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.
Ripped By mstoll
My railway journey
will now plunge me deep into the heart of Kent,
picking my destinations from Bradshaw's Guide,
just as Victorian tourists would have done.
Though one of the Home Counties,
Bradshaw's notes that Kent is still very rural.
It strikes me that the same is true today.
Kent's beautiful countryside was brought within easy reach of the capital
when the railways arrived.
The county became attractive to tourists and commuters alike.
Rural businesses boomed
and I'll be visiting some of those that have survived since Bradshaw's time.
On my route today, I'll be hopping with excitement Victorian-style...
- I just yank this, do I? - Yeah. Give it a good pull.
...discovering the secrets of paper from a leading expert...
Would you like to know where this paper was made?
- Don't tell me you can tell that. - I can.
...and learning how the trains transported
a very English game all over the country.
If you look at a map of the expansion of the railway network
around England and Scotland, cricket follows those lines.
So far, I've travelled 30 miles from London to Chatham.
Now I'm continuing through Kent.
I'll follow the tracks as they snake across the county
before heading east via Canterbury.
Then I'll explore the seaside towns perched along our frontier with Europe
on the way to my final stop, Hastings.
Starting in Aylesford today, I'll pass through Maidstone
before ending at the historic spa town of Tunbridge Wells.
Bradshaw's refers to the journey from Chatham to Aylesford.
Says we get "glimpses of woody country".
He says, "The land is studded with substantial homesteads
and wealthy looking farms,
rising in the midst of cornfields or orchards
or surrounded by the British vineyards, the Kentish hop grounds."
In the Victorian era when there were no grapes in Kent,
that was George Bradshaw's idea of a joke.
Hops were an essential ingredient in beer and Kent was a key supplier.
My guide says, "The ancient Aylesford has a population of 1,487
employed in the hop gardens. "
The hop was first cultivated in Kent about the middle of the 15th century.
By 1878, around 47,000 acres of hops
were under cultivation in Kent.
Castle Farm, owned by William Alexander's family,
still grows hops today.
- Hello, William. - Hello, Michael.
- How are you? - Very well, thank you.
Even hop growing was transformed by the arrival of the railways.
(William) There was a period
where the consumption of beer had increased,
not least because of railway construction.
The large teams of navvies were given up to ten pints of beer a day
as part of their wages.
So the hop industry grew on the back of this raised consumption of beer.
(Michael) Judging by my guide, in the middle of the 19th century,
there would have been extensive hop growing in Kent, much more than today.
How was that crop got in? Because it must have been very demanding.
Yes. To bring in the crop you needed to do it in September
over quite a short period, so you needed a lot of labour.
This was drawn in from East London,
often coming down on the trains when they were available.
Big groups of people would arrive on particular dates,
often three generations in a family
coming and spending two, three weeks in Kent picking hops.
From 1865, dedicated trains known as hopping specials
left London Bridge each summer packed with families bound for Kent.
For unemployed Londoners, it was a chance to earn some cash
and to escape the smoke of the city.
Up to 80,000 people came each year and they needed places to stay.
(William) Well, these are the only two remaining examples on the farm
of the hopper huts that families used to live in.
You're not serious. People lived in these tiny huts?
I know. Haven't times changed? They had bunk beds built onto the walls.
They make them quite homely
by putting paint or even wallpaper stuck to the corrugated iron.
And there was quite a community with a whole row of these in the field
and a sort of central cooking area
and every day they were given a bundle of sticks for the fires
from the farm called faggots, which were made up in the previous winter.
But I have to imagine that maybe five or six people might have stayed here
- and this was their holiday. - Absolutely.
They made it a holiday time and there was a great atmosphere.
A few weeks in the fresh air was seen as a benefit to the children.
But it was hard work and picking began at daybreak.
William's taking me into the fields to see what's involved.
I can safely say I've never been in a hop garden before.
This is what they mean by one, is it?
Yes, they grow 16 foot high up these strings from ground level,
which they shoot from in April. So they grow very rapidly.
When they get to the top, they branch out
and you get all these lovely hops developing.
(Michael) Paint for me a Victorian scene.
What would the picking have been like in Victorian times?
We've got all this family labour that's arrived
and they come out on the first morning, a misty morning,
and they would spread up a long row like this in groups of family
and the farm staff would come out with long hooks or pullers
and pull the bines down, giving bines to each family to pick.
They would pick them into baskets.
- Can we have a go at doing this? - Yes.
Now, we don't have a traditional puller.
So I thought that you could act as one and bring this one down for us.
If you move over there, I'll just cut this one off.
- Right. - If you get onto the end of that one.
- I'll hold your book. - That's Bradshaw.
You hold him with great respect.
- I just yank this, do I? - Yeah. Give it a good pull.
(laughs)
Very good.
Is that how it always goes?
You need to practise, I think. Would you like to try another one?
No, no. One is enough for the day, I think.
(William) Pick the hop bine up.
Lay it near a basket and then rapidly pick off the hops.
You've got to go at quite a speed.
(William) If you want to earn any money, you have to get moving.
(Michael) How were they paid?
(William) Payment was based on the amount picked every day.
In order to keep your whole large gang of pickers here on the farm,
and not to lose them before the crop was fully home and dry,
they were paid with tokens.
And I have a hop token,
which was only recognised locally in the pub and the grocers of the village.
But at the end of the season,
the farmer would exchange it back for good pounds, shillings and pence
as they left on their train back to East London.
And that device prevented them from hopping off.
- Exactly. - Before the end of the season.
I think I'd better give that token back. I don't feel I've quite earned it today.
These days, the brewers import a lot of their hops.
William no longer supplies them.
The process of picking has been mechanised.
What we're seeing here is how it's harvested today.
They're cut at the bottom and held in the front of the trailer
and then the man at the back is cutting them off at the wirework level,
rather than pulling them down to the ground by hand.
Having brought one down on my own head, I can see the advantages of this method.
Do you have any people coming here now to do the picking?
(William) Well, we have a completely different use for hops.
We're cutting them for decoration so we're not actually picking them off.
We're drying them on the bine.
That means that we don't need vast numbers of people to do it.
But we do still even now have seasonal labour
and we have a couple with us at the moment from New Zealand.
- They didn't come on the train. - They didn't come on the train, no.
Victorian workers might have been rewarded with beer.
But my clumsy efforts don't earn me a pint.
So, soberly I now leave Aylesford and continue on the next leg of my journey
three miles down the track.
Maidstone is my next stop and Bradshaw's says that it's the capital of Kent,
in a tract of land of great fertility among the hop grounds.
It says that besides hops, paper is a staple production,
especially at the Turkey and Powle Mills.
I'm on my way to the Turkey Mill.
There's a reason why Bradshaw's singles out the Turkey Mill.
It was established by James Whatman, an 18th-century businessman
who invented a revolutionary technique for making paper
that's employed to this day.
I'm meeting forensic paper historian Peter Bower to find out more.
- Peter. - Hello, Michael.
So this is Turkey Mill. I gather it's quite a shrine, isn't it?
This is where James Whatman lived and manufactured.
- He's quite a name in paper, isn't he? - He is.
He's one of the great paper makers.
It might sound odd to talk about a great paper maker,
but he really did know what he was doing.
And he developed better and better and better papers.
His paper was forged by the Austrians,
the French, the Germans, because of his fame.
He was also very, very financially successful.
At the time, Whatman's Turkey Mill was the largest paper mill in Britain
and one of 14 in Maidstone where the industry was centred.
Why was paper made in Maidstone at all?
I think initially because there were a lot of streams like the Len,
which this mill is on.
There were good, consistent supplies of water,
both for power and for making the paper with.
You need good, clean water to make paper.
The clean water helped Whatman to make high-quality pure white paper.
By the 1750s, he'd developed a new way to make paper
which transformed the industry.
Peter's brought me two samples so I can see the difference.
First, the old paper.
I'm seeing a lot of parallel lines and I'm seeing a watermark in the centre.
What the lines are are the traces of the wire that the paper was made on.
- What's this other sheet? - This was also made here.
As you can see, it's completely different.
- It's much, much smoother. - It allows you to smooth it much more.
This is a wove paper, it's made on a woven wire mesh,
so you don't get the texture of the lines. It was very deliberate.
A lot of people in the 18th century really wanted paper like this.
By the 19th century, this was the norm.
The new, smooth paper took print much better.
With the advent of the railways,
business soared in response to demand from all over the country.
Whatman's paper was used by Queen Victoria.
British Acts of Parliament
and even Soviet five-year plans were printed on it.
One of the reasons why this mill was so successful
and why Bradshaw mentions it, because it was famous,
is because this mill provided paper
for some of the greatest artists Britain has ever seen.
Turner, Constable, William Blake.
All sorts of people used the paper over and over again.
- Pretty demanding clients. - Yes.
Turner is amusing because he quite often bought seconds.
- He saved his money. - What a cheapskate.
Peter is a forensic paper analyst who gives vital evidence in fraud cases.
So I'm intrigued to know what he can tell me about my guidebook.
Now, I know you've been looking at my Bradshaw's before.
- What sort of paper is this? - This is quite intriguing.
You know, there are three different papers in this book.
You've got the end paper, which is slightly heavier.
A different tone, as well.
They're both wove. These are both machine-made papers.
But there's another paper in here which is the maps,
- which is much smoother. - Yes.
Again, wove, quite lightweight.
Again, a different tone.
And... would you like to know where this paper was made?
- Don't tell me you can tell that. - I can.
Where was it made?
It was made by a company called James Cropper, who still exist.
The mill is still there and very, very successful.
We know this because William Blacklock, who was Bradshaw's partner,
was a one-third owner of James Cropper the paper mill.
You are the real Professor Higgins of paper.
You can find the origins of anything.
Today, Whatman paper is still made
in a factory a few miles from the original Turkey Mill.
And I'm curious to see it.
Paul.
- Michael, hello. - How very good to see you.
Paul Highsted works at Springfield Mill and will show me how the paper is made.
What have we got in there?
This is the same as it has always been made
where we're taking dilute fibres that have been treated
and we're draining them through a stream.
What you're seeing there is just fibre and water.
(Michael) Now, James Whatman wasn't using glass fibre.
- I guess he wasn't using cotton. - He was using a form of cotton.
He was using rags, which is second-hand cotton.
So it would have been boiled and prepared
until you end up with a solution like this.
Still using developments of Whatman's techniques,
the factory makes specialised paper for use in scientific analysis.
As in Bradshaw's day, the firm focuses on products of high quality.
It's beautiful stuff. Where are these particular rolls destined for?
(Paul) This particular product is made from glass microfibre.
This will be destined for environmental monitoring applications.
So you absolutely have to be able to guarantee the purity of the product
before it leaves the factory.
Yes. Both physically and chemically we have to guarantee the quality.
I leave the mill knowing more about my guidebook than ever before.
And, as usual, it suggests where I should seek my bed for the night.
Since Bradshaw mentions hops several times,
and since there can be nothing more typical of Kent than an oast house,
I've picked one to stay in.
This one has been turned into a bed and breakfast by owner Katherine Morgan.
- Katherine. - Good evening. Nice to meet you.
Lovely to meet you. What a beautiful oast. It's magnificent.
Thank you very much.
I'm really looking forward to staying here.
You know, all the time I've seen oast houses when going by on the train,
I've never really understood what they're for. How does it all work?
Well, they were used for drying hops.
They would have a fire in this bottom room now,
which is going to be your bedroom. Where the ceiling is, there were slats
and the hops would be put on the slats and the fire would dry them.
The hot air from this fire would go out through the cowl at the top
and it would turn round in the wind so that there was no backdraft.
(Michael) So often the oast houses
have been turned into living accommodation.
Yes, but it's extremely difficult to get permission to do it.
- Is it? Anyway, you've done it. - Yes.
Would you mind showing me inside? It looks absolutely wonderful.
Your garden is delightful.
The Kent you see through train windows is distinguished by oast houses.
So I can think of nowhere better to stay.
Having slept soundly in my oast, or roundly in my oast,
another dry morning smiles upon Maidstone.
It's a very good day to visit picturesque Tunbridge Wells.
For the final leg of my route today,
I'm travelling 20 miles down the line to a place that my guidebook extols.
Bradshaw's is almost breathlessly enthusiastic about Tunbridge Wells.
"The town is, with the exception of Bath,
the most ancient of the inland watering places."
"Nature has evidently favoured it by the salubrity of its air,
the potency of its mineral springs,
and the adjacent appendages of romantic and agreeable scenery."
Do you know, I never thought I'd be so excited about going to Tunbridge Wells.
Like so many spa towns, Tunbridge Wells was the preserve of the rich until 1845
when a new railway line enabled bourgeois Victorians
to travel quickly and cheaply to Kent.
The great thing about most of our old railway stations
is they pop out in the middle of town like here in Tunbridge Wells.
You can see how that gave rise to a lifestyle of commuting.
But, equally, it was very convenient for the Victorian tourist.
Just a short walk away, my guidebook recommends some highlights for visitors.
Bradshaw comments that the town has been much modernised of late years,
"the Parade alone evincing any symptoms of antiquity."
He refers to this street,
"with a row of trees on one side and a colonnade with shops on the other."
And it is a breathtaking street.
It's changed very little since Bradshaw's time,
except in name, because now it's known as the Pantiles.
The Pantiles, or Parade as it was known then,
was an elegant 17th-century shopping arcade
where visitors could stroll and be seen.
Today, many of the buildings have been beautifully restored.
- Hello there. - How are you?
I'm very well. Good to see you.
This was known as the Parade. Now it's called the Pantiles.
- Does anybody know why? - Yes, it was the slabs on the ground.
- There are 15 of them still there. - 15 pantiles.
(Michael) From when would that be?
(man) 1600s, 1650. But I've been here 45 years.
It's definitely right.
- 45 years in Tunbridge Wells? - Yes.
- Were you by any chance a commuter? - I was, unfortunately.
- This is your train journey thing. - Yeah, railway journeys.
I did it for 16 years. And I loved it.
- I did it for ten. - Great fun.
It's better now. The trains are much better.
Tunbridge Wells is famous for commuters.
It's about 45 minutes.
There used to be a beautiful buffet car.
You could have toast and tea in the morning and a drink on the way home.
When they stopped that, I packed up going to London.
- You used to play cards, didn't you? - You had a group?
Six of us met and sat around a table and played cards in the evening.
(Michael) That's where you made your money. Not work.
Nothing to do with work.
You look like contented of Tunbridge Wells.
It's a lovely place.
Lovely to talk to you all. Thank you very much indeed.
- You'll be a bit fishy now. - That's fine.
Tunbridge Wells became popular with commuters back in Bradshaw's time
and the town began to expand.
My guide says, "The houses are chiefly detached villas
with lawns in front and large gardens in the rear. "
Many of the grandest streets were laid out in the 19th century.
This gorgeous crescent
was by an architect with the wonderful Victorian name of Decimus Burton
and he worked on the London parks and Kew Gardens.
These houses were originally built as shops.
But by the late 19th century, they were for the middle classes.
People commuting to the city
where, presumably, they made enough money to be able to afford them.
- Hello. - Hello.
- You're very lucky if you live here. - Yes, we are, actually.
- You do live here? - Yes, we live in this house here.
- Beautiful. - And we're near everything.
Trains, shops, the lot.
- Yes, but such an exceptional crescent. - The view.
(Michael) Great view.
They're very strict about what you can do to these houses.
- Very. - They're beautifully preserved.
(woman) English Heritage make sure that you don't do anything awful.
Tell me, are you a commuter, any member of your family?
My husband was.
So was he taking the train from Tunbridge Wells?
Yes. I must say, a train every quarter of an hour is a godsend.
It's like a village rather than a town.
I think it's really beautiful.
- It's got a flavour of Bath about it. - It has, yes.
Bradshaw's praise of the town's pleasing architecture is followed
by a less obvious comment that I must pursue.
Writing of Tunbridge Wells, Bradshaw's says,
"A new cricket ground has been made where many great matches are held."
That was written in the 1860s. I last followed cricket in the 1960s.
But the ground to which Bradshaw's refers is the Higher Ground. This is it.
In the 19th century, cricket was central to the life of Tunbridge Wells.
I'm meeting cricket historian Glenys Williams to find out why.
- Hello, Glenys. - Hello.
- Good match so far? - Yes, looks good.
(Michael) Tunbridge Wells is really a kind of centre for cricket,
- isn't it, historically speaking? - Very much so.
Kent was the cradle of the game.
It was in Kent and Hampshire, Sussex, where the game originated, we believe,
way back in the 12th, 13th century.
Because of all the willow being grown here,
it was the perfect place for cricket-bat making.
So certainly from the 17th, 18th century onwards,
we see the growth of the game here.
Also, we get the development of the various cricket-bat-making firms
and ball-making firms in this area, as well.
Cricket balls have been made locally since the 1760s.
They were hand-stitched by workers at home.
Then in the 1840s, Duke's opened a factory alongside the railway tracks.
Trains began carrying cricket balls and bats to the rest of the country.
They also help to transform the game.
The All-England Eleven that travelled in 1849 travelled by stagecoach.
By 1852, they were using the rail network.
If you look at a map of the expansion of the rail network
around England and Scotland, cricket follows those lines.
The All-England Elevens were particularly popular
in some of the industrial cities up north; Sheffield, Manchester.
They played as far south as St Ives and they went as far north as Scotland.
So trains enabled players to get to more distant places.
Do the railways also popularise the sport?
Yes, they do. With the rise of the mass media in the 1840s to 1860s,
newspapers are travelling on trains,
match reports are being sent via the telegraph,
which also goes via the rail network.
And people sitting in their homes reading these newspapers
were able to read about the exploits of players such as WG Grace
and so when they heard that he was coming to play,
there was, for the first time, a sense of anticipation.
By the mid-1800s, tens of thousands of Victorians
would travel across the country to watch a fixture.
Cricket's increasing popularity with the masses
would forever change the way it was played.
I think of cricket in its heyday as being a game for aristocrats
and the "gifted amateur".
(Glenys) What we see in the 1860s are two different games, if you like.
You have the professionals who are earning their living
by playing games around the country in front of big crowds,
popularising the game.
At the same time, you have the aristocracy
who have almost withdrawn back to their own county estates.
Once the game retreated, if you like,
into the county scene, it was much more refined.
I think if you really wanted to get a feel
of one of those matches from the 1860s,
you'd really have to go to India today
to see these massive grounds where people just crowd in
and are also completely passionate about the game.
The more I follow my "Bradshaw's" along the tracks,
the more I understand how the railways changed the country.
They laid the foundations of Britain's Industrial Revolution
and also of a quintessentially English identity.
Nothing conjures up old England more than the thwack of willow on leather
and long shadows across a cricket ground.
Except, perhaps, a pint of warm beer.
And Kent, aided by its railways,
helped create both those vital elements in our national nostalgia.
On my next journey,
I'll be finding out how a railway helped to save Canterbury's historic heart
in World War Two...
The cathedral actually had railway lines laid into the nave
to deliver sandbags to protect it.
...hearing how the Whitstable whelk industry
has changed since Bradshaw's day...
In the old days, that's not what happened.
No, they all used to go away in the shell.
But when the rail stopped taking perishable goods,
we had to find another way of dealing with it.
...and exploring the history of a seaside swim.
Imagine you're in Margate, you'd come out of your lodgings
and wait for a bathing machine to be ready
which apparently always smelt like rotting carpet,
that kind of horrible sort of smell.
Ripped By mstoll