From London Underground Railways to the Tube

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London Underground, The Tube, Tube map

When most people think of the Tube, they envisage it in its modern form, under the authority of Transport for London, with uniform signage, overcrowded trains and platforms, and lots of people frantically checking the iconic Tube map that shows the miles and miles of tunnels and tracks passing through central London into the suburbs. Few people think of the history of the Tube, or realize just how long ago the concept of an underground railway in London was first thought of and implemented.

I must admit that I used to be one of those people. I had a vague idea that the Tube already existed at the beginning of the First World War but that was about it. However, over the past few years I have come across several items relating to the London Underground Railways and so have learnt a lot about their history. Cataloguing with the Tower Project is always an educational experience since many of the books are on topics about which the cataloguers know nothing. Sometimes, the research involved in providing proper subject headings for books means that we end up knowing far too much on some topics – don’t get me started on paper bag cookery (yes, really) or the New York air brake…

The first and earliest item relating to the Tube to fall into my hands was a small pamphlet extolling the virtues of the Metropolitan Railway, published in 1868. It states that “Of all the marvels of which the City of London can boast, perhaps the greatest is the Metropolitan Railway, familiarly known to the million as the “Underground.”” The Metropolitan Line is the oldest of the London Underground lines; building began in 1860 and, in 1863, the first 3 3/4 miles of track were opened. The service proved so popular that the line was soon extended. In the first five years of its existence alone, over 81.5 million individual journeys were taken on the Metropolitan Railway.

Where the shoals of passengers come from, who have occupied the line in an increasing ratio ever since [its opening] , it would seem impossible to calculate, as the omnibus and carriage traffic do not seem to have decreased.

By 1905 the number of underground railways had proliferated and there was concern about the air quality in the tunnels. The Public Health and Sanitary Committee of the Southwark Borough Council commissioned a report on the chemical and bacteriological condition of the air on the City and South London Railway (now part of the Northern Line). It was concluded that adequate means of ventilating tubes and carriages needed to be found as a matter of some urgency if a rise in serious illness among Underground passengers was to be prevented. The problem of ventilating the deep tunnels and trains and keeping them cool is one that still occupies engineers today.

The item that really caught my fancy, however, is entitled “Underground aids to travel” and includes a London Underground Railway map from 1911 (image below, click on it for an enlarged version). Everyone is so familiar with the modern Tube map, first designed in the early 1930s, that seeing this geographical rather than schematic map is a bit of a shock. When I am on the Tube I don’t really think about the geographical space linking the stations (which is probably why I know pockets of London quite well but have no idea how to get from one part to another without the Tube!). This map shows the underground railways in their actual locations and makes it obvious how popular and how profitable the Underground must have been for it to have been extended so far since its beginning with under 4 miles of tunnels fifty years before. It is also interesting because it reveals the reason for the odd routes that some of the lines take through the city. I have always wondered why the Northern Line has two branches: here it can be seen that what is now the Northern Line used to be two separate railways before the City & South London Railway and the Hampstead Railway were combined.

Map of the Underground for 1911

An advert inserted into a 1911 London guidebook praises the Underground as “The quickest and cheapest method of travelling” and to a great extent that is still the case, although sadly nowadays the price of a ticket has risen beyond the standard twopenny fare which gave the Central London Railway (now the Central Line) the wonderful nickname of the “Twopenny Tube.” This nickname soon led to the other underground railways becoming known collectively as the Tube, although the name Underground also remained (and remains) current. The individual railways continued to belong to a combination of different companies until they, with the independent bus and tram companies, were finally merged into the new London Passenger Transport Board (London Transport for short) in 1933. This combination led to the development of a more unified network for the Tube, with the individual railways being renamed ‘lines’. London Transport has existed in various guises over the past decades and is now known as Transport for London or TfL.

One wonders what the early visionaries, inventors and engineers of the Metropolitan Underground Railway would make of the current extensive Underground system, the thousands of commuters and tourists who use it every day and the incessant beep of the Oyster card readers. Given the iconic place of the Tube and all its branding and design features and the fact that the Underground is still considered one of the greatest marvels that the City of London can boast, I like to think that they would be very proud of what they started, in 1863, with under four miles of tunnels and tracks…

The sinking of the Lusitania

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destruction, engineering, First World War, war

This week of cataloguing I came across a rather sad and strange reminder that our project is gradually approaching the 1^st world war. In my 1907’s shelf of books I found the ‘launch book’ for the Lusitania, the ocean liner which was famously torpedoed on the 7^th May 1915, killing over a thousand civilians travelling from the United States to England. Famous mostly perhaps because the ensuing outrage, stirred up by British propaganda, turned global popular opinion against Germany and led to US intervention in the war.The book is primarily about the construction of the vessel, which is beautiful, and so I wanted to post up some illustrations. Her story is also interesting, so I’ve included a little about her too, apologies to WWI experts, this barely skims the surface.

The Lusitania was built as part of the race for the trans-Atlantic passenger trade and was one of the largest and fastest vessels of the time. Perhaps because of this, she had been quietly part funded by the British Military authorities, with the idea that she would be used as an auxiliary cruiser in times of war. The final passengers to board her were aware of some of the risks …

 “Travellers intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany . . . and Great Britain . . . and that travellers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk.”

…read a notice from the German government in forty U.S.newspapers. National Archives (of America) http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/eyewitness/html.php?section=18

Though not all of them … That day, the Lusitania’s loading manifesto failed to mention a significant element of her cargo, with a supplementary manifesto, for the President of the United States only, being filed later after she had left New York. Some munitions were originally listed but what was omitted was the large amount of explosive products such as gun cotton and 52 tons of shrapnel shells. (www.lusitania.net).

It is not clear whether the Germans knew about the hushed up cargo or not, but despite it a wartime journey was always going to be risky. Tactics for evading submarines had not yet been clearly devised, however, Messr John Brown and Co. the designers of Lusitania were confident that their use of Krupp plate steel, with new methods of treatment and technique for application would make their vessel torpedo proof. Sadly this was not the case and chaos reigned as she sank within 18 minutes, killing 1,198 of her 1,959 passengers.

 The war diary of Kapitänleutnant Walter Schwieger Captain of the U-Boat that sank her described the scene:

“Many people must have lost their heads; several boats loaded with people rushed downward, struck the water bow or stern first and filled at once. . . . The ship blew off steam; at the bow the name “Lusitania” in golden letters was visible. The funnels were painted black; stern flag not in place. It was running 20 nautical miles. Since it seemed as if the steamer could only remain above water for a short time, went to 24 m. and ran toward the Sea. Nor could I have fired a second torpedo into this swarm of people who were trying to save themselves.” National Archives (of America) http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/eyewitness/html.php?section=18

The outrage at the event and the loss of so many were it seems a significant driver for America to join the war. Propaganda drove this further as strange items began to appear, such as the medals apparently issued to the torpedo crew for sinking the ship. These depicted the Lusitania sinking on one side and on the other a queue of passengers buying tickets from a skeleton (death). Whether Germany made them first but quickly destroyed them as they saw the action criticised or whether it was a conspiracy dreamed up by the British is unclear.Whatever significance the Lusitania’s sinking played in the war, there is no escaping the tragedy and loss of life. Therefore there is something eerily gloomy about finding a book so full of the excitement and pride of the manufacturers, designers and builders, who had little idea of what was to come.

Easy rider?

There is a great deal of material on transport in the Tower, and as a keen biker, I was pleased to find Motor cycles and how to manage them.

The first petrol driven motor cycles appeared in Britain in about 1895, and they proved very popular.  Our earliest copy of the book is the 3rd edition of 1900, and the volume illustrated here is the 12th edition, published in 1908. By this time there were more than 50,000 registered machines on the road. In all, the title ran for over 60 years, the final (33rd ed.) appearing in 1960. 

The motor cycles of this period were based on the safety bicycle, and had pedals to assist on steep gradients. They were of a similar size and weight to modern electric bikes – though they were much more powerful.

A modern motor cycle (1908)

 

                                                       Lightweight machines such as the Motosacoche (left) could do 30 miles per hour, and the Triumph, pictured below was recorded at “over 59 mph” on the race track at Brooklands.  To me the bikes look tricky to ride –  you seem to need two pairs of hands and both feet.  Given the state of the roads, those primitive brakes, and skinny tyres, it must have been a very bumpy ride. 

 The book describes motor cycles as “the cheapest form of locomotion” – while much cheaper than a car they were not exactly cheap. New bikes cost between £25 and £50 – five times the cost of a push-bike, and as we saw in Helen’s recent post, you could buy a substantial cottage in the new Garden City of Letchworth for £150.  If you couldn’t afford to buy a new bike – there were books to help you make your own – surely a simple task for the ‘average boy’.

Under the Motor Car Act (1903) drivers needed a licence and vehicles had to be registered. Anyone over the age of fourteen could obtain a licence from their local council for 5 shillings (25p) – driving tests were not introduced until 1934. Registration of the machine cost a further 5s and you also had to pay 15s a year to the Inland Revenue “for keeping a carriage”. 

There was a national speed limit of 20 miles an hour – but as the bikes didn’t have a speedometer, and speed cameras didn’t appear for another eighty years, it proved difficult to enforce.  A Royal Commission on motor cars, reporting in 1907 raised concerns about the manner in which police speed traps were being used to raise revenue in rural areas rather than being used to protect lives in towns. During discussion of the report in the House of Lords, Lord Montagu of Beaulieu stated that they were “manifestly absurd as a protection to the public, and they are used in many counties merely as a means of extracting money from the passing traveller in a way which reminds one of the highwaymen of the middle ages”.

Motor cycle and sidecar combinations were very popular – according to the book “to have one’s passenger beside one is charming, and provided an effective silencer is fitted, conversation can be carried on”. The Millford and N.S.U. machines pictured below, which could achieve 25 mph, were probably fine in a straight line, but cornering must have been very scary.

Although today’s bikes look very different,  reading the book I was constantly reminded of my own days as a novice rider. My first bike, a Yamaha “Fizzy” moped, bought second hand for £75 in 1975, had much in common with these early machines. It too was equipped with pedals, which came in very useful during the frequent breakdowns – thank goodness there aren’t too many hills in Cambridgeshire!

Ode to… a tram accident

Perhaps one of the best known disaster poems is William McGonagall’s infamous “The Tay Rail Bridge Disaster.”  In fact he seemed to rather specialise in writing about calamities, but he was and is by no means alone.  Poems have been written about the Titanic, Hillsborough, the 2004 tsunami, Aberfan, the Challenger space shuttle explosion… you name it, someone, somewhere has been moved to immortalise the occasion in verse.

My eye was caught by “A memento of the tramcar accident at Sowerby Bridge, near Halifax, Tuesday, October 15^th, 1907” [1908.8.1039].  This is a simple piece of card with a rather unexciting photograph, showing a northern cobbled street with a lot of people standing around; an overturned tram just visible in the background.    Underneath there is a six verse poem by John Crossley, which describes the incident.

 Turning the card over, there is an acrostic poem eulogising about Halifax, followed rather soberingly by lists of the killed, seriously injured and less seriously injured.  At the bottom, looking rather strange to modern eyes, is the phrase “With good wishes from….”  Clearly this rather tragic memento was designed to be sent to one’s relations and friends, although with what purpose it is hard to say.

 Anyone who rushed to be first to send the news to their acquaintances would have been a little premature though, as within days a second edition was published, necessitated by one of the “less seriously” injured, an 18 year old apprentice planer called Arnold Thornton, having subsequently died.  Naturally the relevant line in the poem is also adjusted to reflect the additional casualty.

 This does seem to have been a particularly nasty incident; one of the worst tram disasters in Britain.  As the open-topped car, packed with at least 60 people, neared the top of Pye Hill, the electric power failed, causing the vehicle to roll backwards all the way down again, gathering speed as it went despite the best efforts of the conductor to apply the brakes.  At the bottom it jumped off the rails and overturned before smashing into a shop frontage, ultimately killing five and injuring 35 others.

 The 32 year old conductor, Walter Robinson, seems to come out of this as some kind of hero, perhaps being viewed romantically because he died in the line of duty, being killed when part of the tram fell on him.  He gets a four line poem to himself on the card, being described both as “the brave conductor” and a “heroic soul.”  Furthermore £3 10s 7d of the memorial fund went to his widow – a benefit that was withheld from any of the other relatives.  Most of the money, over £19, was spent on a memorial in the grounds of the Mount Zion Chapel at Ogden, with the remaining £2 or so being used to prepare the vault in the same chapel.

 Walter has his own memorial cross on his grave at the chapel, where he was a Sunday school teacher.  This reveals further tragedy in his life: his baby son died at 8 months, followed less than 3 weeks later by his wife.  His second wife lived to the ripe old age of 94, dying in 1973, but sadly they enjoyed less than a year of married life before Walter’s untimely demise.  Perhaps she took some comfort from the fact that he was hailed a hero. As he tried desperately to bring the runaway tram to a halt, he shouted warnings and stopped passengers falling off (although some of them deliberately jumped off to save themselves).  His monument states that he was “striving to the last to save the occupants of the car” and survivors later spoke of his calm command in a terrible situation.  His widow, “faithful until death,” never remarried.

 The accident must have had a huge impact on the local community at the time, but is doubtless all but forgotten now, save for these rather sad poetical greetings cards.  But then this is one of the pleasures of the Tower collection – finding pieces of ephemera and discovering the stories behind them.