Great British Railway Journeys (2010) s02e14 Episode Script

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 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 the country to see what of Bradshaw's Britain remains.
In recent days, I've been using some of the earliest railway lines built in Britain or the world.
I'm continuing my journey around Northern England using a railway guidebook published in the 1860s.
I've found it gives me such insights into Britain's history and Britain today that you can keep your Fodor's and Michelins and Lonely Planet guide, as long as you leave me my Bradshaw's.
It's full of tips for the Victorian traveller, from opening times of banks and libraries, to facts and figures about local industries.
On this leg of the journey, I'll be hearing how textile recycling started in 19th-century Yorkshire When the rags came here, thousands of tons from all over the world, they were auctioned on a regular basis here at the station.
seeing how Victorians made rhubarb grow in the dark Are there any secrets left in your process? I can't tell you unless we'll have to bury you under the rhubarb roots.
and uncovering railway treasures with a descendant of George Bradshaw himself.
Oh, my goodness.
That is so beautiful.
I started this trip in Northeast England and in my journey south, travelled on lines laid down by railway pioneers.
I'm now in Yorkshire's industrial heart and will cross into rural Leicestershire to end my journey in Melton Mowbray.
On today's stretch I start in Batley and will pass through Woodlesford on my way to Sheffield, the city of steel.
I'm now on my way to a place called Batley.
Not a town name that springs to everybody's lips, but in the 19th century, it was responsible for the invention of an industry that I'd always regarded as much more recent, more modern.
Recycling.
Today Batley strikes me as a quiet place.
But in Bradshaw's time, things were very different.
My 19th-century guidebook tells me that Batley has "extensive woollen and carpet manufacturers".
It might also have mentioned that those industries were based on the concept of re-using waste material.
Malcolm Hague has been researching the story.
- Hello.
- Are you Malcolm? - I am.
Good to see you.
- Very good to see you indeed.
I understand Batley has some claim to have invented recycling.
- What's that based on? - That is it.
It's a system whereby a guy from Batley called Benjamin Law wanted to find a new means of earning money, expand his work as a clothier.
The story goes that Benjamin Law began to tear up rags and waste from Yorkshire's extensive woollen industry, attempting to make new cloth.
He mixed the torn-up woollen rags with virgin wool and then was able, after a number of years of trying, to create fresh cloth.
What did he call it? Eventually it became known as shoddy, which sounds a very awful thing to do.
Shoddy cloth, everybody thinks it's awful, but in fact it comes from an Arabic word, very similar sounding, meaning re-use.
Recycled shoddy cloth was such a success that, by the 1850s, thousands of tons of rags were arriving in Batley Station each week.
I suppose this must have been quite a station in its day.
This was central to Batley's prosperity.
The railway companies didn't bother about passengers.
It was bringing the goods in.
In those days, there were no less than seven platforms and a huge area given over to warehousing and auctions, because when the rags came here, thousands of tons from all over the world, they were auctioned on a regular basis here at the station.
Did Batley make a fortune on the back of this? Some people did.
Some people made an awful lot of money.
But best of all was that from this system, lots and lots of manufacturers, mills were created here, which meant that, over the years, thousands of people have had jobs in this valley.
And creating things like woollen cloth, uniform cloth in particular, which is why this whole area is known as the Heavy Woollen District.
What would Batley have looked like in its heyday? If we were standing here, what might we have seen across the valley? Something like, in the valley, 60 mill chimneys.
All of them That's if you could see them, because they used to throw out their dirt every hour on the hour.
Sometimes you couldn't see from one side of the valley to the other.
Shoddy was a massive recycling industry right into the 20th century.
But from the 1960s, the growth of synthetic fabrics forced it into decline.
Most of the mills have closed now, but Batley has become an important centre for a new kind of recycling.
I'm meeting Joanne Illingworth to see how it works in the 21st century.
- What are you doing? - We're textile recyclers.
We process second-hand clothing.
We sort it We hand sort it and then we export the final product.
Most of it goes abroad.
A lot of it goes to Eastern Europe, but the main bulk of the clothing goes to Africa and some goes to Pakistan as well.
A small percentage does stay in this country.
- Where do you get it from? - The main source is charity shops.
They're off the rails, what they can't sell.
- Is there a benefit to the environment? - Of course.
Anybody that wants to throw their old clothing away, if they just throw it in the bin, it's going to go to landfill.
Whereas if it comes here, it's all processed and sorted and all goes for reuse again.
What do you do with the stuff that isn't fit for human wear? That will be gone for shoddy.
There is a very small percentage that will go to landfill.
Shoddy is still used for recycling material? It is.
We sell to other companies who will process it into shoddy.
They do still use that word, yes.
Although recycling has moved on, seeing clothes being sorted by hand makes me sense a connection with work in Bradshaw's day.
What judgement are you making? I know that's heavy, so I know that goes straight into there.
So is that.
I can judge straightaway.
Summery, so it goes there.
It'll go to the ladies' on the belt there.
- OK.
I guess that's acrylic again.
- I just feel.
I go by feel alone.
- How long have you been doing this? - About 25 years.
- Have you really? - Yeah.
I wonder how many bits of clothing you've sorted in that time.
I don't know.
- This is heavy enough for Pakistan.
- Yeah, Pakistan.
I'm getting the hang of this.
As I move on to catch my next train, I'm impressed to think that here in Yorkshire, recycling is an industry with 150 years of history.
When I've taken stuff into a charity shop, I've sometimes wondered if I'd be embarrassed if I bumped into someone locally wearing my clothes.
But it never occurred to me that they might end up in West Africa or Pakistan, having travelled via Yorkshire.
Does the word "shoddy" mean anything to you? - Shoddy? Yes.
- What does it mean? Poor, poor workmanship.
Old.
- Do you know what the origin is? - No.
- Are you from Yorkshire? - Yes.
Apparently it's to do with They used to take the old cloth and they would rework it into a new cloth.
They'd mix it with wool and make a new cloth.
That was called shoddy.
Really? That's brilliant.
Do you think it's a Yorkshire thing to do, to save on stuff and make do? - Yes.
- Is that very Yorkshire? - Knowing my dad.
- What does he do? He's a typical Yorkshireman.
Short arms, long pockets.
I'm now travelling through what, in Bradshaw's day, was Yorkshire's West Riding.
My guidebook enthuses about the area's industries, describing "their manifest utility in furnishing employment for a great part of our population and supplying the comforts and conveniences of life.
" At my next stop I want to find out about a delicious foodstuff grown here in the 19th century.
This is Woodlesford Station.
It dates back to 1840.
It was one of the original stations on George Stephenson's Derby-to-Leeds line.
But I'm not so interested in the station.
I'm looking for what's in the fields out there.
In Bradshaw's day, this whole area Rhubarb.
In the 19th century, it was grown in this region by around 200 farmers.
Janet Oldroyd's family has been cultivating it for four generations.
Lovely to see you.
I've never seen so much rhubarb in my life.
She's an expert on why it flourished here in Victorian times.
I'm guessing there's a connection with railways.
There is a great connection.
How else could the growers get their produce to market very quickly? It was collected at all the local stations, taken down, particularly to old Covent Garden Market.
From mostly Covent Garden, it was sent on into Europe as well.
We're talking about big quantities of rhubarb travelling by train.
Huge amounts.
Those trains carried nothing else but rhubarb and became nicknamed the Rhubarb Express Trains.
The railways also brought cheap coal to Yorkshire's farmers.
It enabled them to grow rhubarb in special heated sheds, a new process called forcing.
What is forcing? It's making it grow in the dark using its energy from the roots, which is done in winter.
So they were able to produce rhubarb in winter indoors.
Yes, giving the nation a vegetable that they ate as a fruit, which was full of nutrients.
At one time, Yorkshire's heated sheds produced 90 percent of the world's forced rhubarb.
Until the 1940s, it was a staple in the British diet.
Then rising fuel costs and changing tastes took their toll.
There was a major downturn in popularity linked with during the Second World War.
This nation loved rhubarb and they loved sugar.
They liked their rhubarb sweet.
With the rationing, they couldn't get rhubarb to their taste.
So eating it very tart, giving it to a child, turned the next generation away from rhubarb.
The growers were massively overproducing, so many went bankrupt, many got out of the industry before they did.
Now there are just 11 producers left here.
Janet's farm was one of the few to survive.
She grows forced rhubarb in the original Victorian sheds.
We had a crop in here this winter.
The roots now have given all the energy into production and they're starting to die.
When the crop was growing in here, describe what it looked like.
Well, pitch black.
Totally like a mine in here.
So what's happening is the root is tricked into growth by heat.
It grows up looking for light, which it can never find.
By candlelight, we harvest the crop, because we don't want to damage the process.
Recently, as consumers have become interested in traditional British produce, forced rhubarb has again become fashionable.
Tell me what it tastes like.
It's less acidic so it appears to be sweeter, and it doesn't need as much sugar as the outdoor-grown variety does.
So very, very popular when chefs today want the tart balance that you would get with savoury products particularly.
You're pretty proud of your product, aren't you? I'm very proud of my product and Yorkshire's links to it.
It's part of the heritage, not just of Yorkshire, but of this country.
Are there any secrets left in your process? There are a great deal of secrets that I can't tell you unless we'll have to bury you under the rhubarb roots.
Basically, it isn't called the secret world of the rhubarb triangle for nothing.
It's time to make my escape before I end up in the rhubarb sheds.
Now I'm headed for my hotel for the night.
I'm lucky to stay in this beautifully restored Georgian house.
The reason I picked it is an intriguing reference in my "Bradshaw's Guide".
This gorgeous pile is, according to Bradshaw's, Walton Hall near Wakefield.
It was the seat of Charles Waterton, the great naturalist and South American traveller.
Few people today have heard of Charles Waterton, but he was famous in Bradshaw's era, and Charles Darwin once came to visit him here.
Like Darwin, he travelled the world, studying and collecting exotic animals and writing books.
On this estate, he created a safe haven for wildlife, making him one of the world's first environmentalists.
- Michael Portillo checking in, please.
- I'll just get you your room key.
It's a lovely hotel.
I gather Charles Waterton was quite a character.
He was.
This was the first nature reserve in the world.
He designed that.
He put the brick wall around the whole area and started from there.
What sort of animals did he have? He was a specialist in birds, like ducks.
The whole hotel if you see, there's baby geese out there.
- Fantastic.
- You're in room seven.
Up to the first floor.
It's just in front of you.
Do I get a view? You do.
It's the front of the island and you also get lake views.
- Lovely! Thank you very much indeed.
- Enjoy your stay.
I've been looking forward to staying here because Waterton, apart from being a naturalist, was also a great eccentric.
He liked to impersonate animals.
For instance, he would put on wings and try to fly like a bird.
Or he'd pretend to be a dog and bark and go under the dining-room table and even bite the legs of his guests.
Those are two things that I think I shouldn't attempt tonight.
Having woken to a beautiful day, I have to tear myself away from this delightful estate.
Though my journey continues south to another place that's highly commended in my guide.
Which city do you think Bradshaw's is describing here? "Its suburbs, spreading mile after mile in every direction, hill and dale and every accessible point on the slopes between, being occupied by houses and villas in endless variety, offer to the stranger new objects of pleasure at each turn, and to residents, prospects of great extent and beauty.
" Well, I'm sure you guessed it.
Sheffield.
Now, that's never been my view of Sheffield.
I remember the slopes being disfigured by enormous blocks of flats.
But I'm willing to give Sheffield another go and look at it afresh through Bradshaw's eyes.
My recollections are of a city rebuilt after terrible bombing during World War Two and suffering from industrial decline.
Although I've passed through it many times, I've not had the chance to explore since its face-changing regeneration programme that started in 2001.
From the moment you step off the train, there are signs of new life.
Sheffield has had a station since 1845.
This one dates from 1870.
It's recently been given a complete makeover and the blend of the old and the new is very successful.
I absolutely love it.
And this sculpture reminds us, as Bradshaw did, that Sheffield is the city of steel.
The "Cutting Edge" sculpture, as it's known, is 90 metres long and weighs 60 tons.
It's one of many structures that, in recent years, have come to grace the city.
It seems 21st-century Sheffield is once again becoming a beautiful city as Bradshaw described.
Hello.
Nice to meet you.
Welcome to Sheffield.
- Thank you.
You're from Sheffield? - I am.
I didn't know about all these new buildings.
It's really changed in the area here.
You've still got the old town hall here.
You've got the new buildings like the new hotel and the cafés.
It's come back up into the 21 st century.
In Bradshaw's day, Sheffield become famous for steel.
In the 1850s, Henry Bessemer invented a cheaper and simpler process for mass production and established one of his first factories in Sheffield.
As steel replaced iron in everything from railways to buildings and bridges, Sheffield's industry went into overdrive.
Bessemer became a millionaire.
But alongside that heavy industry, many smaller businesses added to the prestige of Sheffield steel.
Bradshaw's mentions Sheffield's fame for "knives, forks, razors, swords, scissors, printing type, optical instruments, Britannia metal, Sheffield plate, science and garden implements, files, screws, other tools, stoves, fenders, as well as engines, railway springs and buffers.
" And in those days, much of the work was done by craftsmen working in small groups.
I'm here to see what survives of that tradition.
Specialist items like knives were too intricate to be produced in bulk.
They were made by highly skilled metal workers called little mesters, meaning masters.
These men were often self-employed and worked long hours to make ends meet.
Today, Trevor Ablett and Reg Cooper are among the last of the little mesters, still toiling in that way.
- Morning.
- Hello.
Very nice to see you.
- How old were you when you started? - Fourteen.
Fourteen.
You, Trevor, I think you're new to the business.
- Yeah, I was 15.
- You were 15! He's ten years in front of me.
He's been in the trade 60-odd years and I've been in 50-odd years.
- Well, you're both - 1957, I started.
You're both fantastic examples of the health of your trade.
You look fantastic for your ages.
You, of course, are retired.
Tell me how many days you're working.
I work five days a week now.
I come in in the morning at seven and I work till probably about three or half past three.
Trevor, what's your routine? Seven while seven in the week and Saturday, seven while four.
Er, seven while six.
I did cut it down to four, but I've got that much work now, we're back to six.
Sundays I knock off at dinner time.
What would I do at home? I'd watch telly and fall to sleep.
So I'm doing something I enjoy.
It takes Reg two to three days to make one of the hunting knives that are his speciality.
These are the things that you produce, beautiful blades.
- You make that into that.
- Yeah.
You have to As you can see, it's marked out there.
Then it has to be on a bend.
We take the shape out of there and shape it up.
Very pretty.
All this beautiful work that you've done along here.
In the early 19th century, demand for hunting knives boomed.
American settlers in particular went mad for Bowie knives like these.
The best ones came from Sheffield.
Trevor, your speciality is - Pocket knives.
- Pocket knives.
That's rosewood.
These are very, very fine indeed.
These days, enthusiasts buy the knives crafted by Trevor and Reg and even their machine tools are collector's items.
This is 1800 and something.
- What do you call that machine? - Gold blocker.
You've never thought of buying a new one? No.
Everybody wants this.
There's a friend of ours, he's always after it.
But while it's working It's like us two.
If it works, let it carry on.
What it is, you put the letters the wrong way round, so that when you turn it that way What you do, you make sure all the letters are in.
Isn't that beautiful? Why indeed would you want a new machine? You couldn't do it more beautifully.
Isn't that a beautiful piece of work? Before I leave Sheffield, I've set up a special meeting.
As I've travelled around Britain using my Victorian guidebook, I've become increasingly keen to learn about George Bradshaw and his work.
To my delight, one of his direct descendants has come to light.
Mary John will see me in the City Hall.
Do I have the honour of addressing the great-great-granddaughter - of George Bradshaw? - Yes.
This is a very proud moment for me.
Very proud indeed.
George Bradshaw started out mapping canals before turning his attention to the railways in the 1830s.
With each different train company printing its own timetable, planning a journey wasn't easy.
In 1840, Bradshaw brought all that information together in a single guidebook called "The Railway Companion", transforming train travel.
I found this letter, which is an original letter from George.
- You can read it.
- It's fantastic.
Postmark on the outside.
Don't know if you want to read it.
"Manchester, 27 Brown Street, 11" - "Month seven.
" - "Month seven, 1843.
" It says, "Dear friend, I shall be glad if thou wilt be on the lookout for any new railway works which may be making their appearance about this time.
" "I should very much like to know if there is likely to be a railway almanac for 1844.
" "Perhaps thou wilt make a little enquiry.
" This is amazing because he I suppose he's seeing whether there's any competition to the books that he's producing.
Maybe.
There was competition when he first started out.
Then he wrote this really comprehensive guide that people bought instead.
I think that's an amazing discovery.
Museums and archivists will be so excited by this letter.
"Bradshaw's Railway Guides" became so successful that he published monthly updates, and, later, an international version.
He's such a big influence.
At one time, Bradshaw was just a household word.
I know.
But you don't appreciate it.
If it's always there, you don't appreciate it.
Bradshaw became a noun meaning railway timetable in the way that Biro means ballpoint pen, Hoover means vacuum cleaner.
It was just one of those words.
"Go and get the Bradshaw.
" This is actually the first edition, we think, of a map from 1839.
1839, that is early.
But it unfolds.
It's really big.
I don't know if you want to open it and have a look.
"Tables of the gradients to Bradshaw's map of the railways of Great Britain.
" - This whole thing is a map? - Yeah.
Oh, my goodness.
That is so beautiful.
And again, it's in perfect condition.
This rare early map by Bradshaw reminds me how the major lines grew stage by stage.
This is Brunel's Great Western Railway running through here.
But goes as far as Exeter and no further.
And here's the Southampton Railway.
And again, there's nothing, nothing beyond Southampton.
This is treasure.
This is gold.
Meeting Bradshaw's great-great-granddaughter with her cache of personal effects has brought the man to life for me.
As I head back to the station, I wonder whether the railway revolution that he witnessed in a few years has been matched by anything in the many decades since.
On this journey, I found out what "shoddy" means and I've discovered the beauties of modern Sheffield.
I've been thrilled to meet a real-life descendant of George Bradshaw.
He understood that railways would change society absolutely.
Yet those tracks, stations and trains are recognisable today.
I wonder whether that will be true of the technologies that are currently revolutionising our lives.
On the next leg of my journey, I'll be learning the secrets of one of the Victorians' favourite cheeses, stilton You turned that well.
I can't turn an omelette, let alone a thing like that.
finding out how the railways transformed a traditional British sport Special carriages were built to take these hunters from the middle of London right up to the shires of Leicestershire.
and attempting to mould an authentic Melton Mowbray pork pie.
Oh, dear.
Mine doesn't look like yours, but never mind.
Good job it's a three-year apprenticeship.