For Victorian Britons, George Bradshaw was a household name.
At a time when railways were new,
Bradshaw's Guidebook inspired them to take to the tracks.
I'm using a Bradshaw's Guide to understand how trains transformed
Britain, its landscape, its industry,
society and leisure time.
As I crisscross the country 150 years later, it helps me
to discover the Britain of today.
This week's journey takes me across the North West of England
through an area of outstanding beauty.
Where some saw the railway as an unwelcome addition to the landscape.
I hope to explore how the Victorians tried to strike
a balance between protecting the wilderness
and making access to it more affordable for working people.
Beginning near the Scottish border, my route takes me
through the stunning lakes and valleys
and majestic mountains of Cumbria,
continue south through an industrious Lancashire mill town,
and then on to Merseyside's docks, before reaching my final
destination on the edge of the Peak District National Park.
On today's leg, I journey to the heart of the Lake District,
before turning east along the tracks to Kendal.
Joining the mainline,
I then head south for a dash of railway romance in Carnforth.
'At my first stop, I revisit a literary hero familiar from my childhood...'
He's a small rabbit, isn't he?
He has to stretch up on his tippy-toes to post his letter.
'..lend a hand making the archetypal fell walker's snack...'
HE SNIFFS Wow!
- Absolutely refreshing, isn't it? - It is, yeah.
When you're making Kendal Mint Cake, it is very rarely you get a cold.
'..visit the home of a man of extraordinary talents...'
It is rather ironic that the greatest architecture
critic of his age would end up living in a house to be
looked out of, rather than looked towards.
'..and finish off with a brief encounter on the platform.'
It was an ideal location for people to meet by chance.
I'm continuing my journey around Northern England
and enjoying the Lake District.
Bradshaw's says it is a region of "lofty mountains, naked hills,
"bleak, barren moors and lofty fells
"intersected with pastoral vales."
And the pastoral vales inspired a magical world of little
talking animals that have entertained children for more than 100 years.
I'm entering the picturesque universe of Beatrix Potter.
She first arrived here at Windermere in 1882 to spend her summer holidays.
The start of a lifelong love affair with the Lake District.
Windermere owes its very existence to an extension of the railway
from Kendal in 1847.
The station was built on farmland in a hamlet,
which shrewdly called itself Windermere after the mere, or lake.
It rapidly developed into a holiday hot spot,
attracting 30,000 tourists the year that the railway opened.
Across the lake from Windermere is Near Sawrey,
a tiny village where many of Beatrix Potter's famous stories were hatched.
Liz MacFarlane from the National Trust is giving me a tour.
We are getting, really, a lovely view of the village.
How did Beatrix Potter first encounter the Lake District?
She first came here when she was 16.
That was when she fell in love with it.
What sort of a family did she grow up in?
Beatrix had a very privileged upbringing.
Her father became a barrister, but spent most of his time
either at his club or indulging his hobby of photography.
So, long holidays were the order of the day,
and that was how she got to know this part of the world so well.
Beatrix was educated at home by tutors and governesses,
and her schoolroom was full of animals.
Mice, rabbits, hedgehogs and bats.
She was given the freedom to roam the great outdoors.
Her studies of the natural world inspired her wonderful stories.
When did she first have success as a writer?
Well, really from the first commercial publication
of The Tale Of Peter Rabbit in 1902.
It became instantly a bestseller,
and in the first couple of years, it sold over 50,000 copies.
So she became well known very, very quickly as a storyteller.
Beatrix's illustrations are full of imagery from the village,
its narrow lanes and colourful cottage gardens.
So here you can see the postbox where Peter Rabbit
- posts his Valentine's card. - Oh, yes, I remember that illustration.
It is very sweet, because he is a small rabbit, isn't he?
He has to stretch up on his tippy-toes to post his letter.
Beatrix made her first home in the village in 1905,
here at Hill Top Farm,
a property she had bought with the intention of leaving a rather
remarkable legacy.
It's a lovely, homely room, isn't it, with the roaring log fire?
That's right. And it is pretty much as Beatrix left it.
This is the kitchen, so the cooking would be done on the range,
and it was really the heart of the farmhouse.
- And does it feature in the stories? - It does indeed, yes.
In fact, we've got a copy of Samuel Whiskers here.
And this is really her homage to the house.
So you can see here Anna Maria running along,
- past the dresser that you can see just over there. - That is fantastic.
'The house and Beatrix's belongings are as she left them,
'which makes it look as though she's just popped out for tea.
'And you get the sense of a woman living here who had many interests.'
So this desk has a rather scientific look to it, doesn't it?
This is not what I associate with Beatrix Potter, but I assume this is her work, is it?
It is, absolutely. And this work came before the little books.
Beatrix was really interested in the natural world,
from a scientific point of view.
So, how would you say she felt about the Lake District?
Beatrix was passionate about the Lake District,
and this is an area she really wanted to look after.
So what efforts did she actually make to preserve it?
For instance, what was her attitude to railways?
OK, so Beatrix wasn't very keen on the railways.
And that was something that was instilled in her by
Canon Rawnsley, who was one of the three founders of the National Trust.
And Beatrix was one of its early supporters.
And the land, after her initial purchases of Hill Top
and Castle Farm, were bought with that in mind, that they
would be given to the Trust to be preserved in perpetuity.
And that is exactly what has happened. This house, these lands,
these belong to the National Trust,
and indeed these were part of the origin of the National Trust.
That's right. Beatrix's bequest was the largest gift the Trust had ever
received at that time.
Beatrix Potter's intention was to protect
the beauty of these 4,000 acres,
but perhaps she also hoped to ensure that future generations of children
might immerse themselves in nature and let their imaginations run wild.
I'm on my way back to Windermere.
Bradshaw's tells me that "the lake by road is almost 26 miles round.
"The lake itself should be seen from the water to
"take in all its beauties."
To which I would add that the roads are narrow and you feel confined,
while the water is broad and you feel free.
So for me, it's the ferry.
I can imagine Victorian tourists from industrial northern towns
enjoying the lake, the steamboats and the busy hotels.
The railway really did bring tremendous change to the area.
That change was strongly opposed by Beatrix Potter
and other conservationists, like William Wordsworth and Canon Rawnsley.
It's perhaps thanks to their words of caution that the area still
looks relatively unspoiled.
Even if you ARE admiring it from a train.
- So, where have you been today, Windermere? - We've been to Windermere.
We came up here on Saturday
and we went to Hill Top to view Beatrix Potter's house.
- And what did you think of that? - Fabulous, it is brilliant, lovely. Really nice.
- Did you know the works of Beatrix Potter? - Yes, as a child. - Were you brought up on them? - Yeah.
Moving along the Windermere line, we are approaching
a town famous for its energy boosting confectionery.
You know, when I last went to Kendal, I noticed how busy the local
people were, because Bradshaw's says that "they are engaged in carpet
"woollens, linseed, clog, comb, bobbin, fish-hook,
"leather, rope, woollen cord, fruit trades and marble works."
Such industrious people, some of them must have made a mint!
SHE LAUGHS
Kendal was nicknamed "The Auld Grey Town"
because of its limestone architecture.
The town looks rather sleepy today,
but I'm on my way to what might be one of the most energising factory floors in the country.
- Morning, Michael. - Hello, Peter.
Quiggins is the oldest surviving mint cake manufacturer in Kendal.
Peter McCafferty is a director.
Peter, is your company actually Victorian in its foundation?
Er, yes, well, the company was established way back in 1840,
but that wasn't in Kendal at the time, that was on the Isle of Man.
What were you making there?
I think...well, in those days, they started off making just sticks of rock.
And as far as we're aware from historical records,
I think it was the first company ever to put lettering inside a stick of rock.
They had a visit from Prince Albert to the island,
and so they put "Welcome, Prince Albert, to Mona" inside the stick of rock.
Brilliant. And you came to Kendal when?
Very, very early 1900s.
So, what was the origin of the mint cake?
Well, the origin of mint cake is still really, to be honest, a mystery.
Folklore says that a batch of candy was being made,
and then mint cake was actually made by accident,
but there's no evidence, really, that that is the case.
The mint cake mishap supposedly took place in 1869.
By 1914, word of its invigorating properties had reached
Sir Ernest Shackleton, who took it with him on his Antarctic expedition.
And it's to be found in the pockets of adventurers to this day.
Kendal Mint Cake actually went up on the very first time Everest was conquered
with Sir Edmund Hilary and Tenzing,
and ever since then, its been used by mountaineers,
but more mainly today, really, by fell walkers.
- And it does pack a lot of energy, does it? - Oh, yeah, yeah.
If you're flagging on a walk, have a bit of mint cake
and you'll run up the hill.
- Can we see it being made? - Yeah, let's do that.
- Hello. I'm Michael. - Steve.
Good to see you. So, what's bubbling away in here?
So we've got white sugar, water, glucose are the main ingredients.
Just a pinch of salt.
And then we bubble that to a very high temperature.
We lift it off,
and that's when we add the secret ingredient -
our special blend of mint.
So, I am here to help. What can I do next?
Well, if you would like to add the fondant?
- Fondant, this is, is it? - It's fondant.
- Comme ca? - You do it very carefully so you don't splash yourself.
Oh, yeah, yeah.
- Just ease it in. - Ease it in.
- It can be...not quite that safe. - OK.
Stand back, Peter.
OK, Michael, now we have the mint.
And remember, this is the secret ingredient.
This is what makes it taste good.
Whoa!
It's coming up into my eyes, that, er, oh, it's... Wow!
- Absolutely refreshing, isn't it? - It is, yeah.
When you make Kendal Mint Cake, it is very rare that you get a cold.
Oh, it really has cleaned out everything.
And does it make your eyes sting after all these years?
- I'm afraid it does. - Does it really? - Yeah.
- But it doesn't do you any harm? - No.
Just cleans you out.
Essence of mint - nothing like it for clearing the sinuses
and making you cry like a baby!
It's time to dry my eyes and finish the job.
Just trying to fill the moulds to the top,
but without overflowing.
I don't want to be too generous.
I don't want to put the company out of business.
- Well, thank you, Peter. I enjoyed that. - OK. No, it's been a pleasure.
And, erm...because you've shown such an interest in the business,
in the history of the business, we've found this really old tin,
stacked it out with mint cake for you,
and that should empower you on your train journeys.
Oh, fantastic. I feel steam in my boiler already.
- Thank you. - Thanks, Michael. - Bye. - Bye.
I am walking in search of one of the best views across the entire Southern Lakes,
heading up rather gentle hills a couple of miles west of Kendal.
Since the earliest days of marketing mint cake, it's been associated
with those walking up the fells and peaks to reach the summit,
and so to end my day, I've come to the top of Scout Scar,
and I'm going to reward myself for my exertions
with a little bit of minty energy.
On this glorious morning, I have ventured 20 miles west from Kendal to Coniston Water
to visit the home of a giant amongst Victorian intellectuals.
When John Ruskin settled here at Brantwood in 1872 at the age of 52,
he had written extensively on art, architecture and social reform.
His thinking influenced intellectuals such as Proust and Ghandi,
and he still inspires those who discover him today.
Hello, ladies. So, you've just been to see the house.
What impression do you have now of Ruskin?
Well, I was just absolutely bowled over by the fact
that his interests were so varied.
That it didn't matter whether it was geology, or botany, or painting.
His pictures are extraordinary.
That he designed the wallpaper.
I mean, he just did everything! I mean, what a man.
So, what did you know about him before?
I knew he did philosophy and the way people should live
and the general sort of...that sort of thing, but I...
And he was an art critic, but I had no idea of all this other...
What a person. We could do with him now, I reckon.
One of Ruskin's most important works is the Stones Of Venice, in which he
records the city's great Gothic architecture in painstaking detail.
Ruskin celebrated the Gothic for what he saw as
its reverence for nature and natural forms.
Brantwood seems the perfect spot to study
the relationship between man and his environment.
And I'm meeting Howard Hull to find out more
about the great man's attachment to the Lake District.
Howard, I find Brantwood... not exactly beautiful.
How did Ruskin come here?
Ruskin didn't create Brantwood to start with,
it was an 18th-century cottage that he purchased.
He really intended quite a humble dwelling
to escape from celebrity and fame in London.
He made two additions of his own to the house immediately,
the turret and the dining room, on a Venetian style.
But it was when he got sick and his cousin moved in to
look after him that the house began to expand.
She got her hands on the chequebook and enlarged Brantwood around him.
And so it grew like a giant crystal, really, around the house.
It's rather ironic that the greatest architecture critic of his age would
end up living in a building that really isn't great architecture.
It's a house to be looked out of, rather than looked towards.
Howard, the thing that strikes you at once about this room, then,
is the Gothic window. And suddenly you're thinking,
"Maybe I'm looking out of a palazzo in Venice."
Yes, it's like a sort of open colonnade.
To invite the warm airs of Venice
rather than the chill winds of Cumbria.
But it was symbolic for Ruskin,
of his attachment to a city that he understood in fantastic depth.
In fewer than a million words, what was Ruskin's contribution to Venice?
You could almost rebuild Venice using Ruskin's studies.
And indeed, a great deal of the conservation of Venice has
relied upon information that Ruskin gathered about it.
But the other thing that he did was to invite people to understand
really how a city like Venice comes about.
What the difference in society is
that will produce either a Venice or a Bradford.
Both wealthy countries will produce different things
according to their political and economic systems.
- So this makes Ruskin political and a social reformer? - Yes.
Ruskin could be credited with being one of the people who gave
capitalism a conscience, really.
Ruskin wanted us to see the consequences of our actions
and to realise that no person
and no system stands on its own without influence
down the line on people and the environment in which they live.
- This turret, then, was built by Ruskin? - Yes, it was.
It's a sort of carriage lantern on the corner of the building.
And immediately raises the question about his relationship with
the landscape. Obviously, he wanted to preserve it?
Yes, he wanted to preserve it.
He wanted, above all, people to appreciate it,
understand it, and have a proper relationship with it.
Was he, as it were, a poetic conservationist, or a practical one?
Both.
Ruskin was very interested in the idea of actually learning
the practicalities of managing land and exploring the way,
physically and practically, that we can improve the land
and get both physical sustenance from it and spiritual sustenance.
I'm travelling south, again on the Windermere line -
one of the many which were so opposed by romantic conservationists.
Ruskin objected that the train rushed its passengers through an area
which could be appreciated properly only at a gentle pace.
I'm continuing towards the West Coast Mainline, and to reach my next stop,
I must change trains at Oxenholme and then Lancaster.
'This train coming into Lancaster now.'
As I travel south from John Ruskin's beloved Lakes,
I'm moving from 19th-century Romanticism
to 20th century romance -
whistle-stop romance.
Next stop - Carnforth.
'We will shortly be arriving at Carnforth.'
Carnforth railway station provided the setting for Brief Encounter,
David Lean's famous film from 1945
starring Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard.
The refreshment room where the characters first meet was
restored in 2003, and is a thriving attraction these days,
thanks to the efforts of volunteers such as Alec Crouch.
- Hello, Alec! - Hello, Michael.
- Good to see you. - Good to see you too.
Here we are in the famous refreshment room at Carnforth station.
I just wonder, why do you think they set a romance in a railway station?
It was an ideal location for people to meet, like that, by chance.
Do you think there's something romantic about railways?
- I personally think there are, and I'm sure a lot of people do. - Why?
There's something about journeys, travel, even going to work -
it was quite exciting. It was different.
In the film, we meet Laura,
who enters the refreshment room with a piece of grit in her eye.
Alec, a local doctor waiting for his train,
comes to her rescue with his handkerchief.
They share a brief moment of physical contact and contemplate adultery,
but back away from it and part for ever.
Why do you think they chose Carnforth station?
David Lean, as far as we're aware,
rather thought he would like Watford Junction.
The Ministry of War Transport said,
"No, you can't film in the London area,
"we're very much in danger of bombing still."
So he sent members of his production team out to various locations,
and they came up and discovered Carnforth,
which had everything that he wanted.
There's an awful moment at the end of the movie,
where Celia Johnson, Laura, rushes out to the edge of the platform,
possibly contemplating suicide. Tell me about that?
Yes, that's after she's said farewell to Alec.
And she then rushes out onto the mainline platform,
just as a night express is racing north.
And her face really does show that she's contemplating,
"What shall I do?"
You can read her mind at that point.
But then, she decides she's going to go home to her husband and children.
- She steps back. - Yes.
The whole movie's about stepping back, isn't it?
About staying behind the yellow line?
In many ways, yes, yes, I suppose it...
That's a nice way of putting it. Yes.
- Are you tourists in Carnforth? - We are. - We are.
And have you come because of the movie?
- Yes. - We have. - Ah!
Do you think the film today means as much to people as it did then?
Would you say it was an old-fashioned film?
It captures a period of time that's gone.
Quintessentially English in the accents and the fact it's
set in a tearoom at all is relevant to it all.
The steam from urns and trains... Yeah, it is.
It draws people in because it seems to say something
about Englishness, I suppose.
Do you think if you remade Brief Encounter today with
electric trains or diesels, it would be the same?
No, I don't think so, because it's part of the period
and the romance of the period that it was set in at that time.
Also inspired by a sense of duty, really.
Each wanted to do something, but felt compelled to do something else.
I think that captures a moment -
maybe we've moved on from there, in many respects.
The refreshment room welcomes visitors from all over the world.
So has owner Andrew Coates managed to recreate the atmosphere of the film?
When I remember the tearoom,
apart from the fact that the tea was a bit cheaper in those days,
is that the service was a bit brusque and a bit unsympathetic.
Now, has that changed much?
Not at all!
No.
And what about romances in your refreshment room? Any of those?
Yes, yes.
They'll come up to me, and they're going to get engaged,
so they'll have a picture under the famous clock and then they'll
say to me, "Would you mind putting this engagement ring under the cup?"
So, it's like that.
And then it'll be a table service.
Because there wasn't table service in the film.
So you've got to charge them a bit more for that.
And then, when she comes to turn the cup over,
the engagement ring would be underneath.
Do you know, under your heart of stone,
I think there lurks something a little bit warmer.
I'd like to hope so, yeah.
The sense of duty and self-sacrifice
that was prevalent in wartime Britain may have faded.
But the romance of the railway lives on at Carnforth.
God-fearing Victorians like John Ruskin worried about the damage
that man was doing to creation,
particularly to the Garden of England.
And a child of the Victorian era,
Beatrix Potter, used her fortune to safeguard the Lake District.
The decades since have proved that our engagement with
the environment has been more than just a Brief Encounter.
'Next time, I dabble in 21st-century technology...'
Feels like some medical procedure, like having my blood pressure taken.
'..learn a thing or two about art...'
I'm sure you're almost about to say matchstick figures, aren't you, Michael?
Well, matchsticks they are not.
They're much more observed, much more acute.
'..and enjoy a good old Lancashire sing-song.'
# As they did when he measured me finger
# For t'little gowd ring last neet. #