Fire and Steam (9 page)

The permanent nature of the job in contrast to the transience of most comparable unskilled or semi-skilled work, the decent wages, the uniform and the respect earned by working for a service that was at the cutting edge of technology all contributed to a burgeoning sense of corporate loyalty and dedication that no other industry or business has ever managed before or since. The railways were special and everyone seemed to sense it right from the beginning. For its part, the railway company may have been a hard taskmaster, but the directors saw themselves as responsible employers with an almost feudal attitude towards their staff, which manifested itself in the provision of various benefits within the bounds of what was deemed acceptable to the shareholders. For example, the Liverpool & Manchester pioneered the concept of railway cottages rented cheaply to its employees, a tradition that continued right into the twentieth century. Moreover, while the railway was quick to levy fines, the company also paid bonuses to its ‘servants' for accident-free records, long service and good conduct, money which it was under no obligation to disburse. The railway even supported employees who were absent from work through injury or illness, but, by contrast, did not consider itself liable for those killed on duty, although discretionary sums were normally paid out. This policy reflected the strong laissez-faire ideology of the time tempered with moral obligations towards the workforce. This combination of harshness and compassion created an ethos that placed great stress on the maintenance of continuity of service, and the huge pride in being a
railwayman, summed up in the often used slogan: ‘the train must go through'.

Indeed, sticking to the timetable was another rule established right from the outset. If at all possible, late starting was to be avoided, even though at first no timings were offered for intermediate stations or even arrival at the final terminus because of concerns over the reliability of the locomotives and other vagaries such as the weather, the stops to be made (the trains called at each of the twenty intermediate stations on the route only by request) and mishaps such as animals on the line or gatemen absenting themselves. People getting on the train along the way had to make an informed guess about when it might arrive, a situation that still exists at some of the network's more remote stations.

These early stations were not pleasant places to wait, consisting merely of a gate on to the track, with no raised platform and no shelter and it was a decade before these basic facilities began to be provided. Certainly it was not worth waiting for a train on a Sunday as no services started from either terminus between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. This had been a contentious issue among the directors, some of whom were reluctant to allow any Sunday services at all in line with the strong Sabbatarian traditions in nearby Wales and in Scotland. The partial timetable was a compromise that ensured the operation of the trains did not clash with church services and established a pattern followed later by other railway companies. While most ran some Sunday trains, several companies, especially in Scotland, closed down entirely. The trend even extended to the London Underground with the Metropolitan Railway incorporating a ‘church interval' into its services when it opened in 1863, a practice that continued as late as 1909. In the 1860s companies began to notice that services appeared to be little used on the Sabbath and withdrew them to save money. Special Sunday working arrangements appear to be a British phenomenon, as European countries, even those with far more devout populations, largely run the same service seven days a week.

There were other hazards involved in taking the train. The interior of the coaches remained unlit until 1834 and even then only one compartment of each first-class carriage was provided with a single oil lamp, a major fire hazard given that the coaches were wooden. Smoking, however, posed no such risk since it was banned in first class even if the
other passengers acquiesced. However, the railway company could hardly stop people in second class from lighting up, given that they were effectively in the open air, but as the accommodation gradually improved and became fully enclosed by 1840, a similar restriction was imposed. While the early railway companies mostly followed suit, arguing that smoking was a fire risk, more and more began to allow it as longer journeys became possible. In 1868, remarkably, Parliament legislated to force companies to provide smoking carriages, even on the Underground railway in London. Smoking policy has now come full circle on the railways as the last modern train operator to allow it, Scotrail (and then only for its sleeper services), imposed a ban in October 2005, leaving the whole network smoke-free once again.

But it was the passengers who caused the most trouble. 'Twas ever thus. Given the rapid rise in numbers, with upwards of 2,000 people soon using the line daily, the scenes at the station resembled those still common on the Indian sub-continent today, with crowds of passengers, meeters and greeters as well as assorted sightseers and pedlars crammed into a small space. Gates were hastily erected and manned by unwavering porters to prevent latecomers delaying the departure of the train, or worse, trying to jump on after it had started moving. To speed the process along, the first trains were sent off with a bugle sound, a stagecoach tradition, but by 1832 this was replaced by a large bell rung five minutes before departure.

Many of the bad habits had been inherited from stagecoach travel. It might have seemed unnecessary to warn passengers not to travel on the roof, but how were they to know they could be hit by a bridge? Why should they not put their heads out of the window when the train was moving as they always had done on stagecoaches? They were an undisciplined bunch who had to be educated in the railway's ways. But the worst were the rich. After all, most of the first-class passengers were used to being conveyed in their own carriages whose coachman would be at their beck and call. Was it not a bit presumptuous for these rough railwaymen to seek to shepherd them aboard when they were deep in conversation with their fellow gentlemen? The well-to-do would also tend to hop off at intermediate stations or water-stops to stretch their legs, a seemingly harmless aspiration for passengers who had been
cooped up in a small compartment for hours on end, but a habit which the railway staff had to break in order to maintain punctuality. While for most rules were rules, there was clearly a secret list of VIPs who were sufficiently notable to keep the train waiting, since one of the early excuses for late running was that the train had been ‘waiting for important people'.
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While the risks of riding on the roof quickly appeared all too obvious, the most difficult habit to break was the tendency for passengers to jump off the train before it had stopped, a dangerous practice which resulted in deaths on British railways right up to 2005 when the last slam-door trains were finally taken out of service.
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People were unaware that the speed of trains was so much greater than on the ponderous stagecoaches to which they were accustomed and, worse, many were tempted to leap off while the train was at full speed if the track happened to go near their ultimate destination. To prevent passengers taking this risk, the railway company started locking its passengers in, but this created another hazard, the possibility of being trapped in the event of a fire.
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The indiscipline of many early railway passengers quickly demonstrated to the company the need to draw up a set of rules and regulations. These were given statutory backing and became the bylaws familiar to all passengers forced to while away the wait for a train by perusing platform notices. From the outset, the railways had the status of a quasi-state and it was no coincidence that the staff who looked after the track, and later the signals, were initially called policemen.

There was, in fact, no signalling whatsoever at the beginning. Trains were controlled on a time interval basis – in other words, they were prevented from leaving until a set number of minutes had elapsed since the departure of the previous train. Policemen would be sited at key points along the line – surely the second loneliest job on the planet after lighthouse keeper – and were instructed to give a ‘Stop' signal if a train had passed within the last ten minutes, a ‘Caution' if more than ten but fewer than seventeen minutes had elapsed, or otherwise a sign to proceed. If a train broke down, the policeman was supposed to run back a mile down the track to protect the train from oncoming traffic
by showing a hand signal. If the other track were blocked, the crew were supposed to build a warning fire on the track with their coals to alert other trains, a practice that did little for the condition of the sleepers. This system of signalling was adopted by all early railways and was only improved once its limitations became all too apparent.

To alert people on the line, some early trains on the Liverpool & Manchester had buglers sitting atop the first carriage (despite the injunctions for passengers not to travel on the roof), but steam whistles were soon fitted to locomotives and at night trains had a large lantern as a headlamp. At the back, there was a red bull's eye reflector, and later a tail lamp whose purpose was to show the train was complete. Signalmen knew that a train without one probably meant there were loose wagons on the track.

Mishaps included an accident at Rainhill in 1832 where one train ran into another in thick fog, killing a passenger and injuring several others; and another four years later, when an axle broke, sending the carriage down an embankment but surprisingly resulting in no fatalities among the locked-in passengers. Most deaths and injuries, however, were due to passengers' own mistakes or foolishness, often occasioned by drunkenness. One man tried to walk on the rail as if it were a tightrope and, fatally, did not notice a train coming up behind him. Similarly, in 1833, three passengers walked up and down the line impatiently waiting for their service, failing to see a train approaching in the other direction which killed them. Others died or were injured while standing up in the uncovered carriages or jumping off the train while in motion or, as still happens regularly today, trespassing on the tracks. There was even the odd bit of hooliganism, with people throwing stones or leaving timbers on the line, a phenomenon which, again, survives to this day. Railways require a high level of societal trust to function because they cannot be protected against all such attacks and fortunately, for the most part, the people of Lancashire welcomed the railway and therefore desisted from threatening its safety.

Given these various incidents, the oft-quoted claim by the management in 1838 that only two passengers had lost their lives on the railway was being rather economical with the truth. Nevertheless, the railway could not be considered as particularly hazardous,
especially at a time when life generally was far more perilous for the average citizen than it is today. From the beginning trains were a relatively safe form of transport, especially when compared with stagecoaches which were being driven ever faster along the roads in a vain attempt to compete.

The railway presented far more danger for the staff than for passengers and the rate of fatalities reached carnage proportions by the end of the century. Throughout the history of the railways, workers have borne the brunt of the steady death toll, although it is the major passenger accidents that attract attention. The early railways had to find the safest working practices by a process of trial and error, but this was cold comfort to those who were killed during the learning process. The technology, too, was obviously experimental and required continuous improvement and modification. Early boilers were a particular danger and even though they were fitted with safety valves, they were wont to explode occasionally. This happened to Stephenson's
Patentee
in an incident that killed the driver and the fireman. Another constant danger for enginemen was having to get on and off the footplate during shunting operations to give hand signals and deal with couplings. One early victim was a fireman on the
Mercury
whose head was crushed between the vehicles when he was uncoupling the wagon attached to the engine. But, as ever, the greatest number of fatalities was caused by mistakes or sloppiness, often occasioned by tiredness as a result of those long working hours. The biggest risk in the early days was the failure of policemen to position the points correctly, leading to derailments. In one incident at St Helens Junction, wrongly set points resulted in the collision of two locomotives and the death of an engineman. Other derailments came about because the policeman simply dozed off, leading to prosecutions and even jail sentences. Another unlucky driver was killed when his engine hit a plank left on the line by workmen who had sat on it to eat their tea. These incidents, which all occurred in the first decade of operations, would be repeated time and time again over the next 150 years of railway operations.

On the whole, though, the railways were safe, particularly for those who used them sensibly and were sober. A good safety record was crucial in helping people overcome their natural fear of travelling faster
than anyone had ever done before. Had there been a major accident in the early years, such as a derailment or collision causing many casualties, the consequent boom in railway development might well have been stymied: ‘for every one convinced of the value of new railway schemes, there was an extremist who saw only a vision of passengers maimed or suffocated, horses bolting and vegetables refusing to grow'.
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Despite the many primitive aspects of the service and the odd mishap, the journey delighted most of those who took the train. For such a male-dominated business, it is surprising to find that the best early chronicler is the highly literate and long-lived actress Fanny Kemble. Travelling as a guest of the company a couple of weeks before the official opening, when she was barely twenty-one, she was entranced with the railway and even with the gruff George Stephenson whom she described as ‘a master' whom she was ‘horribly in love with', a playful bit of artistic licence. In a long letter to a friend, she describes her fascination with the machine, driven inevitably by Stephenson himself: ‘You can't imagine how strange it seemed to be journeying on thus, without any visible cause of progress other than the magical machine, with its flying white breath and rhythmical, unvarying pace, between these rocky walls [she obviously left Liverpool through the Olive Mount cutting] which are already clothed with moss and ferns and grass; and when I reflected that these great masses of stone had been cut asunder to allow our passage thus far below the surface of the earth, I felt as if no fairy tale was ever half so wonderful as what I saw. Bridges were thrown from side to side across the top of these cliffs, and the people looking down upon us from them seemed like pigmies standing in the sky.'
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