London Paddington to Warminster Great British Railway Journeys

In 1840, one man transformed travel in the British Isles.

His name was George Bradshaw and his railway guides inspired

the Victorians to take to the tracks.

stop by stop he told them where to travel,

what to see and where to stay.

Now 170 years later, I'm making a series of journeys

across the length and breadth of these isles

to see what of Bradshaw's Britain remains.

I'm embarking on a new journey tracking the master engineer

of the Great Western Railway, Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

I'll begin at the line's London gateway, Paddington Station.

Travel west through Berkshire, Wiltshire and Somerset.

Before finishing up in Newton Abbot, Devon,

the scene of one of Brunel's heroic failures.

This leg covers 99 miles.

Starting in London it's a short hop to Hanwell.

Then onto Hungerford in Berkshire, before crossing counties into Wiltshire.

On this stretch I'll apply my mind to a Victorian asylum.

And come to grips with the old grey matter.

You know when I got on the underground this morning,

I never dreamt that I was going to end up today handling a human brain.

I'll scale great heights to give an historic horse a facelift...

The horse is about 800 square metres.

I think I'll just do this little postage stamp worth here, if you don't mind!

..and make malt 19th century style.

I must say these feel like Victorian conditions to me.

I'm starting my journey in the capital.

I'm travelling along the London Underground

on a line that was opened for steam trains in 1863.

Roughly the year my Bradshaw's Guide was published.

It ran from Kings Cross to Paddington,

the terminus built by Brunel for the Great Western Railway,

and the scene of railway engineering triumphs past, present and to come.

Even to 21st century commuters, Paddington's grandiose roof spans are awe-inspiring.

But when the station was built in the 19th Century, recent advances in technology

made it possible to construct from iron and glass, buildings whose like had never been seen before.

I was rather surprised to find that Bradshaw says that the exterior of Paddington is not very remarkable.

But, of course, most people arrive here by train and they see,

"A station spacious enough to accommodate the largest number off excursionists ever accumulated."

And Bradshaw's talks about,

"The immense roofs which impart to the traveller the impression

that he is about to start by the railway of a first-rate company."

And impressions were everything for the competing Victorian railway companies.

The London terminus reassuringly indicated to first class passengers

the railway's wealth and stature.

And inspired wonder amongst the hordes who could now go on holiday by train.

For the Great Western, Brunel built the grandest yet,

a veritable palace of steam.

But its inauguration came 16 long years after the railway had opened.

I'm meeting Brunel expert and railway historian, John Christopher in front of Isambard himself.

Paddington Station, when was it built?

It was opened in 1854 but key to understanding this Paddington is in it's full name.

This is Paddington New Station.

So the original station was built beyond the Bishops Road Bridge

at the far end as a temporary structure.

Initially, they didn't have the land they needed or the money

he'd spent so much building the railway to Bristol that they built a wooden station.

And only when the land and money became available by 1850 did they start work on this station.

So this is a rare example of late Brunel.

Thanks to advances in engineering

and inspired by the Palm House at Kew Gardens

and Paxton's Crystal Palace, Brunel was able to build

a far more ambitious station than he'd originally planned in 1835.

The most spectacular aspect being the roof

three 700 foot long spans of glass and iron.

Making it, at the time of building, the largest in existence.

So here we are, the important bit, Brunel's wonderful roof.

So this uses the techniques that have been developed between the time that the railways were built

and the time that the station was built?

Yes, specifically the use of wrought iron and glass in structures.

There are many aspects to this, partly it's an upturned ship, which Brunel was familiar with,

he'd already built the Great Britain, the large iron ship at that stage.

But it's also an early example of modular architecture.

So you've got the same components repeated again and again and again, until you've got a whole building.

It's something we're very used to now.

Perhaps the Victorians were only just discovering.

The station took three years to build and cost around £620,000,

which is equivalent to £62 million in today's money.

Worth every penny I think.

That is a magnificent bird. What is it?

Thank you very much, she's a Harris Hawk.

-And why are you here, the two of you?

-We're doing pigeon control.

So the pigeons are obviously pretty frightened of this fellow?

Yes, she's a predator to pigeons

And so is it enough for the pigeons just to see the bird and they keep away?

Pretty much, yes, the shape and size of her is enough of a deterrent.

Well, I must say if I'm were a pigeon, I'd be quaking right now.

-Lovely to see you.

-You too, take care.

Today, Paddington is one site in a new multi-billion pound railway project,

which will include additional platforms beneath ground and represents

one of the most significant changes to the station since Brunel completed it.

If there's one thing that excites me as much as railway history

it's the thought that new railways are being built.

And I can't wait to travel on Crossrail which will go from Paddington to East London

and it really thrills me that today we're using a technology

that's largely unchanged since the beginning of the 19th Century.

Near Paddington Station, work has commenced.

Crossrail is currently Europe's largest civil engineering project, costing nearly £15 billion.

13 miles of new twin-bored tunnels are being built under the heart of London.

And a total of 37 stations will link Maidenhead and Heathrow in the west,

with Shenfield and Abbey Wood in the east.

Andy Alder is the Project Manager.

-Andy, good morning.

-Good morning, Michael.

-So where we're standing now, we're just a mile from Paddington Station?

-Yeah.

And what are you going to do from here?

So we got two tunnel boring machines here, we've got Ada which is our double second machine behind us here,

and Phyllis is our first machine, Phyllis is down in the ground at the moment

starting to dig tunnels from here to Paddington.

So our tunnelling machines will dig from here all the way to Farringdon.

and when we've done that we'll start excavating the station tunnels

at Bond Street and Tottenham Court Road.

And at the same time we've got six more machines almost identical to this working their way

from east of London, coming into Farringdon and going up to Stratford.

It's quite a big moment here for me, because in the 1980's I was the Minister of Transport

and we were already talking about Crossrail then.

But we had another project on the books which was the Jubilee line extension out to Canary Wharf

but we only had money for one so we did the other one.

But if I see this machine turn in a moment, I'll really feel that I'm...

well I don't know, that it's an ambition achieved.

Yeah, absolutely.

Each custom-made boring machine is 148 metres long.

That's the equivalent of 14 buses end to end.

These giant machines will work nearly 24 hours a day excavating soil.

And as they move forward, they set in place pre-cast concrete segments

creating the tunnel as they burrow.

Could you please turn the machine for us?

Everybody is clear, everyone is standing clear.

There she goes.

So I've got to imagine now this will be going through the rock and the clay

and all of that then will be prised out and then fed back through the machine?

That's correct, yeah.

Fed back through the machine, onto the conveyers

and then to here so we can take the material away by train.

About 190 years ago,

Isambard Brunel and his father Marc were constructing the Thames Tunnel.

How does the way that you tunnel now compare with the days

of Isambard Kingdom Brunel and his father, Marc?

The basic technology is the same, having a shield that supports the ground,

doing the excavation and building the tunnel behind us.

The differences are that where we have mechanical cutter head,

he had 36 partitions in the front

with miners working by hand excavating the ground away.

And while we're building concrete segments,

he had bricklayers building brickwork behind.

They were achieving 350 feet in whole year in the 1820s.

We'll achieve 350 feet in a week.

That's amazing.

I want to get closer to the action, so we're making our way to the tunnel head

passing the rear sections of the boring machine.

As well as containing toilets and a kitchen,

it hosts a narrow gauge railway running its full length

so that pre-cast concrete segments can be delivered to the cutting head.

A railway helping to build a railway.

So this is where it really happens.

It occurs to me as you're tunnelling here you must be dodging quite a lot of Victorian infrastructure.

Yes, so this machine will pass close, in ten locations, the London Underground tube tunnels and tracks.

We're also tunnelling underneath the Bazalgette sewerage system

that was the first Victorian sewer system for London.

So there is a lot of very historic and very important infrastructure to London

that we need to protect as we go through.

Not much pressure on you there then!

Crossrail is due to open in central London in 2018

and I feel honoured to have had a glimpse into the future of rail travel in the capital.

But it's now time to return to Brunel's Paddington

where my journey on his historic Great Western Railway begins.

My Bradshaw, written in the 1860s, comments,

"A metamorphosis has taken place in the environs of the line.

"Walls have become green embankments,

"embankments diminished into hedges,

"and hedges grown into avenues of trees

"waving a leafy adieu as we are carried past."

The leafy goodbye and verdant outlook had been incorporated into London as the capital has expanded.

And so also Hanwell, now part of the London Borough of Ealing,

in Bradshaw's day it was a village in Middlesex

and the first stop out of the metropolis on the Great Western to win a mention in the guidebook.

No devotee of Brunel can come to Hanwell without wanting to visit one of his masterpieces.

It's not just the grand stations and powerful locomotives that have so captured our imaginations,

because spectacular viaducts and bridges made it possible

for the railways to traverse rivers and valleys.

This imposing viaduct across the Brent Valley

was the first contract to be let on Brunel's Great Western Railway and it was completed in 1837.

And I can do no better than to quote Bradshaw's.

"A massive and elegant structure."

Over 900 feet long, the viaduct was Brunel's first major structure.

In Bradshaw's day, it was said locally, that Queen Victoria so much enjoyed the view

over the River Brent, that she would have her train halt there a while.

On such a journey, she and her subjects travelling on the Great Western Railway,

could not possibly fail to notice a huge neoclassical building just a stone's throw from the viaduct.

My Bradshaw's Guide says, "The most interesting object in the landscape is Hanwell Asylum,

"generously devoted to the reception of the indigent insane."

Now, the Victorians were pretty blunt in their language, but actually they made as much progress

in mental health as in railway engineering.

Opened in 1831, it was the United Kingdom's first purpose-built asylum

and represented a massive shift in attitudes towards mental health.

Previously, the so-called "pauper insane"

were locked up in workhouses and jails.

Even at Hanwell, treatment was from far from sympathetic.

Inmates spent much of their time in restraints, with no attempt at treatment.

But this was set to change when Superintendent John Connolly took charge in 1839.

Current librarian, Paul Lang, is going to tell me more.

This was founded before the Victorian era.

I think of the Victorians as being quite progressive in mental health.

Was there a change?

Oh, yes, definitely, particularly under John Connolly.

He did away with restraints within the first few months of him being there.

He encouraged them in music, dancing, outings - as long as they were supervised, of course.

There was basket weaving and coir mat making

and like a proto-industrial therapy, they got them to do various things.

He took a far more humane approach to the patients.

Connolly's methods were to become general practice throughout the United Kingdom

and Hanwell a model for future asylums.

That pioneering Victorian legacy is sensed to this day,

as it's now the headquarters for the West London Mental Health Trust

and home to a very rare and intriguing archive.

I'm meeting Curator and Consultant Psychiatrist, Michael Maier.

Hello, I'm Michael.

This looks like some sort of collection, what is it?

Well, it's a collection of brains across the age range -

from birth right through to 100-plus.

The collection was started in the 1950s by a consultant pathologist, Professor Corsellis.

Determined to develop a better understanding of neurological and mental disease,

he kept his patients' brains post-mortem for research.

Today, the collection amounts to 6,000 specimens.

So this collection has been really significant in understanding what we used to consider

functional illnesses, illnesses that didn't seem to have a biological reason,

that they were somehow to do with the person.

So we used to believe that schizophrenia perhaps wasn't based on any biological cause.

In this collection with the work that Professor Corsellis did,

he showed that the brains of people with schizophrenia did have

abnormalities that could explain some of the symptoms.

Today, the collection is linked to the research network Brain UK

and is accessible to medical researchers throughout the world.

This is a typical brain.

Do you have a sense of awe that we're all wandering around with something up here

That we only understand to a limited extent?

Well, this is what makes you what you are, it's my brain talking to your brain.

It's not my liver or my kidneys. What we are is a product of this organ which is quite astonishing.

Do you want to take this?

I can tell you this is definitely going to be a first for me,

I have never held a brain in my hands. Now that is extraordinary.

I tell you what really surprise me, considering what it does, it doesn't weigh much at all.

Do you know Michael, when I got on the underground this morning, I never dreamt

that I was going to end up today handling a human brain.

Well, your life is full of surprises.

It's time to continue westwards and I'm picking up a train

from Southall, the next station along the line.

This is going to be crowded.

I've hit rush hour,

and the trains coming from London are packed with commuters.

It's slow going as we leave the suburbs, stop by stop,

and finally make our way into Berkshire.

A long journey on the stopping train has bought me at last to Hungerford

and it's time for me to turn in.

And my Bradshaw's mentions a hotel, The Black Bear.

-Good evening.

-Good evening, sir.

-So it's an old coaching in, is it?

Yes, we're one of the oldest in the country. We're on the main Bath to London coaching route.

Once upon a time owned by Henry VIII.

He used to come here when they cleared the palaces in London of plague.

-So it's full of history.

-So we're full of history.

-Do you have a room for me?

-I do indeed, sir.

There we are, number 11.

You're in the main house, which is the main part of the building.

Thank you very much. Good night.

It's a new day and I'm continuing my journey westwards on Brunel's famous railway.

I'm re-joining the train at Hungerford and crossing the county border into rural Wiltshire.

As I approach Westbury, there's a tantalising reference in my Bradshaw's guide,

"An ancient encampment on the edge of the chalk downs near Bratton.

"On the escarpment below is the figure of a white horse

"the origin of which is doubtful and obscure."

Very intriguing.

Clearly visible from passing trains this chalk horse must have been

an unmissable attraction for those early Victorian tourists,

fascinated as they were by all things mystical.

I'm going to take a closer look and see whether any Westbury locals are in the know.

You're visiting the white horse. Do you know what its origins are?

Well, I know what its origins are linked to rather than are.

It was the Battle of Ethandun between King Alfred and the Danes.

And Ethandun is thought to be the Edington area.

And this was put up much later to commemorate the Battle of Ethandun.

Indeed, this particular horse isn't so long in the tooth,

and dates not from the time of the battle in the 9th century,

but from the early 18th.

Ever since, the Westbury community has gathered on a regular basis on the hillside

to weed the site and keep the horse white.

In the 1950s, Westbury's snowy steed was concreted over

in a controversial bid to reduce maintenance.

The horse still needs regular grooming,

but today instead of trowels and hoes,

the community comes armed with paint pots and rollers.

Hello. I'm admiring the white horse, maybe you are as well.

Are you part of the community?

Yeah, I live out in one of the villages and I came up myself last weekend to have a go.

So weren't you scared when you went down and painted it?

It was a bit hairy at first getting the hang of the abseiling.

But once you get down and you start painting,

it's just like painting your living room, but while being on a rope.

Now, a chance to put my DIY skills to the test with team leader, Steve Carrington.

-I may be fool to suggest this, but may I have a go?

-Absolutely, let's get you on a rope, painting.

Thank you. Excellent.

Now, luckily I do have a reasonable head for heights,

even so the angle is pretty daunting.

-Yep, you know what you're doing?

-Hope so.

Good. Mind the lump to your left foot.

Wow, home decorating has nothing on this, does it really?

The horse is about 800 square metres.

I think I'll just do this little postage stamp worth here, if you don't mind.

Have you any idea how in the 18th or the 19th century, they would have done this?

Did they have ropes?

Well, they would have had ropes, but certainly all the accounts

that we have seen of them doing the Uffington white horse,

people are just shown just walking around on it working.

Rather they than me.

"Former politician involved in whitewash and hung out to dry."

I'll hand back the reins to Steve, as I'm returning to Westbury Station to re-join the Great Western.

I'm not travelling far along the line, just one stop.

Bradshaw's refers to this borough as being well populated with maltings.

In fact, in the early 1800s there were 25 malt houses in Wiltshire.

Today there's just one,

but it's the oldest working malt house in the United Kingdom

and they're making malt exactly as they did 150 years ago.

I'm meeting the owner Robin Appel.

-Robin, Hello!

-Hello Michael, welcome to Warminster Maltings.

It's great to be here, thank you so much.

-A beautiful garden, but actually beautiful architecture altogether. Is it Victorian?

-Yes, it is.

It was built in 1855 by a man called William Morgan,

who was an established maltster and brewer in the town.

The town at that stage had 30-plus malt houses, all very small.

And I suppose William Morgan had the vision of realising,

"If I build a really big one, I'll get the economics that allow me

"to be basically be the dominant maltster in the town."

And by the end of the 19th century, he had basically but all the other ones out of business.

I'm going to ask you are really stupid and basic question.

What is malt?

Yes, malt is principally barley.

Barley is a grain that's packed full of starch,

and we convert that starch to sugar,

which is the product that the brewers brew with.

From the 17th Century malt was heavily taxed.

For nearly 300 years, the Crown drew in excess of 10% of its income from malt tax

and could raise the levy at will, and often did so.

By the 19th century, the maltsters had had enough of what they perceived to be unfair harassment

and came together to petition customs and excise.

And this is your archive.

Yes, I think what I've got here Michael is the blotted copy

which was drawn up in 1845 by the maltsters of Wessex.

It included William Morgan from Warminster.

I like this line here. It accuses the commissioners of,

"Harassing the industry with a vigour beyond the law which, excited by dangerous stimulants,

"is calculated to create an apparent delinquency

"where none by fair procedure would be found to exist."

My Bradshaw's is written in very similar flowery language.

-I love it.

-Yes.

It took nearly 40 years, but in the 1880's malt tax was abolished

and this maltings flourished.

Its success was greatly aided by the railway,

which enabled the malt to be sold far and wide.

By the time we got to the end of the 19th century and William Frank Morgan took over from his father,

here we have his cashbook from 1903

and lo and behold, February 2nd, only the second entry.

"The Great Western Railway, £135 nine shillings and nine pence."

-A very considerable sum.

-Absolutely.

And he was paying the Great Western Railway for what?

For malt freighted out of Warminster Station.

And if we go through the book we find an entry of that sort of level

at the beginning of every month.

It's a wonderful archive.

I'm interested to see the traditional way of making malt.

The first part of the process is to steep the grain

which kick-starts germination.

So we put it under water for about four to six hours

and then we drain it for the remainder of that 24 hours.

Then in the next 24 hours, we put it under water for 12 hours,

and then we drain it for 12 hours.

And then the third 24-hour period

we put it under water for another 12 hours,

and then drain it for 12 hours.

It's amazing anyone discovered how to do this.

Exactly!

So when the process is complete we transfer it out of here

onto the floors behind us.

Next, it needs to be dried and aerated by ploughing.

Well, this really is a Victorian-looking process, or maybe much older.

What we want to end up achieving is the maximum amount of starch

still encased in that grain converted into sugar.

You have to react to exactly how that barley behaves.

And if that means you have to come back at 10 o'clock at night to plough it,

you come back at 10 o'clock at night.

There is no blueprint for doing this.

And this is where the maltster's skill really comes into its own.

In modern day maltings, this is done on an industrial scale

and of course it's all fully automated.

But here in Warminster tradition is kept alive.

Time to see whether I would make a good plough horse.

-It's quite heavy.

-Yeah, it's the actual jerk that makes it easier.

-And so we are putting the air into this, are we?

-Yes, that's it.

Also, by the way, the ceiling is getting lower and lower.

I must say these feel like Victorian conditions to me.

Exhausted by my day at the plough, I'm heading back to the station.

Engineers building railways today still draw inspiration from role models like Brunel.

The Victorians brought passion to everything they did -

from viaducts, to novel treatments for the mentally ill.

And of course to the making of their beer.

Cheers.

'On the next leg of my journey, I'll be visiting a tourist hotspot

'that's been captivating visitors since Victorian times...'

This is the granddaddy of all castles and cathedrals and skyscrapers.

This is the beginning of architecture.

Thank you very much.

'..I'll take to the air...'

I think George Bradshaw would have loved this machine,

but he would have been even more amazed to find out

there would be trains that went faster than this thing does.

'..and I'll try my hand at cloth-making the 19th century way.'

Oh! This is more difficult than it looks.

You're horsing around with me, aren't you?

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