshaw's tells me is
"a royal borough of considerable
antiquity."
"Weekly grain markets are held here
and there is a rich agricultural
district around the town;
Easter Ross being famous
for its large and early crop."
This region's farmers
enjoy an unusual microclimate,
thanks to high ground to the west,
which protects them from the worst
of the Scottish weather.
The arrival of the railway boosted their
competitive advantage even further.
But, surprisingly,
the Victorian railway builders
were just as reliant on agriculture
as the farmers were on the trains.
We come to Rhynie Farm
to meet Donald Ross.
- Hello!
- Hello, Michael.
Donald's family have farmed the land
here for five generations,
but they also have a link
with tracks that I've travelled
on my Scottish railway adventure.
Tell me about
your great-great-grandfather.
My great-great-grandfather
was a contractor
on the Inverness-to-Aviemore line.
He built the bridge
over the River Findhorn at Tomatin.
I went on that line very, very recently.
The Findhorn Viaduct is spectacular.
This gentleman here is
my great-great-grandfather.
That is the most wonderful photograph!
"Opening of the Aviemore line,
October 29, 1898."
And you have it in pride of place
in your hallway here,
so it must mean something
to your family.
It's been there
since the photo was taken,
so we are very proud of him, yes.
Building the Victorian railways
was a massive task,
requiring vast numbers of men
and huge quantities of materials.
And Donald's great-great-grandfather
came up with an ingenious way
to improve efficiency.
- What took him into farming?
- He needed to feed his animals.
Because he didn't have any lorries
or anything to work, he had horses.
His horses were very important to him,
as they caned all the spoil away
and to the embankments
on the railway line.
They needed to eat hay
and they needed to eat oats.
The farm was a form
of vertical integration,
to supply the animals with feed.
- Do you know when he bought the farm?
- The farm was bought in 1886.
Indeed we have an entry
in this diary here.
14th Of April,
"Bought property,
jointly with Balaldie."
"£12,500."
Amazing.
In Victorian times,
farming was changing fast,
as new machinery was invented.
Forward-thinking farmers
like Donald's great-great-grandfather
embraced this new technology.
This is a fine old piece of machinery!
What kind of date is this, Donald?
Michael, this is an 1894 Kemp reaper.
How was it powered?
It's pulled by two horses either side
of the main bar up the middle.
There's a knife which goes back
and forth, and the barley, or the crop,
falls onto the louvres at the back,
and when there's sufficient in it,
the man picked up his rake...
while he was sitting in that seat
and would shove it back.
Mechanised reapers like this
dramatically reduced the manpower
needed to harvest crops,
which could then be taken
to a threshing machine
to separate the grain from the stalks.
But a later invention was to streamline
the process even further.
And so, a combine harvester
is exactly that.
It's bringing two jobs together
that before were entirely separate.
That's correct, Michael.
It brings together the cutting
as well as the threshing.
Now, if you come over here,
this is what we use now.
Ah! Splendid vehicle.
Yeah, it's 18 years old,
but it serves our purposes very well.
It's up there with most of the big boys
in the modern technology stakes.
Invented in the United States
in the 19th century,
the combine harvester didn't become
widespread in Britain until the 1950s.
Thanks to machinery like this,
the work done by 30 men in
Donald's great-great-grandfather's time
is now done by just three.
I can see the teeth going backwards
and forwards at high speed.
- They're chopping down the barley.
- Cutting the barley.
Apart from anything else, you get
a wonderful view of your crop.
You must be able to tell a lot
just from driving over it like this.
You can. You can see...
When it's ripe, the heads are down.
This barley is destined
for the whisky trade.
As the vital ingredient
in Scotland's world-famous tipple,
it has to be top quality.
Have you any idea how many bottles
of whisky
we've harvested in the last few minutes?
Well, if I look behind me, we have
about a ton in the grain tank there
and I would be saying
that would hopefully produce
- about 400 litres of neat whisky.
- Wow!
So, in effect, we probably have
1,000 bottles of whisky behind us.
(laughs) That's quite a thought.
Let's keep going!
That would be a good night,
wouldn't it?
I'm sure George Bradshaw
would be astonished
by the technology
that allows one man to harvest so much.
I'm now rejoining the railway
to make one more trip before nightfall.
Last stop of the day, Regan,
which my Bradshaw's tells me is
"in the midst of a hilly district
abounding in traces of Danish camps."
Well, I fear there are no Danes left
to welcome me,
but I do intend to encamp here
for the night.
Tonight's stopover is
something out of the ordinary
and its kicking off
with a traditional Scottish welcome.
(bagpipe music)
- Hello!
- Hello, Michael. Welcome to Rogart.
- Who's the young piper?
- My son, Fraser.
Good lad.
Kale Roach
offers weary railway travellers
the chance to sleep by the tracks
in a converted railway carriage.
- Thank you.
- If you'd like to go in.
Ah!
You have a shower in the vestibule end.
- (Michael) Yes.
- Then your bedroom's through here.
(Michael) Oh, that is very homely!
(Kate) Then we have a sitting room.
Oh, that's great!
An old first-class compartment
in a corridor train
with a wonderful library
of railway books...
I'm sure my “Bradshaws Guide” and I
will feel perfectly at home here.
(sighs contentedly)
Perfect. After a day on the tracks,
I've become a railway sleeper.
A new day beckons, and there's just time
to rustle up some breakfast
before I hit the tracks.
Superb! My compliments to the chef.
I'm now venturing into ever more
sparsely populated territory.
Many of the stations on this tine
are so remote
that there are no scheduled stops.
Dunrobin Castle. It's a request stop.
Can you ask the driver to stop, please?
- It is. I'll tell the driver for you.
- Thank you very much.
It might seem surprising that such an
isolated region has a railway at all.
But its all thanks
to the energy and determination
of one very eminent
Victorian railway fan.
My Bradshaw's tells me that,
"The part of the line to Helmsdale
is called the Duke of Sutherlands Line,
having been made at his cost,"
which tells you quite a lot
about the mid-19th century.
I shall be getting off
at Dunrobin Castle,
where the station is a private one,
"for the use of Dunrobin Castle,
the Duke's seat;
a magnificent pile of buildings,
enlarged within last 20 years
at great expense
and finely placed
for land and sea views."
Perched above the Moray Firth,
Dunrobin Castle certainly lives up
to my guidebook's description.
It was rebuilt in the style
of a French chateau in the 1840s,
complete with fairy-tale spires
and elegant gardens.
But I'm here to explore
its unique station,
which helped to shape the history
of the Far North Line.
Still privately owned by the estate,
today ifs looked after by
rail enthusiast Daniel Brittain-Catlin.
Michael, welcome
to Dunrobin Castle Station.
(Michael) Thank you very much indeed.
Apparently, according to my Bradshaws,
the Duke of Sutherland
paid for this line.
(Daniel) He really saw the social value
of railways
and in opening up
the county of Sutherland.
And, of course, he was able to build
this line comparatively easily
because, being a duke,
he was a member of the House of Lords,
he was able to promote
his own Act of Parliament,
which was modestly called
the Duke of Sutherlands Railway Act.
He put that through the House of Lords,
paid for it himself
and he created his own railway line,
ending up as pan
of the national network.
The railway-mad Duke built 14 and a half
miles of track to link Dunrobin
with the coal mine
that he owned at Brora
and the fishing village of Helmsdale.
Owning the line
was just the start of his passion.
What kind of rolling stock
was he running on his railway line?
He ran trains for the public
when it opened,
but he had his own engine and two
carriages, and they were pretty plush.
One contained a sleeping car
and one was a day coach.
The Duke had the right
to run his private train
between Inverness and Wick.
In 1872, it carried Queen Victoria
when she visited the Sutherland estate.
They came up on the train,
they left from Inverness
and from Inverness onwards,
they were on the Sutherlands' own train.
The Duchess and Queen Victoria
were in the carriage,
but she did slightly wonder
where the Duke was.
But once they reached what was
then called Bonar Bridge Station,
is now called Ardgay Station, a slightly
sort of dirty man in overalls appeared,
shook hands rather too enthusiastically
with the Queen and, of course,
it turned out to be the Duke who'd
been driving his own railway engine
fired with his own coal
from his own coal mine.
How absolutely magnificent!
What did the Queen think of that,
do we know?
Well, it could be that this is one
of the very rare occasions
that Queen Victoria was amused.
The Queen spent ten days
enjoying a lavish reception
amid the splendour
of Dunrobin Castle
and the bed she slept in
still takes pride of place
in the opulent green and gold room.
The station, however, is altogether
on a more domestic scale.
This building doesn't seem
to have any Victorian feel to it.
It's 1902, so just the first year
of Edward VII.
It's the second building.
The first was a kind of Wild West
ranch-style building, amazingly.
This one is a classic piece of
English arts and crafts architecture,
plonked in the middle of Sutherland.
By the Kate 20th century,
this remarkable building
was suffering after years of neglect,
but since then,
it's been lovingly restored.
Until recently, there was just one room
which remained unloved,
but it turns out that We timed
my visit perfectly
for the unveiling
of this special project.
Michael, this is very much
our pride and joy at Dunrobin. It's...
You've got quite a queue of admirers!
It's our newly restored
Edwardian cloakroom.
The last piece of restoration
and it's only just been completed,
so I hope you will do us
the honour
of doing an official opening
of this loo.
I'm very, very, very touched.
- Here we are.
- Oh, thank you very much indeed.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure
this ought to be done by a celebrity,
but I'm here in lieu...
(all laugh)
I'd like to congratulate
those involved in this,
carpenter, tiler and everybody else,
and, erm...
Well, good luck to everyone
who may... sail in it, you know...
(all cheer)
(Daniel) And I hope
you'll be the first to try it!
(all laugh)
impressive as the facilities are,
it's time for me to bid goodbye
to the station and continue my journey
along the Duke of Sutherland's Line.
As I travel north, I'm passing
alongside the beautiful Moray Firth.
This stretch of water
is an important haven for wildlife,
including grey seals and their pups,
and there's no better way to enjoy it
than from my railway carnage.
This seascape is dreamy.
I'm passing by golden beaches,
entirely deserted.
I have this scenery
completely to myself.
Stunning as the coastline is,
to reach my next stop,
I must leave the sea behind
and tum inland.
Bradshaw's tells me that this line
passes over a moory district
by 12 or 13 stations,
including Kildonan, where I'll get off,
"where the Duke
has his reclamation farms
of 80 to 100 acres for small farmers."
But I understand that, in the 1860s,
the land brought forth something
even more valuable than oats or barley.
(announcement) We are now approaching
Kildonan. This is a request stop.
(Michael) 150 years ago, this remote
part of the Sutherland estate
was the setting for Scotland's
very own gold rush.
I'm meeting modern-day prospector
Lorna Smith
to hear the extraordinary tale.
- Hello!
- Hello! Michael.
- Pleased to meet you.
- Panning for gold?
Yes, aye, one or two little specks
just from the surface gravel.
The second half of the 19th century
witnessed a gold-hunting craze,
as, dazzled by the discoveries
made in 1840s California,
prospectors scoured the globe
for new places to get rich quick.
Before long, they turned their gaze
on Scotland.
It was a chap called Robert Gilchrist
who started the gold rush.
He was a local man
and he was interested in the gold.
He went to Australia
to try his hand there.
He met a few experienced miners
out there and learnt quite a lot.
He was beginning to feel homesick
after a few years,
so he thought he would just come home
and try his hand in Strath of Kildonan,
because he recognised similarities
between the rock structures
and gravels in Australia
to what he had left at home.
In 1868, Gilchrist struck it lucky
and the news of his success soon spread.
At that time, the Duke of Sutherlands
railway was yet to be built,
so prospectors faced a ISO-mile walk
from the nearest station.
But that did nothing to deter
the hopeful hordes.
(Lorna) The potato blight
had ruined the food for the winters.
People were beginning to be hungry.
Once they heard about
how Robert was doing on the river,
they reckoned they would like
to come and have a try too.
And how many people did come?
500 people came at the height
of the gold rush.
Extraordinary.
The Duke of Sutherland issued licences,
at a cost of a pound a month,
while the Crown took 10%
of all the prospectors found.
Although much of the gold
probably went undeclared,
it's thought the official haul totalled
around £850,000 in today's money.
But the heady days of the gold rush
were not to last long.
The Duke decided that there was too
much disruption to the salmon parr,
whose gills were being clogged
by the suspended gravel in the stream.
He was worried it would affect
the salmon fishing.
The winter was setting in and they had
rough wooden shelters on here.
When you're talking about
maybe 15 or 16 degrees of frost
in the middle of the winter,
it's not good. It's not good.
And so, that brought the gold rush
to an end?
The Duke decided
that for everybody's safety and comfort
that he should really end
the gold rush.
He did that by not issuing
any more licences
and not renewing licences
after they had been issued.
By the end of 1869,
the Kildonan gold rush was over.
These days, anyone can come and search
for gold on the estate,
but the only method
allowed is hand-panning.
It works oh the principle that gold
is the heaviest mineral in the river.
That's just a case of swirling it round,
so the heavy pieces get a chance to sink
right down to the bottom and the lighter
gravels and stones are on the top.
And then, gradually
wash off the lighter stuff?
It takes patience and hard work,
but retrieving even a tiny amount
is quite a thrill.
There's just a little sample
from the side of the burn,
but you can see there's gold there.
(Michael) I never thought I'd see this.
All the times I've seen in movies
people doing this, and, of course,
in the movies they never do find gold,
poor things, but there it is.
(Lorna) There it is.
Gold! We've found gold!
- Gold!
- (chuckles)
- ls that not what you do?
- No.
(both laugh)
Sadly, I don't have time to seek
my fortune,
as I'm rejoining the Far North Line
to complete my Scottish odyssey.
Finished in 1874, this final section
opened up some of the wildest reaches
of northern Scotland,
previously accessible
only to wealthy travellers.
I'm now on the very last segment
of my journey, taking me into Wick,
which my Bradshaw's describes as
"the present ultima Thule of railway
enterprise, the furthest extremity,"
and, as in Victorian days,
this is the end of the line.
In Bradshaw's day,
Wick was a busy herring port
and the new railway line
helped to transport the fish
to markets further south.
It also attracted
crowds of Victorian tourists,
disembarking to make
the short coach trip
to that most symbolic
of coastal villages, John o'Groats.
Bradshaw's says of John o'Groats,
"This famous locality lies at
the south side of the Pentland Firth
and gives one of the finest sights
in the North."
"The view, on a favourable day..."
Thank goodness, today is favourable,
"of land and water,
is very interesting."
"Orkney is seen to great advantage."
Since, a few years ago,
I stood at Land's End,
it's been my ambition
to come to this other
most far-flung pan of our kingdom.
Every year, tourists come to marvel
at the wild beauty of the setting,
amid the stunning cliffs
of Duncansby Head,
and thousands
of so-called end-to-enders
undertake the tong journey between
Britain's most distant inhabited spots.
I just couldn't resist.
As my lengthy trek up Scotland's
east coast draws to an end,
it strikes me that the railways
helped this nation
to share its blessings
with the rest of the world.
Victorian tracks have brought me to
the uppermost edge of mainland Britain.
From my seat on the train, I've gawped
in admiration at Scotland's grandeur.
The railways in the Highlands
brought not industrial revolution
so much as continuity,
enabling communities to survive
and traditional skills to flourish.
My Bradshaw's Guide has now
enabled me to appreciate Britain,
this great country, from toe to tip.
On my next journey,
HI be travelling from London to Devon,
along master engineer Isambard Kingdom
Brunel's Great Western Railway.
This is exciting. is this genuinely
a section of Brunel's pipe?
I'll visit a Victorian tourist
hot spot, ..
This is the granddaddy of all castles
and cathedrals and skyscrapers.
This is the beginning of architecture.
Explore a church that moves
in mysterious ways...
That's extraordinary, Rod.
It really is moving from side to side.
And work up a sweat
turning a grand old loco.
(groans) She's moving!
I can't believe it, she's moving.