Newhaven to Worthing 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 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 is 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 is 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.

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 are 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 are 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 is 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 is 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 is 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 principle factor of his defence.

It took seven years to complete the work at a cost of £86,000,

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,

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 am taking a short

detour north onto the main line that runs between Brighton and London.

As you are whisked between the two today, it is 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 is so beautifully decorated with a balustrade

and eight towers.

It is almost 500 yards long and, like many Victorian engineering projects,

it is 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.

That is an extraordinary view.

I had not 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 it.

It is 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 pretty 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 is 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 is 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 is quite noisy but paradoxically

it is actually very quiet and very peaceful,

and I think that is 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 is 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 on the loose on 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 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 have considered building a railway 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. Is this an antique?

It's not really an antique. It's a replica.

It's the sort of kite

that 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 now.

'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 cut?

If you cut 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 cut 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 clifftop

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!