Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 5, Episode 12 - Winchfield to Crowthorne - 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.
And 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.
I'm continuing my journey from the
Hampshire coast to the West Midlands,
using mainly branch lines.
But, thanks to the railways,
the towns along my route
could play their part at
the heart of the British Empire.
There's a distinctly military feel
to this part of my beat.
On this stretch, I encounter
the Duke of Wellington's
impressive funeral can...
It is the most colossal thing,
isn't it? Absolutely enormous.
I get my marching orders
from the army...
Get those knees up, Portillo!
Get those knees up nice and high!
(sighs)
“and I learn oi the surprisingly
enlightened 19th-century attitude
towards the criminally insane.
What the Victorians did
was they established
that people with mental illness
who committed crime
needed healthcare.
They needed a hospital, not a prison.
My journey started on the south coast,
heads through Hampshire,
Northwest to Newbury,
takes in an engineering triumph
in Bristol
and ends in the West Midlands.
Today's leg begins at Winchfield
in Hampshire,
takes a short hop to Farnborough
and crosses into Berkshire
to finish at Crowthorne.
My first stop will be Winchfield.
Bradshaw's tells me that "the line
passes beneath Odiham Bridge,
which leads to the seat of the late
and present Duke of Wellington,
Stratfield Saye, situated about
six miles off to the right...
The victor of Waterloo
and an estate owner to boot.
The station at Winchfield
opened in 1838.
Firmly established on
London's commuter belt,
in Bradshaw's day it was renowned
for its proximity to Stratfield Saye,
home to the Nth-century's
most famous British soldier;
the Duke of Wellington.
This beautiful estate of Stratfield Saye
was gifted to the Duke of Wellington
by a grateful nation after
his victory at the Battle of Waterloo.
The only precedent was the land that
was given to the Duke of Marlborough
after his victory at
the Battle of Blenheim.
But whereas Marlborough built an
enormous Blenheim Palace on his estate,
Stratfield Saye remains a delightfully
understated country house.
Although avoiding ostentation,
Wellington did like his modern
conveniences at Stratfield Saye,
where flushing lavatories and central
heating were installed in the house,
which dates from 1630.
To learn more, I'm meeting Lord Douro,
the current occupant and aides! son
of the present Duke.
The Duke of Wellington
was fortunate to live 37 years
after the Battle of Waterloo.
Did he enjoy Stratfield Saye?
I think very much,
but I think also his wife and children
very much enjoyed living here,
so he was very, very content and all
his life considered this as his home.
He was unlucky enough, in a way,
to become Prime Minister.
Did that interrupt his enjoyment of
Stratfield Saye?
I think it must have
to a certain extent.
You can't not be Prime Minister
and find yourself extremely occupied,
so he would have had less time
to come here.
Born Arthur Wellesley in Dublin
to Anglo-Irish aristocrats in 1769,
the future duke rose quickly
through the officer ranks,
led British forces to victory
in India at Assaye in 1803,
and then,
as shown in this filmed Re-enactment,
defeated Napoléon Bonaparte
at Waterloo.
The Duke's popularity
rivalled Queen Victoria's
and I wonder how they got on.
Tell me about his relationship
with the young Queen Victoria.
He was godfather to one of her children,
she was godmother
to one of his granddaughters,
so I think it was
a very close relationship
and when she came to stay here
she writes charmingly about
the experience of staying with the Duke.
Although Winchfield
had its own station,
Wellington wasn't a fan of the railways
and rarely took the train.
Maybe part of his doubts about railways
were as a result of a tragic,
tragic incident in 1830
when he was Prime Minister.
He was asked to open the new railway
from Liverpool to Manchester
and halfway along the journey
the train stopped.
And Mr Huskisson,
who had been a cabinet minister,
got out of his carriage to walk along
the track to say hello to the Duke,
and was killed by Stephenson's Rocket,
which was coming along
in the other direction.
I think ever since then the Duke had
a very sceptical approach to railways.
(Michael) Well, I think
we can forgive the Iron Duke
his views of the railways given that
he was a great national hero.
On 18th June, 1815,
the Commander in Chief's
faithful companion at Waterloo
was his chestnut stallion, Copenhagen.
Twenty-one years after the battle,
the horse died
and the Duke buried him at Stratfield
Saye with full military honours.
The first duke must have felt
very strongly about his horse
to bury it in this way.
Why, do you think?
(Lord Douro) The Duke was tremendously
dependent on a reliable horse.
He rode this horse all day from early
in the morning to late that evening.
Copenhagen played a very important
part in the success of the battle.
Copenhagen deserved to be buried
with such honours.
(Lord Douro) Certainly.
In November 1852, two months after
Wellington's death aged 83,
he was laid to rest
in a lavish state funeral.
Prince Albert helped to design
the 27 foot long car
that carried the Duke's coffin
to his final resting place
next lo Lord Nelson in the crypt of
St Paul's Cathedral in London.
The car dominates the house museum.
Well, through here you're going to see
suddenly the funeral car.
(Michael)
It is the most colossal thing, isn't it?
Absolutely enormous.
What on earth does it weigh?
(Lord Douro)
I believe it weighs 18 tons
but more remarkable
is that it was made in 18 days.
From what?
Partly from cannons
captured at Waterloo.
It's quite a complicated mechanism
because the whole of the lop part
has to be able to swivel
so as to take the coffin off
and up the steps of St Paul's.
Spectacular.
Although in Pall Mall,
30 soldiers had to free the car
after the sheer weight of it
caused the roadbed to give way.
More than a million people,
hats in hand,
lined the route from Westminster Hall
to St Paul's,
and Queen Victoria was one of them.
(Lord Douro)
She didn't go to the ceremony.
In those days,
it would not have been appropriate.
But she watched the procession
pass Buckingham Palace
and then went to St James's Palace
and watched it again
coming down St James's.
She was extremely sad. She had
great love and affection for him
and she wrote a wonderful letter
to the then Lady Douro.
"It is impossible to think of this
country without the Duke,
her pride, her hero."
"ll is a terrible loss and to us,
dear Bessie, a very severe one."
Having seen new the Commander
in Chief spent his retirement,
on my next stop I hope to discover
what life was like
for rank and file Victorian soldiers.
I shall be alighting at Farnborough,
which my Bradshaw's tells me
is the nearest station
to the army camp at Aldershot.
I once had the honour of
inspecting the Paras there
and I shall be interested to find out
how such brave men
are made fit for battle.
Amid concern that the army
was unfit for purpose,
Prince ARM urged commanders
to modernise training methods.
Close enough to the south coast
to repel potential French invaders,
Aldershot Heath was chosen.
I'm meeting military historian
Paul Vickers at the camp museum.
Bradshaw's Guide tells me that
the nearest railway station
to the camp at Aldershot is Farnborough,
but surely it is actually Aldershot?
Well, at the time of your
Bradshaw's Guide it wasn't
because the railway itself
didn't come to Aldershot until 1870
after the town grew up around the camp.
What was it like in those early days?
(Paul) You would see line upon line
of wooden huts
because that's what was
built initially for the army.
Prior to that time, Aldershot
had just been a very small village
about a mile further to the east of
875 people.
Suddenly, within five years
there were 15,000 soldiers.
In 1890, the wooden huts,
which had stood for 30 years,
were replaced with brick barracks.
I'm keen to find out about the living
conditions of an infantryman.
(Paul) There'd be a company of
soldiers, so 40 men living in here.
We can see that he has a simple bed,
a rack on which he can keep
his uniforms and equipment.
- (Michael) What was the bed like?
- Not the most comfortable.
The conditions were fairly Spartan
in the barrack blocks.
- Quite narrow, loo, isn't it?
- Yes, they were packed in here,
but also people at that time
were much smaller than they are now.
(Michael)
So here's my Victorian soldier,
fairly cramped conditions,
lots of heavy equipment,
heavy rifle musket,
but nonetheless a good deal better
than many people in civilian life
and a great deal better
than living in a tent or a wooden hut.
Aldershot got its civilian station
in 1870 and it's still here today.
Now Paul wants to show me
a Victorian railway
that hasn't stood the test oi time.
So why have you brought me to
these sidings off the main line here?
(Paul) This is quite possibly
one of the most expensive pieces
of railway in the country.
(Michael) It doesn't look it.
First of all, where does it go?
(Paul) In the 1890s, the first soldiers
to go out to the Boer War
came down these sidings
onto the main line
- to go out to the campaign.
- Why was it so expensive?
(Paul) Because in 1885 they'd launched
a new campaign in the Sudan
for which they wanted a railway
to transport their goods and materials.
So 38 ships full of railway equipment
were sent out
but no sooner had the campaign started
that Prime Minister Gladstone
pulled the plug on the campaign
so the ships were sent back to Britain
with all this material,
and then used for railway lines
such as this one.
(Michael) What did that cost?
It was calculated that
the cost at the time was £865,000,
which in present-day values
is around £73 million.
Extraordinary!
As a former Defence Secretary,
I know what emphasis the army
places on physical fitness,
but I wonder whether
that was always the case.
I confess that the gymnasium
is not exactly my natural habitat,
but this is a glorious building.
This building is from 1894,
but it replaced the original gymnasium
and this was put up in 1860,
when it was the first gymnasium
in the British Army anywhere.
During the Crimean War,
the fitness of the soldier was
not as good as it should be
and the Army Physical Training Corps
was founded here in 1860,
bringing in a much more
scientific approach
to physical fitness at this time.
(Michael) How did they set about being
scientific about physical education?
(Paul) Well, they nominated an officer,
Major Frederick Hammersley,
and 12 non-commissioned officers, and
they were sent to a college in Oxford
to learn the science of gymnastics,
as it was at the lime.
They then came back to Aldershot
and set up what was then known as
the Army Gymnastic Service,
and from that grew the Army Physical
Training Corps as we know it today.
(Michael) Do you think it can make
the difference between life and death
and for the army can it make the
difference between defeat and victory?
(Paul) Oh, very much so, yes.
Without the necessary fitness
in the field,
a soldier cannot fight to
the full capacity.
Portillo versus the British Army.
They don't stand a chance.
(instructor) Get those knees up,
Portillo!
Get those knees up nice and high.
And now slightly leaning back again
and flicking the toes up
and carry on normal jogging.
Listen to command.
When I say direction change, pivot on
the leading fool and turn...
- When does this finish?
- Change. Well done.
That was a surprise.
(instructor) Bouncing off the toes.
(sighs)
(instructor)
Five press-ups, off you go.
Well, I survived about five minutes.
I imagine these guys will be going
on for, I don't know, 30145 minutes.
You've got to admire them.
Well done, guys, carry on.
Keep it going, guys.
To reach my next destination
I'm using North Camp,
a station opened to troops in 1858.
From there I'm heading one stop
to Farnborough North.
Having reminded myself
how the military dedicates its lives
to the service of Her Majesty the Queen,
I'm now interested
to see how another group,
established in the community
since late Victorian times,
dedicates its lives
to the service of God.
I'm through my paces by the army,
I'm seeking a tranquil spot
to reflect on my journey so far.
What better place
to rest my weary limbs
than the invitingly-named
Monastery of St Michael?
Hello, I'm looking for the Benedictine
monastery of St Michael's.
Yes, it's across the road there
and up to your right-hand side.
Oh, great. Have you any idea
why there is a monastery here?
The only thing I know about it is
Princess Eugénie is buried there.
Beyond that, I don't know.
Thank you very much for the directions,
I'll make my way. Thank you. Bye-bye.
This Eugénie was actually
a French empress
and I'm intrigued to know
why such a personage
'rs buried in a suburban town just
a stone's throw from a commuter line.
This is the most extraordinary sight,
about as far from my concept of
Farnborough as it's possible to gel.
It appears to be a medieval French
castle next to a Victorian house
with a Renaissance chapel beyond
and, I must say, the most
delightful feeling of tranquility.
I'm meeting Abbot Cuthbert Brogan
by the monastery's chapel
to find out more about
this surprising Hampshire retreat.
So how did it come to be
that a Benedictine monastery
was built in this place?
The origin of the monastery
is the Empress Eugénie.
The Empress Eugénie was the widow,
by the time she came to Farnborough,
of the Emperor Napoléon Ill.
Napoléon III is the nephew of
the Napoléon we all know about
and she moved to Farnborough
in the September of 1880
and built the monastery and the church
and gave it to us.
Eighteen years into his reign,
French Emperor Napoléon III
lost the Franco-Prussian War in 1870,
was captured and exiled to England
where he lived in Chislehurst, Kent,
with his wife Eugénie
and their son Louis.
Napoléon died in 1813
and Louis perished in the British Army
fighting Zulus,
leaving Empress Eugénie
heartbroken and alone in Chislehurst.
(Cuthbert)
The move to Farnborough was all about
leaving behind the bitter memories of
Chislehurst
and her sufferings in that house,
and creating something worthy,
a permanent mausoleum,
which inevitably would now have to be
in England rather than in Paris.
Was Eugénie responsible
for the architecture?
I thought at first it was Renaissance,
now I think it's Gothic and Baroque.
What is it?
It's a great mish-mash, really.
Favourite churches, mostly along
the Loire Valley, all put together.
Details of this one, a dome from
that one, a pinnacle from that one,
and there it is.
And was there already a community
of Benedictine monks
for whom she was building
this monastery?
No, she built the monastery
and then started scurrying around France
looking for some monks to live in it,
and that's easier said than done.
So it wasn't until 1895
that she brought Benedictines
from the Abbey of Solesmes
in the north of France.
In 1940 there was a new experiment;
a daring new adventure
began in our house.
We began to speak English
on Mondays and Tuesdays.
A devout Catholic, Eugénie's motivation
here at St Michael's was spiritual.
She spent her time and money
establishing a Benedictine community
to pray for the family's souls
during eternity
in the crypt
that she spent years building.
Here they are. The Emperor Napoléon Ill
and then, on the left, Louis,
the Prince Imperial, his son,
and above the altar in the prime
position, the Empress Eugénie.
She died in 1920, so 50 years in exile
and 40 of them in Farnborough.
And long enough to complete
this extraordinary mausoleum
to the three of them.
(Cuthbert) And the monks, of course,
repeating what often happened
in the middle ages
with royal or imperial families,
the monks were brought
to pray for their souls.
- Thank you so much.
- You're welcome.
(Benedictine choir sings solemnly)
At the heart of the abbey's life
is the daily round of offices,
sung in Latin, to Gregorian chant.
I doubt there could be anything
more beautiful and calming
before resting for the night
as a guest of the monks.
Having enjoyed the hospitality
oi the monks at the monastery,
I've woken to this beautiful view
of the chapel.
I've spent the night in
this very comfortable room,
known as the bishop's room, and now
it's time for me to resume my travels.
But not wanting to have
on an empty stomach,
I'm breaking bread with
Brother Anselm Carpenter
to find out why he,
like his three fellow monks,
chose to commit his life to prayer.
I joined the monastery at 21,
straight from university,
and I'm 28 this year,
although ravaged by virtue.
(Michael) ls it a hard life?
(Anselm) It brings its challenges.
I've always been astounded
that the things I thought
would be difficult when I was 21
are actually very easy and
the things which were to be very easy,
doing what you're told
and being obedient,
are more difficult, more trying.
(Michael)
How does the calling express itself?
(Anselm) God wore me down.
The desire to try the life
became more intense
to the extent that I just realised
that I had to just give it a go
because the monastic life is
something that you try to live
and it's something that tries you
and it's through this almost dialogue
of trying and being tried
that one hopefully realises
that you're in the right place.
Spiritually refreshed,
I've left the monastic life behind.
I'm going to study
yet another Victorian institution.
This one made great progress
in the field of mental health.
I'm heading Northwest on
the Ash to Wokingham branch fine
to my final stop: Crowthorne.
Crowthorne is home
to Wellington College,
where the sons oi British officers
were educated.
Then, in 1863, the year that
my "Bradshaw's" was published,
a notorious new institution
opened here'.
England's first asylum
for the criminally insane.
These forbidding walls mark
the perimeter of a place
whose name sends a chill
through the body: Broadmoor.
But such a place demands
an open-minded approach,
both to the work done here
by the Victorians
and the work done here today.
Broadmoor is now one oi Britain's three
high-security psychiatric hospitals.
The Criminal Lunatic Asylum Ac! of 1860
gave the Home Office responsibility
for caring for mentally ill people
who'd committed crimes.
Broadmoor's Victorian buildings
were the first specifically built
for the purpose.
Author Mark Stevens knows more.
This must have been the old
Victorian entrance, must it?
Yes, this is the iconic image
of Broadmoor.
If you're a male patient arriving
at the Victorian hospital,
this is your first sight.
Why did he Victorians
choose to build Broadmoor here?
They wanted somewhere
that wasn't too far away from London
and also was on government land
and there was a bit of
a deal clincher here,
a railway station being built nearby.
Most asylums were built if not
directly close to a railway station,
within a carriage ride away,
and Broadmoor's no exception.
Since the 14th century and
throughout the Georgian 18th century,
the straitjackets, public humiliations
and horrific conditions oi London's
Saint Mary of Bethlehem Asylum,
better known as Bedlam,
were the norm in
the incarceration of the mentally ill.
I wonder whether the Victorians were
more enlightened in their attitudes.
When a Victorian patient arrived here,
what aspirations did they have for him?
They gave people regular occupation,
a diet of decent food,
plenty of fresh air
and also the notion of routine.
So the idea of Victorian healthcare
was that you'll nurse somebody better
using those things.
(Michael) Quite progressive, really,
the Victorians.
Set in farmland and with workshops
for shoemakers, upholsterers,
tinsmiths, carpenters and more,
at the time my guide was published,
Broadmoor's therapeutic regime
consisted oi work, exercise and rest
with newspapers, games
and a library available to all.
Do you think any of the Victorian
principles survive today in Broadmoor?
I think what the Victorians did
was they established
that people with mental illness who
committed crime needed healthcare,
they needed a hospital, not a prison,
By and large, it worked.
You had a few convicts from
the Victorian prison system
who thought that maybe feigning insanity
would be a better idea
than being in prison
and they soon found being surrounded
by people who were behaving irrationally
was not at all a preferable option
to being surrounded by
the certainties oi your fellow convicts.
Nowadays, Broadmoor treats men only,
but it first opened
with 95 female patients.
One oi the best known
was Christiana Edmunds,
who was sentenced
as a result of evidence
found on board
a London to Brighton train.
Dubbed the Chocolate Cream Poisoner,
she laced sweets with strychnine
to see off the wife
of the married man that she desired.
Victorians were fascinated
by true crime stories
and Edmunds became
something of a celebrity,
like many other early
Broadmoor patients.
(Mark) These are works by Richard Dadd
who's one of the more celebrated
Victorian patients.
Dadd was a well-known artist
before he became consumed
by the idea
that he was obliged to battle the Devil.
Unfortunately,
the Devil took the form of his father
and he actually stabbed his father
to death.
Dadd spent the rest of his life
in asylums.
The other very well-known
Victorian example
is a chap called William Chester Minor.
He was a surgeon in
the American Civil War
who came over to England and shot
and killed a man in Lambeth.
But when he entered Broadmoor
he brought his library with him
and he used this to contribute
examples of word use
to the first Oxford English Dictionary.
One can only imagine how dedicated
the current staff
at this imposing place mus! be.
I'm heartened to hear that even when
my “Bradshaw's Guide" was published
conditions here may, at the very least,
have been tolerable.
The Duke of Wellington is one of this
country's most celebrated heroes,
but as my visit to Aldershot
reminded me,
not all military heroes are generals,
nor do all heroes wear military uniform.
Some give service
as part of their monastic life
and, here at Broadmoor, some Victorians
toiled with scant recognition
to bring compassion
to the treatment of the mentally ill.
On the next leg of my journey,
I make headlines in Reading, “
So you new hen me back oi your flung.
- Like that.
- No, with the hairy side.
Oh, with the hairy side.
“Discover a Tudor entrepreneur
in Newbury...
Victorian historians used to label this
as England's first factory.
“And test a bicycle
with Victorian origins.
A lovely smooth ride over the cobbles.
Thank you very much.
You're welcome.
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.
And 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.
I'm continuing my journey from the
Hampshire coast to the West Midlands,
using mainly branch lines.
But, thanks to the railways,
the towns along my route
could play their part at
the heart of the British Empire.
There's a distinctly military feel
to this part of my beat.
On this stretch, I encounter
the Duke of Wellington's
impressive funeral can...
It is the most colossal thing,
isn't it? Absolutely enormous.
I get my marching orders
from the army...
Get those knees up, Portillo!
Get those knees up nice and high!
(sighs)
“and I learn oi the surprisingly
enlightened 19th-century attitude
towards the criminally insane.
What the Victorians did
was they established
that people with mental illness
who committed crime
needed healthcare.
They needed a hospital, not a prison.
My journey started on the south coast,
heads through Hampshire,
Northwest to Newbury,
takes in an engineering triumph
in Bristol
and ends in the West Midlands.
Today's leg begins at Winchfield
in Hampshire,
takes a short hop to Farnborough
and crosses into Berkshire
to finish at Crowthorne.
My first stop will be Winchfield.
Bradshaw's tells me that "the line
passes beneath Odiham Bridge,
which leads to the seat of the late
and present Duke of Wellington,
Stratfield Saye, situated about
six miles off to the right...
The victor of Waterloo
and an estate owner to boot.
The station at Winchfield
opened in 1838.
Firmly established on
London's commuter belt,
in Bradshaw's day it was renowned
for its proximity to Stratfield Saye,
home to the Nth-century's
most famous British soldier;
the Duke of Wellington.
This beautiful estate of Stratfield Saye
was gifted to the Duke of Wellington
by a grateful nation after
his victory at the Battle of Waterloo.
The only precedent was the land that
was given to the Duke of Marlborough
after his victory at
the Battle of Blenheim.
But whereas Marlborough built an
enormous Blenheim Palace on his estate,
Stratfield Saye remains a delightfully
understated country house.
Although avoiding ostentation,
Wellington did like his modern
conveniences at Stratfield Saye,
where flushing lavatories and central
heating were installed in the house,
which dates from 1630.
To learn more, I'm meeting Lord Douro,
the current occupant and aides! son
of the present Duke.
The Duke of Wellington
was fortunate to live 37 years
after the Battle of Waterloo.
Did he enjoy Stratfield Saye?
I think very much,
but I think also his wife and children
very much enjoyed living here,
so he was very, very content and all
his life considered this as his home.
He was unlucky enough, in a way,
to become Prime Minister.
Did that interrupt his enjoyment of
Stratfield Saye?
I think it must have
to a certain extent.
You can't not be Prime Minister
and find yourself extremely occupied,
so he would have had less time
to come here.
Born Arthur Wellesley in Dublin
to Anglo-Irish aristocrats in 1769,
the future duke rose quickly
through the officer ranks,
led British forces to victory
in India at Assaye in 1803,
and then,
as shown in this filmed Re-enactment,
defeated Napoléon Bonaparte
at Waterloo.
The Duke's popularity
rivalled Queen Victoria's
and I wonder how they got on.
Tell me about his relationship
with the young Queen Victoria.
He was godfather to one of her children,
she was godmother
to one of his granddaughters,
so I think it was
a very close relationship
and when she came to stay here
she writes charmingly about
the experience of staying with the Duke.
Although Winchfield
had its own station,
Wellington wasn't a fan of the railways
and rarely took the train.
Maybe part of his doubts about railways
were as a result of a tragic,
tragic incident in 1830
when he was Prime Minister.
He was asked to open the new railway
from Liverpool to Manchester
and halfway along the journey
the train stopped.
And Mr Huskisson,
who had been a cabinet minister,
got out of his carriage to walk along
the track to say hello to the Duke,
and was killed by Stephenson's Rocket,
which was coming along
in the other direction.
I think ever since then the Duke had
a very sceptical approach to railways.
(Michael) Well, I think
we can forgive the Iron Duke
his views of the railways given that
he was a great national hero.
On 18th June, 1815,
the Commander in Chief's
faithful companion at Waterloo
was his chestnut stallion, Copenhagen.
Twenty-one years after the battle,
the horse died
and the Duke buried him at Stratfield
Saye with full military honours.
The first duke must have felt
very strongly about his horse
to bury it in this way.
Why, do you think?
(Lord Douro) The Duke was tremendously
dependent on a reliable horse.
He rode this horse all day from early
in the morning to late that evening.
Copenhagen played a very important
part in the success of the battle.
Copenhagen deserved to be buried
with such honours.
(Lord Douro) Certainly.
In November 1852, two months after
Wellington's death aged 83,
he was laid to rest
in a lavish state funeral.
Prince Albert helped to design
the 27 foot long car
that carried the Duke's coffin
to his final resting place
next lo Lord Nelson in the crypt of
St Paul's Cathedral in London.
The car dominates the house museum.
Well, through here you're going to see
suddenly the funeral car.
(Michael)
It is the most colossal thing, isn't it?
Absolutely enormous.
What on earth does it weigh?
(Lord Douro)
I believe it weighs 18 tons
but more remarkable
is that it was made in 18 days.
From what?
Partly from cannons
captured at Waterloo.
It's quite a complicated mechanism
because the whole of the lop part
has to be able to swivel
so as to take the coffin off
and up the steps of St Paul's.
Spectacular.
Although in Pall Mall,
30 soldiers had to free the car
after the sheer weight of it
caused the roadbed to give way.
More than a million people,
hats in hand,
lined the route from Westminster Hall
to St Paul's,
and Queen Victoria was one of them.
(Lord Douro)
She didn't go to the ceremony.
In those days,
it would not have been appropriate.
But she watched the procession
pass Buckingham Palace
and then went to St James's Palace
and watched it again
coming down St James's.
She was extremely sad. She had
great love and affection for him
and she wrote a wonderful letter
to the then Lady Douro.
"It is impossible to think of this
country without the Duke,
her pride, her hero."
"ll is a terrible loss and to us,
dear Bessie, a very severe one."
Having seen new the Commander
in Chief spent his retirement,
on my next stop I hope to discover
what life was like
for rank and file Victorian soldiers.
I shall be alighting at Farnborough,
which my Bradshaw's tells me
is the nearest station
to the army camp at Aldershot.
I once had the honour of
inspecting the Paras there
and I shall be interested to find out
how such brave men
are made fit for battle.
Amid concern that the army
was unfit for purpose,
Prince ARM urged commanders
to modernise training methods.
Close enough to the south coast
to repel potential French invaders,
Aldershot Heath was chosen.
I'm meeting military historian
Paul Vickers at the camp museum.
Bradshaw's Guide tells me that
the nearest railway station
to the camp at Aldershot is Farnborough,
but surely it is actually Aldershot?
Well, at the time of your
Bradshaw's Guide it wasn't
because the railway itself
didn't come to Aldershot until 1870
after the town grew up around the camp.
What was it like in those early days?
(Paul) You would see line upon line
of wooden huts
because that's what was
built initially for the army.
Prior to that time, Aldershot
had just been a very small village
about a mile further to the east of
875 people.
Suddenly, within five years
there were 15,000 soldiers.
In 1890, the wooden huts,
which had stood for 30 years,
were replaced with brick barracks.
I'm keen to find out about the living
conditions of an infantryman.
(Paul) There'd be a company of
soldiers, so 40 men living in here.
We can see that he has a simple bed,
a rack on which he can keep
his uniforms and equipment.
- (Michael) What was the bed like?
- Not the most comfortable.
The conditions were fairly Spartan
in the barrack blocks.
- Quite narrow, loo, isn't it?
- Yes, they were packed in here,
but also people at that time
were much smaller than they are now.
(Michael)
So here's my Victorian soldier,
fairly cramped conditions,
lots of heavy equipment,
heavy rifle musket,
but nonetheless a good deal better
than many people in civilian life
and a great deal better
than living in a tent or a wooden hut.
Aldershot got its civilian station
in 1870 and it's still here today.
Now Paul wants to show me
a Victorian railway
that hasn't stood the test oi time.
So why have you brought me to
these sidings off the main line here?
(Paul) This is quite possibly
one of the most expensive pieces
of railway in the country.
(Michael) It doesn't look it.
First of all, where does it go?
(Paul) In the 1890s, the first soldiers
to go out to the Boer War
came down these sidings
onto the main line
- to go out to the campaign.
- Why was it so expensive?
(Paul) Because in 1885 they'd launched
a new campaign in the Sudan
for which they wanted a railway
to transport their goods and materials.
So 38 ships full of railway equipment
were sent out
but no sooner had the campaign started
that Prime Minister Gladstone
pulled the plug on the campaign
so the ships were sent back to Britain
with all this material,
and then used for railway lines
such as this one.
(Michael) What did that cost?
It was calculated that
the cost at the time was £865,000,
which in present-day values
is around £73 million.
Extraordinary!
As a former Defence Secretary,
I know what emphasis the army
places on physical fitness,
but I wonder whether
that was always the case.
I confess that the gymnasium
is not exactly my natural habitat,
but this is a glorious building.
This building is from 1894,
but it replaced the original gymnasium
and this was put up in 1860,
when it was the first gymnasium
in the British Army anywhere.
During the Crimean War,
the fitness of the soldier was
not as good as it should be
and the Army Physical Training Corps
was founded here in 1860,
bringing in a much more
scientific approach
to physical fitness at this time.
(Michael) How did they set about being
scientific about physical education?
(Paul) Well, they nominated an officer,
Major Frederick Hammersley,
and 12 non-commissioned officers, and
they were sent to a college in Oxford
to learn the science of gymnastics,
as it was at the lime.
They then came back to Aldershot
and set up what was then known as
the Army Gymnastic Service,
and from that grew the Army Physical
Training Corps as we know it today.
(Michael) Do you think it can make
the difference between life and death
and for the army can it make the
difference between defeat and victory?
(Paul) Oh, very much so, yes.
Without the necessary fitness
in the field,
a soldier cannot fight to
the full capacity.
Portillo versus the British Army.
They don't stand a chance.
(instructor) Get those knees up,
Portillo!
Get those knees up nice and high.
And now slightly leaning back again
and flicking the toes up
and carry on normal jogging.
Listen to command.
When I say direction change, pivot on
the leading fool and turn...
- When does this finish?
- Change. Well done.
That was a surprise.
(instructor) Bouncing off the toes.
(sighs)
(instructor)
Five press-ups, off you go.
Well, I survived about five minutes.
I imagine these guys will be going
on for, I don't know, 30145 minutes.
You've got to admire them.
Well done, guys, carry on.
Keep it going, guys.
To reach my next destination
I'm using North Camp,
a station opened to troops in 1858.
From there I'm heading one stop
to Farnborough North.
Having reminded myself
how the military dedicates its lives
to the service of Her Majesty the Queen,
I'm now interested
to see how another group,
established in the community
since late Victorian times,
dedicates its lives
to the service of God.
I'm through my paces by the army,
I'm seeking a tranquil spot
to reflect on my journey so far.
What better place
to rest my weary limbs
than the invitingly-named
Monastery of St Michael?
Hello, I'm looking for the Benedictine
monastery of St Michael's.
Yes, it's across the road there
and up to your right-hand side.
Oh, great. Have you any idea
why there is a monastery here?
The only thing I know about it is
Princess Eugénie is buried there.
Beyond that, I don't know.
Thank you very much for the directions,
I'll make my way. Thank you. Bye-bye.
This Eugénie was actually
a French empress
and I'm intrigued to know
why such a personage
'rs buried in a suburban town just
a stone's throw from a commuter line.
This is the most extraordinary sight,
about as far from my concept of
Farnborough as it's possible to gel.
It appears to be a medieval French
castle next to a Victorian house
with a Renaissance chapel beyond
and, I must say, the most
delightful feeling of tranquility.
I'm meeting Abbot Cuthbert Brogan
by the monastery's chapel
to find out more about
this surprising Hampshire retreat.
So how did it come to be
that a Benedictine monastery
was built in this place?
The origin of the monastery
is the Empress Eugénie.
The Empress Eugénie was the widow,
by the time she came to Farnborough,
of the Emperor Napoléon Ill.
Napoléon III is the nephew of
the Napoléon we all know about
and she moved to Farnborough
in the September of 1880
and built the monastery and the church
and gave it to us.
Eighteen years into his reign,
French Emperor Napoléon III
lost the Franco-Prussian War in 1870,
was captured and exiled to England
where he lived in Chislehurst, Kent,
with his wife Eugénie
and their son Louis.
Napoléon died in 1813
and Louis perished in the British Army
fighting Zulus,
leaving Empress Eugénie
heartbroken and alone in Chislehurst.
(Cuthbert)
The move to Farnborough was all about
leaving behind the bitter memories of
Chislehurst
and her sufferings in that house,
and creating something worthy,
a permanent mausoleum,
which inevitably would now have to be
in England rather than in Paris.
Was Eugénie responsible
for the architecture?
I thought at first it was Renaissance,
now I think it's Gothic and Baroque.
What is it?
It's a great mish-mash, really.
Favourite churches, mostly along
the Loire Valley, all put together.
Details of this one, a dome from
that one, a pinnacle from that one,
and there it is.
And was there already a community
of Benedictine monks
for whom she was building
this monastery?
No, she built the monastery
and then started scurrying around France
looking for some monks to live in it,
and that's easier said than done.
So it wasn't until 1895
that she brought Benedictines
from the Abbey of Solesmes
in the north of France.
In 1940 there was a new experiment;
a daring new adventure
began in our house.
We began to speak English
on Mondays and Tuesdays.
A devout Catholic, Eugénie's motivation
here at St Michael's was spiritual.
She spent her time and money
establishing a Benedictine community
to pray for the family's souls
during eternity
in the crypt
that she spent years building.
Here they are. The Emperor Napoléon Ill
and then, on the left, Louis,
the Prince Imperial, his son,
and above the altar in the prime
position, the Empress Eugénie.
She died in 1920, so 50 years in exile
and 40 of them in Farnborough.
And long enough to complete
this extraordinary mausoleum
to the three of them.
(Cuthbert) And the monks, of course,
repeating what often happened
in the middle ages
with royal or imperial families,
the monks were brought
to pray for their souls.
- Thank you so much.
- You're welcome.
(Benedictine choir sings solemnly)
At the heart of the abbey's life
is the daily round of offices,
sung in Latin, to Gregorian chant.
I doubt there could be anything
more beautiful and calming
before resting for the night
as a guest of the monks.
Having enjoyed the hospitality
oi the monks at the monastery,
I've woken to this beautiful view
of the chapel.
I've spent the night in
this very comfortable room,
known as the bishop's room, and now
it's time for me to resume my travels.
But not wanting to have
on an empty stomach,
I'm breaking bread with
Brother Anselm Carpenter
to find out why he,
like his three fellow monks,
chose to commit his life to prayer.
I joined the monastery at 21,
straight from university,
and I'm 28 this year,
although ravaged by virtue.
(Michael) ls it a hard life?
(Anselm) It brings its challenges.
I've always been astounded
that the things I thought
would be difficult when I was 21
are actually very easy and
the things which were to be very easy,
doing what you're told
and being obedient,
are more difficult, more trying.
(Michael)
How does the calling express itself?
(Anselm) God wore me down.
The desire to try the life
became more intense
to the extent that I just realised
that I had to just give it a go
because the monastic life is
something that you try to live
and it's something that tries you
and it's through this almost dialogue
of trying and being tried
that one hopefully realises
that you're in the right place.
Spiritually refreshed,
I've left the monastic life behind.
I'm going to study
yet another Victorian institution.
This one made great progress
in the field of mental health.
I'm heading Northwest on
the Ash to Wokingham branch fine
to my final stop: Crowthorne.
Crowthorne is home
to Wellington College,
where the sons oi British officers
were educated.
Then, in 1863, the year that
my "Bradshaw's" was published,
a notorious new institution
opened here'.
England's first asylum
for the criminally insane.
These forbidding walls mark
the perimeter of a place
whose name sends a chill
through the body: Broadmoor.
But such a place demands
an open-minded approach,
both to the work done here
by the Victorians
and the work done here today.
Broadmoor is now one oi Britain's three
high-security psychiatric hospitals.
The Criminal Lunatic Asylum Ac! of 1860
gave the Home Office responsibility
for caring for mentally ill people
who'd committed crimes.
Broadmoor's Victorian buildings
were the first specifically built
for the purpose.
Author Mark Stevens knows more.
This must have been the old
Victorian entrance, must it?
Yes, this is the iconic image
of Broadmoor.
If you're a male patient arriving
at the Victorian hospital,
this is your first sight.
Why did he Victorians
choose to build Broadmoor here?
They wanted somewhere
that wasn't too far away from London
and also was on government land
and there was a bit of
a deal clincher here,
a railway station being built nearby.
Most asylums were built if not
directly close to a railway station,
within a carriage ride away,
and Broadmoor's no exception.
Since the 14th century and
throughout the Georgian 18th century,
the straitjackets, public humiliations
and horrific conditions oi London's
Saint Mary of Bethlehem Asylum,
better known as Bedlam,
were the norm in
the incarceration of the mentally ill.
I wonder whether the Victorians were
more enlightened in their attitudes.
When a Victorian patient arrived here,
what aspirations did they have for him?
They gave people regular occupation,
a diet of decent food,
plenty of fresh air
and also the notion of routine.
So the idea of Victorian healthcare
was that you'll nurse somebody better
using those things.
(Michael) Quite progressive, really,
the Victorians.
Set in farmland and with workshops
for shoemakers, upholsterers,
tinsmiths, carpenters and more,
at the time my guide was published,
Broadmoor's therapeutic regime
consisted oi work, exercise and rest
with newspapers, games
and a library available to all.
Do you think any of the Victorian
principles survive today in Broadmoor?
I think what the Victorians did
was they established
that people with mental illness who
committed crime needed healthcare,
they needed a hospital, not a prison,
By and large, it worked.
You had a few convicts from
the Victorian prison system
who thought that maybe feigning insanity
would be a better idea
than being in prison
and they soon found being surrounded
by people who were behaving irrationally
was not at all a preferable option
to being surrounded by
the certainties oi your fellow convicts.
Nowadays, Broadmoor treats men only,
but it first opened
with 95 female patients.
One oi the best known
was Christiana Edmunds,
who was sentenced
as a result of evidence
found on board
a London to Brighton train.
Dubbed the Chocolate Cream Poisoner,
she laced sweets with strychnine
to see off the wife
of the married man that she desired.
Victorians were fascinated
by true crime stories
and Edmunds became
something of a celebrity,
like many other early
Broadmoor patients.
(Mark) These are works by Richard Dadd
who's one of the more celebrated
Victorian patients.
Dadd was a well-known artist
before he became consumed
by the idea
that he was obliged to battle the Devil.
Unfortunately,
the Devil took the form of his father
and he actually stabbed his father
to death.
Dadd spent the rest of his life
in asylums.
The other very well-known
Victorian example
is a chap called William Chester Minor.
He was a surgeon in
the American Civil War
who came over to England and shot
and killed a man in Lambeth.
But when he entered Broadmoor
he brought his library with him
and he used this to contribute
examples of word use
to the first Oxford English Dictionary.
One can only imagine how dedicated
the current staff
at this imposing place mus! be.
I'm heartened to hear that even when
my “Bradshaw's Guide" was published
conditions here may, at the very least,
have been tolerable.
The Duke of Wellington is one of this
country's most celebrated heroes,
but as my visit to Aldershot
reminded me,
not all military heroes are generals,
nor do all heroes wear military uniform.
Some give service
as part of their monastic life
and, here at Broadmoor, some Victorians
toiled with scant recognition
to bring compassion
to the treatment of the mentally ill.
On the next leg of my journey,
I make headlines in Reading, “
So you new hen me back oi your flung.
- Like that.
- No, with the hairy side.
Oh, with the hairy side.
“Discover a Tudor entrepreneur
in Newbury...
Victorian historians used to label this
as England's first factory.
“And test a bicycle
with Victorian origins.
A lovely smooth ride over the cobbles.
Thank you very much.
You're welcome.