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.
And now, 110 years later,
I'm aboard for a series of rail adventures across the United Kingdom
to see what of Bradshaw's Britain remains.
I'm continuing my journey from the Hampshire coast to the West Midlands,
using mainly branch lines.
But, thanks to the railways, the towns along my route
could play their part at the heart of the British Empire.
There's a distinctly military feel to this part of my beat.
On this stretch, I encounter the Duke of Wellington's
impressive funeral car...
It is the most colossal thing, isn't it? Absolutely enormous.
...l get my marching orders from the army...
Get those knees up, Portillo! Get those knees up nice and high!
“and I learn of the surprisingly enlightened 19th-century attitude
towards the criminally insane.
What the Victorians did was they established
that people with mental illness who committed crime
needed healthcare. They needed a hospital, not a prison.
My journey started on the south coast, heads through Hampshire,
northwest to Newbury,
takes in an engineering triumph in Bristol
and ends in the West Midlands.
Today's leg begins at Winchfield in Hampshire,
takes a short hop to Farnborough
and crosses into Berkshire to finish at Crowthorne.
My first stop will be Winchfield.
Bradshaw's tells me that "the line passes beneath Odiham Bridge,
which leads to the seat of the late and present Duke of Wellington,
Stratfield Saye, situated about six miles off to the right...
The victor of Waterloo and an estate owner to boot.
The station at Winchfield opened in 1838.
Firmly established on London's commuter belt,
in Bradshaw's day it was renowned for its proximity to Stratfield Saye,
home to the Nth-century's most famous British soldier;
the Duke of Wellington.
This beautiful estate of Stratfield Saye was gifted to the Duke of Wellington
by a grateful nation after his victory at the Battle of Waterloo.
The only precedent was the land that was given to the Duke of Marlborough
after his victory at the Battle of Blenheim.
But whereas Marlborough built an enormous Blenheim Palace on his estate,
Stratfield Saye remains a delightfully understated country house.
Although avoiding ostentation,
Wellington did like his modern conveniences at Stratfield Saye,
where flushing lavatories and central heating were installed in the house,
which dates from 1630.
To learn more, I'm meeting Lord Douro,
the current occupant and eldest son of the present Duke.
The Duke of Wellington was fortunate to live 37 years
after the Battle of Waterloo. Did he enjoy Stratfield Saye?
I think very much,
but I think also his wife and children very much enjoyed living here,
so he was very, very content and all his life considered this as his home.
He was unlucky enough, in a way, to become Prime Minister.
Did that interrupt his enjoyment of Stratfield Saye?
I think it must have to a certain extent.
You can't not be Prime Minister and find yourself extremely occupied,
so he would have had less time to come here.
Born Arthur Wellesley in Dublin to Anglo-Irish aristocrats in 1769,
the future duke rose quickly through the officer ranks,
led British forces to victory in India at Assaye in 1803,
and then, as shown in this filmed re-enactment,
defeated Napoléon Bonaparte at Waterloo.
The Duke's popularity rivaled Queen Victoria's
and I wonder how they got on.
Tell me about his relationship with the young Queen Victoria.
He was godfather to one of her children,
she was godmother to one of his granddaughters,
so I think it was a very close relationship
and when she came to stay here
she writes charmingly about the experience of staying with the Duke.
Although Winchfield had its own station,
Wellington wasn't a fan of the railways and rarely took the train.
Maybe part of his doubts about railways
were as a result of a tragic, tragic incident in 1830
when he was Prime Minister.
He was asked to open the new railway from Liverpool to Manchester
and halfway along the journey the train stopped.
And Mr Huskisson, who had been a cabinet minister,
got out of his carriage to walk along the track to say hello to the Duke,
and was killed by Stephenson's Rocket,
which was coming along in the other direction.
I think ever since then the Duke had a very sceptical approach to railways.
Well, I think we can forgive the Iron Duke
his views of the railways given that he was a great national hero.
On 18th June, 1815,
the Commander in Chief's faithful companion at Waterloo
was his chestnut stallion, Copenhagen.
Twenty-one years after the battle, the horse died
and the Duke buried him at Stratfield Saye with full military honours.
The first duke must have felt very strongly about his horse
to bury it in this way. Why, do you think?
The Duke was tremendously dependent on a reliable horse.
He rode this horse all day from early in the morning to late that evening.
Copenhagen played a very important part in the success of the battle.
Copenhagen deserved to be buried with such honours.
Certainly.
In November 1852, two months after Wellington's death aged 83,
he was laid to rest in a lavish state funeral.
Prince Albert helped to design the 2'! foot long car
that carried the Duke's coffin to his final resting place
next to Lord Nelson in the crypt of St Paul's Cathedral in London.
The car dominates the house museum.
Well, through here you're going to see suddenly the funeral car.
It is the most colossal thing, isn't it?
Absolutely enormous. What on earth does it weigh?
I believe it weighs 18 tons
but more remarkable is that it was made in 18 days.
From what?
Partly from cannons captured at Waterloo.
It's quite a complicated mechanism
because the whole of the top part has to be able to swivel
so as to take the coffin off and up the steps of St Paul's.
Spectacular.
Although in Pall Mall, 30 soldiers had to free the car
after the sheer weight of it caused the roadbed to give way.
More than a million people, hats in hand,
lined the route from Westminster Hall to St Paul's,
and Queen Victoria was one of them.
She didn't go to the ceremony.
In those days, it would not have been appropriate.
But she watched the procession pass Buckingham Palace
and then went to St James's Palace
and watched it again coming down St James's.
She was extremely sad. She had great love and affection for him
and she wrote a wonderful letter to the then Lady Douro.
"It is impossible to think of this country without the Duke,
her pride, her hero."
"It is a terrible loss and to us, dear Bessie, a very severe one."
Having seen how the Commander in Chief spent his retirement,
on my next stop I hope to discover what life was like
for rank and file Victorian soldiers.
I shall be alighting at Farnborough, which my Bradshaw's tells me
is the nearest station to the army camp at Aldershot.
I once had the honour of inspecting the Paras there
and I shall be interested to find out
how such brave men are made fit for battle.
Amid concern that the army was unfit for purpose,
Prince Albert urged commanders to modernise training methods.
Close enough to the south coast to repel potential French invaders,
Aldershot Heath was chosen.
I'm meeting military historian Paul Vickers at the camp museum.
Bradshaw's Guide tells me that the nearest railway station
to the camp at Aldershot is Farnborough, but surely it is actually Aldershot?
Well, at the time of your Bradshaw's Guide it wasn't
because the railway itself didn't come to Aldershot until 1870
after the town grew up around the camp.
What was it like in those early days?
You would see line upon line of wooden huts
because that's what was built initially for the army.
Prior to that time, Aldershot had just been a very small village
about a mile further to the east of 875 people.
Suddenly, within five years there were 15,000 soldiers.
In 1890, the wooden huts, which had stood for 30 years,
were replaced with brick barracks.
I'm keen to find out about the living conditions of an infantryman.
There'd be a company of soldiers, so 40 men living in here.
We can see that he has a simple bed,
a rack on which he can keep his uniforms and equipment.
- What was the bed like? - Not the most comfortable.
The conditions were fairly spartan in the barrack blocks.
- Quite narrow, too, isn't it? - Yes, they were packed in here,
but also people at that time were much smaller than they are now.
So here's my Victorian soldier,
fairly cramped conditions, lots of heavy equipment,
heavy rifle musket,
but nonetheless a good deal better than many people in civilian life
and a great deal better than living in a tent or a wooden hut.
Aldershot got its civilian station in 1870 and it's still here today.
Now Paul wants to show me
a Victorian railway that hasn't stood the test of time.
So why have you brought me to these sidings off the main line here?
This is quite possibly
one of the most expensive pieces of railway in the country.
It doesn't look it. First of all, where does it go?
In the 1890s, the first soldiers to go out to the Boer War
came down these sidings onto the main line
- to go out to the campaign. - Why was it so expensive?
Because in 1885 they'd launched a new campaign in the Sudan
for which they wanted a railway to transport their goods and materials.
So 38 ships full of railway equipment were sent out
but no sooner had the campaign started
that Prime Minister Gladstone pulled the plug on the campaign
so the ships were sent back to Britain with all this material,
and then used for railway lines such as this one.
What did that cost?
It was calculated that the cost at the time was £865,000,
which in present-day values is around £73 million.
Extraordinary!
As a former Defence Secretary,
I know what emphasis the army places on physical fitness,
but I wonder whether that was always the case.
I confess that the gymnasium is not exactly my natural habitat,
but this is a glorious building.
This building is from 1894, but it replaced the original gymnasium
and this was put up in 1860,
when it was the first gymnasium in the British Army anywhere.
During the Crimean War,
the fitness of the soldier was not as good as it should be
and the Army Physical Training Corps was founded here in 1860,
bringing in a much more scientific approach
to physical fitness at this time.
How did they set about being scientific about physical education?
Well, they nominated an officer, Major Frederick Hammersley,
and 12 non-commissioned officers, and they were sent to a college in Oxford
to learn the science of gymnastics, as it was at the time.
They then came back to Aldershot
and set up what was then known as the Army Gymnastic Service,
and from that grew the Army Physical Training Corps as we know it today.
Do you think it can make the difference between life and death
and for the army can it make the difference between defeat and victory?
Oh, very much so, yes.
Without the necessary fitness in the field,
a soldier cannot fight to the full capacity.
Portillo versus the British Army. They don't stand a chance.
Get those knees up, Portillo!
Get those knees up nice and high.
And now slightly leaning back again and flicking the toes up
and carry on normal jogging. Listen to command.
When I say direction change, pivot on the leading foot and turn...
- When does this finish? - Change. Well done.
That was a surprise.
Bouncing off the toes.
Five press-ups, off you go.
Well, I survived about five minutes.
I imagine these guys will be going on for, I don't know, 30/45 minutes.
You've got to admire them.
Well done, guys, carry on. Keep it going, guys.
To reach my next destination I'm using North Camp,
a station opened to troops in 1858.
From there I'm heading one stop to Farnborough North.
Having reminded myself how the military dedicates its lives
to the service of Her Majesty the Queen,
I'm now interested to see how another group,
established in the community since late Victorian times,
dedicates its lives to the service of God.
Put through my paces by the army,
I'm seeking a tranquil spot to reflect on my journey so far.
What better place to rest my weary limbs
than the invitingly-named Monastery of St Michael?
Hello, I'm looking for the Benedictine monastery of St Michael's.
Yes, it's across the road there and up to your right-hand side.
Oh, great. Have you any idea why there is a monastery here?
The only thing I know about it is Princess Eugénie is buried there.
Beyond that, I don't know.
Thank you very much for the directions, I'll make my way. Thank you. Bye-bye.
This Eugénie was actually a French empress
and I'm intrigued to know why such a personage
is buried in a suburban town just a stone's throw from a commuter line.
This is the most extraordinary sight,
about as far from my concept of Farnborough as it's possible to get.
It appears to be a medieval French castle next to a Victorian house
with a Renaissance chapel beyond
and, I must say, the most delightful feeling of tranquillity.
I'm meeting Abbot Cuthbert Brogan by the monastery's chapel
to find out more about this surprising Hampshire retreat.
So how did it come to be that a Benedictine monastery
was built in this place?
The origin of the monastery is the Empress Eugenie.
The Empress Eugénie was the widow, by the time she came to Farnborough,
of the Emperor Napoleon Ill.
Napoléon Ill is the nephew of the Napoléon we all know about
and she moved to Farnborough in the September of 1880
and built the monastery and the church and gave it to us.
Eighteen years into his reign,
French Emperor Napoléon Ill lost the Franco-Prussian War in 1870,
was captured and exiled to England where he lived in Chislehurst, Kent,
with his wife Eugénie and their son Louis.
Napoléon died in 1873
and Louis perished in the British Army fighting Zulus,
leaving Empress Eugénie heartbroken and alone in Chislehurst.
The move to Farnborough was all about
leaving behind the bitter memories of Chislehurst
and her sufferings in that house,
and creating something worthy, a permanent mausoleum,
which inevitably would now have to be in England rather than in Paris.
Was Eugénie responsible for the architecture?
I thought at first it was Renaissance,
now I think it's Gothic and Baroque. What is it?
It's a great mish-mash, really.
Favourite churches, mostly along the Loire Valley, all put together.
Details of this one, a dome from that one, a pinnacle from that one,
and there it is.
And was there already a community of Benedictine monks
for whom she was building this monastery?
No, she built the monastery and then started scurrying around France
looking for some monks to live in it, and that's easier said than done.
So it wasn't until 1895 that she brought Benedictines
from the Abbey of Solesmes in the north of France.
In 1940 there was a new experiment;
a daring new adventure began in our house.
We began to speak English on Mondays and Tuesdays.
A devout Catholic, Eugénie's motivation here at St Michael's was spiritual.
She spent her time and money establishing a Benedictine community
to pray for the family's souls during eternity
in the crypt that she spent years building.
Here they are. The Emperor Napoléon Ill
and then, on the left, Louis, the Prince Imperial, his son,
and above the altar in the prime position, the Empress Eugénie.
She died in 1920, so 50 years in exile and 40 of them in Farnborough.
And long enough to complete this extraordinary mausoleum
to the three of them.
And the monks, oi course,
repeating what often happened in the middle ages
with royal or imperial families,
the monks were brought to pray for their souls.
- Thank you so much. - You're welcome.
At the heart of the abbey's fife
is the daily round of offices, sung in Latin, to Gregorian chant.
I doubt there could be anything more beautiful and calming
before resting for the night as a guest of the monks.
Having enjoyed the hospitality of the monks at the monastery,
I've woken to this beautiful view of the chapel.
I've spent the night in this very comfortable room,
known as the bishop's room, and now it's time for me to resume my travels.
But not wanting to leave on an empty stomach,
I'm breaking bread with Brother Anselm Carpenter
to find out why he, like his three fellow monks,
chose to commit his life to prayer.
I joined the monastery at 21, straight from university,
and I'm 28 this year, although ravaged by virtue.
ls it a hard life?
It brings its challenges. I've always been astounded
that the things I thought would be difficult when I was 21
are actually very easy and the things which were to be very easy,
doing what you're told and being obedient,
are more difficult, more trying.
How does the calling express itself?
God wore me down.
The desire to try the life became more intense
to the extent that I just realised that I had to just give it a go
because the monastic life is something that you try to live
and it's something that tries you
and it's through this almost dialogue of trying and being tried
that one hopefully realises that you're in the right place.
Spiritually refreshed, I've left the monastic life behind.
I'm going to study yet another Victorian institution.
This one made great progress in the field of mental health.
I'm heading northwest on the Ash to Wokingham branch line
Crowthorne.
Crowthorne is home to Wellington College,
where the sons of British officers were educated.
Then, in 1863, the year that my "Bradshaw's" was published,
- a notorious new institution-
England's first asylum for the criminally insane.
These forbidding walls mark the perimeter of a place
whose name sends a chill through the body: Broadmoor.
But such a place demands an open-minded approach,
both to the work done here by the Victorians
and the work done here today.
Broadmoor is now one of Britain's three high-security psychiatric hospitals.
The Criminal Lunatic Asylum Act of 1860 gave the Home Office responsibility
for caring for mentally ill people who'd committed crimes.
Broadmoor's Victorian buildings
were the first specifically built for the purpose.
Author Mark Stevens knows more.
This must have been the old Victorian entrance, must it?
Yes, this is the iconic image of Broadmoor.
If you're a male patient arriving at the Victorian hospital,
this is your first sight.
Why did he Victorians choose to build Broadmoor here?
They wanted somewhere that wasn't too far away from London
and also was on government land
and there was a bit of a deal clincher here,
a railway station being built nearby.
Most asylums were built if not directly close to a railway station,
within a carriage ride away, and Broadmoor's no exception.
Since the 14th century and throughout the Georgian 18th century,
the straitjackets, public humiliations
and horrific conditions of London's Saint Mary of Bethlehem Asylum,
better known as Bedlam,
were the norm in the incarceration of the mentally ill.
I wonder whether the Victorians were more enlightened in their attitudes.
When a Victorian patient arrived here, what aspirations did they have for him?
They gave people regular occupation, a diet of decent food,
plenty of fresh air and also the notion of routine.
So the idea of Victorian healthcare
was that you'll nurse somebody better using those things.
Quite progressive, really, the Victorians.
Set in farmland and with workshops for shoemakers, upholsterers,
tinsmiths, carpenters and more,
at the time my guide was published,
Broadmoor's therapeutic regime consisted of work, exercise and rest
with newspapers, games and a library available to all.
Do you think any of the Victorian principles survive today in Broadmoor?
I think what the Victorians did was they established
that people with mental illness who committed crime needed healthcare,
they needed a hospital, not a prison, By and large, it worked.
You had a few convicts from the Victorian prison system
who thought that maybe feigning insanity
would be a better idea than being in prison
and they soon found being surrounded by people who were behaving irrationally
was not at all a preferable option
to being surrounded by the certainties of your fellow convicts.
Nowadays, Broadmoor treats men only,
but it first opened with 95 female patients.
One of the best known was Christiana Edmunds,
who was sentenced as a result of evidence
found on board a London to Brighton train.
Dubbed the Chocolate Cream Poisoner, she laced sweets with strychnine
to see off the wife of the married man that she desired.
Victorians were fascinated by true crime stories
and Edmunds became something of a celebrity,
like many other early Broadmoor patients.
These are works by Richard Dadd
who's one of the more celebrated Victorian patients.
Dadd was a well-known artist
before he became consumed by the idea
that he was obliged to battle the Devil.
Unfortunately, the Devil took the form of his father
and he actually stabbed his father to death.
Dadd spent the rest of his life in asylums.
The other very well-known Victorian example
is a chap called William Chester Minor.
He was a surgeon in the American Civil War
who came over to England and shot and killed a man in Lambeth.
But when he entered Broadmoor he brought his library with him
and he used this to contribute examples of word use
to the first Oxford English Dictionary.
One can only imagine how dedicated
the current staff at this imposing place must be.
I'm heartened to hear that even when my "Bradshaw's Guide" was published
conditions here may, at the very least, have been tolerable.
The Duke of Wellington is one of this country's most celebrated heroes,
but as my visit to Aldershot reminded me,
not all military heroes are generals, nor do all heroes wear military uniform.
Some give service as part of their monastic life
and, here at Broadmoor, some Victorians toiled with scant recognition
to bring compassion to the treatment of the mentally ill.
On the next leg of my journey, I make headlines in Reading,"...
So you now beat the back of your flong.
- Like that. - No, with the hairy side.
Oh, with the hairy side.
...discover a Tudor entrepreneur in Newbury...
Victorian historians used to label this as England's first factory.
...and test a bicycle with Victorian origins.
A lovely smooth ride over the cobbles. Thank you very much.
You're welcome.