Winchfield to Crowthorne Great British Railway Journeys

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 car.'

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!

'And I learn of the surprisingly enlightened 19th-century attitude

'towards the criminally insane.'

What the Victorian did was they established that people

with mental illness who committed crime needed health care.

They needed a hospital, not a prison.

My journey started on the south coast,

heads through Hampshire,

north west 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 perhaps the 19th century's most famous British soldier -

the Duke of Wellington.

This beautiful estate at 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 eldest 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. I mean you can't not

become 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 Napoleon 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 the result of a tragic, tragic incident in 1830

when he was Prime Minister when he was asked to open the new railway

from Liverpool to Manchester.

And halfway along the journey, the train stopped and Mr Huskison,

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.

And, I think, ever since then

the Duke had a very sceptical approach to railways.

Well, I think we can forgive the Iron Duke

his views of the railways, given that he was

a great national hero.

On the 18th of June 1815,

the Commander in Chief's faithful companion at Waterloo

was his chestnut stallion, Copenhagen.

21 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?

The Duke was tremendously dependent on a reliable horse.

He rode this horse all day,

from early in the morning to late that evening

so Copenhagen played a very important part

in the success of the battle.

-Copenhagen deserved to be buried with such honours.

-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 to Lord Nelson in the crypt of St Paul's Cathedral in London.

The car dominates the house museum.

So through here you're going to see suddenly...

the funeral car.

It is the most colossal thing, isn't it? Absolutely enormous.

What on earth does it weigh?

I believe it weighs 18 tonnes,

-but more remarkable is that it was made in 18 days.

-From what?

Partly from canons captured at Waterloo.

And it's quite a complicated mechanism, because

the whole of the top part has to be able to swivel,

so as to take the coffin off and up the steps of St Pauls.

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.'

She didn't go to the ceremony,

because 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.

"It is a terrible loss, and to us, dear Bessie, a very severe one."

Having seen how the Commander in Chief spent his retirement,

at 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 Albert 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.

And what was it like in those early days?

You would just 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.

There'd be a company of soldiers, so there'd be 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.

What was the bed like?

Not the most comfortable.

The conditions were fairly spartan in the barrack blocks.

Quite narrow too, isn't it?

Yes, well, they were packed in here but also people at that time

were much smaller than they are now.

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 of time.'

So why have you brought me to these sidings off the main line here?

This is quite possibly one of the most expensive pieces

-of railway in the country.

-Well, it certainly doesn't look it.

First of all, where does it go?

In the 1890s, the first soldiers to go out to the Boer War

came down these sidings on to the main line

-to go out to the campaign.

-So why so expensive?

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,

then used for railway lines such as this one.

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.

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.

How did they set about being scientific about physical education?

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 time.

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.

Do you think for the individual it can make the difference

between life and death, and for the army

can it make the difference between defeat and victory?

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.

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 voice command. When I say direction change,

pick up the leading foot and turn and run in the opposite direction...

When does this finish?

Change!

-Well done.

-That was a surprise.

And bouncing off the toes.

HE BREATHES HEAVILY

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,

30, 45 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.

Put 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.

-Hello.

I'm looking for the Benedictine monastery of St Michael's.

Yes, it's across the road there and it'll be 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 Eugenie 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. Bye-bye.

This Eugenie was actually a French empress,

and I'm intrigued to know why such a personage is 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 get.

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 tranquillity.

I'm meeting Abbot Cuthbert Brogan by the monastery's chapel

to find out more about this surprising Hampshire retreat.

How did it come to be that a Benedictine monastery

was built in this place?

The origin of the monastery is the Empress Eugenie.

The Empress was the widow, by the time she came to Farnborough,

of the emperor Napoleon III.

Napoleon III is the nephew of the one 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.

18 years into his reign, French Emperor Napoleon III

lost the Franco Prussian war, in 1870,

was captured and exiled to England,

where he lived in Chislehurst, Kent,

with his wife Eugenie and their son Louis.

Napoleon died in 1873 and Louis perished in the British Army,

fighting Zulus, leaving Empress Eugenie heartbroken

and alone in Chislehurst.

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 Eugenie 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 mishmash, 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 at Solesmes in the north of France.

And 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,

Eugenie'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 Napoleon III

and then on the left, Louis,

the Prince Imperial, his son,

and above the altar in the prime position,

the Empress Eugenie.

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.

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.

MONKS CHANT

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 of 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 leave 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.

-Is it a hard life?

-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.

How does the calling express itself?

God wore me down.

The desire to try the life became more intense,

to the extent that I 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 north west, on the Ash to Wokingham branch line,

to my final stop, Crowthorne.

Crowthorne is home to Wellington College,

where the sons of 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 of Britain's

three high security psychiatric hospitals.

The Criminal Lunatic Asylum Act 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 the Victorians choose to build Broadmoor here?

They wanted something that wasn't too far away London

and was on Government land and there was a bit of a deal clincher here -

there was 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

'of 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 were the aspirations that they had 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 is you'll nurse somebody better

-using those things.

-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 of 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?

Yes, 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 that actually,

being surrounded by people who were behaving irrationally

was not at all a preferable option to being surrounded by

the certainties of your fellow convicts.

'Nowadays, Broadmoor treats men only,

'but it first opened with 95 female patients.'

'One of the best known was Christiana Edmunds,

'who was sentenced as 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.'

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 for him, 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 including Broadmoor.

The other very well-known Victorian example

is a chap called William Chester Minor.

He was a surgeon in the American Civil War,

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 must be.

And 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 now beat the back of your flom.

-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.

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