Bradshaw’s Britain: a route into the past
STEPHEN ROBERTS follows in the footsteps of the famous Victorian guide, with a journey on today’s Portsmouth to Bristol route, and with Bradshaw’s 1963 Handbook for reference
Apink shirt and clashing green trousers are considered fashionable for this kind of assignment, thanks to Michael Portillo. If you’ve watched his Great British Railway Journeys, you’ll be familiar with the genial travel guide and onetime politician’s extravagant dress sense. I am now similarly attired for a look at Bradshaw’s Britain. Taking my lead from Mike, I’ll be using an 1863 Bradshaw to guide me around the country’s railways.
George Bradshaw (circa 1800-53), the cartographer, publisher and printer, was the brains behind these eponymous and popular handbooks.
Born in Salford of Quaker stock, he spotted a gap in the market and first started publishing his revolutionary handbooks in 1839. And they would continue long after his demise from cholera in Norway.
What you notice from Portillo’s programmes and Bradshaw’s guides is that they’re not just about railways - they’re also about places. My guide tells me not just where to go and how, but where to stay and what to do with myself.
To test this out and to establish how Britain and its railways has changed over 150-plus years, I’m sampling a cross-country route between Portsmouth and Bristol - featuring a mighty port at either end (plus Southampton, of course), the cathedral city of Salisbury, busy junction of Westbury, and the Georgian splendour of Bath.
PORTSMOUTH
I’d like to start at the end of the line Portsmouth Harbour station. But I can’t, as I must stick to the places Bradshaw’s 1863 Handbook knew, and the Harbour station wasn’t among them.
The station was opened in October 1876 and connects with ferry services to Gosport and the Isle of Wight. It’s been rebuilt twice, for electrification (1937) and after Second World War bombing. But that’s enough about Frederick Banister’s extension to the Portsmouth Direct Line (the direct line to London, that is). We’ll be taking a different route.
But first, I need to attain what was the terminus in 1863 - the Grade 2 Listed Portsmouth & Southsea, which opened in June 1847, was renamed Portsmouth Town
when the Harbour station was added, and which took on its current nomenclature in 1925.
It’s a station of two parts, with high-level Platforms 1 and 2 being ‘through’ for the Harbour, while low-level 3 and 4 sidle into the terminus below.
Bradshaw fills me in on Portsmouth - a city of 94,799 souls in 1863 but more than 200,000 today (city and unitary authority), or upwards of 1.5 million if we’re talking its metropolitan area.
If I’d wanted to stay (unlikely, so early in my journey), then Bradshaw offers the Fountain (damaged during WW2, demolished 1971), the York, and Pier, although to correct Bradshaw the York & Pier Hotel in Grand Parade appears to have been one hotel, renamed from the Antelope sometime between the 1851 census and 1865 when it featured in Harrods Directory.
Bradshaw bigs up Portsmouth’s naval clout: “The first naval port in the British Islands” and “the principal rendezvous of the British navy”.
But he then sticks his boot into the city, which “has very little to offer in its buildings, or in the country in its neighbourhood,
which is flat and uninteresting”.
Of course, my 1863 guide was only just over half-a-century after Trafalgar, so understandably Bradshaw eulogises Nelson and tells me that “the Victory … now lies in the harbour”, while “the dockyard [begun by the Tudors] covers 117 acres, with a waterfront of four-fifths of a mile”.
Tours of the yard are possible, but “if you are a foreigner, you should apply to the Admiralty … for an order” or indeed “if you resemble one in appearance” (guidance that would be politically incorrect in the extreme today, but OK by Bradshaw).
PORTCHESTER AND FAREHAM
I feel I’ve digressed on naval matters long enough, so it’s time to return to the rails.
Bradshaw knew nothing of Fratton (1885) or Hilsea (1941), so we arrive at Cosham (1848) at the western end of a triangular junction as the Portsmouth line meets today’s West Coastway Line.
It’s a two-platform affair with a level crossing and pedestrian footbridge at the High Street, London-bound end.
Bradshaw, who perhaps exhausted himself contemplating his naval (sic) in Pompey, offers nought on Cosham (a suburb of Portsmouth) or its station, contenting himself with the perfunctory “Cosham station”.
He has more to say about “Porchester” (or rather Portchester), which has “an ancient castle, which serves for prisoners of war and ordnance stores”. The station (1848), on the other side of today’s A27 from the old village, has a pair of platforms.
Fareham (population 4,011, but more than ten times that today) has trades consisting of “coal, corn, canvas and ropes” and is “much resorted to in the sea-bathing season”.
If I fancy an extended stay and a dip, Bradshaw recommends the Red Lion (1736), Grade 2 Listed and still operating in the centre of this old market town.
Fareham is a three-platform station also offering services to Eastleigh, the EastleighFareham line having opened in 1841. At one time, this was part of a continuous route down to Gosport (1841), but it closed to passengers in 1953 and goods in 1969.
On the run to Southampton, we slip through stations yet to be: Swanwick (1889), Bursledon (1889), Hamble (1942), Netley (1866), Sholing (1866), Woolston (1866) and Bitterne (1866).
The dates tell all. The Southampton and Netley Railway did not exist at the time of my 1863 Bradshaw. It opened between Southampton and Netley in 1866, with the Netley-Fareham link completed in 1889. To get to Southampton in 1863, I would have used the 1841 line to Eastleigh.
Anyway, one way or another I arrive at St Denys (opened in 1861 as Portswood, relocated in 1866, then renamed in 1876). It has four platforms, as it has services on both the Waterloo and Portsmouth lines.
SOUTHAMPTON
I’ve arrived in Southampton, a town (city since 1964) of 46,960 in 1863 but some 270,000 today (city and unitary authority), or the by now familiar 1.5 million (metropolitan area).
It wasn’t today’s four-platform Southampton Central that Bradshaw knew. That didn’t open until 1895, superseding the West End station which is the one my guide describes as “close to the quay” with “a commanding position on the banks of the Southampton Water”.
Bradshaw likes the High Street (“one of the finest streets that ever ornamented a provincial town”) and its “Old Bar Gate, which formed the principal entrance into the town”. I’m not sure he’d rate it so highly today, as it’s been outflanked by the West Quay shopping centre.
Bradshaw claims Southampton to have been where Canute plonked his throne “on the edge of the water and commanded the waves to retire”.
He also talks up the place’s spa pretensions, with “bathing machines, swimming baths, and other means of salutary ablution” being provided, but also records that Southampton is “one of our leading commercial ports” with a dock basin that “presents a surface of 16 acres of water”.
I should stay at Radley’s or the Dolphin. Radley’s, dating to the early 1840s, was closed as early as 1907 and taken over by the Royal Mail Lines shipping company. General offices today, it’s still known as Royal Mail House.
I’ve struck lucky, though, with the Dolphin, which is still going in the High Street after more than 500 years. It’s Southampton’s oldest hotel.
I set off again through Millbrook (1861), which Bradshaw ignores, and Redbridge (1847), which he mentions in passing. Then we’re branching off on the line to Salisbury. The Southampton to Dorchester Railway (1847) skewers off towards the New Forest.
ROMSEY
The station at Romsey (1847) has two platforms, and I’m encouraged to alight as Bradshaw recommends a place “of great antiquity” which “owes its foundation to a monastic establishment”, founded in 907 and dissolved in 1539, with the abbey church of the one-time Benedictine house continuing in use
as the parish church.
Bradshaw relates one particularly bizarre tale that “for nearly 200 years an apple tree grew on the roof of this ancient structure, but it has recently been removed for fear of its injuring the building”. Wow!
The population is 2,116 (pushing 20,000 today), and its people are employed “in general agricultural trade, paper mills, and sacking making”.
I’d like to tarry, and Bradshaw recommends the White Horse, a 14th century coaching inn that’s still trading in the Market Place.
Mottisfont & Dunbridge (1847), or plain Dunbridge in Bradshaw’s day, and Dean (1847), are both glossed over by my guide, so we’re quickly in Salisbury.
SALISBURY
I can stay at any of the White Hart, Red Lion or
Three Swans.
The White Hart has been Salisbury’s finest hotel for over four centuries and has accommodated the likes of Raleigh, Dickens and Mark Twain. The Red Lion has been around even longer, having recently celebrated 800 years. The Three Swans site is now occupied by a medical practice.
There were two stations in Salisbury: the GWR one opened in 1856 for its branch to Westbury (which we’ll be taking next), while the LSWR one followed in 1859 as its line from Yeovil arrived. Bradshaw mentions both lines.
The LSWR built the current Salisbury station between 1899 and 1902, and it became a part of Southern Railway in 1923.
The dual station situation continued until
1932, when GWR services were re-routed to the SR station, with common ownership coming just over 15 years later with BR. All three station buildings, the two LSWR ones and GWR one, are Grade 2 Listed.
Salisbury (population 12,278 but around 40,000 today) has the remains of its original cathedral at Old Sarum, as well as its earlyEnglish “magnificent edifice” which is “a double cross, from end to end 442 feet long” and with that “slender crocketted (sic) spire, 190 feet long, resting on a tower, which makes its total height from the ground above 400 feet”.
Bradshaw’s lengthy eulogy on the cathedral includes a mention of its “original copy of Magna Charta” (sic).
But his compliments end when he gets to the city: “Though its water meadows are pleasant to look at, the courts in which the poor live are in a filthy state.” Ouch.
Bradshaw mentions the Market Place and Poultry Cross, “built in Richard II’s reign”, and lists “shoes and excellent cutlery” among the city’s manufactures.
Of course, we’re close to the “turfy and naked tract” of Salisbury Plain, so our guide recommends a detour for “the celebrated Druid circles of Stonehenge”.
WARMINSTER AND WESTBURY
Bradshaw mentions several lost stations: Wilton, which became Wilton North in 1949, but closed to passengers in 1955 and goods 1965; Wishford (1856-1955); Wiley, which became Wylye (1874) and was closed to passengers in 1955 and goods 1961; Codford (1856-1955); and Heytesbury (1856-1955).
We arrive at Warminster (1851), originally a terminus for the line from Westbury, but a through station when it was extended to Salisbury (1856).
Bradshaw would have liked Warminster, with its train shed covering tracks and platforms, but this was replaced with today’s canopies around 1930. At least the original wooden buildings survived.
Bradshaw tells me to frequent the Bath Arms (1736), which still trades under the
Wetherspoon banner, or the Lamb Inn, which was trading in West Street at the time.
Surprisingly, my normally ebullient guide says little about Warminster, an old AngloSaxon town. But he does concede that it’s a “neat and respectable town”, and he bigs up the church (from the former abbey) which is “spacious and handsome” while “the tower is of the reign of Edward III”.
Bradshaw doesn’t mention Ditton Marsh (1906), so we pile into Westbury, another place my guide glosses over. He mentions the “malting and broad cloth trade” and the white horse which can be seen from the station, “the origin of which is doubtful and obscure”. But that’s your lot.
Today, the three-platform station is a major junction, with services on the PaddingtonPenzance main line as well as our SalisburyBath route.
The station opened in 1848 for the Wilts, Somerset & Weymouth Railway, with the Salisbury line coming next (completed to Salisbury by 1856). Bradshaw didn’t know of Westbury’s future, though: the 18991900 rebuild when the GWR completed its faster route west via Taunton, which turned Westbury into today’s hive of activity.
TROWBRIDGE AND BRADFORD
Arriving in Trowbridge, I’m surprised at Bradshaw’s brevity, given his opening gambit: “This town is the largest in the county, with the exception of Salisbury.”
Its population is 9,626 (over 33,000 today), and it’s “one of the largest clothing towns in the west of England”.
The station (1848) is disappointing. The main building is on Platform 1 with a mere shelter on Platform 2. It looks modern and rationalised. The George is recommended - it’s spic and Grade 2 Listed, but no longer a hotel.
Before we arrive at Bradford-on-Avon, the Melksham branch (1848) heads off. This is still going strong, although another branch off this to Devizes (1857-1966) is not. Both lines feature in my Handbook.
Bradshaw continues his eulogy to cloth in Bradford, where the town “stondeth (sic) by clooth (sic) making”. He’s not having a moment, just quoting John Leland, the 16th century antiquary.
“The Avon is crossed by two bridges, one a very ancient one, with a chapel over one of the piers.”
The station (1857) is more my style, with original buildings in Bath stone.
We can ignore Avoncliff (1906), quaint as it is, so continue via Freshford (1857), Limpley Stoke (1857-1966), once the junction for the Camerton Branch, and Bathampton (18571966).
BATH
I’ve arrived somewhere substantial. Bath has a population of 52,528 (pushing 90,000 today for the city and 95,000 for the built-up area, which includes Bathampton).
The station, opened as Bath in 1840, became Bath Spa in 1949 to distinguish it from Bath Green Park, and is today Grade 2* Listed.
It’s a gem, as is the approach: “The view from the station is one calculated to impress a stranger very favourably with the importance of the city, so renowned in the world of fashionable invalids.”
Bradshaw informs that the GWR is 107 miles from London and there are nine bridges over the Avon, of which “two are viaducts for the railway”.
Bath is a place to hobnob as “mansions of aristocratic appearance are scattered in all directions”, although “since the reign of Beau Nash, they (the gaieties of Bath) have terribly degenerated”. Ouch.
My guide fills up several column inches on the subject of “the Assembly Room, a handsome pile, built in 1771”, and the pump-room, “where the band plays”, rebuilt in 1796 “on the site of that in which Beau Nash … despotically ruled as master of the ceremonies”.
Bradshaw’s not a fan of Beau. But he is a fan of the terraces and crescents, and also of “the Abbey Church, or Cathedral, which replaces a monastery, founded in 970”. Bradshaw, unsurprisingly, recommends plenty of hotels (seven), so I’ll swiftly move on.
Exiting Bath, my Handbook talks of viaduct, excavation, embankment, further excavation and tunnel, plus “varied and beautiful scenery”, before we arrive at a station Bradshaw didn’t know (Oldfield Park, opened 1929), then Twerton (1840-1917), Saltford (1840-1970), and Keynsham (1840), where Bradshaw wants me to try the White Hart (1719) which is today’s Lock Keeper.
He ignores Keynsham, preferring to hurry on for more “lofty embankment”, “ponderous cutting”, ‘“several tunnels”, “a three-arched bridge” and another embankment.
Bradshaw, understandably, is fascinated with the railway’s paraphernalia and accoutrements.
BRISTOL
Journey’s end as we arrive in Bristol at a very different Temple Meads to that referred to in my Handbook.
The original Brunel terminus (1839-41) was designed for Isambard’s broad gauge, had a 200-foot train shed, and despatched its first Bath-bound services in August 1840, with Paddington-bound trains from June 1841 following completion of Box Tunnel.
As Bradshaw says: “The terminus of the railway is situated on an eminence rising from Temple Meads, where the two lines diverge respectively to London and Plymouth” (true enough in 1863). We’re “118 miles from London, on the GWR”.
To cut a long story short, expansion at Bristol with the arrival of new routes rendered Brunel’s two-platform shed unfit for purpose, so a massive 1870s redevelopment occurred with a three-platform through shed constructed (the genesis of today’s station, which had a 500-foot curved wrought-iron train shed), while Brunel’s two original platforms were extended.
Further expansion followed in the 1930s, with that first train shed closing in 1965.
I could spend all day at the station, but I must explore this city of 154,093 citizens (around 465,000 today).
The station is a mile outside the city, so I might fancy an overnight at the Queen’s Hotel or the Clifton, of which the Clifton appears to be still operating in St Paul’s Road.
Bradshaw marks my card. I’m in a cathedral city and sea port “artificially made by excavating floating docks, three miles long, out of the old bed of the Avon”.
Chief manufactures are “engines, glass, hats, pottery, soap, brushes … and a trade in sugar, rum etc”.
Bradshaw is forever honest, which I like, describing Bristol as having “shared with Liverpool in the iniquities of the slave trade”. He notes, perhaps unwittingly, that “at All Saints, E. Colston, a great benefactor to his native place, is buried”.
On a more salubrious note, he recalls “the first steamer sent across the Atlantic, the Great Western … which sailed on May 2 1838”.
Bradshaw mentions the suspension bridge over the Avon as “begun but not finished”. This is true. Construction began in 1831, but the bridge did not open until 1864, the year after my Bradshaw. It was an opening that Brunel, the designer, did not witness as he’d died in 1859.
My guide concludes by summarising Clifton as “a beautiful suburb of Bristol, from which it is about a mile distant”.
So, there we are, just a tiny bit of Bradshaw’s Britain, viewed through the prism of an 1863 Handbook.
I’m sat in a hostelry recommended by Bradshaw, contemplating my next move. Anyone for a sequel?