Great British Railway Journeys (2010) s05e10 Episode Script
Nottingham to Leeds
1 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.
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.
All this week I've been travelling away from the capital, and its urban bustle, heading north on Robert Stephenson's London-to-Birmingham line.
I'll explore the Victorian manufacturing hub of the East Midlands before terminating my journey in the heart of Yorkshire.
On this final leg, I travel from Nottingham, once the lace-making capital of the country, and then on to Mansfield.
I visit Worksop, known as the Gateway to the Dukeries, and on to Doncaster, before exploring the rich heritage of Leeds.
I'm now concluding my journey towards Leeds.
From the end of the 18th century, the North of England became crowded with the chimneys of the so-called dark satanic mills.
But this period also coincided with a revival in the arts as people tried to recall amongst the grime of industrialisation the natural beauties of their green and pleasant land.
Today on my journey, I see the grand designs of a Victorian duke Derek, this building is huge.
When it was built, it was the largest in Europe, with the exception of the Manege next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
l discover a treasure trove of locomotive history This I do not believe! Every square inch of wall is filled with railway memorabilia.
and I break a leg on the stage in Leeds.
Welcome to this Valhalla of Victorian variety.
Bravo! Bradshaw's tells me that a notable native of Nottingham, my next stop, was Henry Kirke White, born in 1785, a butcher's son.
"He was chosen professor of literature in the Literary Society by acclamation when only 15 years old.
" I need to discover the rhyme and reason of that.
Nottingham in the 1780s was a city greatly divided between the very wealthy and the extremely poor.
It was Kirke White's Nottingham working-class background that marked him out.
And as "Bradshaw's" says so much about him, I want to know more.
I'm meeting Lynda Pratt, from Nottingham University, at Bromley House Library, where there's a large collection of his work.
- Linda, hello.
- Michael, nice to meet you.
Evidently, he was a child prodigy.
He was elected professor of literature of the Literary Society by acclamation at the age of 15.
This is just extraordinary.
He does seem to have been immensely bright, immensely ambitious.
He's a working-class boy.
He works his way up into the local textile industry.
From there to a trainee lawyer.
The onset of deafness actually prevented him pursuing a legal career.
Eventually, sent to Cambridge, did extremely well, won a university prize in his first year.
And unfortunately, he works himself to death.
- So, this was a very, very short life.
- He dies at the age of 21.
The strain of continuous study proved fatal.
Dying so young fuelled the Victorians' interest in him and his posthumously published work âThe Remains" became a best seller.
It strikes a chord because it tells a great story, a story about an ambitious lad who dies young.
He's evidently a favourite son of Nottingham.
How did he and the city relate to each other? Ambivalently.
He celebrates a local beauty spot, Clifton Grove.
The poem he writes about this beauty spot is very critical of what he can see, which is manufacturing, industrialising Nottingham.
So offended were certain members of the local population, that when one of his near contemporaries came to write a history of Nottingham in 1815, he suggested White should have been horsewhipped through the streets for his portrayal of the city.
Bradshaw's leads me to believe that White was more than a poet.
Was White a social commentator? Yes, there's evidence for this.
There's a letter he wrote complaining about the conditions that young girls worked in the lace-making industry.
He says if you keep young girls hard working and poor, they have no money, so in order to earn more and improve their lot, they'll turn to prostitution.
Social campaigning seems to have been in his mind very much.
Today he's an important reminder of the vitality of English regional literary culture during the 19th century.
Discovering the unexpected in Nottingham could keep me occupied for many more hours, but the tracks are calling and now I'm heading north to my next destination.
"The picturesque tracts of woodland of Sherwood Forest," says Bradshaw's, "still bring back to mind the unsettled times when Hugh Littlejohn, and Friar Tuck hunted the king's venison without licence.
" Yes, I'm on the Robin Hood line.
Mansfield and the countryside around may have once been home to landed gentry and outlaws.
But by Bradshaw's day, numerous coalfields supplied industry making use of a comprehensive rail network that shifted workers and materials.
In the 1960s, Dr Richard Beeching, chairman of British Railways, axed many lines to slash losses.
I'm meeting Tony Egginton, the town's mayor, to find out what happened.
So, for some time this Robin Hood line was closed.
Yes, for just over 30 years.
Closed in '64 as a result of the Beeching Report and re-opened in '95.
Mansfield had no railway station? No railway station at all.
We were cut off from the rail links.
Who was it who arranged to have it reopened? It was a group of business people called Mansfield 2010 who worked together with the county council and the district council at the time, lobbying central government, obviously, to try and turn over the Beeching recommendation and lo and behold, they won the fight.
It shows the resilience of the people of Mansfield, because having lost their station, by the 1980s, they were also losing their industrial heritage.
The coal mines were closing, the brewery and the shoe factories were in decline.
Reopening their station was a massive achievement.
What would you say to those people around the country who have cherished lines that they'd like to re-open? Just keep at it, you must work hard.
You need everybody to get behind you and of course, common sense ultimately prevails.
You have brought back to life a wonderful Victorian station.
Mansfield Station reopened in 1995 and thanks to an investment of £36 million, the whole Robin Hood line, from Worksop to Nottingham, was back in action by 1998, reversing the Beeching closure.
Every year over a million people use the line.
And I'm going to take advantage of it as I travel north again to its terminus.
Bradshaw's tells me that "Worksop is situated in the Dukery, which comprises four ducal seats.
" Welbeck Abbey belongs to the Duke of Portland and when I go there, Bradshaw's advises me to look out for the riding house and stable, 130 feet long.
That's surely a misprint for yards because these grand estates with their vast buildings were a feature of the Victorian landscape.
Amongst the ducal properties in Sherwood Forest, Welbeck Abbey has one of the richest histories.
Still privately owned by the descendants of the Duke of Portland, the abbey is in a sculpted park.
The most eccentric episode of its history came in the mid-Nth century, when it was owned by the fifth duke.
I'm meeting curator, Derek Adlam, to discover more about this fascinating Victorian aristocrat.
Derek, this building is handsome and huge.
I take it that this is the riding house and stables referred to in my Bradshaw's? Absolutely right, and when it was built, it was largest in Europe, with the exception of the Manege next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
It looks as if it's a traditional tiled building, but those tiles conceal a glass-and-iron vault like a London railway station.
So who is responsible for such magnificence on the estate? Well, this is the work of the fifth Duke of Portland.
He inherited the estate from his father in 1854, came to live here round about 1860 and began the work you see all around.
There was nothing here when he started work.
It must have taken a very long time.
No, 20 years.
In fact, even a little less.
He died in 1879 and work then came to a stop because it was virtually complete.
The family's vast wealth came from its agricultural assets, allowing the duke to think on a grand scale.
To all the opulent furnishings, he added a subterranean tropical house and 22 acres of kitchen garden, growing exotic fruit and vegetables to feed the estate.
What sort of a man was this fifth duke? Apparently he was an indolent, not very interesting or interested person.
He had no occupation.
It was as if a spring was released when his father died, and he moved here, began work and turned out to be the most astonishing organiser and he was employing up to a thousand people at a time.
- A sociable fellow? - No, absolutely not.
When he grew older, he became quite a recluse, but a very unusual kind of recluse, in that he refused to see his social peers and equals, but got on very well with his workmen and was out and about on the estate every day.
- I rather wish I had met him.
- I do too.
In the 1850s, a duke was expected to have stables to match his status.
And this duke was a keen horseman.
No one really knows why he was so reclusive, but the psoriasis from which he reputedly suffered might have been a factor and help to explain why there are no photos of him and why he took to the depths to avoid being seen.
Well, that is an unexpected sight.
A tunnel.
The fifth duke was the great tunneller.
The burrowing duke.
On the estate, he built two and a half miles of these underground drives.
This is one of the larger ones.
It's wide enough for two horse-drawn carriages to pass side by side.
So, what use did he make of this extensive tunnel network? Well, it meant he could move around on the estate unseen.
He would go underground while all the life of the estate went on above him.
But I think it's more likely that it's the other way round.
Did he make use of railways? Yes, some of the tunnels have railways.
And did our reclusive duke have much use for public railways? Yes, he would have made use of them to go to London in particular.
His carriage would go with him in it, with the curtains drawn, to Worksop Station, and his carriage would then be placed on a kind of flatbed truck and strapped into position and he would then go in own carriage down to London on the railway.
But he was a great enthusiast for the railway.
And at the time of his death, he was planning for a railway to come all the way onto estate, mainly for moving goods around.
The more I hear of this duke, the more fascinating he becomes.
Yes, absolutely right.
For all his resourcefulness, the duke never married.
When he died, his cherished estate passed to his cousin.
And although the railway was never built, I think Bradshaw would have approved of him.
As for me, after travelling a good few miles, I'm more than happy to break my journey here.
I'm up early to catch the train north from Worksop on journey that should take me about an hour.
Doncaster.
Bradshaw's tells me that it was Roman Danam, and Saxon Doncastre, in the West Riding of Yorkshire on the river Don, and the North Midland Railway.
And indeed the words Doncaster and railway go together like love and marriage because its people produced locomotives that were as fast as they were elegant, classics of British design at its zenith.
We're arriving into Doncaster.
Please change here for Leeds, York, Newcastle Today, Doncaster is a city of regeneration, following the demise of its coal mining and heavy industries.
But in the late 19th century, it was Railway City, employing thousands of people building and making everything to do with trains.
If all lines pointed to London, all things rail came out of Donny, as the locals call it.
Doncaster's Nigel Gresley is known today as one of the best locomotive designers of the 20th century.
Following in the footsteps of two of the most eminent railway engineers, Patrick Stirling and Henry Ivatt, famous for building locomotive race horses, Gresley pushed the boundaries further.
Just alongside Gresley's old office, I'm meeting railway historian, Graham Bayes.
Which are the locomotives that we most remember him for? I think there are two.
The Flying Scotsman and Mallard.
Tell me about the Flying Scotsman.
It was much bigger than anything that had been built here.
It was the first of his Pacific 4-6-2 locomotives.
It was in a lovely apple-green colour, which was the Great Northern Railway's livery for express locomotives.
Then he soon showed it could go faster than anything else that had been on this line before.
Certainly speeds of over 100mph.
What's Mallard's place in history? Well, Mallard, it's a classic.
It's streamlined, of course, which helped it gain maximum speed and indeed it holds the world speed record of 126mph for steam locomotive.
Given the extraordinary series of chief engineers that there were at Doncaster, the enduring fame of Sir Nigel Gresley, the fame of the Flying Scotsman and the Mallard, is it not strange that most people might associate York more than Doncaster with the railways? I don't think so, really.
York has become associated with the locomotives since the National Railway Museum opened, but Doncaster was always the more important place throughout railway history as one of the locomotive design and building places in the world.
They don't design locomotives in Doncaster any more, but its signalling centre is one of the largest on the UK network and it has one railway workshop, overhauling and repairing rolling stock.
Graham wants to show me something of Doncaster's illustrious history in what I can only describe as an Aladdin's cave of locomotives.
This I do not believe.
Every square inch of wall is filled with railway memorabilia.
Graham, this is absolutely astonishing.
What is the origin of all of this? It was the collection of the Doncaster Grammar School Railway Society.
Of the 600 boys in the school, about 100 were members of the society, many of whom, their fathers would work on the railways, and some of them themselves, like me, went on to work for the railways.
I came to the school in 1949, 11 years old.
And that was the year in which the first of these objects arrived.
So, here we've got a locomotive plate.
Doncaster.
It's the same class as the Flying Scotsman.
Just amazing.
And then here we have two more locomotive nameplates that arrived while I was at the school.
They're two of the three locomotives that were in the Harrow and Wealdstone disaster of 1952.
They were so badly damaged, they were scrapped.
That's really very moving, isn't it? When you think about the wreckage and the number of people who lost their lives that day.
Yes.
And here are plates of two of the locomotives from Britain's worst-ever peacetime disaster Yes, indeed.
Doncaster's railway history had broader consequences.
Rail workers also shaped our political development.
At the end of the Victorian era, Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes began to fight for workers' rights.
I'm making my way to Sir Nigel Gresley Square to meet a former political adversary, Labour MP, Rosie Winterton.
So, why is it that the Labour Party particularly celebrates the memory of two railway men from Doncaster? Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes campaigned within Parliament to ensure that working people had proper representations and their views and concerns were expressed there.
Why did working men not feel that the Conservatives or the Liberals could represent their interests perfectly well? Quite honestly, because they didn't represent them.
And the working people felt that they wanted to see people in Parliament who would take up their concerns, for example around issues like health and safety.
They worked in dangerous industries and wanted to have that representation there so people understood and laws could be passed to protect them.
How does that lead to the Labour Party? Well, by 1906, they had endorsed 50 candidates in the general election.
Twenty-nine of them were elected, and after the election, the Parliamentary Labour Party was set up to ensure that the Labour voice could be heard and organised in Parliament.
- Doncaster made history.
- Exactly.
After discovering such rich railway history in Doncaster, I'm excited to be heading to my last stop, Leeds.
But maybe this isn't going to be my last stop.
Are we on the wrong train? Where's this train for? Newcastle train.
L think that's what you call human error.
But after a quick change at York, I'm now back on track.
The next stop will be Leeds.
In the 17th and 18th centuries, Leeds became a major centre for producing and trading wool.
During the industrial Revolution, engineering, iron foundries and printing became important and Leeds fast developed into a rich city with a large working population.
It's evident from Bradshaw's that mid-19th-century Leeds enjoyed every modern facility.
"Public Baths, a Society for the encouragement of the Fine Arts, a Music Hall, a Mechanics' Institute and a General Infirmary.
" As they say, the spice of life is variety.
Travelling performers broadened their horizons with the advent of the railways.
Many great names passed through the City Varieties' dressing rooms to make their debut at Britain's oldest continuously working music hall.
In its 148-year history, it's accumulated a wealth of tales.
I'm meeting the music hall's Rachel Lythe, who knows its history.
- Rachel.
- Hi.
Have I come to the mother's womb of music hall, the temple of titillation, - the Venus and Venice of variety? - Absolutely.
What is the difference between theatre and music hall? The main difference, I think, is partly to do with the licensing.
The theatres were licensed to do drama, whereas the music halls were licensed to do music, singing, dancing, drinking, eating, smoking; it was a noisy venue.
My Bradshaw's, which is mid-1860s says that Leeds had a music hall.
So, when did it all begin? Actually, much earlier.
It dates back to the mid-1700s.
There were music halls on every street corner.
It all started with singing rooms in pubs, inns and taverns.
This building has links back to 1162, the Swan Inn, next door.
They then created a singing room in '66, and then in 1865, this glorious Varieties Music Hall was opened.
It's absolutely glorious, but it looks very genteel to me.
Look at all these stalls.
Did the hoi polloi sit in such stalls? When we first opened, it was completely different.
These seats wouldn't have been there.
Tables, chairs, benches.
You'd have a bar in here as well.
You could easily eat, drink and socialise.
But it would have been a very noisy, rowdy experience.
What was going on on the stage? Everything from high-wire acts to animal acts, as well.
You'd have singing, dancing.
Any big names in the early days? One of the ones in the early days was Lillie Langtry, the famous Jersey Belle.
She would have sung and performed on this stage.
There's a lovely story about Lillie.
It's rumoured that Edward VII used to have an affection for her, so it's rumoured that he used to come grouse shooting to the Yorkshire moors and then sneak in here when no one was looking, and he'd sit in box D over here.
He'd close the curtains so that he could watch her performance on stage.
It's rumoured that the crest up here was donated to us once he became king - as a thank you for our discretion.
- That's marvellous.
We also had the famous Harry Houdini.
That was 1902.
He was paid £130 to perform on this stage.
It's about the equivalent of £7,500 today.
You're holding out on me.
What was the naughtiest thing that happened on the stage? This was later years, more the '40s and '50s.
We had the stripteases and the nude shows.
But interestingly, because of the licensing, they couldn't move.
They had to do still poses, like a classical pose.
Groups of boys used to come, get front-row seats and they'd bring along pea shooters.
They'd try and make the nudes move.
They'd sit in the boxes and a whole group would get together and blow at once to try and make the feathers part to reveal more.
By the 1950s, television and cinema had taken their toll on the music hall, and audiences fell away.
However, television was also the making of this theatre, thanks to the TV extravaganza "The Good Old Days".
Since 1988, Johnny Dennis has been the chairman who introduces every show.
Johnny, when did The Good Old Days begin on television? 1953.
It was Barney Colehan's, who was a staff producer at the BBC, idea to run a pilot show from this theatre and he got together a cast of artists from the Players' Theatre in London.
Leonard Sachs was the chairman, and it ran for 30 years.
It became the most popular programme at that time on the BBC.
What was the origin of the over-the-top alliterative introductions of the acts? That was Leonard Sach's idea.
He was an actor, he loved to be grand, he invented this very extravagant language, not strictly the period of the musical chairmen of the Victorian age, but he was world famous for it.
Give me some examples of your fine, flowing introductions.
My lords, ladies and gentlemen, all the artists have been brought to you at enormous expense.
And then you say, "And welcome to this magnificent mélange of musicality, magic and mirth.
" Let me see if I can try that.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality, - this Valhalla of variety - Very good.
This emporium of entertainment.
Very good.
It could use a little improvement, actually.
Imagine that you were a Victorian actor of the day, so you have to gain their attention by making dramatic gestures like, "Welcome!" Use your hands like this, with the gavel in your hand.
And then you can And then dominate the audience.
Try that with the gavel.
- That's Leonard Sach's gavel.
- Would you mind holding my Bradshaw's? I would be honoured to hold Mr Bradshaw.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality, this emporium of entertainment, to this Valhalla of Victorian Variety! Bravo! - It was the gavel that did it.
- It's a gavel always that does it.
So, the show that you perform today, would it be recognisable to Mr George Bradshaw? I would like to think so.
I'm a great admirer of Mr Bradshaw and I'm sure he would have been a great admirer of the music hall.
The names of great locomotives are etched in British history.
Railwaymen switched the points on British politics taking them in new directions.
Famous names have graced the playbills in this music hall, too.
As I complete my journey from London to Leeds, Bradshaw's has opened up England with all its rich variety.
Journey over.
The final curtain.
On my next adventure, I learn to set table aboard an ocean linen You're faster than me.
i visit a suspected Solent smugglers hideaway Whoa! What a view! and I discover the tactics employed by the Victorian Temperance Movement.
All of a sudden, a group of uniformed invaders come along shouting, "You're going to hell!" "You will not be saved if you carry on drinking this foul liquid.
"
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.
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.
All this week I've been travelling away from the capital, and its urban bustle, heading north on Robert Stephenson's London-to-Birmingham line.
I'll explore the Victorian manufacturing hub of the East Midlands before terminating my journey in the heart of Yorkshire.
On this final leg, I travel from Nottingham, once the lace-making capital of the country, and then on to Mansfield.
I visit Worksop, known as the Gateway to the Dukeries, and on to Doncaster, before exploring the rich heritage of Leeds.
I'm now concluding my journey towards Leeds.
From the end of the 18th century, the North of England became crowded with the chimneys of the so-called dark satanic mills.
But this period also coincided with a revival in the arts as people tried to recall amongst the grime of industrialisation the natural beauties of their green and pleasant land.
Today on my journey, I see the grand designs of a Victorian duke Derek, this building is huge.
When it was built, it was the largest in Europe, with the exception of the Manege next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
l discover a treasure trove of locomotive history This I do not believe! Every square inch of wall is filled with railway memorabilia.
and I break a leg on the stage in Leeds.
Welcome to this Valhalla of Victorian variety.
Bravo! Bradshaw's tells me that a notable native of Nottingham, my next stop, was Henry Kirke White, born in 1785, a butcher's son.
"He was chosen professor of literature in the Literary Society by acclamation when only 15 years old.
" I need to discover the rhyme and reason of that.
Nottingham in the 1780s was a city greatly divided between the very wealthy and the extremely poor.
It was Kirke White's Nottingham working-class background that marked him out.
And as "Bradshaw's" says so much about him, I want to know more.
I'm meeting Lynda Pratt, from Nottingham University, at Bromley House Library, where there's a large collection of his work.
- Linda, hello.
- Michael, nice to meet you.
Evidently, he was a child prodigy.
He was elected professor of literature of the Literary Society by acclamation at the age of 15.
This is just extraordinary.
He does seem to have been immensely bright, immensely ambitious.
He's a working-class boy.
He works his way up into the local textile industry.
From there to a trainee lawyer.
The onset of deafness actually prevented him pursuing a legal career.
Eventually, sent to Cambridge, did extremely well, won a university prize in his first year.
And unfortunately, he works himself to death.
- So, this was a very, very short life.
- He dies at the age of 21.
The strain of continuous study proved fatal.
Dying so young fuelled the Victorians' interest in him and his posthumously published work âThe Remains" became a best seller.
It strikes a chord because it tells a great story, a story about an ambitious lad who dies young.
He's evidently a favourite son of Nottingham.
How did he and the city relate to each other? Ambivalently.
He celebrates a local beauty spot, Clifton Grove.
The poem he writes about this beauty spot is very critical of what he can see, which is manufacturing, industrialising Nottingham.
So offended were certain members of the local population, that when one of his near contemporaries came to write a history of Nottingham in 1815, he suggested White should have been horsewhipped through the streets for his portrayal of the city.
Bradshaw's leads me to believe that White was more than a poet.
Was White a social commentator? Yes, there's evidence for this.
There's a letter he wrote complaining about the conditions that young girls worked in the lace-making industry.
He says if you keep young girls hard working and poor, they have no money, so in order to earn more and improve their lot, they'll turn to prostitution.
Social campaigning seems to have been in his mind very much.
Today he's an important reminder of the vitality of English regional literary culture during the 19th century.
Discovering the unexpected in Nottingham could keep me occupied for many more hours, but the tracks are calling and now I'm heading north to my next destination.
"The picturesque tracts of woodland of Sherwood Forest," says Bradshaw's, "still bring back to mind the unsettled times when Hugh Littlejohn, and Friar Tuck hunted the king's venison without licence.
" Yes, I'm on the Robin Hood line.
Mansfield and the countryside around may have once been home to landed gentry and outlaws.
But by Bradshaw's day, numerous coalfields supplied industry making use of a comprehensive rail network that shifted workers and materials.
In the 1960s, Dr Richard Beeching, chairman of British Railways, axed many lines to slash losses.
I'm meeting Tony Egginton, the town's mayor, to find out what happened.
So, for some time this Robin Hood line was closed.
Yes, for just over 30 years.
Closed in '64 as a result of the Beeching Report and re-opened in '95.
Mansfield had no railway station? No railway station at all.
We were cut off from the rail links.
Who was it who arranged to have it reopened? It was a group of business people called Mansfield 2010 who worked together with the county council and the district council at the time, lobbying central government, obviously, to try and turn over the Beeching recommendation and lo and behold, they won the fight.
It shows the resilience of the people of Mansfield, because having lost their station, by the 1980s, they were also losing their industrial heritage.
The coal mines were closing, the brewery and the shoe factories were in decline.
Reopening their station was a massive achievement.
What would you say to those people around the country who have cherished lines that they'd like to re-open? Just keep at it, you must work hard.
You need everybody to get behind you and of course, common sense ultimately prevails.
You have brought back to life a wonderful Victorian station.
Mansfield Station reopened in 1995 and thanks to an investment of £36 million, the whole Robin Hood line, from Worksop to Nottingham, was back in action by 1998, reversing the Beeching closure.
Every year over a million people use the line.
And I'm going to take advantage of it as I travel north again to its terminus.
Bradshaw's tells me that "Worksop is situated in the Dukery, which comprises four ducal seats.
" Welbeck Abbey belongs to the Duke of Portland and when I go there, Bradshaw's advises me to look out for the riding house and stable, 130 feet long.
That's surely a misprint for yards because these grand estates with their vast buildings were a feature of the Victorian landscape.
Amongst the ducal properties in Sherwood Forest, Welbeck Abbey has one of the richest histories.
Still privately owned by the descendants of the Duke of Portland, the abbey is in a sculpted park.
The most eccentric episode of its history came in the mid-Nth century, when it was owned by the fifth duke.
I'm meeting curator, Derek Adlam, to discover more about this fascinating Victorian aristocrat.
Derek, this building is handsome and huge.
I take it that this is the riding house and stables referred to in my Bradshaw's? Absolutely right, and when it was built, it was largest in Europe, with the exception of the Manege next to the Kremlin in Moscow.
It looks as if it's a traditional tiled building, but those tiles conceal a glass-and-iron vault like a London railway station.
So who is responsible for such magnificence on the estate? Well, this is the work of the fifth Duke of Portland.
He inherited the estate from his father in 1854, came to live here round about 1860 and began the work you see all around.
There was nothing here when he started work.
It must have taken a very long time.
No, 20 years.
In fact, even a little less.
He died in 1879 and work then came to a stop because it was virtually complete.
The family's vast wealth came from its agricultural assets, allowing the duke to think on a grand scale.
To all the opulent furnishings, he added a subterranean tropical house and 22 acres of kitchen garden, growing exotic fruit and vegetables to feed the estate.
What sort of a man was this fifth duke? Apparently he was an indolent, not very interesting or interested person.
He had no occupation.
It was as if a spring was released when his father died, and he moved here, began work and turned out to be the most astonishing organiser and he was employing up to a thousand people at a time.
- A sociable fellow? - No, absolutely not.
When he grew older, he became quite a recluse, but a very unusual kind of recluse, in that he refused to see his social peers and equals, but got on very well with his workmen and was out and about on the estate every day.
- I rather wish I had met him.
- I do too.
In the 1850s, a duke was expected to have stables to match his status.
And this duke was a keen horseman.
No one really knows why he was so reclusive, but the psoriasis from which he reputedly suffered might have been a factor and help to explain why there are no photos of him and why he took to the depths to avoid being seen.
Well, that is an unexpected sight.
A tunnel.
The fifth duke was the great tunneller.
The burrowing duke.
On the estate, he built two and a half miles of these underground drives.
This is one of the larger ones.
It's wide enough for two horse-drawn carriages to pass side by side.
So, what use did he make of this extensive tunnel network? Well, it meant he could move around on the estate unseen.
He would go underground while all the life of the estate went on above him.
But I think it's more likely that it's the other way round.
Did he make use of railways? Yes, some of the tunnels have railways.
And did our reclusive duke have much use for public railways? Yes, he would have made use of them to go to London in particular.
His carriage would go with him in it, with the curtains drawn, to Worksop Station, and his carriage would then be placed on a kind of flatbed truck and strapped into position and he would then go in own carriage down to London on the railway.
But he was a great enthusiast for the railway.
And at the time of his death, he was planning for a railway to come all the way onto estate, mainly for moving goods around.
The more I hear of this duke, the more fascinating he becomes.
Yes, absolutely right.
For all his resourcefulness, the duke never married.
When he died, his cherished estate passed to his cousin.
And although the railway was never built, I think Bradshaw would have approved of him.
As for me, after travelling a good few miles, I'm more than happy to break my journey here.
I'm up early to catch the train north from Worksop on journey that should take me about an hour.
Doncaster.
Bradshaw's tells me that it was Roman Danam, and Saxon Doncastre, in the West Riding of Yorkshire on the river Don, and the North Midland Railway.
And indeed the words Doncaster and railway go together like love and marriage because its people produced locomotives that were as fast as they were elegant, classics of British design at its zenith.
We're arriving into Doncaster.
Please change here for Leeds, York, Newcastle Today, Doncaster is a city of regeneration, following the demise of its coal mining and heavy industries.
But in the late 19th century, it was Railway City, employing thousands of people building and making everything to do with trains.
If all lines pointed to London, all things rail came out of Donny, as the locals call it.
Doncaster's Nigel Gresley is known today as one of the best locomotive designers of the 20th century.
Following in the footsteps of two of the most eminent railway engineers, Patrick Stirling and Henry Ivatt, famous for building locomotive race horses, Gresley pushed the boundaries further.
Just alongside Gresley's old office, I'm meeting railway historian, Graham Bayes.
Which are the locomotives that we most remember him for? I think there are two.
The Flying Scotsman and Mallard.
Tell me about the Flying Scotsman.
It was much bigger than anything that had been built here.
It was the first of his Pacific 4-6-2 locomotives.
It was in a lovely apple-green colour, which was the Great Northern Railway's livery for express locomotives.
Then he soon showed it could go faster than anything else that had been on this line before.
Certainly speeds of over 100mph.
What's Mallard's place in history? Well, Mallard, it's a classic.
It's streamlined, of course, which helped it gain maximum speed and indeed it holds the world speed record of 126mph for steam locomotive.
Given the extraordinary series of chief engineers that there were at Doncaster, the enduring fame of Sir Nigel Gresley, the fame of the Flying Scotsman and the Mallard, is it not strange that most people might associate York more than Doncaster with the railways? I don't think so, really.
York has become associated with the locomotives since the National Railway Museum opened, but Doncaster was always the more important place throughout railway history as one of the locomotive design and building places in the world.
They don't design locomotives in Doncaster any more, but its signalling centre is one of the largest on the UK network and it has one railway workshop, overhauling and repairing rolling stock.
Graham wants to show me something of Doncaster's illustrious history in what I can only describe as an Aladdin's cave of locomotives.
This I do not believe.
Every square inch of wall is filled with railway memorabilia.
Graham, this is absolutely astonishing.
What is the origin of all of this? It was the collection of the Doncaster Grammar School Railway Society.
Of the 600 boys in the school, about 100 were members of the society, many of whom, their fathers would work on the railways, and some of them themselves, like me, went on to work for the railways.
I came to the school in 1949, 11 years old.
And that was the year in which the first of these objects arrived.
So, here we've got a locomotive plate.
Doncaster.
It's the same class as the Flying Scotsman.
Just amazing.
And then here we have two more locomotive nameplates that arrived while I was at the school.
They're two of the three locomotives that were in the Harrow and Wealdstone disaster of 1952.
They were so badly damaged, they were scrapped.
That's really very moving, isn't it? When you think about the wreckage and the number of people who lost their lives that day.
Yes.
And here are plates of two of the locomotives from Britain's worst-ever peacetime disaster Yes, indeed.
Doncaster's railway history had broader consequences.
Rail workers also shaped our political development.
At the end of the Victorian era, Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes began to fight for workers' rights.
I'm making my way to Sir Nigel Gresley Square to meet a former political adversary, Labour MP, Rosie Winterton.
So, why is it that the Labour Party particularly celebrates the memory of two railway men from Doncaster? Thomas Steels and Jimmy Holmes campaigned within Parliament to ensure that working people had proper representations and their views and concerns were expressed there.
Why did working men not feel that the Conservatives or the Liberals could represent their interests perfectly well? Quite honestly, because they didn't represent them.
And the working people felt that they wanted to see people in Parliament who would take up their concerns, for example around issues like health and safety.
They worked in dangerous industries and wanted to have that representation there so people understood and laws could be passed to protect them.
How does that lead to the Labour Party? Well, by 1906, they had endorsed 50 candidates in the general election.
Twenty-nine of them were elected, and after the election, the Parliamentary Labour Party was set up to ensure that the Labour voice could be heard and organised in Parliament.
- Doncaster made history.
- Exactly.
After discovering such rich railway history in Doncaster, I'm excited to be heading to my last stop, Leeds.
But maybe this isn't going to be my last stop.
Are we on the wrong train? Where's this train for? Newcastle train.
L think that's what you call human error.
But after a quick change at York, I'm now back on track.
The next stop will be Leeds.
In the 17th and 18th centuries, Leeds became a major centre for producing and trading wool.
During the industrial Revolution, engineering, iron foundries and printing became important and Leeds fast developed into a rich city with a large working population.
It's evident from Bradshaw's that mid-19th-century Leeds enjoyed every modern facility.
"Public Baths, a Society for the encouragement of the Fine Arts, a Music Hall, a Mechanics' Institute and a General Infirmary.
" As they say, the spice of life is variety.
Travelling performers broadened their horizons with the advent of the railways.
Many great names passed through the City Varieties' dressing rooms to make their debut at Britain's oldest continuously working music hall.
In its 148-year history, it's accumulated a wealth of tales.
I'm meeting the music hall's Rachel Lythe, who knows its history.
- Rachel.
- Hi.
Have I come to the mother's womb of music hall, the temple of titillation, - the Venus and Venice of variety? - Absolutely.
What is the difference between theatre and music hall? The main difference, I think, is partly to do with the licensing.
The theatres were licensed to do drama, whereas the music halls were licensed to do music, singing, dancing, drinking, eating, smoking; it was a noisy venue.
My Bradshaw's, which is mid-1860s says that Leeds had a music hall.
So, when did it all begin? Actually, much earlier.
It dates back to the mid-1700s.
There were music halls on every street corner.
It all started with singing rooms in pubs, inns and taverns.
This building has links back to 1162, the Swan Inn, next door.
They then created a singing room in '66, and then in 1865, this glorious Varieties Music Hall was opened.
It's absolutely glorious, but it looks very genteel to me.
Look at all these stalls.
Did the hoi polloi sit in such stalls? When we first opened, it was completely different.
These seats wouldn't have been there.
Tables, chairs, benches.
You'd have a bar in here as well.
You could easily eat, drink and socialise.
But it would have been a very noisy, rowdy experience.
What was going on on the stage? Everything from high-wire acts to animal acts, as well.
You'd have singing, dancing.
Any big names in the early days? One of the ones in the early days was Lillie Langtry, the famous Jersey Belle.
She would have sung and performed on this stage.
There's a lovely story about Lillie.
It's rumoured that Edward VII used to have an affection for her, so it's rumoured that he used to come grouse shooting to the Yorkshire moors and then sneak in here when no one was looking, and he'd sit in box D over here.
He'd close the curtains so that he could watch her performance on stage.
It's rumoured that the crest up here was donated to us once he became king - as a thank you for our discretion.
- That's marvellous.
We also had the famous Harry Houdini.
That was 1902.
He was paid £130 to perform on this stage.
It's about the equivalent of £7,500 today.
You're holding out on me.
What was the naughtiest thing that happened on the stage? This was later years, more the '40s and '50s.
We had the stripteases and the nude shows.
But interestingly, because of the licensing, they couldn't move.
They had to do still poses, like a classical pose.
Groups of boys used to come, get front-row seats and they'd bring along pea shooters.
They'd try and make the nudes move.
They'd sit in the boxes and a whole group would get together and blow at once to try and make the feathers part to reveal more.
By the 1950s, television and cinema had taken their toll on the music hall, and audiences fell away.
However, television was also the making of this theatre, thanks to the TV extravaganza "The Good Old Days".
Since 1988, Johnny Dennis has been the chairman who introduces every show.
Johnny, when did The Good Old Days begin on television? 1953.
It was Barney Colehan's, who was a staff producer at the BBC, idea to run a pilot show from this theatre and he got together a cast of artists from the Players' Theatre in London.
Leonard Sachs was the chairman, and it ran for 30 years.
It became the most popular programme at that time on the BBC.
What was the origin of the over-the-top alliterative introductions of the acts? That was Leonard Sach's idea.
He was an actor, he loved to be grand, he invented this very extravagant language, not strictly the period of the musical chairmen of the Victorian age, but he was world famous for it.
Give me some examples of your fine, flowing introductions.
My lords, ladies and gentlemen, all the artists have been brought to you at enormous expense.
And then you say, "And welcome to this magnificent mélange of musicality, magic and mirth.
" Let me see if I can try that.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality, - this Valhalla of variety - Very good.
This emporium of entertainment.
Very good.
It could use a little improvement, actually.
Imagine that you were a Victorian actor of the day, so you have to gain their attention by making dramatic gestures like, "Welcome!" Use your hands like this, with the gavel in your hand.
And then you can And then dominate the audience.
Try that with the gavel.
- That's Leonard Sach's gavel.
- Would you mind holding my Bradshaw's? I would be honoured to hold Mr Bradshaw.
Welcome to this cavern of conviviality, this emporium of entertainment, to this Valhalla of Victorian Variety! Bravo! - It was the gavel that did it.
- It's a gavel always that does it.
So, the show that you perform today, would it be recognisable to Mr George Bradshaw? I would like to think so.
I'm a great admirer of Mr Bradshaw and I'm sure he would have been a great admirer of the music hall.
The names of great locomotives are etched in British history.
Railwaymen switched the points on British politics taking them in new directions.
Famous names have graced the playbills in this music hall, too.
As I complete my journey from London to Leeds, Bradshaw's has opened up England with all its rich variety.
Journey over.
The final curtain.
On my next adventure, I learn to set table aboard an ocean linen You're faster than me.
i visit a suspected Solent smugglers hideaway Whoa! What a view! and I discover the tactics employed by the Victorian Temperance Movement.
All of a sudden, a group of uniformed invaders come along shouting, "You're going to hell!" "You will not be saved if you carry on drinking this foul liquid.
"