Carlisle to Penrith Great British Railway Journeys

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'm 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'm beginning a journey through the north-western quarter of England.

It contains some of Britain's loveliest scenery.

But it was also the cradle of the Industrial Revolution

and its great cities polluted the air and the water.

Trains enabled urban workers occasionally to escape

from the grime, but then again, mass tourism threatened the beauty spots.

On this journey, I hope to discover how the Victorians were the

first generation to struggle with the conflict between progress and nature.

Following my Bradshaw's Guide,

my route will cross northwest England to finish in the West Midlands.

It begins close to the Scottish border,

heads through the mountains and valleys of Cumbria,

continues south through Lancashire's once smoke-filled cities

and teeming docks,

and ends in Staffordshire.

Today's leg starts in Carlisle,

moves east to the Victorian market town of Brampton,

then heads southwest to Penrith, the gateway to the northern lakes.

'On this journey, I get to grips with factory life...'

Oh, that's quite a good one!

-Well done!

-Quite a good one! So exciting when I get it right!

'..descend to the bowels of the Earth...'

Is this the little incline you were talking about?

-This is the little incline, yeah.

-This is a rollercoaster.

This is a fairground ride. What the hell! Argh!

'..and come out on top of the world.'

So I'm now walking out on air and the drop beneath me

appears to be infinite.

My first stop will be Carlisle,

which Bradshaw's describes as, "a healthy spot on the Eden

"in Cumberland, on the Scottish border,

"once the key to Scotland on this side of the island."

And I might add that its railway station is a suitable gateway

to England.

Carlisle is known as the Great Border City,

positioned ten miles south of Scotland.

And, thanks to the Victorians, it's the main cultural, commercial

and industrial centre in north Cumbria.

By Bradshaw's day, Carlisle Citadel Station had united the city's

expanding rail connections under one roof.

Carlisle was once served by seven different railway companies.

It was the scene of intense competition between those

great railway builders, George Stephenson and Joseph Locke.

It once boasted the largest railway marshalling yard in Europe.

It was a strategic hub on the West Coast Mainline,

just south of the Scottish border.

Rail links with the northwest and northeast of England

transformed the city into a thriving industrial centre.

Today, Carlisle boasts a population of more than 100,000

and it's the historic home of some of the country's major food producers.

I'm heading to the McVitie's factory, who make Carr's biscuits.

Bradshaw's has the most extraordinary entry.

"Carlisle is celebrated for its manufacture of fancy biscuits.

"The leading establishment being Messrs Carr.

"If curiosity should induce the tourist to make a visit,

"we do not hesitate to say that it would be found highly interesting.

"If any prejudice exist against fancy biscuits,

"it will at once be removed on an inspection of the works,

"even from the minds of the most fastidious.

"The most scrupulous cleanliness being observable throughout."

So, removing all prejudice from my mind, I set out biscuit-wards.

'I've not heard of a fancy biscuit, but hopefully factory general

'manager Angela Gibbs can shed some light on the matter.'

Angela, my Bradshaw's Guide is rather polite about this place.

He calls it a manufactory. When did it all begin?

Well, Jonathan Dodgson Carr came up from Kendal in 1831.

He opened a shop in Carlisle, first of all baking bread,

and then he moved eventually to this site.

This factory was up and running by 1841,

so that's a fantastic achievement in ten years.

'Jonathan Dodgson Carr had come to Carlisle to make his fortune.

'He achieved it through his ingenuity and by harnessing steam power

'to produce biscuits on an industrial scale.'

I get the impression from the guide book that this place was quite

mechanised by the 1860s.

Yes, it was, because this is the birthplace of biscuit automation.

Jonathan Dodgson Carr was an amazingly inventive man

and he saw what was happening in the printing industry and

he adapted a printing press to stamp out 20, 30, 40 biscuits at a time.

And that revolutionised the biscuit industry.

'But Carr also needed to develop an appealing product.

'Biscuits had been hard, dry and savoury,

'used to sustain the Navy on long voyages.

'He came up with a plan.'

There's an extraordinarily long passage in my guide book

about fancy biscuits.

What did Victorians mean by that?

That evolved here into the famous Carr's Table Water,

but they were very plain biscuits.

What happened later in the 1800s was the development of what's

referred to as fancy biscuits - amazing different ingredients

and different types of biscuits.

The custard creams, the bourbon creams,

the jam rings that we know today,

but also amazing things like ragged robin creams and just desserts.

They had an amazing array.

And Carr's made those into assortments and sold them

as fancy biscuits.

A simple treat that people could afford.

'Carr's timing couldn't have been better.

'Coach travellers had been able to stop for food at roadside inns.

'With the arrival of the railways,

'people began to make longer journeys and, often,

'they were unable to buy refreshments along the way.

'And so the demand for a travel snack was born.

'Today, fancy biscuits are as popular as ever.'

How many biscuits are you producing per year?

Well, we make 3.5 billion packets of biscuits a year.

Things like custard creams, six million a day, bourbon creams,

six million a day. Ginger nuts, seven million a day.

So this is an amazing legacy to Jonathan Dodgson Carr.

'In the 21st century, the machinery may be modern, but the role

'of the biscuit packer has changed little since Bradshaw's day.'

The first thing you have to do is judge how many biscuits

go in a packet.

Then you have to seize them, squeeze them like a concertina,

transport them over here, rest them on the edge,

divide them in two, all while this thing is racing past.

It's impossible!

Not too much squeezing!

Not too much squeezing. Here we go.

That one was a little bit short.

That's it. There you go. Well done.

That's your first packet of biscuits. Pull them towards you.

Not so good.

Too many, too many, too many.

This is much more difficult than it looks.

You're causing havoc down here!

-Not quite.

-Not quite. Getting there. Oh, that's quite a good one.

-Yeah, well done.

-Quite a good one!

So exciting when I get it right!

Angela, I'm sorry.

I think I destroyed about three billion biscuits.

Well, you did very well, but there needs to be a lot more

-improvement before we could employ you.

-I know.

But I hope you'll take some of our fancy biscuits with you to

-enjoy on the rest of your journey.

-Oh, thank you. In an antique tin.

That's absolutely marvellous. I've really enjoyed the visit.

-Thank you for coming.

-Bye.

-Bye.

'Well, I won't be giving up the day job.

'Before returning to the station, I'm making a small detour.

'My interest has been sparked by a church in the nearby village Wreay

'and I can't leave without having a peek.

'My guide is to be architect Raymond Whittaker.'

-Well met, Raymond.

-Welcome to St Mary's, Michael.

-It's lovely to be here. What an amazing facade!

-It is.

Quite extraordinary, isn't it?

Raymond, I'm ashamed to say that this wonderful church

does not appear in Bradshaw's,

but that great architectural commentator Pevsner does

and says it's the finest ecclesiastical piece

of Victorian architecture, but it's absolutely extraordinary.

What are we looking at here?

It's a bit of Italy set in north Cumbria.

It's a Romanesque basilica church.

It's a very simple form,

but look at the details of it and you see absolutely amazing things.

You see fossils, you see animals and insects.

It's absolutely full of these things.

'In 1840, St Mary's was in a poor state of repair.

'Wealthy local resident

'and self-taught designer Sarah Losh offered to fund a new building,

'on condition that she had a free hand in its design.'

What is so striking then is that, as far as I can see,

there are no virgins, there are no crucifixes,

there are none of the symbols that I would expect to find.

Absolutely not, no. But it is a church full of symbolism.

It's even pre-Christian, slightly pagan, but very personal to Sarah.

Now, the first thing I want to show you, Michael, are these pine cones.

-Very handsome. What do they tell us?

-They have quite a story behind them.

Because Sarah had a friend, William Thain, he was in the Army

and he went to fight in Afghanistan and unfortunately was killed there.

But before then, he sent back a pine cone to Sarah.

Sarah planted it in the churchyard and it grew into a tree here.

To Sarah, it was a symbol of new life

and also a symbol of her dear friend, William.

'In the 1830s, Britain experienced a great religious revival.

'By 1872, the number of churches across the country had

'increased by over a third.

'St Mary's broke the architectural mould.'

-Tell me about the form. A Roman basilica?

-Yes, it is.

And going against the trend of the day.

If you think of Victorian architecture,

there would be Gothic churches, high steeples, big pointed arches,

but here we have a very simple form, a simple rectangular knave

and this fantastic curved apse.

What was a basilica in Roman times?

A basilica was in fact a Roman law court.

In the apse would be seating the judges, the chief judge

in the centre and in the middle there, the sacrificial table.

'Somewhat unusually for a woman of her time,

'Sarah was highly educated and well travelled.

'She drew inspiration for St Mary's from a grand tour of the Continent,

'undertaken with her sister Katherine.'

-Was Sarah Losh a married woman?

-No, she never did marry.

Her parents died when she was young and she,

with her sister Katherine, grew up together, but unfortunately,

Katherine also died quite young

and Sarah built this church in memory of her younger sister.

'Katherine's death in 1835 devastated Sarah.

'And, after completing St Mary's in 1842,

'she built a mausoleum for her in the grounds of the church.

'Styles and fashions have changed very much since Victorian times

'and this might seem to our tastes flamboyant.

'For Victorians, a mausoleum

'expressed the enormity of love and of loss.'

-That is very lovely, isn't it? Very moving. And very refined.

-Yes, it is.

It's a very fine marble statue by a sculptor called David Dunbar,

but it's based on a sketch that Sarah did of Katherine

when they were on their grand tour in Italy.

Katherine was sitting by a northern lake in Italy and there she is

and in her hand, she's holding a pine cone.

And so even though Sarah avoided in her architecture

Christian symbols, she provides her lamented sister

with a token of resurrection.

'It's been a treat to head off the beaten track

'and to discover such a peaceful haven.

'Back to the hurly burly of Carlisle station.

'Like a travel-weary Victorian, I'm feeling a little peckish.

'My prize tin of fancy biscuits

'should keep me going until I reach my hotel tonight

'at my next stop in Brampton, about ten miles east of Carlisle.'

-Hello there.

-Hello. How are you?

-I'm very well. Do you feel lucky today?

-Yes, I do.

-Cos I've got a little treat for you.

-Oh, right.

They're not quite as old as the tin...

I was going to say, very old treat. Thank you.

-Do you fancy a biscuit?

-Yes, that's very kind. Thank you very much.

Do you know?

In my old Bradshaw's Guide, these are referred to as fancy biscuits.

-Are they?

-Yeah.

-I didn't know that.

-Shall we see whether they taste fancy?

-Are they made in Carlisle?

-They are Carr's biscuits, in the old parlance, you know.

-Oh, right.

There we go.

-Very nice.

-Mm.

Thank you.

-When you travel by train, do you ever fancy a biscuit?

-Yes, quite often.

Mm.

-Particularly chocolate ones.

-Oh... I've taken the chocolate one.

-You should have told me.

-It's OK.

-Were you being polite?

-I was.

You fancied the chocolate one, you left it.

That's very nice of you.

Hello. Is there anyone here who likes biscuits?

Yeah.

-Do you want one?

-Yes, please.

-Would you like a biscuit?

-Mm.

Yes, please.

What's your favourite biscuit?

-Do you like that one?

-These biscuits.

-What would you describe that as?

Fruity.

A fruity biscuit. And you've gone for a custard cream. Do you like those?

Yeah.

So, if zero is no good at all and ten is very good,

how good is that biscuit?

Hm...

Eight?

What do you think? How good is your biscuit, zero to ten?

One?!

Is that cos you want another one?

My final stop of the day is Brampton,

in the heart of the Cumbrian countryside,

two miles south of Hadrian's Wall.

With a population of 4,600, this small market town lays claim to the

only church designed by the Victorian Pre-Raphaelite architect Philip Webb.

My overnight rest is at the Howard Arms, mentioned in my Bradshaw's.

I'm ready to resume my journey south to the heart of the Lake District.

Bradshaw's tells me that "Cumberland presents the traveller with perhaps

"the grandest and most romantic scenery to be met within England."

And then there's an intriguing reference to

"minerals peculiar to the mountains".

Now, one of those will put lead in your pencil, to be blunt.

'Ladies and gentlemen leaving the service here at Penrith,

'please take extra care as there is a large step down to the platform.'

From Penrith station, the gateway to the Northern Lakes,

I'll head 40 miles west by road, through glorious scenery.

In 1865, the now-closed Cockermouth, Keswick

and Penrith Railway opened up West Cumberland to Victorian tourists,

who were keen to escape the grime of the city

and to indulge in a late 19th century passion for fell walking.

Today, it's one of the most popular spots for ramblers

and climbers in the United Kingdom.

But this region claims more than a spectacular landscape.

The market town of Keswick was once home to the first pencil factory

in the world, established in 1832.

It's now based in new premises on the west coast, at Workington.

I'm meeting Derwent Pencils' technical manager, Barbara Murray.

When did pencil manufacture begin in the Lake District?

Graphite was discovered in 1565 in the Borrowdale Valley,

a shepherd uncovered it when he was in a thunderstorm.

He thought it was lead. Black lead, they used to call it.

And they started marking sheep with it,

so that was the first use and then it evolved into pencils from there.

It was for many years the only known source of graphite in Europe,

the most valuable mineral ever mined in Cumbria.

During the 18th century,

local cottage industries were producing rudimentary pencils, but it

wasn't until the early 19th century that the new writing tool took off.

The Victorian factory made a slimline lead, invaluable to

architects and engineers.

So, despite the development of the ballpoint pen and the computer

and so on, there's still huge demand for pencils.

There is a huge demand for pencils. We make about a million a week

and we export to 70 or 80 countries all around the world.

At the time of my guide book,

the factory was already producing five to six million pencils a year.

And, as the railways began to open up the Lake District to tourism,

sketching the landscape became a popular holiday pastime.

And the graphite pencil was the perfect tool.

-Is this all graphite in there?

-It's a mixture of graphite and clay.

This says it's 9B, which I think means it's very soft, is it?

It does, yes. B means black and H means hard.

So the blend of graphite and clay varies,

depending on the hardness or softness of the pencil.

Today, pencils are produced in every imaginable shade and colour.

-These are obviously your pigments.

-Yes, they are.

From just these few colours, we can blend 800 or 900 different colours.

That's amazing.

Now, in Victorian times, how would you have made a yellow?

Yellow was probably made from plants in Victorian times.

They would have been much duller because they were earth colours,

so they'd have made them from plants

or from iron oxides or from crushed insect.

For example, the red would have been made from crushed insects.

But nowadays, they're all chemically derived. Very dependable.

They're always the same colour every time we buy them.

Pity though, to put all those crushed insects out of work, isn't it?

-It is!

-SHE LAUGHS

I'm pleased to see this historic company thriving nearly two centuries

on, continuing to innovate as it did to achieve its early success.

I'm now heading through the Borrowdale valley

towards my last destination of the day.

Inspired by the romantic poetry of William Wordsworth and his passion

for the Lakes, Victorians began to recognise this area for its beauty.

By contrast, industrialists saw

the potential of its great mineral wealth.

I've come to Honister slate mine in the Borrowdale valley,

where Westmorland green slate has been quarried since the early 1700s.

When mines were created here in 1833,

north Cumbrian slate became big business.

Today, it's the only operational slate mine of its kind in England.

I'm meeting co-owner Joe Weir.

Joe, here we are in what I might call the Slate District.

How did you get into the business?

Yeah, I got into it through me brother.

Me brother bought it as a derelict place about 20 years ago now.

Set it up.

Before then, me grandfather had worked here all my childhood days.

And how do we get to the mine?

I'm going to take you up in the Land Rover.

Joe, I've heard talk of inclines. What are inclines?

They're like the motorway where they get all the slate out

and they fetch the slate down on railway tracks.

Going very steeply up the mountain.

The gradient on it is amazing, what they've built.

In 1879, the pack horses

and sledges were replaced by an inclined tramway that carried slate

from the 2,000ft high quarries

to a railway connected to the work sheds.

-What are those pieces along the side of the incline?

-The buttresses?

-Yeah.

That's where the men would come out with the bogies and the tubs

and, if it was rubbish in the tubs,

then they would chuck that over the edge and that would make the scree.

If it was good slate, they would connect that on to the incline

and then they would lower it down to the bottom.

The Victorian slate mining industry rapidly expanded

in response to a demand for slate roofing in towns and cities.

Massive population growth had created a national housing

shortage across Britain.

-What's the market for slate these days?

-It's a niche market.

Just like the olden days, we turn it in to roofing slate.

We also make kitchens

and the different products that we can make out of it.

But we're in a very small way, compared to the olden days.

There used to be 200 to 300 men work up here. Now, we have three men.

Wait a minute. Is this the little incline you were talking about?

This is the little incline, yeah.

This is a rollercoaster. This is a fairground ride.

-What the hell! Argh!

-You get used to it.

-Oh, yes?

-You need a helmet now.

-OK.

Michael, we'll have to get rid of that lovely little hat you've got,

or you can place that on top.

-Tea cosy off.

-Very good.

-Helmet on.

At the time of my guide book, miners used pickaxes to hack out

an impressive 3,000 tonnes of slate each year.

Joe is taking me deeper into the old mine,

where he has a surprise in store.

I've brought you into here because I believe...

I don't watch too much telly, but you're into railways, aren't you?

I'm into railways.

Here's our little railway. Our little 2ft gauge railway.

Electric, as you... You probably know more about it than me actually.

I don't think so!

In 1883, work began on the Honister Crag Railway,

which was completed 13 years later.

It greatly increased the amount of slate that could be shifted

out of the mine each day.

So what kind of weight can you put in one of those wagons?

Maybe about three-quarters of a tonne.

There's little wooden bogies we have as well

and we can fit about two and a half tonne, that's a slate clog,

what we call a clog, and our maximum would be about two and a half tonne.

So you're really quite closely connected here

-to the Victorian era, aren't you?

-We are, yeah.

Alongside Honister slate mine, on the mountain edge,

is Britain's only via ferrata, or iron way.

It traces the route taken by Victorian miners whose daily

walk to work was at a dizzying height of 2,000ft.

Hello. You lot look as if you're going on the via ferrata.

-ALL:

-Yes, we are!

-So, the question is why?

-We don't know.

-Might as well.

-LAUGHTER

-We've no idea!

-So, are you nervous?

-No, not at all. Just excited.

So, what's the bit you're least looking forward to?

The bridge. The bridge what we have to go over.

And why does that scare you?

Basically, because it wobbles about a bit.

Plus there's some strong winds up there as well.

Now it's my turn to step out.

Seven times the height of Big Ben,

the via ferrata is not for the faint-hearted.

These are original steps in here

that the miners would come to work on.

In 2012, Joe installed an ominous looking skywalk,

a terrifying tightrope walk across the valley.

Right, are you ready for this, Michael?

-Ready as I'll ever be, Joe. Let's go.

-Follow me.

-You all right, Michael?

-I'm OK-ish.

Now, at this point, the wooden slats run out.

Don't get the Elvis Presley leg, though.

-What's that?

-Where you're shaking, like that!

Oh, no, don't shake me, Joe!

-What shall I do now, Joe?

-We head off now. Good luck, I'm leaving you.

I'm now stepping out over the abyss below.

I didn't think I'd be terrified.

But I am.

Oh... Carefully positioning one foot in front of the other...

Whoa! The wind is rocking us backwards and forwards!

Send in the helicopter!

So I'm now walking out on air and the drop beneath me

appears to be infinite.

I think I ventured far enough to appreciate the fantastic view.

It'll be a relief to get my feet back on terra firma

and continue my journey.

Sarah Losh's delightful church celebrates

the innocence of nature before it was disturbed by man.

By contrast,

amongst the harsh beauty of the crags near Keswick, Victorian miners

toiled to extract industrial quantities of slate to feed

the voracious demand for housing in the cities.

My high-wire act, swaying above the green valley, taught me

to appreciate, for a moment, the fear that they must have felt

constantly, working in dangerous conditions all the time.

Next time, I revisit a literary hero from childhood...

-He's a small rabbit, isn't he?

-Yeah.

He has to stretch up on his tippy toes to post his letter.

..lend a hand making the archetypal fell walker's snack...

-Wow! Absolutely refreshing, isn't it?

-Yeah.

When you make Kendal Mint Cake, it's very rare that you get a cold.

..visit the home of a man of extraordinary talents...

It's rather ironic that the greatest architecture critic of his age

would end up living in a house to be looked out of,

rather than looked towards.

..and finish off with a brief encounter on the platform.

It was an ideal location for people to meet by chance.