Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 5, Episode 10 - Nottingham to Leeds - 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 go,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm aboard for a series of rail
adventures across the United Kingdom,
to see what of Bradshaw's Britain
remains.
All this week I've been travelling away
from the capital, and its urban bustle,
heading north on Robert Stephenson's
London-to-Birmingham line.
I'll explore the Victorian
manufacturing hub of the East Midlands
before terminating my journey
in the heart of Yorkshire.
On this final leg,
I travel from Nottingham,
once the lace-making capital oi
the country, and then onto Mansfield.
I visit Worksop, known as the Gateway
to the Dukeries, and onto Doncaster,
before exploring
the rich heritage of Leeds.
I'm now concluding my journey
towards Leeds.
From the end of the 18th century,
the North of England became crowded
with the chimneys
of the so-called dark satanic mills.
But this period also coincided
with a revival in the ans
as people tried to recall amongst
the grime of industrialisation
the natural beauties
of their green and pleasant land.
Today on my journey,
I see the grand designs
of a Victorian duke, “...
Derek, this building is huge.
(Derek) When it was built,
it was the largest in Europe,
with the exception of the Manege
next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
I discover a treasure trove
of locomotive history...
This I do not believe!
Every square inch of wall
is filled with railway memorabilia.
“And I break a leg
on the stage in Leeds.
Welcome to this Valhalla
of Victorian variety.
Bravo!
Bradshaw's tells me that a notable
native of Nottingham, my next stop,
was Henry Kirke While, born in 1785,
a butcher's son.
"He was chosen professor of literature
in the Literary Society by acclamation
when only 15 years old." I need to
discover the rhyme and reason of that.
Nottingham in the 1780s was a city
greatly divided between
the very wealthy and the extremely poor.
It was Kirke White's Nottingham
working-class background
that marked him out.
And as "Bradshaw's" says
so much about him, I want to know more.
I'm meeting Lynda Pratt,
from Nottingham University,
at Bromley House Library,
where there's a large collection
of his work.
- Linda, hello.
- Michael, nice to meet you.
Evidently, he was a child prodigy.
He was elected professor of literature
of the Literary Society
by acclamation at the age of 15.
This is just extraordinary.
He does seem to have been
immensely bright,
immensely ambitious.
He's a working-class boy.
He works his way up
into the local textile industry.
From there to a trainee lawyer.
The onset of deafness actually
prevented him pursuing a legal career.
Eventually, sent to Cambridge,
did extremely well,
won a university prize
in his first year.
And unfortunately,
he works himself to death.
- So, this was a very, very short life.
- He dies at the age of 21.
The strain of continuous study
proved fatal.
Dying so young
fuelled the Victorians' interest in him
and his posthumously published work
"The Remains“ became a bestseller.
It strikes a chord
because it tells a great story,
a story about an ambitious lad
who dies young.
He's evidently
a favourite son of Nottingham.
How did he and the city
relate to each other?
Ambivalently. He celebrates
a local beauty spot, Clifton Grove.
The poem he writes
about this beauty spot
is very critical of what he can see,
which is manufacturing,
industrialising Nottingham.
So offended were certain members
of the local population,
that when one of his near contemporaries
came to write a history of Nottingham
in 1815,
he suggested White should have been
horsewhipped through the streets
for his portrayal of the city.
Bradshaw's leads me to believe that
White was more than a poet.
Was White a social commentator?
Yes, there's evidence for this.
There's a letter he wrote
complaining about the conditions
that young girls worked
in the lace-making industry.
He says if you keep young girls hard
working and poor, they have no money,
so in order to earn more and improve
their lot, they'll turn to prostitution.
Social campaigning seems to have been
in his mind very much.
Today he's an important reminder
of the vitality
of English regional literary culture
during the 19th century.
Discovering the unexpected in
Nottingham could keep me occupied
for many more hours,
but the tracks are calling
and now I'm heading north
in my next destination.
"The picturesque tracts of woodland of
Sherwood Forest," says Bradshaw's,
"still bring back to mind the unsettled
times when Hugh Littlejohn,
and Friar Tuck hunted the king's venison
without licence."
Yes, I'm on the Robin Hood line.
Mansfield and the countryside around
may have once been home
to landed gentry and outlaws.
But by Bradshaw's day,
numerous coalfields supplied industry
making use
of a comprehensive rail network
that shifted workers and materials.
In the 1960s, Dr Richard Beeching,
chairman of British Railways,
axed many lines lo slash losses.
I'm meeting Tony Egginton, the town's
mayor, to find out what happened.
So, for some time
this Robin Hood line was closed.
Yes, for just over 30 years.
Closed in '64 as a result of the
Beeching Report and re-opened in '95.
(Michael)
Mansfield had no railway station?
No railway station at all.
We were cut off from the rail links.
(Michael) Who was it who arranged
to have it reopened?
(Tony) It was a group
of business people called Mansfield 2010
who worked together
with the county council
and the district council at the time,
lobbying central government, obviously,
lo try and turn over
the Beeching recommendation
and lo and behold, they won the fight.
It shows the resilience
of the people of Mansfield,
because having lost their station,
by the 1980s, they were also losing
their industrial heritage.
The coal mines were closing,
the brewery and the shoe factories
were in decline.
Reopening their station
was a massive achievement.
What would you say to those people
around the country
who have cherished lines
that they'd like to re-open?
(Tony) Just keep at it,
you must work hard.
You need everybody to get behind you
and of course, common sense
ultimately prevails.
You have brought back to life
a wonderful Victorian station.
Mansfield Station reopened in 1995
and thanks to an investment
of £36 million,
the whole Robin Hood line,
from Worksop to Nottingham,
was back in action by 1998,
reversing the Beeching closure.
Every year over a million people
use the line.
And I'm going to take advantage oi it
as I travel north again
to its terminus.
Bradshaw's tells me that
"Worksop is situated in the Dukery,
which comprises four ducal seats."
Welbeck Abbey belongs
to the Duke of Portland
and when I go there, Bradshaw's
advises me to look out
for the riding house and stable,
130 feet long.
That's surely a misprint for yards
because these grand estates
with their vast buildings were
a feature oi the Victorian landscape.
Amongst the ducal properties
in Sherwood Forest,
Welbeck Abbey
has one of the richest histories.
Still privately owned by
the descendants of the Duke of Portland,
the abbey is in a sculpted park.
The most eccentric episode oi its
history came in the mid-19th century,
when it was owned by the fifth duke.
I'm meeting curator, Derek Adlam,
to discover more about
this fascinating Victorian aristocrat.
Derek, this building
is handsome and huge.
I take it that this is
the riding house and stables
referred lo in my Bradshaw's?
(Derek) Absolutely right,
and when it was built,
it was largest in Europe,
with the exception of the Manege
next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
It looks as if
it's a traditional tiled building,
but those tiles conceal a glass-and-iron
vault like a London railway station.
(Michael) So who is responsible
for such magnificence on the estate?
(Derek) Well, this is the work
of the fifth Duke of Portland.
He inherited the estate
from his father in 1854,
came to live here round about 1860
and began the work you see all around.
There was nothing here
when he started work.
(Michael)
It must have taken a very long time.
No, 20 years.
In fact, even a little less.
He died in 1879
and work then came to a stop
because it was virtually complete.
The family's vast wealth
came from its agricultural assets,
allowing (he duke
lo think on a grand scale.
To all the opulent furnishings,
he added a subterranean tropical house
and 7.2 acres of kitchen garden,
growing exotic fruit
and vegetables to feed the estate.
What son of a man was this fifth duke?
Apparently he was an indolent,
not very interesting
or interested person.
He had no occupation.
It was as if a spring was released
when his father died,
and he moved here, began work
and turned out to be
the most astonishing organiser
and he was employing up to
a thousand people at a time.
- A sociable fellow?
- No, absolutely not.
When he grew older,
he became quite a recluse,
but a very unusual kind of recluse,
in that he refused to see
his social peers and equals,
but got on very well with his workmen
and was out and about
on the estate every day.
- I rather wish I had met him.
- I do too.
In the 1850s, a duke was expected
to have stables to match his status.
And this duke was a keen horseman.
No one really knows
why he was so reclusive,
but the psoriasis from which
he reputedly suffered
might have been a factor
and help to explain
why there are no photos of him
and why he took to the depths
to avoid being seen.
Well, that is an unexpected sight.
A tunnel.
(Derek) The fifth duke
was the great tunneller.
The burrowing duke.
On the estate, he built two and a half
miles of these underground drives.
This is one of the larger ones.
It's wide enough for two horse-drawn
carriages to pass side by side.
(Michael) So, what use did he make
of this extensive tunnel network?
(Derek) Well, it meant he could
move around on the estate unseen.
He would go underground while all the
life of the estate went on above him.
But I think it's more likely
that it's the other way round.
(Michael) Did he make use of railways?
(Derek) Yes, some of the tunnels
have railways.
And did our reclusive duke
have much use for public railways?
Yes, he would have made use of them
to go to London in particular.
His carriage would go with him in it,
with the curtains drawn,
to Worksop Station,
and his carriage would then be placed
on a kind of flatbed truck
and strapped into position
and he would then go in own carriage
down to London on the railway.
But he was a great enthusiast
for the railway.
And at the time of his death,
he was planning for a railway
to come all the way onto estate,
mainly for moving goods around.
The more I hear of this duke,
the more fascinating he becomes.
Yes, absolutely right.
For all his resourcefulness,
the duke never married.
When he died, his cherished estate
passed in his cousin.
And although the railway
was never built,
I think Bradshaw
would have approved of him.
As for me, after travelling
a good few miles,
I'm more than happy
to break my journey here.
I'm up early to catch the train north
from Worksop
on journey that should take me
about an hour.
Doncaster. Bradshaw's tells me that it
was Roman Danam, and Saxon Doncastre,
in the West Riding of Yorkshire
on the river Don,
and the North Midland Railway.
And indeed the words
Doncaster and railway
go together like love and marriage
because its people produced locomotives
that were as fast as they were elegant,
classics oi British design
at its zenith.
(announcer)
We're arriving into Doncaster.
Please change here for Leeds,
York, Newcastle...
(Michael) Today, Doncaster
is a city of regeneration,
following the demise of its coal mining
and heavy industries.
But in the late 19th century,
it was Railway City,
employing thousands of people
building and making
everything to do with trains.
If all lines pointed to London,
all things rail came out of Donny,
as the locals call it.
Doncaster's Nigel Gresley
is known today
as one oi the best locomotive designers
of the 20th century.
Following in the footsteps oi two oi
the most eminent railway engineers,
Patrick Stifling and Henry Ivatt,
famous for building locomotive
race horses,
Gresley pushed
the boundaries further.
Just alongside Gresley's old office,
I'm meeting railway historian,
Graham Bayes.
Which are the locomotives
that we most remember him for?
I think there are two.
The Flying Scotsman and Mallard.
(Michael)
Tell me about the Flying Scotsman.
(Graham) It was much bigger than
anything that had been built here.
It was the first of his
Pacific 4-6-2 locomotives.
It was in a lovely apple-green colour,
which was the Great Northern Railway's
livery for express locomotives.
Then he soon showed
it could go faster than anything else
that had been on this line before.
Certainly speeds of over 100mph.
What's Mallard's place in history?
(Graham) Well, Mallard, it's a classic.
It's streamlined, of course,
which helped it gain maximum speed
and indeed it holds the world speed
record of 126mph for steam locomotive.
(Michael) Given the extraordinary
series of chief engineers
that there were at Doncaster,
the enduring fame of Sir Nigel Gresley,
the fame of the Flying Scotsman
and the Mallard,
is it not strange that most people
might associate York
more than Doncaster with the railways?
I don't think so, really.
York has become associated
with the locomotives
since the National Railway Museum
opened,
but Doncaster was always
the more important place
throughout railway history
as one of the locomotive design
and building places in the world.
They don't design locomotives
in Doncaster any more,
but its signalling centre is one of
the largest on the UK network
and it has one railway workshop,
overhauling and repairing
rolling stock.
Graham wants to show me something
of Doncaster's illustrious history
in what I can only describe
as an Aladdin's cave of locomotives.
This I do not believe.
Every square inch of wall
is filled with railway memorabilia.
Graham, this is absolutely astonishing.
What is the origin of all of this?
(Graham) It was the collection
of the Doncaster Grammar School
Railway Society.
Of the 600 boys in the school,
about 100 were members of the society,
many of whom, their fathers
would work on the railways,
and some of them themselves, like me,
went on to work for the railways.
I came to the school in 1949,
11 years old.
And that was the year in which
the first of these objects arrived.
(Michael) So, here we've got
a locomotive plate. Doncaster.
It's the same class
as the Flying Scotsman.
(Michael) Just amazing.
(Graham) And then here we have
two more locomotive nameplates
that arrived while I was at the school.
They're two of the three locomotives
that were in the Harrow and Wealdstone
disaster of 1952.
They were so badly damaged,
they were scrapped.
That's really very moving, isn't it?
When you think about the wreckage
and the number of people
who lost their lives that day.
Yes.
And here are plates
of two of the locomotives
from Britain's worst-ever
peacetime disaster
Yes, indeed.
Doncaster's railway history
had broader consequences.
Rail workers also shaped
our political development.
At the end of the Victorian era,
Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes
began to fight for workers' rights.
I'm making my way to
Sir Nigel Gresley Square
to meet a former political adversary,
Labour MP, Rosie Winterton.
So, why is it that the Labour Party
particularly celebrates the memory
of two railway men from Doncaster?
Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes
campaigned within Parliament to ensure
that working people
had proper representations
and their views and concerns
were expressed there.
Why did working men not feel
that the Conservatives or the Liberals
could represent their interests
perfectly well?
Quite honestly,
because they didn't represent them.
And the working people felt that they
wanted to see people in Parliament
who would take up their concerns,
for example around issues
like health and safety.
They worked in dangerous industries
and wanted to have
that representation there
so people understood and laws
could be passed to protect them.
How does that lead to the Labour Party?
Well, by 1906, they had endorsed
50 candidates in the general election.
Twenty-nine of them were elected,
and after the election,
the Parliamentary Labour Party
was set up
to ensure that the Labour voice could be
heard and organised in Parliament.
- Doncaster made history.
- Exactly.
After discovering
such rich railway history in Doncaster,
I'm excited to be heading
to my last stop, Leeds.
But maybe this isn't
going to be my last stop.
(Michael) Are we on the wrong train?
Where's this train for?
(man) Newcastle train.
I think that's what you call
human error.
But after a quick change at York,
I'm now back on track.
(tannoy) The next stop will be Leeds.
(Michael)
In the 17th and 18th centuries,
Leeds became a major centre
for producing and trading wool.
During the Industrial Revolution,
engineering, iron foundries
and printing became important
and Leeds fast developed
into a rich city
with a large working population.
It's evident from Bradshaw's
that mid-19th-century Leeds
enjoyed every modern facility.
"Public Baths, a Society tor
the encouragement of the Fine Arts,
a Music Hall, a Mechanics' Institute...
and a General Infirmary."
As they say,
the spice of life is variety.
Travelling performers
broadened their horizons
with the advent of the railways.
Many great names passed through
the City Varieties' dressing rooms
to make their debut at Britain's oldest
continuously working music hall.
In its 148-year history,
it's accumulated a wealth of tales.
I'm meeting the music hall's
Rachel Lythe, who knows its history.
- Rachel.
Have I come to the mother's womb of
music hall, the temple of titillation,
- the Venus and Venice of variety?
- Absolutely.
What is the difference
between theatre and music hall?
The main difference, I think,
is partly to do with the licensing.
The theatres were licensed to do drama,
whereas the music halls were licensed
lo do music, singing, dancing,
drinking, eating, smoking;
it was a noisy venue.
My Bradshaw's, which is mid-1860s
says that Leeds had a music hall.
So, when did it all begin?
Actually, much earlier.
It dates back to the mid-1700s.
There were music halls
on every street corner.
It all started with singing rooms
in pubs, inns and taverns.
This building has links back to 1762,
the Swan Inn, next door.
They then created a singing room in '66,
and then in 1865, this glorious
Varieties Music Hall was opened.
It's absolutely glorious,
but it looks very genteel to me.
Look at all these stalls.
Did the hoi polloi sit in such stalls?
(Rachel) When we first opened,
it was completely different.
These seats wouldn't have been there.
Tables, chairs, benches.
You'd have a bar in here as well.
You could easily eat,
drink and socialise.
But it would have been
a very noisy, rowdy experience.
(Michael)
What was going on on the stage?
(Rachel) Everything from high-wire acts
to animal acts, as well.
You'd have singing, dancing.
(Michael)
Any big names in the early days?
One of the ones in the early days
was Lillie Langtry,
the famous Jersey Belle.
She would have sung
and performed on this stage.
There's a lovely story about Lillie.
It's rumoured that Edward VII
used to have an affection for her,
so it's rumoured that he used to come
grouse shooting to the Yorkshire moors
and then sneak in here
when no one was looking,
and he'd sit in box D over here.
He'd close the curtains so that he could
watch her performance on stage.
It's rumoured that the crest up here
was donated to us once he became king
- as a thank you for our discretion.
- (Laughs) That's marvellous.
We also had the famous Harry Houdini.
That was 1902.
He was paid £130 to perform
on this stage.
It's about the equivalent
of £7,500 today.
You're holding out on me.
What was the naughtiest thing
that happened on the stage?
This was later years,
more the '40s and '50s.
We had the stripteases
and the nude shows.
But interestingly, because
of the licensing, they couldn't move.
They had to do still poses,
like a classical pose.
Groups of boys used to come,
get front-row seals
and they'd bring along pea shooters.
They'd try and make the nudes move.
They'd sit in the boxes
and a whole group would get together
and blow at once to try and make
the feathers part to reveal more.
By the 1950s, television and cinema
had taken their toll on the music hall,
and audiences fell away.
However, television was also
the making of this theatre,
thanks to the TV extravaganza
“The Good Old Days“.
Since 198%, Johnny Dennis has been
the chairman who introduces every show.
Johnny, when did The Good Old Days
begin on television?
1953. It was Barney Colehan's, who was
a staff producer at the BBC, idea
to run a pilot show from this theatre
and he got together a cast of artists
from the Players' Theatre in London.
Leonard Sachs was the chairman,
and it ran for 30 years.
It became the most popular programme
at that time on the BBC.
What was the origin of the over-the-top
alliterative introductions of the acts?
That was Leonard Sach's idea.
He was an actor, he loved to be grand,
he invented
this very extravagant language,
not strictly the period of the musical
chairmen of the Victorian age,
but he was world famous for it.
Give me some examples
of your line, flowing introductions.
My lords, ladies and gentlemen,
all the artists have been brought to you
at enormous expense.
And then you say,
"And welcome to this magnificent mélange
of musicality, magic and mirth."
Let me see if I can try that.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality,
- this Valhalla of variety...
- Very good.
This emporium of entertainment.
Very good. It could use
a little improvement, actually.
Imagine that you were
a Victorian actor of the day,
so you have to gain their attention
by making dramatic gestures
like, "Welcome!"
Use your hands like this,
with the gavel in your hand.
And then you can...
And then dominate the audience.
Try that with the gavel.
- That's Leonard Sach's gavel.
- Would you mind holding my Bradshaw's?
I would be honoured to hold Mr Bradshaw.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality,
this emporium of entertainment,
- to this Valhalla of Victorian Variety!
- (audience cheers)
Bravo!
- It was the gavel that did it.
- It's a gavel always that does it.
So, the show that you perform today,
would it be recognisable
to Mr George Bradshaw?
I would like to think so.
I'm a great admirer of Mr Bradshaw
and I'm sure he would have been
a great admirer of the music hall.
The names oi great locomotives
are etched in British history.
Railwaymen switched the points
on British politics
taking them in new directions.
Famous names have graced the playbills
in this music hall, too.
As I complete my journey
from London to Leeds,
Bradshaw's has opened up England
with all its rich variety.
Journey over.
The final curtain.
(audience cheers)
On my next adventure, Hearn
to set table aboard an ocean liner...
You're faster than me.
I visit a suspected
Solent smuggler's hideaway...
Whoa! What a view!
“And I discover the tactics employed
by the Victorian Temperance Movement.
All of a sudden, a group of uniformed
invaders come along shouting,
"You're going to hell!"
"You will not be saved if you
carry on drinking this foul liquid."
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 go,
what to see and where to stay.
Now, 170 years later,
I'm aboard for a series of rail
adventures across the United Kingdom,
to see what of Bradshaw's Britain
remains.
All this week I've been travelling away
from the capital, and its urban bustle,
heading north on Robert Stephenson's
London-to-Birmingham line.
I'll explore the Victorian
manufacturing hub of the East Midlands
before terminating my journey
in the heart of Yorkshire.
On this final leg,
I travel from Nottingham,
once the lace-making capital oi
the country, and then onto Mansfield.
I visit Worksop, known as the Gateway
to the Dukeries, and onto Doncaster,
before exploring
the rich heritage of Leeds.
I'm now concluding my journey
towards Leeds.
From the end of the 18th century,
the North of England became crowded
with the chimneys
of the so-called dark satanic mills.
But this period also coincided
with a revival in the ans
as people tried to recall amongst
the grime of industrialisation
the natural beauties
of their green and pleasant land.
Today on my journey,
I see the grand designs
of a Victorian duke, “...
Derek, this building is huge.
(Derek) When it was built,
it was the largest in Europe,
with the exception of the Manege
next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
I discover a treasure trove
of locomotive history...
This I do not believe!
Every square inch of wall
is filled with railway memorabilia.
“And I break a leg
on the stage in Leeds.
Welcome to this Valhalla
of Victorian variety.
Bravo!
Bradshaw's tells me that a notable
native of Nottingham, my next stop,
was Henry Kirke While, born in 1785,
a butcher's son.
"He was chosen professor of literature
in the Literary Society by acclamation
when only 15 years old." I need to
discover the rhyme and reason of that.
Nottingham in the 1780s was a city
greatly divided between
the very wealthy and the extremely poor.
It was Kirke White's Nottingham
working-class background
that marked him out.
And as "Bradshaw's" says
so much about him, I want to know more.
I'm meeting Lynda Pratt,
from Nottingham University,
at Bromley House Library,
where there's a large collection
of his work.
- Linda, hello.
- Michael, nice to meet you.
Evidently, he was a child prodigy.
He was elected professor of literature
of the Literary Society
by acclamation at the age of 15.
This is just extraordinary.
He does seem to have been
immensely bright,
immensely ambitious.
He's a working-class boy.
He works his way up
into the local textile industry.
From there to a trainee lawyer.
The onset of deafness actually
prevented him pursuing a legal career.
Eventually, sent to Cambridge,
did extremely well,
won a university prize
in his first year.
And unfortunately,
he works himself to death.
- So, this was a very, very short life.
- He dies at the age of 21.
The strain of continuous study
proved fatal.
Dying so young
fuelled the Victorians' interest in him
and his posthumously published work
"The Remains“ became a bestseller.
It strikes a chord
because it tells a great story,
a story about an ambitious lad
who dies young.
He's evidently
a favourite son of Nottingham.
How did he and the city
relate to each other?
Ambivalently. He celebrates
a local beauty spot, Clifton Grove.
The poem he writes
about this beauty spot
is very critical of what he can see,
which is manufacturing,
industrialising Nottingham.
So offended were certain members
of the local population,
that when one of his near contemporaries
came to write a history of Nottingham
in 1815,
he suggested White should have been
horsewhipped through the streets
for his portrayal of the city.
Bradshaw's leads me to believe that
White was more than a poet.
Was White a social commentator?
Yes, there's evidence for this.
There's a letter he wrote
complaining about the conditions
that young girls worked
in the lace-making industry.
He says if you keep young girls hard
working and poor, they have no money,
so in order to earn more and improve
their lot, they'll turn to prostitution.
Social campaigning seems to have been
in his mind very much.
Today he's an important reminder
of the vitality
of English regional literary culture
during the 19th century.
Discovering the unexpected in
Nottingham could keep me occupied
for many more hours,
but the tracks are calling
and now I'm heading north
in my next destination.
"The picturesque tracts of woodland of
Sherwood Forest," says Bradshaw's,
"still bring back to mind the unsettled
times when Hugh Littlejohn,
and Friar Tuck hunted the king's venison
without licence."
Yes, I'm on the Robin Hood line.
Mansfield and the countryside around
may have once been home
to landed gentry and outlaws.
But by Bradshaw's day,
numerous coalfields supplied industry
making use
of a comprehensive rail network
that shifted workers and materials.
In the 1960s, Dr Richard Beeching,
chairman of British Railways,
axed many lines lo slash losses.
I'm meeting Tony Egginton, the town's
mayor, to find out what happened.
So, for some time
this Robin Hood line was closed.
Yes, for just over 30 years.
Closed in '64 as a result of the
Beeching Report and re-opened in '95.
(Michael)
Mansfield had no railway station?
No railway station at all.
We were cut off from the rail links.
(Michael) Who was it who arranged
to have it reopened?
(Tony) It was a group
of business people called Mansfield 2010
who worked together
with the county council
and the district council at the time,
lobbying central government, obviously,
lo try and turn over
the Beeching recommendation
and lo and behold, they won the fight.
It shows the resilience
of the people of Mansfield,
because having lost their station,
by the 1980s, they were also losing
their industrial heritage.
The coal mines were closing,
the brewery and the shoe factories
were in decline.
Reopening their station
was a massive achievement.
What would you say to those people
around the country
who have cherished lines
that they'd like to re-open?
(Tony) Just keep at it,
you must work hard.
You need everybody to get behind you
and of course, common sense
ultimately prevails.
You have brought back to life
a wonderful Victorian station.
Mansfield Station reopened in 1995
and thanks to an investment
of £36 million,
the whole Robin Hood line,
from Worksop to Nottingham,
was back in action by 1998,
reversing the Beeching closure.
Every year over a million people
use the line.
And I'm going to take advantage oi it
as I travel north again
to its terminus.
Bradshaw's tells me that
"Worksop is situated in the Dukery,
which comprises four ducal seats."
Welbeck Abbey belongs
to the Duke of Portland
and when I go there, Bradshaw's
advises me to look out
for the riding house and stable,
130 feet long.
That's surely a misprint for yards
because these grand estates
with their vast buildings were
a feature oi the Victorian landscape.
Amongst the ducal properties
in Sherwood Forest,
Welbeck Abbey
has one of the richest histories.
Still privately owned by
the descendants of the Duke of Portland,
the abbey is in a sculpted park.
The most eccentric episode oi its
history came in the mid-19th century,
when it was owned by the fifth duke.
I'm meeting curator, Derek Adlam,
to discover more about
this fascinating Victorian aristocrat.
Derek, this building
is handsome and huge.
I take it that this is
the riding house and stables
referred lo in my Bradshaw's?
(Derek) Absolutely right,
and when it was built,
it was largest in Europe,
with the exception of the Manege
next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
It looks as if
it's a traditional tiled building,
but those tiles conceal a glass-and-iron
vault like a London railway station.
(Michael) So who is responsible
for such magnificence on the estate?
(Derek) Well, this is the work
of the fifth Duke of Portland.
He inherited the estate
from his father in 1854,
came to live here round about 1860
and began the work you see all around.
There was nothing here
when he started work.
(Michael)
It must have taken a very long time.
No, 20 years.
In fact, even a little less.
He died in 1879
and work then came to a stop
because it was virtually complete.
The family's vast wealth
came from its agricultural assets,
allowing (he duke
lo think on a grand scale.
To all the opulent furnishings,
he added a subterranean tropical house
and 7.2 acres of kitchen garden,
growing exotic fruit
and vegetables to feed the estate.
What son of a man was this fifth duke?
Apparently he was an indolent,
not very interesting
or interested person.
He had no occupation.
It was as if a spring was released
when his father died,
and he moved here, began work
and turned out to be
the most astonishing organiser
and he was employing up to
a thousand people at a time.
- A sociable fellow?
- No, absolutely not.
When he grew older,
he became quite a recluse,
but a very unusual kind of recluse,
in that he refused to see
his social peers and equals,
but got on very well with his workmen
and was out and about
on the estate every day.
- I rather wish I had met him.
- I do too.
In the 1850s, a duke was expected
to have stables to match his status.
And this duke was a keen horseman.
No one really knows
why he was so reclusive,
but the psoriasis from which
he reputedly suffered
might have been a factor
and help to explain
why there are no photos of him
and why he took to the depths
to avoid being seen.
Well, that is an unexpected sight.
A tunnel.
(Derek) The fifth duke
was the great tunneller.
The burrowing duke.
On the estate, he built two and a half
miles of these underground drives.
This is one of the larger ones.
It's wide enough for two horse-drawn
carriages to pass side by side.
(Michael) So, what use did he make
of this extensive tunnel network?
(Derek) Well, it meant he could
move around on the estate unseen.
He would go underground while all the
life of the estate went on above him.
But I think it's more likely
that it's the other way round.
(Michael) Did he make use of railways?
(Derek) Yes, some of the tunnels
have railways.
And did our reclusive duke
have much use for public railways?
Yes, he would have made use of them
to go to London in particular.
His carriage would go with him in it,
with the curtains drawn,
to Worksop Station,
and his carriage would then be placed
on a kind of flatbed truck
and strapped into position
and he would then go in own carriage
down to London on the railway.
But he was a great enthusiast
for the railway.
And at the time of his death,
he was planning for a railway
to come all the way onto estate,
mainly for moving goods around.
The more I hear of this duke,
the more fascinating he becomes.
Yes, absolutely right.
For all his resourcefulness,
the duke never married.
When he died, his cherished estate
passed in his cousin.
And although the railway
was never built,
I think Bradshaw
would have approved of him.
As for me, after travelling
a good few miles,
I'm more than happy
to break my journey here.
I'm up early to catch the train north
from Worksop
on journey that should take me
about an hour.
Doncaster. Bradshaw's tells me that it
was Roman Danam, and Saxon Doncastre,
in the West Riding of Yorkshire
on the river Don,
and the North Midland Railway.
And indeed the words
Doncaster and railway
go together like love and marriage
because its people produced locomotives
that were as fast as they were elegant,
classics oi British design
at its zenith.
(announcer)
We're arriving into Doncaster.
Please change here for Leeds,
York, Newcastle...
(Michael) Today, Doncaster
is a city of regeneration,
following the demise of its coal mining
and heavy industries.
But in the late 19th century,
it was Railway City,
employing thousands of people
building and making
everything to do with trains.
If all lines pointed to London,
all things rail came out of Donny,
as the locals call it.
Doncaster's Nigel Gresley
is known today
as one oi the best locomotive designers
of the 20th century.
Following in the footsteps oi two oi
the most eminent railway engineers,
Patrick Stifling and Henry Ivatt,
famous for building locomotive
race horses,
Gresley pushed
the boundaries further.
Just alongside Gresley's old office,
I'm meeting railway historian,
Graham Bayes.
Which are the locomotives
that we most remember him for?
I think there are two.
The Flying Scotsman and Mallard.
(Michael)
Tell me about the Flying Scotsman.
(Graham) It was much bigger than
anything that had been built here.
It was the first of his
Pacific 4-6-2 locomotives.
It was in a lovely apple-green colour,
which was the Great Northern Railway's
livery for express locomotives.
Then he soon showed
it could go faster than anything else
that had been on this line before.
Certainly speeds of over 100mph.
What's Mallard's place in history?
(Graham) Well, Mallard, it's a classic.
It's streamlined, of course,
which helped it gain maximum speed
and indeed it holds the world speed
record of 126mph for steam locomotive.
(Michael) Given the extraordinary
series of chief engineers
that there were at Doncaster,
the enduring fame of Sir Nigel Gresley,
the fame of the Flying Scotsman
and the Mallard,
is it not strange that most people
might associate York
more than Doncaster with the railways?
I don't think so, really.
York has become associated
with the locomotives
since the National Railway Museum
opened,
but Doncaster was always
the more important place
throughout railway history
as one of the locomotive design
and building places in the world.
They don't design locomotives
in Doncaster any more,
but its signalling centre is one of
the largest on the UK network
and it has one railway workshop,
overhauling and repairing
rolling stock.
Graham wants to show me something
of Doncaster's illustrious history
in what I can only describe
as an Aladdin's cave of locomotives.
This I do not believe.
Every square inch of wall
is filled with railway memorabilia.
Graham, this is absolutely astonishing.
What is the origin of all of this?
(Graham) It was the collection
of the Doncaster Grammar School
Railway Society.
Of the 600 boys in the school,
about 100 were members of the society,
many of whom, their fathers
would work on the railways,
and some of them themselves, like me,
went on to work for the railways.
I came to the school in 1949,
11 years old.
And that was the year in which
the first of these objects arrived.
(Michael) So, here we've got
a locomotive plate. Doncaster.
It's the same class
as the Flying Scotsman.
(Michael) Just amazing.
(Graham) And then here we have
two more locomotive nameplates
that arrived while I was at the school.
They're two of the three locomotives
that were in the Harrow and Wealdstone
disaster of 1952.
They were so badly damaged,
they were scrapped.
That's really very moving, isn't it?
When you think about the wreckage
and the number of people
who lost their lives that day.
Yes.
And here are plates
of two of the locomotives
from Britain's worst-ever
peacetime disaster
Yes, indeed.
Doncaster's railway history
had broader consequences.
Rail workers also shaped
our political development.
At the end of the Victorian era,
Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes
began to fight for workers' rights.
I'm making my way to
Sir Nigel Gresley Square
to meet a former political adversary,
Labour MP, Rosie Winterton.
So, why is it that the Labour Party
particularly celebrates the memory
of two railway men from Doncaster?
Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes
campaigned within Parliament to ensure
that working people
had proper representations
and their views and concerns
were expressed there.
Why did working men not feel
that the Conservatives or the Liberals
could represent their interests
perfectly well?
Quite honestly,
because they didn't represent them.
And the working people felt that they
wanted to see people in Parliament
who would take up their concerns,
for example around issues
like health and safety.
They worked in dangerous industries
and wanted to have
that representation there
so people understood and laws
could be passed to protect them.
How does that lead to the Labour Party?
Well, by 1906, they had endorsed
50 candidates in the general election.
Twenty-nine of them were elected,
and after the election,
the Parliamentary Labour Party
was set up
to ensure that the Labour voice could be
heard and organised in Parliament.
- Doncaster made history.
- Exactly.
After discovering
such rich railway history in Doncaster,
I'm excited to be heading
to my last stop, Leeds.
But maybe this isn't
going to be my last stop.
(Michael) Are we on the wrong train?
Where's this train for?
(man) Newcastle train.
I think that's what you call
human error.
But after a quick change at York,
I'm now back on track.
(tannoy) The next stop will be Leeds.
(Michael)
In the 17th and 18th centuries,
Leeds became a major centre
for producing and trading wool.
During the Industrial Revolution,
engineering, iron foundries
and printing became important
and Leeds fast developed
into a rich city
with a large working population.
It's evident from Bradshaw's
that mid-19th-century Leeds
enjoyed every modern facility.
"Public Baths, a Society tor
the encouragement of the Fine Arts,
a Music Hall, a Mechanics' Institute...
and a General Infirmary."
As they say,
the spice of life is variety.
Travelling performers
broadened their horizons
with the advent of the railways.
Many great names passed through
the City Varieties' dressing rooms
to make their debut at Britain's oldest
continuously working music hall.
In its 148-year history,
it's accumulated a wealth of tales.
I'm meeting the music hall's
Rachel Lythe, who knows its history.
- Rachel.
Have I come to the mother's womb of
music hall, the temple of titillation,
- the Venus and Venice of variety?
- Absolutely.
What is the difference
between theatre and music hall?
The main difference, I think,
is partly to do with the licensing.
The theatres were licensed to do drama,
whereas the music halls were licensed
lo do music, singing, dancing,
drinking, eating, smoking;
it was a noisy venue.
My Bradshaw's, which is mid-1860s
says that Leeds had a music hall.
So, when did it all begin?
Actually, much earlier.
It dates back to the mid-1700s.
There were music halls
on every street corner.
It all started with singing rooms
in pubs, inns and taverns.
This building has links back to 1762,
the Swan Inn, next door.
They then created a singing room in '66,
and then in 1865, this glorious
Varieties Music Hall was opened.
It's absolutely glorious,
but it looks very genteel to me.
Look at all these stalls.
Did the hoi polloi sit in such stalls?
(Rachel) When we first opened,
it was completely different.
These seats wouldn't have been there.
Tables, chairs, benches.
You'd have a bar in here as well.
You could easily eat,
drink and socialise.
But it would have been
a very noisy, rowdy experience.
(Michael)
What was going on on the stage?
(Rachel) Everything from high-wire acts
to animal acts, as well.
You'd have singing, dancing.
(Michael)
Any big names in the early days?
One of the ones in the early days
was Lillie Langtry,
the famous Jersey Belle.
She would have sung
and performed on this stage.
There's a lovely story about Lillie.
It's rumoured that Edward VII
used to have an affection for her,
so it's rumoured that he used to come
grouse shooting to the Yorkshire moors
and then sneak in here
when no one was looking,
and he'd sit in box D over here.
He'd close the curtains so that he could
watch her performance on stage.
It's rumoured that the crest up here
was donated to us once he became king
- as a thank you for our discretion.
- (Laughs) That's marvellous.
We also had the famous Harry Houdini.
That was 1902.
He was paid £130 to perform
on this stage.
It's about the equivalent
of £7,500 today.
You're holding out on me.
What was the naughtiest thing
that happened on the stage?
This was later years,
more the '40s and '50s.
We had the stripteases
and the nude shows.
But interestingly, because
of the licensing, they couldn't move.
They had to do still poses,
like a classical pose.
Groups of boys used to come,
get front-row seals
and they'd bring along pea shooters.
They'd try and make the nudes move.
They'd sit in the boxes
and a whole group would get together
and blow at once to try and make
the feathers part to reveal more.
By the 1950s, television and cinema
had taken their toll on the music hall,
and audiences fell away.
However, television was also
the making of this theatre,
thanks to the TV extravaganza
“The Good Old Days“.
Since 198%, Johnny Dennis has been
the chairman who introduces every show.
Johnny, when did The Good Old Days
begin on television?
1953. It was Barney Colehan's, who was
a staff producer at the BBC, idea
to run a pilot show from this theatre
and he got together a cast of artists
from the Players' Theatre in London.
Leonard Sachs was the chairman,
and it ran for 30 years.
It became the most popular programme
at that time on the BBC.
What was the origin of the over-the-top
alliterative introductions of the acts?
That was Leonard Sach's idea.
He was an actor, he loved to be grand,
he invented
this very extravagant language,
not strictly the period of the musical
chairmen of the Victorian age,
but he was world famous for it.
Give me some examples
of your line, flowing introductions.
My lords, ladies and gentlemen,
all the artists have been brought to you
at enormous expense.
And then you say,
"And welcome to this magnificent mélange
of musicality, magic and mirth."
Let me see if I can try that.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality,
- this Valhalla of variety...
- Very good.
This emporium of entertainment.
Very good. It could use
a little improvement, actually.
Imagine that you were
a Victorian actor of the day,
so you have to gain their attention
by making dramatic gestures
like, "Welcome!"
Use your hands like this,
with the gavel in your hand.
And then you can...
And then dominate the audience.
Try that with the gavel.
- That's Leonard Sach's gavel.
- Would you mind holding my Bradshaw's?
I would be honoured to hold Mr Bradshaw.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality,
this emporium of entertainment,
- to this Valhalla of Victorian Variety!
- (audience cheers)
Bravo!
- It was the gavel that did it.
- It's a gavel always that does it.
So, the show that you perform today,
would it be recognisable
to Mr George Bradshaw?
I would like to think so.
I'm a great admirer of Mr Bradshaw
and I'm sure he would have been
a great admirer of the music hall.
The names oi great locomotives
are etched in British history.
Railwaymen switched the points
on British politics
taking them in new directions.
Famous names have graced the playbills
in this music hall, too.
As I complete my journey
from London to Leeds,
Bradshaw's has opened up England
with all its rich variety.
Journey over.
The final curtain.
(audience cheers)
On my next adventure, Hearn
to set table aboard an ocean liner...
You're faster than me.
I visit a suspected
Solent smuggler's hideaway...
Whoa! What a view!
“And I discover the tactics employed
by the Victorian Temperance Movement.
All of a sudden, a group of uniformed
invaders come along shouting,
"You're going to hell!"
"You will not be saved if you
carry on drinking this foul liquid."