Waterloo Station E-Book

Robert Lordan

• Herausgeber: The Crowood Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 325

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

London's Waterloo Station is Britain's biggest and busiest railway terminal and, at over 170 years old, has a rich and fascinating history to discover. This book takes an in-depth look at the terminal's past, covering all decades from the 1840s to the present day. With over 160 archive and contemporary photographs, it includes: Waterloo's precursor, Nine Elms; the expansion and chaos that occurred in the late nineteenth century; how Waterloo fared during the two World Wars and the Necropolis Railway which, for almost ninety years, conveyed coffins to Brookwood Cemetery. The curious satellite station, Waterloo East, is covered along with the Waterloo and City line link to the capital's financial heart. There is the story behind London's first Eurostar terminal and the station's impact on popular culture, including literature, film, television, art and music. Finally, there is a revealing insight into what lies beneath the station, in the vast, cavernous area that the public never get to see.....

Leseprobe

WATERLOOSTATION

A historyof London’s busiest terminus

Cutaway of Waterloo station Underground, 1926.

ROBERT LORDAN

WATERLOOSTATION

A historyof London’s busiest terminus

First published in 2021 byThe Crowood Press LtdRamsbury, MarlboroughWiltshire SN8 2HR

[email protected]

www.crowood.com

This e-book first published in 2021

© Robert Lordan 2021

All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 78500 869 6

Front cover image ‘Apocalypse Now – Waterloo Station’ provided with permission by Tim Green.

Cover design by Sergey Tsvetkov

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

List of Abbreviations

Introduction

Chapter 1Early Days

Chapter 2Onwards to Waterloo

Chapter 3Chaos Comes to York Road

Chapter 4The Necropolis Railway

Chapter 5Waterloo East

Chapter 6Waterloo Underground

Chapter 7Transformation and World War I

Chapter 8The 1920s, 1930s and World War II

Chapter 9Post-War Waterloo

Chapter 10Waterloo International

Chapter 11Waterloo in Culture

Bibliography

Illustration Credits

Index

Dedication

For my grandmother, Josephine Tobitt.

Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to all those who have supported me in this endeavour: my parents, Rachel and Michael Lordan, my grandmother, Josephine Tobitt, Irene, Stewart and Neil, and my partner, Elaine.

Special thanks also to my family in Canada, and in the UK, my dear friends Alex and Mike, Ainslie and Doug, Melanie and Stuart, Mark and Caroline, and Chas Taylor. The positivity with which you bless me is invaluable.

A special mention must go in particular to those who have so kindly and selflessly provided me with images, information and other help along the way: Iain Wakeford, Christopher Cox, Barry Kitchener (who provided me with a fascinating tour behind Waterloo’s scenes), Brandon Rumsey, Richard Galpin, Mark Crail, Steve Knight, Michael Day, Michelle Howe, Justin and Terry Foulger, Hugh Llewellyn and the Fathers of Saint Edward Monastery, Brookwood.

Thank you all.

List of Abbreviations

BEA: British European Airways

BR: British Rail

BS&WR: The Baker Street & Waterloo Railway

CC&WERC: The Charing Cross and Waterloo Electric Railway Company

CCRC: Charing Cross Railway Company

CL&RR: City of London & Richmond Railway

GJR: The Guildford Junction Railway

GLC: Greater London Council

GNLCC: Great Northern London Cemetery Company

GWR: Great Western Railway

L&GR: London & Greenwich Railway

L&SR: London & Southampton Railway

L&SWR: London & South Western Railway

LCC: London County Council

LNC: London Necropolis Company

R&WEJR: Richmond & West End Junction Railway

SER: South Eastern Railway

SW&CJR: South Western & City Junction Railway

W&WR: Waterloo & Whitehall Railway

W&CR: Waterloo & City Railway

W&RER: The Waterloo & Royal Exchange Railway

WEL&CPR: West End of London & Crystal Palace Railway

WLER: West London Extension Railway

Introduction

Music-hall star Marie Lloyd was once described by theatre critic James Agate as having ‘a heart as big as Waterloo Station’. That’s praise indeed, because Waterloo is enormous: covering over 24 acres (9.7ha) and with twenty-four platforms, it is the UK’s largest railway terminal. It is Britain’s busiest too – in 2019 alone the station handled 94.2 million journeys.

Waterloo has long been integral to the fabric of London. Along with its links to Southampton, Portsmouth and the West Country, Waterloo is a vital commuter hub, shepherding millions of commuters to and from their work in the capital. In this process it is aided by Waterloo East, a satellite station tethered to Waterloo main via a sprawling set of corridors, and its own dedicated tube line – the turquoise-coloured Waterloo & City, which shuttles workers to and from London’s financial Square Mile.

For many years, when boat trains thundered to and from the mighty ocean liners at Southampton Docks, Waterloo was also a major international gateway, the first impression of London for countless overseas visitors, from tourists and American film stars, to thousands of Windrush Generation émigrés. For a brief period in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, Waterloo took on a similar international role, this time as London’s first Channel Tunnel terminal.

At the centre of it all is Waterloo’s famous clock. Hanging high above the concourse, this landmark has witnessed much since it was installed: from war and state funerals, to royal weddings and the station’s numerous cosmetic changes… not to mention many a romantic liaison.

Waterloo and the city it has served for over 170 years have endured and survived many perils and experiences, and it is my hope that those passing through Waterloo will be encouraged to pause and consider the historic significance of this building. For the history of London Waterloo is a fascinating one, full of innovation, intrigue and human interest; a story truly worthy of being told.

I therefore consider it an honour to share it with you here.

Robert Lordan, Buckinghamshire,August 2020

Aerial view of Waterloo at night, 2011.

CHAPTER 1

Early Days

Ironic as it may sound, it can be argued that the sequence of events that eventually led to the establishment of Waterloo station was initiated by the Napoleonic Wars. During that period (and indeed throughout the centuries preceding it) the swiftest route between London and strategic points on the south coast was waterborne, via the Thames and the Strait of Dover. Although Britain had secured naval dominance at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, the danger posed to vessels traversing the English Channel had never been more apparent, and it was clear that a more direct inland route – which would also avoid the perils of bad weather – would be hugely beneficial.

Canals Show the Way

With this in mind, moves were made to forge a canal linking London and the nation’s naval powerhouse, Portsmouth. Only two short sections of this grand vision came to fruition: the Wey & Arun Canal, which runs from Pallingham in West Sussex to Shalford, just south of Guildford; and the Portsmouth & Arundel Canal, a now filled-in waterway that cut across Portsea Island. Both of these networks missed out on serving their original purpose, having been completed shortly after Napoleon’s defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Map of Portsea Canal, 1815.

However, although the conflict with France was over, the idea of connecting the capital to Portsmouth via an inland course had taken hold, and a little further west along the coast, business leaders in Southampton were watching with a keen eye. Realizing the trade benefits that such a link would bring, they too began to plan for a similar canal, although it was soon realized that such a project would be far too costly.

Fortunately, a new and exciting mode of transport was beginning to make itself known in the north of England, demonstrated by the Stockton & Darlington Railway that opened in 1825, and the Liverpool & Manchester Railway that followed in 1830.

A Railway for London and Southampton

Quick to spot the potential of railway travel, a group of three men – all of whom had garnered a grim knowledge of business and shipping through their involvement with the slave trade – gathered on 6 October 1830 to draft a prospectus for a railway line connecting Southampton and London. This trio were politician and former army officer, Abel Rous Dottin (whose Southampton home, Bugle Hall, provided the venue for the meeting), Robert Johnston (who would later participate in the planning of the London & Greenwich Railway – the L&GW) and American-born Robert Shedden Jr.

Abel Rous Dottin.

In the early nineteenth century Southampton was a minor port. To give an idea of how some perceived the town at the time, we have this rather unflattering description from a history of the railway, published in the late Victorian era:

As for Southampton, it boasted a population of only 19,000; its shipping accommodation was of the poorest description; unsightly mud banks surrounded the town, and shipmasters were often heard to declare that instead of being called upon to pay port dues, they themselves should be paid for coming thither.

Due to these poor facilities, Dottin, Johnston and Shedden considered it would be advantageous to construct a modern network of docks and warehouses in Southampton as a means of encouraging freight for their prospective railway. To boost trade further, it was also anticipated that a branch line would be built, connecting Southampton to Bath and Bristol via Basingstoke.

These facets came together to create the company’s rather ponderous name, ‘The Southampton, London & Branch Railway & Dock Company’, which was formed in 1831. Clumsy title aside, the proposal proved popular. One newspaper at the time reported that:

The projected Railway from Southampton to London is a subject which now appears to occupy the attention of every class of society in this town [Southampton] and along the whole of the intended line of road…our neighbours in France are alive to the subject, and several agents are arrived to obtain information.

Further support came when the company held its first public meeting at The London Tavern, Bishopsgate, at midday on 1 December 1831.

However, problems with the scheme soon began to appear. The dock construction aspect was deemed too expensive, whilst the Basingstoke branch brought the company into conflict with the Great Western Railway (GWR), who also had their sights set on Bristol.

It was decided therefore to shed these two elements and strip the project down to a straightforward connection between London and Southampton. This allowed for a much sharper name, ‘The London & Southampton Railway Company’ (L&SR), which was adopted in 1834 – and on 25 July of that same year, a parliamentary bill granted the enterprise royal assent.

The London Tavern

Despite sounding like a quaint pub, The London Tavern was in fact a grand banqueting hall where many important business gatherings were held. It was especially popular with burgeoning railway companies during the early nineteenth century. The establishment was noted for its turtle soup, and the cellar contained large water tanks in which the unfortunate creatures were kept. As we shall later see, Waterloo station played a major role in supplying London with this now taboo delicacy.

The London Tavern.

Construction

Having raised a budget of one million pounds, construction of the L&SR commenced in autumn 1834 under the direction of engineer Francis Giles. A protégé of John Rennie, Giles was already well acquainted with the route, having surveyed it during the period when it was envisioned as a canal.

A cautious and conscientious man, Giles was noted for a dispute he had engaged in with that other great railway engineer, George Stephenson, which had occurred during a committee examining the planning stages of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway. Giles had opposed the scheme, and noting that Stephenson intended to take the line across the boggy expanse of Chat Moss, declared that ‘no engineer in his senses would go through Chat Moss if he wanted to make a railroad from Liverpool to Manchester.’

Stephenson, of course, succeeded in proving this rather scathing remark wrong, and when it came to scrutinizing the route of the London to Southampton line, he had the opportunity to get his own back.

When the bill was being discussed in parliament, Stephenson’s expertise was called upon, giving him the opportunity to throw Giles’ words back at him in what was no doubt a satisfying retort: ‘No engineer in his senses would go through Basingstoke if he wanted to make a railway from London to Southampton.’ Stephenson twisted the knife further, predicting ‘the whole wealth of the company would be forever buried in the St George’s Hill cutting at Weybridge.’

Although he, too, was wrong about his opponent’s engineering knowhow, Stephenson was partially correct with regard to the project’s finances. Construction proved slow, and after two years Giles found himself well over his original budget, forcing him to increase the figure from £894,874 to £1,507,753 – over £197 million in today’s money.

Despite the project being in southern England, many of the shareholders hailed from Lancashire, and upon hearing of Giles’ revised estimate, these rather blunt fellows had him dismissed. They replaced Giles with Joseph Locke, who, in a meeting of shareholders at The London Tavern on 31 August 1837, provided a summary of the changes and savings he’d made. These included employing fellow railway engineer, Thomas Brassey – whom Locke described as a ‘very able and responsible contractor’ – to ‘execute all the remaining works from Wandsworth to the River Wey’, and by making contractors south of the Wey responsible for sourcing their own building materials.

Locke also suggested the line be opened in sections so a profit could be turned whilst other parts of the route were being finalized. This approach was adopted, thus enabling the first stretch – between Nine Elms (near Vauxhall) and Woking Common – to open for service in May 1838, precisely in accordance with Locke’s revised schedule.

Joseph Locke

Born in Attercliffe, Sheffield, in 1805, Joseph Locke first trained to be a mining engineer, a role that would put him in good stead for his career as a master railway builder. At the age of eighteen he began to study under George Stephenson, and had a part in the construction of the Liverpool & Manchester Railway. After this he moved on to survey the Grand Junction Railway between Birmingham and Warrington.

Joseph Locke.

So impressed were they with his work that the GJR directors hinted that Locke should take sole responsibility for the project; this suggestion greatly upset Stephenson. As well as lines in England, Locke also constructed railways in Scotland, France, Spain and Holland. He died in 1860.

Early Test Runs

In the weeks leading up to the official opening of the L&SR’s first section, a number of private trial runs were held, the first of which took place on Saturday 28 April 1838. The weather that day was perfect and spirits were high as Joseph Locke, along with the project’s directors, members of parliament and several noblemen, boarded carriages at Nine Elms – the L&SR’s first London terminus.

As the train chugged down to Woking Common, the fine weather allowed the VIP passengers a delightful view of the passing countryside, and many spectators gathered along the 23 miles (37km) of track to witness the historic event. The service reached Woking Common in forty-five minutes and managed the return journey to Nine Elms in forty-three.

L&SR timetable, 1838.

On Saturday 26 May – two days before the L&SR’s official opening – another set of private runs took place, to which some 200 friends and family of the directors and shareholders were invited. When reporting on this excursion, The Manchester Guardiandescribed the first-class carriages in considerable detail:

The carriages are so arranged as to accommodate 18 persons, being divided into three compartments, each capable of containing six passengers. Of these, those that are denominated ‘first class’ conveyances are elegantly and tastefully fitted up, somewhat in the form of stalls or high-sided armchairs, with cushions and linings in drab-cloth.

Indeed, they are so extremely comfortable and roomy, notwithstanding six passengers are assigned to one compartment, that we are confident there are many persons who will think the time occupied in the transit from place to place far too short.

Although the day was deemed a success, there was one minor incident in which a ‘trifling accident to one of the valves’ occurred on one of the engines. This resulted in a loss of water, causing the service to grind to a halt at Ditton Marsh station. The engine was swiftly hauled to Hersham Green for a quick top-up, a process that took twenty minutes.

As it reversed back into Ditton Marsh, however, another train – this one hauled by an engine named the Tartar, which was under the control of Joseph Locke – puffed into view in the opposing direction, a spectacle that caused some minor panic. According to one report, a number of passengers on the stranded train hastily abandoned the carriages, fearing that a collision was imminent. Thankfully the situation was under control, and Locke calmly urged the guests to return to their seats.

The Nine Elms to Woking section finally opened to the public on Monday 21 May 1838, with five passenger services in each direction per day. To provide this date with some context, Charles Dickens was still in the middle of serializing Oliver Twist, Liszt, Mendelssohn and Berlioz were providing the music of the day, and Queen Victoria – whose coronation would be held the following month – had only just turned nineteen.

Nine Elms Terminus

The precursor to Waterloo station was the L&SR’s first terminal at Nine Elms, an area beside the River Thames, sandwiched between Battersea and Vauxhall. Today, Nine Elms is a rather soulless place, having undergone a recent boom in construction, which has resulted in a cluster of metallic glass towers. These are accompanied by the new American Embassy, a squat, cube-like fortress perched in the middle of a moat.

In the 1830s, however, Nine Elms was decidedly pastoral, described at the time as being ‘low and marshy, studded with windmills and pollard trees and Dutch-like in appearance.’ Another contemporary account from The South Western, or London, Southampton, and Portsmouth Railway Guide, described the area thus:

Nine Elms is partly occupied by villas and partly by garden-ground and wharfs. Here are perhaps some of the nearest corn-fields in the metropolitan district. A large brook passes through it from under the railroad, and on falling into the Thames, turns a tide-mill.

Nine Elms site in 2020.

Nine Elms terminal, 1838.

Early passengers using Nine Elms would likely have noted nearby Vauxhall Bridge, which at the time was an iron construction boasting nine arches (as opposed to today’s bridge, which has five).

They may also have spotted the imposing Millbank Penitentiary, a notorious gaol that loomed on the opposite bank (on the site now occupied by Tate Britain), which for much of its life served as a holding centre for convicts awaiting a place on board a prison hulk bound for Australia.

Just opposite the station was Brunswick House, a mansion built in the 1750s; this would later be purchased by the railway and used as the headquarters for the huge goods yard and locomotive works that would eventually envelop Nine Elms. The building still stands today: dwarfed by modern architecture, it is the sole survivor from that earlier period.

Brunswick House, 2020.

Despite being isolated, Nine Elms was accessible to the rest of the city – then mainly concentrated on the northern banks of the Thames – thanks to an omnibus service, a cab stand – located near the foot of Vauxhall Bridge – and, most notably, two piers that were situated just across the road from the terminal and offered steam-boat services to central London. These two jetties were named Railway Pier and Windmill Pier, the latter described by Punch magazine as being located beside ‘the wreck of a windmill without any sails, and of which the whole of the top has either been stolen, blown away, burnt down, fallen into decay, or otherwise demolished’.

According to a report in The Times dated 10 July 1841, these jetties could be rather rowdy, due to the fact that they were operated by competing interests, a situation that encouraged touts to hustle for business. The report described these touts as being particularly coarse, stating that:

…their bawlings intermixed with the most ribald language, may be heard at a distance of a quarter of a mile… and it frequently happens when the trains come in, that the luggage of a passenger is roughly seized by one of these fellows and carried down to the rival pier, while the passenger, more especially if a female, is rudely dragged down the passage leading to the other.

The Times also disclosed that the police apparently had no jurisdiction to prevent this behaviour, and blamed the authorities for allowing it to continue due to the supposed influence of a wealthy landowner who owned a ‘large share in one of the piers in question.’ For those passengers who did not intend to continue their journey to London – that was, of course, if they managed to evade being hauled away by the pier touts – the famous Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens were a short walk away.

Established in 1732, the gardens were particularly celebrated for their firework displays and hot-air balloon flights. Indeed, in the late summer of 1837, a balloon ascent was described in which the occupants were treated to a novel bird’s-eye view of the London to Southampton line, then still under construction: ‘We passed over Wandsworth, tracing with a precision that would have been delightful to an engineer, the course of the Southampton Railway nearly from Vauxhall to Kingston.’

As for the Nine Elms terminal building, this was a smart piece of architecture fashioned in the neo-classical style by Sir William Tite. Although demolished in the 1960s, its counterpart in Southampton, which is very similar in appearance, still stands, albeit in its current guise as a casino.

Southampton terminus.

Southampton terminus plaque.

In terms of how the Nine Elms terminus operated, the station was a relatively simple affair, as described in the following extract from a contemporary railway guide:

The entrance to the railway is by a plain but neat edifice, which leads to the offices, warehouses and other buildings occupying seven acres. The officers in attendance will point out the office for paying the fare and obtaining a check-ticket…From the booking-office the passenger is conducted to the trains, which are placed under a large roof supported by iron columns and well lighted at night.

In what could be considered a primitive forerunner to today’s departure boards, a large bell was installed on the terminal’s roof, which would clang for five minutes before a train was due to depart. A similar system using handbells was employed on the line’s smaller stations.

In typical Victorian fashion, the uniform worn by staff was exceptionally smart, and stringent rules existed to ensure it remained so. During the company’s early years, the design was tweaked several times: in 1838 it consisted of a ‘chocolate-coloured frock coat with very dark trousers’. This was soon swapped for a ‘scarlet coat with silver buttons and lace collar’, and then, six years later, the outfit had changed to ‘one of blue, having a scarlet collar; blue trousers with two rows of scarlet piping.’

On 30 May 1838, just over a week after Nine Elms had opened, the facilities were pushed to their absolute limit. This was due to Derby Day, for which the L&SR had announced they would be laying on extra services to transport racegoers to Kingston, from where they could make the onward journey to Epsom Racecourse.

Unfortunately the company vastly underestimated the interest this would invoke, and around 5,000 Londoners descended upon Nine Elms. This unprecedented number resulted in a near riot as the booking counter was swamped, doors were torn from their hinges, and many eager travellers attempted to clamber through windows. As a result the police had to be called upon to restore order, and all services for that day were cancelled.

What’s in a Name?

Despite sounding literal, the precise origin of the term ‘Nine Elms’ is somewhat vague. The first distinct reference dates from the mid-1640s, in which a farm and brewery of the same name are mentioned. ‘Vauxhall’, meanwhile, is a corruption of ‘Falke’s Hall’, a large house that once stood in the area and was named after its owner, Falkes de Breauté, an Anglo-Norman soldier from the early thirteenth century who was loyal to King John.

In a curious historical twist, the Russian term for station – ‘воксал’ – is pronounced ‘Vokzal’ and is said to have been inspired by the area, although this was apparently more of a reference to Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, rather than to Nine Elms terminal itself.

Sir William Tite

The son of a Russian merchant, William Tite was born in London in 1798 and attended school in Hackney.

Sir William Tite.

As well as designing the City of London’s Royal Exchange and participating in the planning of large cemeteries such as Brookwood (which, as detailed in Chapter 4, would become closely linked with the history of Waterloo), Tite worked on numerous other railway projects including the design of many stations such as Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Yeovil, Exeter and Carlisle.

Other Stations to Woking

It is worth taking a moment to examine the other stations that opened on the L&SR’s first section between London and Woking Common, as they played a key role in developing much of south-west London’s commuter belt, an area that remains intrinsically linked to Waterloo today.

Wandsworth

Now long lost, Wandsworth station was situated on the northern tip of the Wandsworth Common cutting, approximately parallel to present-day Spencer Park, and just moments away from where the Clapham rail disaster occurred in December 1988. Wandsworth was renamed Clapham Common station, but closed in March 1863 following the opening of Clapham Junction.

Wimbledon

When it first opened in 1838, Wimbledon station consisted of a cluster of low buildings, and was based slightly south of its present site, on the opposite side of Wimbledon Bridge. The current station dates from the 1920s.

Kingston

Apparently the residents of 1830s Kingston were none too happy with the railway encroaching upon their land, meaning the station bearing their settlement’s name was located more towards present-day Surbiton. Described as resembling a ‘small cottage-like structure’, this early station stood near King Charles Road. The area is now served by Surbiton station, an Art Deco masterpiece dating from 1937.

Ditton Marsh

Still in its original location, this station has gone by several names over the years. The original name, Ditton Marsh, was soon changed to Esher & Hampton Court, then Esher for Claremont, then Esher for Sandown Park. It has been known simply as Esher since 1913. The station was once home to a royal waiting room, and features two central platforms, which, along with the sealed-off street-level entrances, are now dilapidated.

Derelict stairwell, Esher.

Walton

Like Esher, Walton station – now known as Walton-on-Thames – remains at its original location and also has a disused island platform at its centre.

Weybridge

Weybridge, too, is at its original site, in the deep cutting that George Stephenson incorrectly predicted would bankrupt the L&SR.

Woking Common

Woking Common was a terminal for just a few months, the line being extended to Winchfield in September 1838. The station’s name has since been shortened to Woking, and it is noted for its distinctive signal box, which was built in the 1930s and is now Grade II listed.

Renaming

As previously mentioned, the berthing facilities at Southampton had long been inferior to those offered by Portsmouth. The reason for this had been dictated by the geography of the Solent: it was simply easier for sailing ships to traverse the more open waters around Portsmouth.

Wyld’s Railway Guide, c.1839.

Fortunately for the L&SR, the opening of their railway coincided with the rise of steamships (the SS Great Western, for example, made its maiden voyage between Bristol and New York in 1838, the same year in which L&SR opened), which were far better suited to Southampton. The subsequent increase in traffic naturally proved immensely beneficial for the fledgling line. Due to the L&SR’s success, permission was quickly granted for a branch line linking Bishopstoke to Gosport as a means of serving Portsmouth.

Although the folk of Portsmouth were set to benefit from this, many residents were none too keen on having the name of their arch rival on the railway’s branding. So as a compromise, it was agreed to switch the L&SR’s name to the London & South Western Railway (L&SWR), a change that came into effect in June 1839.

Pioneering Communication

As the early railways flourished, so too did another revolutionary invention: the electric telegraph. Both of these technologies were intertwined, with the first demonstration taking place on 25 July 1837 between the London & Birmingham Railway’s Euston to Camden Town section. Over the next few years telegraph lines were installed alongside relatively short stretches of track on the GWR and the London & Blackwall Railway. However, it was on the L&SWR that the first truly long-distance network made its debut.

The primary function of the L&SWR’s wire was to serve the military – as an efficient way of exchanging messages between London and the naval headquarters at Portsmouth – and was installed by William Fothergill Cooke and Charles Wheatstone, the two men who had pioneered the technology on the London to Birmingham line. Their system was chosen over another design trialled by Scottish inventor Alexander Bain in 1844 between Nine Elms and Wimbledon. Although Bain lost out, his invention was still extremely impressive in that it utilized an electric printer, very much like an early fax machine.

Early Incidents

With the technology still something of a novelty, and an almost complete disregard for what we today would term ‘health and safety’, railways in the early nineteenth century posed significant dangers, and the line that would eventually find its way to Waterloo had its fair share of mishaps.

Unsurprisingly, the earliest incidents along the route between London and Southampton occurred during its construction. In November 1836, for example, a gang of navvies was buried alive whilst loading wagons at an excavation site near Woking. Thanks to their strength, three of the men managed to claw their way out of the rubble and haul their colleagues to safety, although this wasn’t enough to save a Mr John Tingles, whose head ‘was literally crushed to pieces’.

When passenger services began operating in 1838, guards would keep an eye on the track and blow a whistle when the train approached a curve or populated area, or indeed if they spotted trespassers on the track. Despite this measure, accidents were commonplace.

One of the first fatal incidents to occur during public service took place on 8 June 1838, just a few weeks after the line had opened. It was reported that two friends were wandering about on the tracks between Walton and Woking, and although warned of the danger, took no heed. They were still on the rails when a ‘double train of carriages and wagons came up, and before they could get clear out of the way the engine wheel caught them, by which means they were prostrated and the vehicles passed over them.’

As a result, one of the men perished after being ‘dreadfully mangled’, although somehow his friend managed to survive.

That same day, two employees of the L&SR, described as having ‘drunk too freely’, had positioned themselves between the two sets of rails, having apparently forgotten they’d attached a rope between an engine and a set of wagons which stood opposite ‘…in consequence of which they were knocked down by the rope, and thrown under the whole of the wagons. They were dreadfully injured, and but little hope remains of their recovery.’

Even more bizarrely, in July 1842, one unfortunate fellow named John Mitchell happened to doze off on the tracks at Woking Common after a heavy drinking session. He was subsequently struck by a train, which resulted in his leg being ‘torn off and thrown some distance’. Mitchell was pulled on board the train with a view to seeking medical help, but died before reaching Nine Elms.

As well as these hapless folk struck on the rails, there were a number of incidents of a mechanical nature, too. On the 17 May 1840, for example, one train was derailed after striking debris on the line. Although there were no fatalities, a number of passengers suffered concussion, two carriages were ‘shattered to pieces’, and one of the engine operators nearly had his leg ‘severed from his body’.

More seriously, on the foggy evening of 17 October 1840, a fatal collision occurred at the Nine Elms terminal when a train ploughed into the back of another. This resulted in the death of Catherine Andrews, who was returning home with a friend after a day trip to Hampton Court. One reporter, upon examining the damaged carriages, remarked that their design seemed to ‘offer very little security against concussions of even a comparatively slight nature’, whilst another correspondent made the angry claim that the railway’s managers seemed to harbour a ‘frightful indifference to human life’.

On a lighter note, a derailment occurred in March 1841 when the Tartar – the engine that had been commanded by Joseph Locke on one of the railway’s private demonstration days – came off the rails, resulting in its wheels being ‘deeply imbedded in the earth’. This was most inconvenient, as the engine was due to haul the evening mail train, so it was fortunate that the crew managed to heave it back and have the engine running again in just twenty minutes – a situation that would be unprecedented today.

Overcrowding

Despite early reports praising the L&SR for its comfortable carriages, overcrowding appears to have been a significant – and dangerous – problem, which quickly materialized thanks to the railway’s popularity. Writing to The Times on 9 July 1839, one gentleman described his attempts to board a train at Kingston during the morning rush hour:

On the arrival of the half-past 8 o’clock train this morning at the Kingston station…where upwards of 50 passengers were waiting to be conveyed to town, it was found that there was not room for one of them, the number of carriages, which ought to have been increased on a Monday morning, having been reduced below the usual average. As Kingston is considered the very best station on the railway, this, to say the least of it, was gross inattention, as it disappointed many who have to be at public offices by a certain hour…

On a spare truck 21 passengers were wedged, and 13 were clustered outside a stage coach. Several were obliged to sit round, and on this truck I observed one respectable female underneath the body of the coach. None of the passengers will really forget the sensation occasioned by the passengers on the top of the stage coach stooping when passing under the lower bridges – the most trifling jerk, or the slightest giddiness or nervousness, would have occasioned a fearful accident.

Onward Progress

After just a few years, the L&SWR’s popularity meant that the terminal at Nine Elms had become a victim of its own success: the end of the line being in what was then a remote London suburb, coupled with the fact that passengers had to make their onward journey by ferry, cab or omnibus, was beginning to prove most inconvenient.

It was time to take the tracks closer to town.

CHAPTER 2

Onwards to Waterloo

From the outset the L&SWR had never envisioned Nine Elms as a permanent terminal, and by the early 1840s it was already apparent that their burgeoning success was indeed fast making the site redundant.

As well as passengers and freight from the increasingly popular Southampton Docks pouring into the terminal, the stations on the line closer to London – in particular Ditton Marsh, Kingston, Wimbledon and Wandsworth – had created a bustling commuter belt, of which Nine Elms was the head. Whilst good for ticket sales, the overcrowding that ensued did little for efficient running or customer satisfaction.

Nine Elms and the surrounding area in the 1840s; the L&SWR terminal can be seen in the bottom left-hand corner.

Nine Elms was marooned in what many then considered to be an isolated area, and those wishing to continue their journey towards central London had limited options. There were the two river steamers (named Citizen and Bridegroom), but the sheer number of passengers often necessitated a lengthy wait, often upwards of thirty minutes. Taking the omnibus was a second option, although this was slow and uncomfortable. Thirdly, passengers could hail a cab, but this was expensive and involved negotiating pricey toll gates.

Traffic along the L&SWR was also about to increase with the addition of extra commuter routes, which themselves played a major role in forging the Waterloo we know today. This process commenced with the Richmond Railway.

First Attempt

In 1836 – shortly before railway mania truly took hold, and just two years after permission to build the L&SWR had been granted – a prospectus for a railway linking Richmond to London was published. This was dubbed the ‘City of London & Richmond Railway’ (CL&RR), and sought permission to create a line from Richmond that would terminate close to the southern end of Southwark Bridge. It was also hoped a branch line would be added, leaving the main route at Battersea, from where it would cross the Thames and head up through west London, terminating at Harlesden Green.

There was considerable opposition to this project, both in Richmond and Southwark. As one report noted:

…the route will have to proceed through a great number of crowded streets; and hundreds of houses, manufactories, &c, will have to be destroyed, causing a vast deal of inconvenience and loss. The length of the viaduct necessary for this railway will be six miles.

This was in stark contrast to the L&SWR, which had chosen a relatively pastoral route with the Nine Elms terminus sited on vacant land.

In January 1837 Richmond residents held a meeting to oppose the CL&RR, their main bones of contention being that the railway would involve a ‘needless and uncalled for invasion of private property’, that it would be a nuisance, and that Richmond already enjoyed ‘rapid and easy communication’ with London via road and river connections. There was also vocal opposition from the residents of Blackfriars, who did not wish to see the tracks encroach upon their neighbourhood. Consequently, a group was formed to petition parliament.

To counteract these protests, those behind the CL&RR quietly – and audaciously – renamed their bill the ‘Southwark & Hammersmith Railway’ as a means of throwing petitioners off the scent. The ruse worked, and those wishing to oppose the bill in parliament missed the debate – easily done when so many similarly named bills were doing the rounds.

However, this deception was quickly discovered, and in April 1837 parliament decided that, although not fraudulent, this sly move was in contravention to the rules of the House. In the same session it was declared that the chances of the CL&RR being granted permission would have been an ‘utter impossibility’ anyway, and the bill died a quiet death.

Reviving the Richmond Railway