Monthly Archives: April 2026

High Speed None

Marylebone Station, London (2015)

Sir Edward Watkin (1819-1901) was a visionary as well as a highly successful Manchester businessman.  He was involved in at least ten railway companies, and was chairman of the Manchester, Sheffield & Lincolnshire Railway which, as its title implies, ran cross-country from Lancashire to the south bank of the Humber.

Its east-west main line limited its importance and earning-capacity.  The Midland Railway had turned itself from a provincial operator to a national main line by building extensions from Derby to London, Manchester and Carlisle in the 1860s and 1870s.  Watkin determined to do much more than that, and had the opportunity to make his ideas practical.

As well as the MS&LR, Watkin was a director of the Metropolitan Railway, which reached out from central London to the north-eastern suburbs that eventually became known as Metroland, the East London Railway which controlled the vital cross-river tunnel that Marc and Isambard Brunel had built between 1825 and 1843, the South Eastern Railway which connected London with Folkestone and Dover and – crucially – the Submarine Continental Railway, promoted in 1881 with £250,000 to build the Channel Tunnel.  If the Channel Tunnel project had proceeded, Watkin was ready to assist it as a director of the Chemins de fer du Nord company, which connected Calais and Dunkirk with Paris.

To stitch together these separate but connected lines, Watkin resolved to link the MS&LR with the Metropolitan Railway on the outskirts of London.  He obtained Parliamentary approval for 94 miles of high-speed track from Annesley Junction in Nottinghamshire, via Nottingham, Loughborough, Leicester and Rugby, and renamed the MS&LR the Great Central Railway.

This undertaking involved engineering construction of the highest contemporary standards.  There was only one level crossing on the whole of the new extension.  The maximum gradients were 1 in 130 between Annesley and Nottingham, and 1 in 176 south of Nottingham, and no curve was sharper than a one-mile radius. 

All the stations were built on island platforms within a formation wide enough for future quadrupling of tracks, and the Marylebone terminus included spare land for additional platforms. 

Overbridges and tunnels were designed to accept continental rolling stock, and station-platform copings were removable to allow through running of continental trains if the Victorian Channel Tunnel had ever been built.

The approach to its London terminus at Marylebone was fraught with controversy because the covered-way tunnel had to clip the purlieus of Lord’s cricket ground.  The company dug up the Lord’s Nursery Ground and reinstated it on top of the cut-and-cover cutting.

The London Extension was built at a cost of £11,500,000 and opened to traffic in 1899, five years after Sir Edward suffered a stroke which restricted his business activities.  The Great Central was well served by its managers and engineers until it was absorbed into the London & North Eastern Railway in 1922, but it never rivalled its competitors as a London main line.  Its selling points to passengers were speed – three hours non-stop between London and Sheffield – and luxury, indicated by the publicity strap-line “Rapid Travel in Luxury”.  It also made money from coal traffic.

After nationalisation in 1948 the Great Central gradually became surplus to requirements.  Express services between Marylebone and Manchester were withdrawn in 1961;  ordinary passenger services were finally discontinued in January 1970.  Electrically-hauled goods trains between Sheffield, Wath and Manchester finally ended in 1981 and the tracks over Woodhead were lifted. 

Though passenger services continue to run east of Manchester, over stretches of the MS&L east of Sheffield and on the approaches to Marylebone, most of the Great Central route is derelict or redeveloped. 

Does all this sound familiar?  High-speed rail from Manchester to Paris?  A race-track of a railway running through open countryside?  Over-ambitious redevelopment to make space for a London terminus?

The conversation about High Speed Two dates back to 2009.  The arguments about its value have over-emphasised the desirability of shaving journey-times on its route, ignoring the potential benefit of relieving overcrowding on existing Victorian railway routes. A May 2026 report supports this view: HS2 failings blamed on high-speed focus and political pressure – BBC News. (There are, of course, other issues, not least the amount of taxpayers’ money that has gone down the pan.)

Perhaps it would have been more useful to have safeguarded the Great Central trackbed in the 1960s, so that it could be revived as a diversionary route relieving the East and West Coast main lines with fast, but not very fast, passenger and freight services.

Just saying…

Shinkansen

Shinkansen at Kyoto Higashishiokoji [© Simon Hollis]

You don’t have stay long in Japan – I was there for just over a week – to appreciate the advantage of having a high-speed rail network that isn’t tied to nineteenth-century civil engineering.

The first railway in Japan opened in 1872 between Tokyo and Yokohama.  In response to the mountainous terrain across the archipelago the standard railway gauge was set at 3ft 6in which reduced construction costs but limited maximum speeds.

The shinkansen, which English speakers call the bullet train, was instrumental in Japan’s recovery after the widespread destruction at the end of the Second World War. 

There was every incentive after 1945 to provide a completely new network serving major towns and cities with 4ft 8½in-gauge rolling stock capable of speeds up to 200mph on separate tracks independent of freight and stopping passenger trains.  Narrow-gauge services are restricted to a top speed of 90mph at most, usually 81mph.

Shinkansen trains run as eight- or sixteen-car units, much of which is reserved seating with lots of legroom.  There are smoking rooms in some carriages and a multiplicity of lavatories, including urinals for gents.  Travelling at up to 200mph has a fast-forward effect on the view of the scenery as the high-speed route slices through the landscape in a series of tunnels and bridges. 

The Shinkansen is easy to get used to.  Stand on the platform where the carriage is going to draw up.  Drop the luggage behind the seats at the back end of the car:  I worked out that this space is created by the need to rotate the seats with every change of direction. 

At stations on the route from Tokyo to Hiroshima I twice watched platform staff pointing and waving to no-one in particular, rather like those odd people you sometimes encounter in the street.  This turns out to be perfectly normal, enshrined in the railway regulations to encourage efficiency and safety.  It’s called Pointing and Calling.  On-board train crew bow on entering and leaving each carriage.  Presumably they’re reminding themselves who is paying their wages.

My second journey, from Hiroshima to Tokyo, was so relaxing I fell asleep and woke in time to see Mount Fuji.  It really is enormous, and very beautiful.  The summit was snow-covered and it was wreathed in cloud.  I didn’t attempt to photograph it, because the colours would not have rendered well through glass and because of the foreground clutter as the train sped past.  I simply looked at it and enjoyed it.

The sandwich selection I bought from the trolley on the Osaka-Hiroshima leg of my journey put British on-train refreshments to shame – three separate fillings, a cold chicken burger with pickle, ham and cheese, and egg and mayonnaise, on delicately soft white and brown bread with the crusts cut off.  All, with coffee, for a little more than £5.

It’s all well and good playing at Japanese life while remaining functionally illiterate in the language and culture, yet though I received nothing but goodwill and good manners all week, it was a relief to return to the occidental, Anglophone world.

After a tiresome twelve-hour flight back I travelled home from Heathrow to Sheffield via Doncaster with Japanese expectations.  A Japanese stranger would wonder why the on-train crew didn’t bow to the passengers, why the train-manager set up his stall – complete with ticket-machine and mobile-phone charger – in the first-class quiet coach and then sat munching sandwiches off the trolley in front of the passengers (both of us), why it was forbidden (in 2016) to flush the lavatory when the train is standing in a station, why half the people on the station platform were inebriated at 7.30pm on a Saturday, why the taxi doors didn’t open automatically when you approach the rank, why the taxi-driver didn’t get off his backside to deal with heavy luggage and then had to ask for directions to the destination.

When eventually the taxi drew up outside my front door I paid the exact fare and made a huge performance of lugging my luggage on to the pavement, and then declared, “There you are.  I’ve twice saved you getting wet.”  And slammed the cab door. 

It’s good to be home.

The factory in a garden

The Rest House, Bournville, Birmingham
The Rest House, Bournville, Birmingham

When George and Richard Cadbury took over their father John’s growing chocolate and cocoa business in 1861 their factory was located in the centre of Birmingham.  As the business grew they needed to expand, and in 1879 they relocated four miles to the south to a rural site which they named “Bournville”, tying the name of a local watercourse, The Bourn, with the French epithet ville.

The choice of site was practical:  it was farmland with easy access to the Worcester & Birmingham Canal and the Birmingham West Suburban Railway which was opened in phases between 1876 and 1885, that enabled bulk freight to reach the factory avoiding the traffic of central Birmingham.

This was no innovation.  Sir Titus Salt had already moved his alpaca mill from the centre of Bradford to a greenfield site he called “Saltaire” and constructed a village of high-quality workers’ housing between 1851 and 1871.

Yet the Cadburys had higher ideals:  Saltaire is attractive yet its rectilinear layout is distinctly urban;  Bournville was, from the outset, intended to be a garden village.  In 1893 George Cadbury bought an initial 120 acres of additional land adjoining the factory to start a development that ultimately reached 1,000 acres accommodating a population of 23,000 in 7,800 homes.

Bournville housing was from the start available to any prospective occupants, irrespective of whether they were Cadbury employees, and the houses were let on 999-year leases, rather than rented.  The leasehold policy enabled the Bournville Building Estate to retain control of the village environment with the purpose of “maintaining the rural appearance of the district”.  At the same time, the financial structure of the scheme was intended to make it practically self-supporting and independent of the fortunes of the Cadbury business.

The Estate Architect, twenty-year-old William Alexander Harvey, had supervision of all design and construction – indeed, he appears to have done most of the designing himself.  The master-specification for the dwellings stipulated a fixed bath and a spacious garden.  Each house had, by the terms of the lease, to cost at least £150, and 50% mortgages were available at 2½% interest over fifteen years.  Within three years some less scrupulous occupiers were selling their leases at profits of over 30%.  Subsequent housing was constructed over the following few years for rent, apparently to cater for workers who could not or would not take on the financial commitment required by the original scheme.

A further group of potential inhabitants were served by Richard Cadbury’s Bournville Almshouse Trust, which built in 1897 dwellings for pensioners, again not necessarily from the family firm, financed by the rentals of thirty-five adjacent houses let to ordinary tenants.  The architect for this attractive courtyard-development was Ewan Harper.

George Cadbury made over the whole of his Bournville Building Estate to a further charity, the Bournville Village Trust, in 1900, initially endowed with 313 dwellings on a total of 330 acres with the expressed intention “to ameliorate the conditions of the labouring classes, in Birmingham and elsewhere in Great Britain…by the provision of improved dwellings”. 

To the present day Bournville bears the stamp of its Quaker founder.  It has a strong community base which maintains George Cadbury’s teetotal principles:  in 2007 the local population saw off Tesco’s application for a drinks licence for its nearby convenience store. 

The extensive sporting facilities include playing fields at Rowheath, west of the village, and near to the chocolate factory the Bournville Baths designed by G H Lewin (1902-4), described by Sir Nikolaus Pevsner and Alexandra Wedgwood, in The Buildings of England: Warwickshire (Penguin 1966), as “the most impressive architectural extravaganza on the whole estate”.

The centre of the village – now the visitor centre – is the Rest House (W Alexander Harvey 1913), commemorating George and Elizabeth Cadbury’s silver wedding and based on the Yarn Market at Dunster, Somerset.  Nearby stand two rescued fourteenth-century timber houses, Selly Manor House and Minworth Greaves Manor, from the city centre.

There are several educational facilities – Ruskin Hall, the village institute (W Alexander Harvey 1902-5, extended 1928, 1956 and 1966), the Junior School (Harvey 1905) and Infants’ School (Harvey 1910) and the Day Continuation Schools (John Ramsay Armstrong 1925) – and several places of worship – the Friends’ Meeting House (W Alexander Harvey 1905), the Anglican Church of St Francis of Assisi (W Alexander Harvey & H G Wicks 1924-5) and the Saint Prince Lazar Serbian Orthodox Church (Dragomir Tadić 1968).

And it has a Carillon, originally dating from 1906, enlarged in 1923 and completely reconstructed in 1934.

It’s an interesting place to visit.