Great British Railway Journeys (2010–…): Season 7, Episode 7 - Newhaven to Worthing - full transcript
For Victorian Britons, George
Bradshaw was a household name.
At a time when railways were new,
Bradshaw's guidebook inspired
them to take to the tracks.
I am using a Bradshaw's guide to
understand how trains transformed
Britain, its landscape, its industry,
society and leisure time.
As I crisscross the country
150 years later, it helps me
to discover the Britain of today.
I am continuing my journey
along England's south coast.
Today I will be travelling through,
over and under the South Downs,
which presented a formidable
challenge to the railways
as they sought new ways
to carry aspirational travellers
to the region's burgeoning
marine resorts and indeed beyond.
Following my Bradshaw's,
I am travelling from east to west.
My journey started at the point
nearest to our French neighbours
and will take me through defensive
forts and seaside resorts, across
Thomas Hardy country, before ending
up at the last place in England.
Today my journey begins
in the port of Newhaven.
I then detour inland to Balcombe
to see a wonder of the railways.
Travelling to Preston Park,
I access the South Downs
before a fruitful finish
in Worthing.
On this journey I marvel
at exquisite railway engineering...
That is an extraordinary view,
almost as though we were in
a Gothic cathedral or something.
Yes, there aren't many viaducts
built like that.
Take my pick in a temple
of red fruit...
All aboard for the Tomato Express!
Another go?
- Yeah.
And test my patience
against the southerly Wind.
If at first you don't succeed...
Try, try again.
That's the mantra of kite flying,
if ever there was one.
My first stop today will be Newhaven.
Bradshaw says, "Formerly a very
obscure port or fishing town
"but now a rising place of some
importance as the port
"of communication between London,
Dieppe and Paris."
Of all the Channel ports,
Newhaven is the closest to London
and so particularly convenient
for English travellers going south.
But potentially just as handy
for French invaders moving north.
The Napoleonic Wars between Britain
and France had ended in 1815,
and during the reign of Victoria,
relations with France
were often cordial.
The Victorian traveller was keen to
see the Continent, and the railways
Wanted to capitalise on routes
from London to Paris.
The London to Newhaven line opened in
1847 and a ferry route to Dieppe
was established soon afterwards,
a service which still runs today.
As the cars go on board
the roll-on-roll-off ferry,
it's easy to appreciate that
the port is tidal.
In the old days, the steamers would
have had to take account of the tides
and the trains would have
met each arrival,
and then there would have ensued
over there, where the station was,
that hustle and bustle
of the transfer of trunks,
hat boxes and portmanteaux, and the
yelling of the hawkers and of the
porters, and the insistent lowing
of the siren on the steamer.
[SHIPS HORN HONKS]
Whilst tourists were enjoying
trips to the Continent
and the railway companies
were making money,
others were gravely concerned about
possible attacks on this new port.
The French monarchy was toppled once
more by the revolution of 1848
and British statesmen feared
revolutionary contagion and invasion.
I want to find out about
What that meant for Newhaven.
Ed Tyhurst is an expert on
its military defences.
Hello, good morning, Michael.
- Hello, Ed. Nice to meet you.
You're occupying an impregnable position.
- I certainly am.
Tell me this - I mean,
in the middle of the 19th century,
the British are more and more going
to the Continent for their holidays
and yet We're still very suspicious
of French invasion.
Oh, yes.
For hundreds of years a source
of antagonism and possible conflict
and originally,
up Where those 1970s houses are,
that was the site of one of the
earliest defences of the harbour.
At the time of the arrival
of the ferries, that had six guns,
but this Wasn't deemed enough.
It was decided that a new
battery should be built,
and that is What we are
standing on here.
And What is this
sort of construction?
Did this all have a design, a name?
Ironically, it's a French name.
It is called a lunette battery,
and "lunette"
is a French term for a
crescent-moon-shaped structure.
This defence had been considered
sufficient for over a decade,
but France was now led
by an ambitious emperor,
nephew of the
great Napoleon Bonaparte.
Our Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston,
was very suspicious, so he brought
about the Royal Commission
and ordered the construction
of more fortifications.
In 1864, as part of a huge
defensive building programme,
work on Newhaven Fort began.
Now, I don't think I need to knock -
there's no-one else in at
the moment - so here we go.
Protecting the port and, more
crucially, access to the capital,
the fortress was the largest
defensive structure built in Sussex.
Well, and here we are, Michael.
Welcome to Newhaven Fort.
Which I must say, is
a complete surprise.
There was no
hint of this from down below.
I imagine all of this is
sunk into the hill and invisible.
Yeah, that was the intention
of the young man that designed
the fort,
a Lieutenant John Charles Ardagh.
He Wanted his fort to be
hidden as best as possible
and as you can see, I think
he achieved that quite well.
Amazingly, Ardagh was just
22 years old
when given the task of planning
the defences.
He devised innovative features.
It's one of the first to be fully
hidden into the landscape
like it is, which you've seen.
The first mass use of concrete
in a military structure before.
Some of the concrete you can see
up above there on the western slope
and actually, there's concrete
hidden behind all the
beautiful Victorian brickwork,
as well.
Which you don't think of
in Victorian times.
No, most forts at the time were
brick and stone.
Every material but concrete, really.
Ardagh Wanted to make concrete
a principal factor of his defence.
It took seven years to complete
the Work at a cost of 86,000 pounds,
an enormous sum at the time.
The building of Newhaven Fort
was part of this big
Palmerstonian programme, Wasn't it?
It certainly was, yeah. Newhaven
Fort is one of around 70 forts
that were built under
this programme.
By the time they were all finished
at the turn of the 1870s,
the French invasion that had been
feared had never materialised.
So a massive construction programme
costing at the time 12 million pounds,
apparently, all for nothing.
All of the forts became
known as Palmerston's Follies.
They were regarded as follies
but only because there Wasn't a war.
I mean, he would have been
thought very foolish
if he hadn't built them. And I've now
learned from you that actually these forts
incorporated very important
technological improvements.
They certainly did.
Leaving the coastal defences behind,
from Newhaven I'm taking a short detour
north onto the main line that runs
between Brighton and London.
As you are whisked between the two
today, it's hard to comprehend
What a challenge it was
in 1841 to construct the line.
The ingenious Victorians overcame the
obstacle of the South Downs in style.
"Towards Balcombe,
the line crosses the River Ouse
"by one of the finest viaducts
in the kingdom.
"It commands extensive views.
"Hill and dale, woodland and pasture
"succeed each other in infinite
variety to the verge of the horizon."
And yet, I expect that thousands
of daily commuters from Brighton
to London cross it Without
a sideways glance.
The Ouse Valley Viaduct is a glorious
feat of Victorian engineering,
but it cannot be done
justice from a train.
I am alighting at Balcombe to head
back down the line for a better look.
On the train you pass it far too quickly,
but standing here in the valley
you appreciate What a
Wonderful structure it is.
And then it's so beautifully
decorated with a balustrade
and eight towers.
It is almost 500 yards long and, like
many Victorian engineering projects,
it's a work that blends
science and art.
Local historian Alan Dearden is
an expert on the viaduct.
Alan, hello.
- Hello. How are you?
Nice to meet you.
[LAUGHTER]
That is an extraordinary view.
I had hot anticipated that the arches
would be hollow like that.
And it is a beautiful sight,
isn't it? Almost as though
we were in a Gothic
cathedral or something.
Yes, there aren't many viaducts
built like that.
And who was responsible for this
thing of beauty?
John Rastrick was
the name of the designer
and David Mocatta was an architect,
and he was responsible for all the
stonework that is 100 feet above us.
It's made up of 37 semicircular
arches, and with foundations going
20 feet below ground, the
structure required 11 million bricks.
In total, there were about...
approximately 550 navvies
and skilled bricklayers,
particularly stonemasons,
who were either camped around here,
or lived in the surrounding
villages.
And when you think that the
scaffolding was wooden poles
held together by string, the workers
Went up on wooden ladders,
and there were only five
known fatalities...
The line had both to span valleys
and to burrow through
the South Downs.
The partnership of designer John
Rastrick and architect David Mocatta
came together to build a series
of impressive tunnels.
Hello, David.
Hello, Michael,
Welcome to Clayton Tunnel.
I believe you've got a very
good view of it.
Yes, I have, come this Way.
Local resident David Porter
is taking me to one of their
more quirky creations.
David, the portal of the Clayton
Tunnel really is
an extraordinary thing, isn't it?
I mean, you could describe it as
over the top.
- Yeah.
I think it's unique
in the world, Without a doubt.
Have you got any idea why this
sort of fortification was
built on this scale?
Well, nobody really knows for sure but
I think the simplest explanation
is it was quite simply to keep
the local landowner happy.
He would only give his permission
if it had a suitably grand,
impressive entrance.
And that rather incongruous structure
sitting in-between it
is Where you live.
- That's right.
The cottage was
added as an afterthought
and it was actually built to house
the tunnel keeper.
Why did a tunnel need
a tunnel keeper?
To keep the tunnel whitewashed,
and to light and to
continually relight the gas
lamps that lined the tunnels.
Now, we wouldn't think of lighting
a railway tunnel today
but I suppose that's a reflection
of how nervous people were
in the early days of railways.
- Absolutely right.
What is it like to live there?
Well, you would actually think it's
quite noisy, but paradoxically
it's actually very quiet
and very peaceful,
and I think that's simply because
the railway line goes beneath you
rather than to the side of you.
I'm not sure I believe you.
Why don't you come and have a look?
- Thank you.
The impressive entrance is
justified by the tunnel beyond.
It took 6,000 navvies three years
to dig and blast
a mile and a quarter
through the chalk.
Right, do come in.
Well, you certainly have a Wonderful
view of the railway line.
Well, there is a train going through
and, no, I agree it's not noisy.
You can certainly hear it, though.
You can hear it with
the sash windows open,
but you can't really feel
any vibration.
Can you imagine What it would
have been like, though,
for the tunnel keeper
when it was all steam trains?
Living on top of steam trains, I think
the joke would Wear thin after
the first one or two
because as the trains strike
the sides of the tunnel
the steam and the smoke
billows up and
completely engulfs the building,
so it wouldn't be much fun.
Clayton Tunnel was actually the scene
of a major accident, Wasn't it?
Yes, it was. Back in 1861 on
25th August, which was a Sunday,
two trains collided due to
a combination of human error,
mechanical error, and really quite
tough working practices -
these men were working 24-hour
shifts to get a day off.
The worst possible thing happened
and there was a dreadful collision,
and it was in the tunnel.
Many deaths?
Yes, there were 23 dead
and 176 were very horribly injured,
so it was a scene of devastation.
- Terrifying.
As a result of that terrible tragedy,
railway security and signalling
systems were reappraised.
It is also thought that it inspired
Charles Dickens
to write his ghost story
The Signal-Man.
It's a new day and I'll be continuing
my journey along the south coast.
This morning, I've returned
to Balcombe Station.
There was much about railways
to frighten Victorians -
locomotives belching fire and steam,
long, dark tunnels,
the risk of a railway accident,
and of murder most
foul and bloody.
I'm meeting James Gardner,
an author who's written about
one particularly gruesome event.
I believe we are very
near the scene
of the second railway murder
in history, near Balcombe.
That's correct.
The murder occurred on the
27th June, 1881.
Who was the victim?
The victim was an
elderly retired man called
Frederick Isaac Gold, and he was
last seen at London Bridge,
getting on the train
back to Brighton.
Where was the body found
and how?
It was found in the middle of the
Balcombe tunnel by two platelayers.
Was there a suspect early on?
- There was.
He got on the same express train
as Frederick Isaac Gold
and his name was
Percy Lefroy Mapleton.
When the train arrived
at Preston Park,
two ticket collectors saw
this young man covered in blood.
He said that he'd been brutally
assaulted by a countryman,
someone who looked
like a countryman.
The body in the tunnel
had yet to be discovered,
but with Lefroy covered in blood
and with no attacker to be found,
his story aroused police suspicions.
An officer accompanied him
to his home in Wallington,
but there, Lefroy gave
him the slip.
There was a terrific manhunt
because there was panicking all over
the country that there was a madman
oh the loose oh the trains.
The police were so desperate,
for the first time they decided
to print an image,
an artist's impression, in the Daily
Telegraph on the 1st July 1881.
Unfortunately,
it Wasn't very accurate
and before long, 50 Lefroys were
arrested all over the country.
Four in one day.
One American tourist was
so fed up of being arrested,
he asked police if they could keep
him in till they found the real Lefroy.
Eventually, the real Lefroy
was apprehended
in the East End of London.
A jury found him guilty of murder
and he was hanged.
But the police's early bungling had
shaken public confidence in them.
The police suffered a lot
in terms of publicity
and there was a popular joke
that went,
"Why is it unnecessary
to vaccinate a policeman?"
And the answer was,
"Because he never catches anything."
Nonetheless, the idea of publishing
an artist's impression
of a Wanted person,
that certainly did catch on.
Behold, the head of a murderer,
albeit possibly not a very
accurate one.
I'm leaving Preston Park Station to
make my Way into the South Downs.
This lovely landscape that had
challenged the railway builders
was also a great attraction.
With the Bank Holidays Act
of 1871,
day trips and excursions
were increasingly popular.
I'm off to a favourite Victorian
tourist spot, Devil's Dyke.
Alan Reynolds is a kite enthusiast
who knows the area well.
Hello, Alan.
- Hello, Michael. Pleased to meet you.
Fantastic.
- It's something, isn't it?
It really is.
Why is it called the Devil's Dyke?
Well, the legend has it that the
Devil was trying to build a channel
for the sea to flood
all the churches
that were on
the level ground beneath,
but he was disturbed
by a lady who lit a candle
and he thought the sun
was coming up.
Bradshaw says, "There are
fine walks here over the Downs.
"The summit of a high cliff
in the neighbourhood,
"called the Devil's Dyke,
is much visited
"for the fine views that it affords."
I get the impression
that this place was more popular
in the Victorian period
even than now.
Yes, I think you're right.
I mean, it must have been
popular for them to consider
building a railway up here,
for a start,
which they did in 1887
or thereabouts,
which enabled huge numbers
of people to come up here.
At the height of the season,
there were
six trains a day
running up on this line.
I think, one Whitsun,
there were 30,000 people up
here, they reckoned.
What sort of things did they
find up here when they arrived?
They found quite a bit of
entertainment. There was a funfair.
There was a cable car
across the valley.
You can still see the plinths
Where it was based,
which must have been positively
hair-raising for the Victorian mind,
I imagine, and there was a
funicular, or a very steep railway,
on the other face, to take you
down to Poynings for tea.
Also, there was a fair degree
of kite flying going on up here,
which is how my interest
in the area first arose, of course.
The late 19th century was
the golden age of kite flying.
The huge rise in its popularity
coincided with improvements in
design, such as the box kite of 1891.
Victorian examples were often
home-made, from silk and cotton.
So, Alan, that seems a very beautiful
kite. ls this an antique?
It's not really an antique.
It's a replica.
It's the sort of kite that
the Victorians
would have been able to make.
It's not a bad flier, but
the wind is gusty today,
so We've put a tail on it, which
is made of modern kite fabric.
Now, for the novice kite flier,
What would your tips be?
Um, well, first of all,
choose your location.
You Want steady wind and then,
once you've got it flying,
if it's not doing What you Want it
to, let it have some more line out
and when it's going
Where you Want it to, hold on.
And so, if it's diving towards
the ground, let it have rope...
Yes.
And if it's soaring, then
keep it under tension?
- That's right, yes.
Right, shall we fly this?
- Please.
Try How?
- Yep
While kite flying took off
in the Victorian era,
ours is hugging the ground.
If at first you don't
succeed, try, try again.
That's the mantra of kite flying,
if ever there was one.
But when it finally soars,
I share the excitement
of the Victorian day tripper.
After my uplifting experience,
I'm leaving the South Downs
and heading back towards the coast.
My next stop will be Worthing.
The guide book says that "its
rise from an insignificant hamlet
"to its present rank has been rapid,
"owing to the superior mildness
of its temperature,
"arising from the shelter
afforded by the Downs,
"which exclude the chilling blasts
of the northern and eastern winds."
And, thanks to that microclimate,
at the time of Bradshaw's,
one important industry was growing.
Specifically, fruit and vegetables
grown in glasshouses.
In 1845, Worthing was connected
by rail to London and beyond.
Producers could now send their goods
to the capital's Covent Garden Market
and to the colder cities
of the north.
Business boomed and Victorian
growers cultivated grapes,
strawberries, French beans,
mushrooms, nectarines and tomatoes.
The industry continues today,
with vast glasshouses.
I'm visiting a tomato nursery
set up 38 years ago by Eric Wall.
Hello, Eric.
- Hello, Michael.
Very good to see you, in this
extraordinarily large glasshouse.
Now, the scale you're
on here is enormous.
Can you give me some idea of it?
Well, yes, there's 30 acres
of glass on this side.
One of the biggest nurseries
in the country.
I noticed that you've got
these little trolleys, like
railway Wagons, running
between the tomato plants.
Tell me about that.
Well, these are the heating pipes
and, years ago,
they would be in the centre
of the bed.
We moved them to the outside
and created a rail system,
so we exploited the railway idea
and we use the flanged Wheels
to keep them on the track.
So, have you any idea
how much track you have here?
On the site as a whole,
it's over 40 miles.
Good heaven.
So you're really quite a big
railway operator, aren't you?
Yeah. We don't use
steam, though.
[THEY LAUGH]
Glasshouses first appeared
in the 17th and 18th centuries,
but were astronomically expensive.
In the mid-19th century, the glass
and Window taxes were repealed
and manufacturing innovations
reduced the cost.
The giant glasshouse
transformed market gardening
into mass production.
By 1899, there were around 50 acres
of glasshouses in Worthing,
employing 100 nurserymen.
Hello, Chris. I'm Michael.
Chris is Eric's son
and now runs the business.
When you're looking at your tomato
crop to make sure it's doing well,
What kind of characteristics
are you looking for?
Well, We're obviously looking
for good, even red colour
on the tomatoes
before we harvest them,
'cos they can be in the store
tomorrow morning
and on someone's plate
by tomorrow afternoon.
Very, very quick. Are you
still quite weather-dependent?
Does it make a difference to you
whether you have a good
summer or a bad one?
Oh, completely weather-dependent.
They talk about a 1% light
equalling 1% yield,
so the light over the 12 months
plays a huge part.
When the sun comes out,
the plants grow quicker.
The fruit ripens quicker and the
demand is there for eating salads.
I'm getting quite hungry,
standing here.
Is there any chance of trying one
of your tomatoes?
By all means. You carry on.
- Any one?
Well, I'd take from the top of the
truss, 'cos that's the most ripe.
That's been ripening the longest.
Any tips on this?
Just bite through it?
Straight through, yes.
Wow.
When you take it
straight from the plant,
the flavour just explodes,
doesn't it?
What a lovely-looking
and tasting tomato. Well done.
Mm!
Across the nursery, the rows
of plants stretch 33 miles.
Each day, the ripest of the 360,000
heads are harvested.
Hello, Gavin.
- Hello, Michael.
Do you mind if I join you on your
railway wagon here?
Certainly.
Um, these plants are amazingly long.
Tell me about them.
When they come in, early season,
they're very small
and What we do is we trail them
up to the wire
and once they reach the wire,
then we start layering them.
It's like Jack and the Beanstalk!
So, they grow incredibly fast,
don't they?
Yes, they do.
Now, Where shall I make my out?
If you out it right beside the stem,
'cos if we leave
a small stub on there,
then we could get disease into that,
so it needs to be
out right beside the stem.
Right up by the stem.
Oh, WOW.
That looks beautiful.
Getting up a bit of speed now.
What about that one, Gavin?
Yeah, take that one.
All aboard for the Tomato Express!
The topography of southern England
presented formidable obstacles,
which 19th-century
engineers overcame,
sinking Newhaven Fort
into the cliff-top
and carrying the London to Brighton
railway over the Ouse Valley
and through the Clayton Tunnel
beneath the South Downs.
Those beautiful hills
provided a microclimate
suitable for tomato growing,
and Victorians showed
that they could build glasshouses
as well as haul stones.
Next time, I find out how shells
Went ballistic...
You're kidding. inflexible, which
is only 15 years after Warrior,
is firing this sort of ammunition?
Discover the origins of one
of the most revered Victorians...
It's underneath this very tree
that Florence felt very strongly
that she was called by God
to serve her fellow man.
And abandon the tracks to check out
the railway's greatest competitor.
Tally-ho!
Oh!
[END THEME]
Bradshaw was a household name.
At a time when railways were new,
Bradshaw's guidebook inspired
them to take to the tracks.
I am using a Bradshaw's guide to
understand how trains transformed
Britain, its landscape, its industry,
society and leisure time.
As I crisscross the country
150 years later, it helps me
to discover the Britain of today.
I am continuing my journey
along England's south coast.
Today I will be travelling through,
over and under the South Downs,
which presented a formidable
challenge to the railways
as they sought new ways
to carry aspirational travellers
to the region's burgeoning
marine resorts and indeed beyond.
Following my Bradshaw's,
I am travelling from east to west.
My journey started at the point
nearest to our French neighbours
and will take me through defensive
forts and seaside resorts, across
Thomas Hardy country, before ending
up at the last place in England.
Today my journey begins
in the port of Newhaven.
I then detour inland to Balcombe
to see a wonder of the railways.
Travelling to Preston Park,
I access the South Downs
before a fruitful finish
in Worthing.
On this journey I marvel
at exquisite railway engineering...
That is an extraordinary view,
almost as though we were in
a Gothic cathedral or something.
Yes, there aren't many viaducts
built like that.
Take my pick in a temple
of red fruit...
All aboard for the Tomato Express!
Another go?
- Yeah.
And test my patience
against the southerly Wind.
If at first you don't succeed...
Try, try again.
That's the mantra of kite flying,
if ever there was one.
My first stop today will be Newhaven.
Bradshaw says, "Formerly a very
obscure port or fishing town
"but now a rising place of some
importance as the port
"of communication between London,
Dieppe and Paris."
Of all the Channel ports,
Newhaven is the closest to London
and so particularly convenient
for English travellers going south.
But potentially just as handy
for French invaders moving north.
The Napoleonic Wars between Britain
and France had ended in 1815,
and during the reign of Victoria,
relations with France
were often cordial.
The Victorian traveller was keen to
see the Continent, and the railways
Wanted to capitalise on routes
from London to Paris.
The London to Newhaven line opened in
1847 and a ferry route to Dieppe
was established soon afterwards,
a service which still runs today.
As the cars go on board
the roll-on-roll-off ferry,
it's easy to appreciate that
the port is tidal.
In the old days, the steamers would
have had to take account of the tides
and the trains would have
met each arrival,
and then there would have ensued
over there, where the station was,
that hustle and bustle
of the transfer of trunks,
hat boxes and portmanteaux, and the
yelling of the hawkers and of the
porters, and the insistent lowing
of the siren on the steamer.
[SHIPS HORN HONKS]
Whilst tourists were enjoying
trips to the Continent
and the railway companies
were making money,
others were gravely concerned about
possible attacks on this new port.
The French monarchy was toppled once
more by the revolution of 1848
and British statesmen feared
revolutionary contagion and invasion.
I want to find out about
What that meant for Newhaven.
Ed Tyhurst is an expert on
its military defences.
Hello, good morning, Michael.
- Hello, Ed. Nice to meet you.
You're occupying an impregnable position.
- I certainly am.
Tell me this - I mean,
in the middle of the 19th century,
the British are more and more going
to the Continent for their holidays
and yet We're still very suspicious
of French invasion.
Oh, yes.
For hundreds of years a source
of antagonism and possible conflict
and originally,
up Where those 1970s houses are,
that was the site of one of the
earliest defences of the harbour.
At the time of the arrival
of the ferries, that had six guns,
but this Wasn't deemed enough.
It was decided that a new
battery should be built,
and that is What we are
standing on here.
And What is this
sort of construction?
Did this all have a design, a name?
Ironically, it's a French name.
It is called a lunette battery,
and "lunette"
is a French term for a
crescent-moon-shaped structure.
This defence had been considered
sufficient for over a decade,
but France was now led
by an ambitious emperor,
nephew of the
great Napoleon Bonaparte.
Our Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston,
was very suspicious, so he brought
about the Royal Commission
and ordered the construction
of more fortifications.
In 1864, as part of a huge
defensive building programme,
work on Newhaven Fort began.
Now, I don't think I need to knock -
there's no-one else in at
the moment - so here we go.
Protecting the port and, more
crucially, access to the capital,
the fortress was the largest
defensive structure built in Sussex.
Well, and here we are, Michael.
Welcome to Newhaven Fort.
Which I must say, is
a complete surprise.
There was no
hint of this from down below.
I imagine all of this is
sunk into the hill and invisible.
Yeah, that was the intention
of the young man that designed
the fort,
a Lieutenant John Charles Ardagh.
He Wanted his fort to be
hidden as best as possible
and as you can see, I think
he achieved that quite well.
Amazingly, Ardagh was just
22 years old
when given the task of planning
the defences.
He devised innovative features.
It's one of the first to be fully
hidden into the landscape
like it is, which you've seen.
The first mass use of concrete
in a military structure before.
Some of the concrete you can see
up above there on the western slope
and actually, there's concrete
hidden behind all the
beautiful Victorian brickwork,
as well.
Which you don't think of
in Victorian times.
No, most forts at the time were
brick and stone.
Every material but concrete, really.
Ardagh Wanted to make concrete
a principal factor of his defence.
It took seven years to complete
the Work at a cost of 86,000 pounds,
an enormous sum at the time.
The building of Newhaven Fort
was part of this big
Palmerstonian programme, Wasn't it?
It certainly was, yeah. Newhaven
Fort is one of around 70 forts
that were built under
this programme.
By the time they were all finished
at the turn of the 1870s,
the French invasion that had been
feared had never materialised.
So a massive construction programme
costing at the time 12 million pounds,
apparently, all for nothing.
All of the forts became
known as Palmerston's Follies.
They were regarded as follies
but only because there Wasn't a war.
I mean, he would have been
thought very foolish
if he hadn't built them. And I've now
learned from you that actually these forts
incorporated very important
technological improvements.
They certainly did.
Leaving the coastal defences behind,
from Newhaven I'm taking a short detour
north onto the main line that runs
between Brighton and London.
As you are whisked between the two
today, it's hard to comprehend
What a challenge it was
in 1841 to construct the line.
The ingenious Victorians overcame the
obstacle of the South Downs in style.
"Towards Balcombe,
the line crosses the River Ouse
"by one of the finest viaducts
in the kingdom.
"It commands extensive views.
"Hill and dale, woodland and pasture
"succeed each other in infinite
variety to the verge of the horizon."
And yet, I expect that thousands
of daily commuters from Brighton
to London cross it Without
a sideways glance.
The Ouse Valley Viaduct is a glorious
feat of Victorian engineering,
but it cannot be done
justice from a train.
I am alighting at Balcombe to head
back down the line for a better look.
On the train you pass it far too quickly,
but standing here in the valley
you appreciate What a
Wonderful structure it is.
And then it's so beautifully
decorated with a balustrade
and eight towers.
It is almost 500 yards long and, like
many Victorian engineering projects,
it's a work that blends
science and art.
Local historian Alan Dearden is
an expert on the viaduct.
Alan, hello.
- Hello. How are you?
Nice to meet you.
[LAUGHTER]
That is an extraordinary view.
I had hot anticipated that the arches
would be hollow like that.
And it is a beautiful sight,
isn't it? Almost as though
we were in a Gothic
cathedral or something.
Yes, there aren't many viaducts
built like that.
And who was responsible for this
thing of beauty?
John Rastrick was
the name of the designer
and David Mocatta was an architect,
and he was responsible for all the
stonework that is 100 feet above us.
It's made up of 37 semicircular
arches, and with foundations going
20 feet below ground, the
structure required 11 million bricks.
In total, there were about...
approximately 550 navvies
and skilled bricklayers,
particularly stonemasons,
who were either camped around here,
or lived in the surrounding
villages.
And when you think that the
scaffolding was wooden poles
held together by string, the workers
Went up on wooden ladders,
and there were only five
known fatalities...
The line had both to span valleys
and to burrow through
the South Downs.
The partnership of designer John
Rastrick and architect David Mocatta
came together to build a series
of impressive tunnels.
Hello, David.
Hello, Michael,
Welcome to Clayton Tunnel.
I believe you've got a very
good view of it.
Yes, I have, come this Way.
Local resident David Porter
is taking me to one of their
more quirky creations.
David, the portal of the Clayton
Tunnel really is
an extraordinary thing, isn't it?
I mean, you could describe it as
over the top.
- Yeah.
I think it's unique
in the world, Without a doubt.
Have you got any idea why this
sort of fortification was
built on this scale?
Well, nobody really knows for sure but
I think the simplest explanation
is it was quite simply to keep
the local landowner happy.
He would only give his permission
if it had a suitably grand,
impressive entrance.
And that rather incongruous structure
sitting in-between it
is Where you live.
- That's right.
The cottage was
added as an afterthought
and it was actually built to house
the tunnel keeper.
Why did a tunnel need
a tunnel keeper?
To keep the tunnel whitewashed,
and to light and to
continually relight the gas
lamps that lined the tunnels.
Now, we wouldn't think of lighting
a railway tunnel today
but I suppose that's a reflection
of how nervous people were
in the early days of railways.
- Absolutely right.
What is it like to live there?
Well, you would actually think it's
quite noisy, but paradoxically
it's actually very quiet
and very peaceful,
and I think that's simply because
the railway line goes beneath you
rather than to the side of you.
I'm not sure I believe you.
Why don't you come and have a look?
- Thank you.
The impressive entrance is
justified by the tunnel beyond.
It took 6,000 navvies three years
to dig and blast
a mile and a quarter
through the chalk.
Right, do come in.
Well, you certainly have a Wonderful
view of the railway line.
Well, there is a train going through
and, no, I agree it's not noisy.
You can certainly hear it, though.
You can hear it with
the sash windows open,
but you can't really feel
any vibration.
Can you imagine What it would
have been like, though,
for the tunnel keeper
when it was all steam trains?
Living on top of steam trains, I think
the joke would Wear thin after
the first one or two
because as the trains strike
the sides of the tunnel
the steam and the smoke
billows up and
completely engulfs the building,
so it wouldn't be much fun.
Clayton Tunnel was actually the scene
of a major accident, Wasn't it?
Yes, it was. Back in 1861 on
25th August, which was a Sunday,
two trains collided due to
a combination of human error,
mechanical error, and really quite
tough working practices -
these men were working 24-hour
shifts to get a day off.
The worst possible thing happened
and there was a dreadful collision,
and it was in the tunnel.
Many deaths?
Yes, there were 23 dead
and 176 were very horribly injured,
so it was a scene of devastation.
- Terrifying.
As a result of that terrible tragedy,
railway security and signalling
systems were reappraised.
It is also thought that it inspired
Charles Dickens
to write his ghost story
The Signal-Man.
It's a new day and I'll be continuing
my journey along the south coast.
This morning, I've returned
to Balcombe Station.
There was much about railways
to frighten Victorians -
locomotives belching fire and steam,
long, dark tunnels,
the risk of a railway accident,
and of murder most
foul and bloody.
I'm meeting James Gardner,
an author who's written about
one particularly gruesome event.
I believe we are very
near the scene
of the second railway murder
in history, near Balcombe.
That's correct.
The murder occurred on the
27th June, 1881.
Who was the victim?
The victim was an
elderly retired man called
Frederick Isaac Gold, and he was
last seen at London Bridge,
getting on the train
back to Brighton.
Where was the body found
and how?
It was found in the middle of the
Balcombe tunnel by two platelayers.
Was there a suspect early on?
- There was.
He got on the same express train
as Frederick Isaac Gold
and his name was
Percy Lefroy Mapleton.
When the train arrived
at Preston Park,
two ticket collectors saw
this young man covered in blood.
He said that he'd been brutally
assaulted by a countryman,
someone who looked
like a countryman.
The body in the tunnel
had yet to be discovered,
but with Lefroy covered in blood
and with no attacker to be found,
his story aroused police suspicions.
An officer accompanied him
to his home in Wallington,
but there, Lefroy gave
him the slip.
There was a terrific manhunt
because there was panicking all over
the country that there was a madman
oh the loose oh the trains.
The police were so desperate,
for the first time they decided
to print an image,
an artist's impression, in the Daily
Telegraph on the 1st July 1881.
Unfortunately,
it Wasn't very accurate
and before long, 50 Lefroys were
arrested all over the country.
Four in one day.
One American tourist was
so fed up of being arrested,
he asked police if they could keep
him in till they found the real Lefroy.
Eventually, the real Lefroy
was apprehended
in the East End of London.
A jury found him guilty of murder
and he was hanged.
But the police's early bungling had
shaken public confidence in them.
The police suffered a lot
in terms of publicity
and there was a popular joke
that went,
"Why is it unnecessary
to vaccinate a policeman?"
And the answer was,
"Because he never catches anything."
Nonetheless, the idea of publishing
an artist's impression
of a Wanted person,
that certainly did catch on.
Behold, the head of a murderer,
albeit possibly not a very
accurate one.
I'm leaving Preston Park Station to
make my Way into the South Downs.
This lovely landscape that had
challenged the railway builders
was also a great attraction.
With the Bank Holidays Act
of 1871,
day trips and excursions
were increasingly popular.
I'm off to a favourite Victorian
tourist spot, Devil's Dyke.
Alan Reynolds is a kite enthusiast
who knows the area well.
Hello, Alan.
- Hello, Michael. Pleased to meet you.
Fantastic.
- It's something, isn't it?
It really is.
Why is it called the Devil's Dyke?
Well, the legend has it that the
Devil was trying to build a channel
for the sea to flood
all the churches
that were on
the level ground beneath,
but he was disturbed
by a lady who lit a candle
and he thought the sun
was coming up.
Bradshaw says, "There are
fine walks here over the Downs.
"The summit of a high cliff
in the neighbourhood,
"called the Devil's Dyke,
is much visited
"for the fine views that it affords."
I get the impression
that this place was more popular
in the Victorian period
even than now.
Yes, I think you're right.
I mean, it must have been
popular for them to consider
building a railway up here,
for a start,
which they did in 1887
or thereabouts,
which enabled huge numbers
of people to come up here.
At the height of the season,
there were
six trains a day
running up on this line.
I think, one Whitsun,
there were 30,000 people up
here, they reckoned.
What sort of things did they
find up here when they arrived?
They found quite a bit of
entertainment. There was a funfair.
There was a cable car
across the valley.
You can still see the plinths
Where it was based,
which must have been positively
hair-raising for the Victorian mind,
I imagine, and there was a
funicular, or a very steep railway,
on the other face, to take you
down to Poynings for tea.
Also, there was a fair degree
of kite flying going on up here,
which is how my interest
in the area first arose, of course.
The late 19th century was
the golden age of kite flying.
The huge rise in its popularity
coincided with improvements in
design, such as the box kite of 1891.
Victorian examples were often
home-made, from silk and cotton.
So, Alan, that seems a very beautiful
kite. ls this an antique?
It's not really an antique.
It's a replica.
It's the sort of kite that
the Victorians
would have been able to make.
It's not a bad flier, but
the wind is gusty today,
so We've put a tail on it, which
is made of modern kite fabric.
Now, for the novice kite flier,
What would your tips be?
Um, well, first of all,
choose your location.
You Want steady wind and then,
once you've got it flying,
if it's not doing What you Want it
to, let it have some more line out
and when it's going
Where you Want it to, hold on.
And so, if it's diving towards
the ground, let it have rope...
Yes.
And if it's soaring, then
keep it under tension?
- That's right, yes.
Right, shall we fly this?
- Please.
Try How?
- Yep
While kite flying took off
in the Victorian era,
ours is hugging the ground.
If at first you don't
succeed, try, try again.
That's the mantra of kite flying,
if ever there was one.
But when it finally soars,
I share the excitement
of the Victorian day tripper.
After my uplifting experience,
I'm leaving the South Downs
and heading back towards the coast.
My next stop will be Worthing.
The guide book says that "its
rise from an insignificant hamlet
"to its present rank has been rapid,
"owing to the superior mildness
of its temperature,
"arising from the shelter
afforded by the Downs,
"which exclude the chilling blasts
of the northern and eastern winds."
And, thanks to that microclimate,
at the time of Bradshaw's,
one important industry was growing.
Specifically, fruit and vegetables
grown in glasshouses.
In 1845, Worthing was connected
by rail to London and beyond.
Producers could now send their goods
to the capital's Covent Garden Market
and to the colder cities
of the north.
Business boomed and Victorian
growers cultivated grapes,
strawberries, French beans,
mushrooms, nectarines and tomatoes.
The industry continues today,
with vast glasshouses.
I'm visiting a tomato nursery
set up 38 years ago by Eric Wall.
Hello, Eric.
- Hello, Michael.
Very good to see you, in this
extraordinarily large glasshouse.
Now, the scale you're
on here is enormous.
Can you give me some idea of it?
Well, yes, there's 30 acres
of glass on this side.
One of the biggest nurseries
in the country.
I noticed that you've got
these little trolleys, like
railway Wagons, running
between the tomato plants.
Tell me about that.
Well, these are the heating pipes
and, years ago,
they would be in the centre
of the bed.
We moved them to the outside
and created a rail system,
so we exploited the railway idea
and we use the flanged Wheels
to keep them on the track.
So, have you any idea
how much track you have here?
On the site as a whole,
it's over 40 miles.
Good heaven.
So you're really quite a big
railway operator, aren't you?
Yeah. We don't use
steam, though.
[THEY LAUGH]
Glasshouses first appeared
in the 17th and 18th centuries,
but were astronomically expensive.
In the mid-19th century, the glass
and Window taxes were repealed
and manufacturing innovations
reduced the cost.
The giant glasshouse
transformed market gardening
into mass production.
By 1899, there were around 50 acres
of glasshouses in Worthing,
employing 100 nurserymen.
Hello, Chris. I'm Michael.
Chris is Eric's son
and now runs the business.
When you're looking at your tomato
crop to make sure it's doing well,
What kind of characteristics
are you looking for?
Well, We're obviously looking
for good, even red colour
on the tomatoes
before we harvest them,
'cos they can be in the store
tomorrow morning
and on someone's plate
by tomorrow afternoon.
Very, very quick. Are you
still quite weather-dependent?
Does it make a difference to you
whether you have a good
summer or a bad one?
Oh, completely weather-dependent.
They talk about a 1% light
equalling 1% yield,
so the light over the 12 months
plays a huge part.
When the sun comes out,
the plants grow quicker.
The fruit ripens quicker and the
demand is there for eating salads.
I'm getting quite hungry,
standing here.
Is there any chance of trying one
of your tomatoes?
By all means. You carry on.
- Any one?
Well, I'd take from the top of the
truss, 'cos that's the most ripe.
That's been ripening the longest.
Any tips on this?
Just bite through it?
Straight through, yes.
Wow.
When you take it
straight from the plant,
the flavour just explodes,
doesn't it?
What a lovely-looking
and tasting tomato. Well done.
Mm!
Across the nursery, the rows
of plants stretch 33 miles.
Each day, the ripest of the 360,000
heads are harvested.
Hello, Gavin.
- Hello, Michael.
Do you mind if I join you on your
railway wagon here?
Certainly.
Um, these plants are amazingly long.
Tell me about them.
When they come in, early season,
they're very small
and What we do is we trail them
up to the wire
and once they reach the wire,
then we start layering them.
It's like Jack and the Beanstalk!
So, they grow incredibly fast,
don't they?
Yes, they do.
Now, Where shall I make my out?
If you out it right beside the stem,
'cos if we leave
a small stub on there,
then we could get disease into that,
so it needs to be
out right beside the stem.
Right up by the stem.
Oh, WOW.
That looks beautiful.
Getting up a bit of speed now.
What about that one, Gavin?
Yeah, take that one.
All aboard for the Tomato Express!
The topography of southern England
presented formidable obstacles,
which 19th-century
engineers overcame,
sinking Newhaven Fort
into the cliff-top
and carrying the London to Brighton
railway over the Ouse Valley
and through the Clayton Tunnel
beneath the South Downs.
Those beautiful hills
provided a microclimate
suitable for tomato growing,
and Victorians showed
that they could build glasshouses
as well as haul stones.
Next time, I find out how shells
Went ballistic...
You're kidding. inflexible, which
is only 15 years after Warrior,
is firing this sort of ammunition?
Discover the origins of one
of the most revered Victorians...
It's underneath this very tree
that Florence felt very strongly
that she was called by God
to serve her fellow man.
And abandon the tracks to check out
the railway's greatest competitor.
Tally-ho!
Oh!
[END THEME]