Alan Titchmarsh: our railways gladden the heart

By now thousands of us have marvelled at the lofty vaulting that shrouds St Pancras station, and gazed upwards, along with that splendid statue of Sir John Betjeman by Martin Jennings, at the impressive ironwork – a lasting tribute to Victorian engineering. But it is not just at this great London terminus that the ingenuity and skill of everyday railway architecture can be enjoyed. Right across the country, from Thurso to Penzance, and from Milford Haven to Lowestoft, there are bits of artistry and engineering that will gladden the heart.

Call me an old sentimentalist if you like, but there is something wonderfully uplifting in a little bit of Victorian fretwork on the awning over a station platform, and I speak as a man who has tremendous admiration for The Shard.

But those huge wrought-iron arches at St Pancras are every bit as impressive as 21st-century constructions, especially when you notice that the date etched upon them is 1867, the same year that Charles Dickens gave his first reading in the United States, and the first ship sailed through the Suez Canal.

The glass canopies above Tynemouth station, Tyne and Wear, have also been given a facelift and the robust cast-iron brackets are so delicately constructed that they have the appearance of being made from bobbin lace. Their date? 1882.

I suppose that the main thing one notices about Victorian station architecture – and city architecture, too – is that it was built with the intention that it should last. The newly built school that I moved into as a first-former in 1960 was pulled down four or five years ago. It seemed so fresh and handsome when we moved into it, but soon began to show its age. How long will some of today’s structures last I wonder?

Not as long, I’ll bet, as the Gothic towers and turrets of Bristol Temple Meads or Shrewsbury stations, or the Castle Hotel built for the Welsh Coast Railway in Aberystwyth (even if it did never open as a hotel and became, instead, part of the University of Wales in 1872).

It was Betjeman who claimed that we do not look upwards often enough to appreciate the wondrous construction on view in our towns and cities (begging Slough’s pardon). The same is true of stations – daily commuters must by now be blind to the elegance of a freshly automated Victorian signal box, which no longer houses a railwayman with an oily rag, pulling those brass-handled levers to switch the points, or the booking office or station café that has now been taken over by a coffee house chain.

But even the most jaundiced of travellers will marvel at the Ribblehead Viaduct on the Settle to Carlisle line – not that they can do so from the train itself. At least the Harry Potter films have reminded us of its beauty and its gravity-defying transportation of trains and carriages and people across that bleak stretch of moorland. This was the last mainline that was built mainly by hand, with over 1,000 navvies working on the tract of rough country that supports the viaduct. They were trained before they were let loose on the railway work, and that training consisted of a full year of heavy labour and a diet rich in meat to build up their strength. Notwithstanding this precaution, one in 10 of the workers died during the construction – either from accidents or disease. Their graves can be found in the cemetery at Chapel-le-Dale.

Other viaducts are less trumpeted but have a beauty no less appealing: you will find them in the Welland Valley in Northamptonshire (1876), Lockwood Viaduct at Huddersfield (1849) and at Balcombe in West Sussex (1841).

In his little book, Britain’s Railway Architecture and Heritage (Britain’s Living History Series, £9.95), Trevor Yorke reminds us of all these remarkable feats of architecture and engineering, celebrating the Art Nouveau signal box and the Palladian booking hall, the Gothic tower and the goods yard.

There is one additional feature I would like to make an appeal for – station gardens. Do you remember when the local platform was replete with flower beds bristling with geraniums and rose bushes, and when bountiful hanging baskets dangled from those fretwork awnings – often dripping with water thanks to the assiduous attention of the station master?

Where are they now? We need a competition to resurrect these long-lost cheerer-uppers of weary travellers. I know that one or two stations sport a hanging basket or two, maybe even a few window boxes, but I’d love to see more: a nationwide campaign to bring the flowers back to our local railway stations is long overdue. Over to you British Rail, or Network Rail, or Centrica or South West Trains or have I just put my finger on the problem? There must be a solution, and if somebody tells me that it’s all to do with health and safety, I’ll throw in the trowel.

Fracking in London

I was in Hyde Park last week, watching the amazing King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery firing a 41-gun salute to mark the 65th birthday of the Prince of Wales. Galloping across the turf, harness jingling and hooves thundering, they came to a halt, unhitched the horses and then pointed their guns in the direction of an enclosure at the bottom of the park in which several metal towers had been erected. Some people said it was a “Winter Wonderland”. I have other ideas.

I’ve seen those metal towers before. I think they’re fracking. Fancy that, right under our noses; and not a protester in sight. Neat trick, eh?

The knack

I refuse to enter into the discussion about women being better at multitasking than men. That said, I do wish I could master one thing – that of carrying on working at my laptop with a phone sandwiched between my ear and my shoulder. I have a friend who can do it, because every time I call her I can hear the washing up going on while the conversation continues uninterrupted. I try to do it and the blinking phone falls on the floor, slithering like a bar of wet soap between my head and my shoulder. Maybe there’s an operation you can have.