Category Archives: Transports of Delight

The Sounding Arch

Great Western Railway: Maidenhead Railway Bridge, Berkshire/Buckinghamshire

While Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s pioneering Wharncliffe Viaduct was under construction in the early stages of building the Great Western Railway from 1836, he was simultaneously engaged on a more audacious project, the Maidenhead Viaduct, where the line needed to cross the River Thames.

The Thames Navigation Commissioners were adamant that the river channel and both towpaths must not be obstructed, yet Brunel was determined to restrict the ruling gradient of the railway to 1 in 1,320 (0.076%). 

He located the crossing to take advantage of a midstream island, Bucks Ait, that could accommodate a bridge pier, and designed two brickwork spans, each 128 feet long, that rose only 24 feet in height.  The arches remain the flattest brick spans ever constructed.

The GWR directors lacked Brunel’s confidence in his design, especially after the contractor, William Chadwick, lowered the centring before the mortar had fully set, and the lower courses of the eastern arch dropped half an inch. 

Chadwick took responsibility and reinstated the brickwork, but Brunel was ordered to leave the centring in place when trains began to cross the bridge in July 1839.

His response was to quietly lower the timberwork a few inches, so that arches were self-supporting, while insisting that they remain in situ over the coming winter.  Brunel’s biographer, L T C Rolt, wryly observes, “The suspicion that this was due not so much to excessive caution as to an impish sense of humour is hard to resist.”

Indeed, when an autumn storm destroyed the centring and the bridge remained firm, Brunel’s critics were silenced.

The artist J M W Turner depicted the Maidenhead Viaduct in his painting ‘Rain, Steam and Speed’ (1844), the first time a railway train had been portrayed in a sophisticated work of art.

The Maidenhead Viaduct remains almost exactly as it was built, except that it was widened in 1877 by Sir John Fowler, who took great trouble to preserve the proportions of Brunel’s design, though he used darker Cattybrook brick from Gloucestershire.  When the broad-gauge tracks were removed in 1892 the line was quadrupled. 

Similar care to preserve the beauty of Brunel’s engineering was taken when the line was electrified in 2017.

Oddly, when the viaduct was listed in 1950 only the western arch was designated Grade II*;  the eastern arch was added to the designation in 1985.  The entire bridge was upgraded to Grade I in 2012.

The name “The Sounding Arch” arose because of the spectacular echo.  If you stand underneath the arch on the Taplow towpath and clap, you may be rewarded with six or more echoes.  People on TripAdvisor complain that there isn’t an echo.  People complaining on TripAdvisor is not uncommon.

Bridge over Brent

Great Western Railway: Wharncliffe Viaduct, Hanwell, London

The rail journey from Paddington to Bristol tells the story of the start of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s spectacular career as a civil engineer.  He was thirty when construction of the Great Western Railway began in 1836, and he barely stopped working until he died, worn out, at fifty-three in 1859.

The first major structure out of Paddington, the Wharncliffe Viaduct, carries trains 66 feet above the valley of the River Brent on eight graceful arches.

Otherwise known as the Hanwell Viaduct, it’s named as a compliment to James Stuart-Wortley, 1st Baron Wharncliffe (1776-1845), who chaired the parliamentary committee that considered and approved the passage of the Great Western Railway Act (1835).  His lordship’s coat of arms embellishes the south face of the viaduct.

Opened in 1838, it’s not the first major railway viaduct – George Stephenson’s Sankey Viaduct in Lancashire dates from 1830 – but it can claim a fistful of other firsts.

It was Brunel’s first major civil-engineering project, yet with audacious confidence he designed it as the first bridge in the world to have hollow piers, saving cost without sacrificing structural strength. 

The interiors of the piers are a favourite roost for colonies of bats, whose privacy is carefully safeguarded by naturalists.

Brunel saw the potential of Sir Charles Wheatstone and William Fothergill Cooke’s new electric telegraph, and persuaded them to lay down experimental telegraph cables alongside the track.  The system proved practical in 1839, making Hanwell the first viaduct in the world to carry a commercial telegraph.  The system was opened to the public in 1843.

This proved invaluable when a suspected murderer, John Tawell, was identified as he boarded a train at Slough and a telegraph message, describing him as “a Kwaker [sic] with a brown great coat on which reaches his feet” and locating his first-class compartment, was passed to Paddington station.  He was duly arrested when he alighted on New Year’s Day 1845.

Queen Victoria travelled by train for the first time from Windsor to London on June 13th 1842, and on at least one occasion is said to have ordered a stop on the viaduct so she could admire the view.

Brunel designed it to carry two broad-gauge tracks, and in 1877 a duplicate set of arches were added to the north side to carry a third line.  The abolition of the broad gauge in 1892 enabled the viaduct to carry four standard-gauge tracks. 

The viaduct continues to prove useful as technology develops.  It now carries transatlantic telephone and latterly fibre-optic cables and overhead power-lines to propel electric trains.

It became one of the first structures in Britain to be listed as a building of architectural and historic importance in 1949, and was commended by Sir Nikolaus Pevsner in The Buildings of England for its “architectural panache”:  its tapered piers are capped by stone cornices that carried the timber centering that supported the arches during construction.

The Wharncliffe Viaduct is easily accessible from Hanwell station, which is now served solely by the Elizabeth Line.  On arrival from London turn right out of the station and head towards the A4060 Uxbridge Road.  Continue away from London to Brent Meadow, an open space beside the Viaduct pub, which until Brunel came along was the eighteenth-century Coach & Horses.  Footpaths lead directly to the viaduct.

Crossing the Forth

Forth Bridge

I admire the video-maker Geoff Marshall, the anoraks’ anorak, for his voluminous YouTube documentaries about transport, delivered with clarity and relentless enthusiasm.  He’s a natural communicator, with the gift of talking about things that interest him in a way that appeals to listeners.  And his appetite for challenges means that he makes curiosities entertaining.

His recent piece about the Forth Bridge [I Went To The Top Of The Forth Bridge (youtube.com)] is typical of his work.  His reputation gives him access to the parts other enthusiasts can’t reach, and his videos are technically professional.  Watch for the electric kettle switching itself off on cue.

Until the rail bridge was built, the only way to cross the Firth of Forth between Fife and Lothian without going all the way upstream to Stirling was by ferry.  An 1818 scheme for a suspension bridge was dismissed by a critic because its “very light and slender appearance, [was] so light indeed that on a dull day it would hardly have been visible, and after a heavy gale probably no longer to be seen on a clear day either”.  The engineer Thomas Bouch began a rail suspension bridge (never a good idea) in 1878, but when his earlier Tay Bridge collapsed the following year – “badly designed, badly constructed and badly maintained” – the Forth project was immediately stopped.

The eventual Forth Bridge is an astonishing piece of engineering, a design made possible only by the availability of Bessemer steel, so big and powerful that its form expresses its function, the first unequivocally utilitarian structure in Britain since Sir Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace of 1851.  Unlike Horace Jones’ London Tower Bridge (1886-94), the Forth Bridge couldn’t be dressed up as architecture.

Its cantilever design ensures its strength and safety.  The central cantilever was the largest in the world when it was constructed;  now it’s the second largest, overtaken in 1919 by the Quebec Bridge (Pont de Québec] in Canada [Pont de Québec vu du Parc aquarium du Québec – Quebec Bridge – Wikipedia].

It was never strictly true that the painters started at one end and when they’d finished went back to start again. 

There was a tunnel under the Forth, built upstream to connect Kinneil Colliery near Bo’ness with Valleyfield Colliery near Culross in Fife.  It operated from 1964 to 1982 and was filled in and capped when it closed.  The tunnel features for a few seconds at 3:19 in the film Forth – Powerhouse for industry (1964):  Full record for ‘FORTH – POWERHOUSE FOR INDUSTRY’ (1820) – Moving Image Archive catalogue (nls.uk).

There’s a comprehensive account of the Forth Bridge and the two later road bridges at The Forth Bridge (theforthbridges.org).  It’s incorrect to refer to the “Forth Rail Bridge”.  The rail crossing has historical precedence, opened in 1890:  it was followed by the Forth Road Bridge (1964) and the Queensferry Crossing (2017).

Geoff Marshall makes it possible to appreciate the sheer scale of the Forth Bridge by taking his camera to the top of a cantilever and climbing around the rail deck.  Sooner him than me:  I’m glad of his movie;  otherwise I’m content to cross the Forth Bridge in a comfortable seat on a train – as its designers intended.

However, it will soon be possible to enjoy views of the Firth of Forth at 367 feet above sea level, and to join a Bridge Walk, secured by the same sort of harness that makes it possible to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge:  Forth Bridge Experience (scotlandsrailway.com).

Wagon hoists

Leeds Central Wagon Hoist, Tower Square, Leeds
Leeds Central Wagon Hoist, Tower Square, Leeds

The centrepiece of Leeds’ Wellington Place development is called Tower Square, because its unlikely landmark is a rare survival of Victorian railway technology, one of a pair of towers that housed hoists to move freight wagons up and down between the now-demolished viaduct approaching Central Station and ground level.

Built in 1850, the Leeds Central Wagon Hoist is now celebrated.  Thanks to the developer MEPC investing £1.5 million the derelict Grade II listed rarity has been turned into a free-entry mini-museum which tells the story of the defunct railway line and the vanished passenger station that closed in 1967.

This Yorkshire Post feature illustrates how much the site has changed – Leeds Central Station: What remains of Leeds city centre’s ‘other’ train station (yorkshireeveningpost.co.uk) – and the attractive displays inside the tower are enlivened with a soundscape of departure announcements and passing trains.

As far as I can discover, there are only two other surviving wagon hoists in Britain. 

One is easily viewed from Platform 8 of Huddersfield railway station.  Attached to the Grade II listed goods warehouse dating from 1885, this hoist is supported by cast-iron Doric columns and it seems that the lifting equipment remains.  An urban-explorer report dated 2015 shows the spacious empty interior but the photographer either couldn’t find or didn’t recognise the interest of the hoist:  Report – – LNWR/LYR Goods Warehouse, Huddersfield – April 2015 | Other Sites | 28DaysLater.co.uk.

The other, also listed Grade II, is at Goole in East Yorkshire:  Coal Wagon Hoist, Railway Dock © David Dixon :: Geograph Britain and Ireland.

There are archive images of other wagon-hoists, no longer in existence, at –

The only moving-image footage I can find to show a wagon-hoist in action is a twenty-second clip in a documentary about freight transport in Sheffield:  Sheffields railway in the 60`s – YouTube (start at 5:12).  This footage, apparently dated 1966, lacks a title or credits, and explains why, with hindsight, the well-intentioned modernisation of archaic operating practices didn’t stand the test of time. Railway goods sheds and stations aren’t given as much attention as passenger stations, civil engineering works and rolling stock, but they are amply covered in John Minnis and Simon Hickman’s The Railway Goods Shed and Warehouse in England (Historic England 2016), free to download at Goods Sheds 140pp.indd (historicengland.org.uk).

Leeds’ secret garden

Monk Bridge Viaduct, Leeds
Monk Bridge Viaduct, Leeds
Monk Bridge Viaduct, Leeds

After a day out in Manchester where we enjoyed the Castlefield Viaduct high-line garden, my friend Ann and I decided to take a day-trip to Leeds to look at the Monk Bridge Viaduct, which turns out to be a closely-guarded secret.

It’s remarkably difficult to find:  there seems to be no signage whatsoever, and street maps show where an abandoned railway crosses the River Aire but offer no indication how to approach the elevated former trackbed.

If we’d simply walked out of the station and turned left we’d have found it within a spacious housing development called The Junction.  But we’re from Sheffield.  How are we supposed to know?

The viaduct is worth seeking out, nevertheless, as a monument to the period when the new-fangled railways embellished their engineering with grand architectural decoration.

From 1834 onwards five separate railway companies converged on the flat land beside the River Aire as near as possible to the centre of Leeds, their approach lines criss-crossing and twisting in a cat’s-cradle over the river and the Leeds & Liverpool Canal.

The Midland Railway opened a terminus, Leeds Wellington Station, in 1846, while the other four companies shared a joint station, Leeds Central Station, in 1854 and built an east-west through line served by Leeds New Station in 1869 (renamed Leeds City in 1938).

In the 1960s British Railways concentrated all its passenger services in Leeds City (renamed simply Leeds) and subsequently Leeds Central was demolished and part of its viaduct approach replaced by Royal Mail House (1975 – reconstructed as West Central, 2003, and later West Point).

The surviving viaduct, including a stately bridge over the River Aire, has now become the spine of The Junction, a very smart residential development geared to people who work from home, and the former trackbed is ingeniously landscaped so that it doesn’t look like a corridor to carry railway lines.

Ann and I parked ourselves at a table in front of The Junc Shack, where a civilised queue of (presumably) residents and workers seemed content to wait for carefully prepared and courteously served food and drinks from Alfonso’s Cuban Shack, where the generously filled pastrami bagel proved to be a substitute for lunch.

On a fine day, within ten minutes’ walk of Leeds Station, The Junction is worth visiting. 

If you ask the Junc Shack crew nicely, they’ll show you how to access the splendid loos.

Brunel’s starting point

Paddington Station, London

It’s one thing to learn from the standard book about a historic building, but walking round it with the author provides a different level of understanding.

Steven Brindle’s Paddington Station: its history and architecture (English Heritage 2013) in its second edition represents the most comprehensive and up-to-date survey of one of Britain’s most important stations.

I took the opportunity to walk round the station with Steven as part of a group of Victorian Society members on a Saturday afternoon amid the hubbub of trains arriving and departing every few minutes, high-volume PA announcements, assistance trolleys conveying people up and down the platforms and noisy families taking selfies in front of the statue of Paddington Bear.

Now the second busiest station in the UK (after London Liverpool Street), Paddington Station remains a monument to the engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel (1806-1859) who was chosen to plan and build the Great Western Railway after winning the competition to design the Clifton Suspension Bridge and making himself popular with Bristol grandees for assisting in managing the chaos caused by the Reform Bill riots of 1831.

Steven made the station’s original layout clear by starting his tour halfway down Platform 1, next to Marcus Cornish’s statue of Paddington Bear. 

This was the side from which the first trains departed, and the buildings planned by Brunel and designed by Matthew Digby Wyatt (1820-1877) largely survive, including the Royal Waiting Room, now the first-class lounge.

Brunel ensured that the Great Western Railway was at the forefront of Victorian technology though some of his ideas were in advance of practicality:  the seven-foot broad gauge finally expired in 1892 and his atmospheric railway lasted less than a year.  Nevertheless, trains still run between Paddington and the South-West as they have since 1838, from under the magnificent glazed train-shed that Brunel and Wyatt completed in 1854. 

Three spans of wrought-iron arches cover the tracks, supported by columns that were originally cast iron, replaced by steel in 1922-24.  The transepts which break up the vista were thought to accommodate turntable tracks for shifting early rolling stock, but thorough recent research casts doubt on this idea.

The Great Western Railway was at once innovative and conservative, so when the removal of the broad-gauge tracks made it possible to increase the number of platforms it was accomplished without compromising Brunel and Wyatt’s train shed.

I’d never fully grasped how the separation of the original four departure and arrival platforms worked until I followed Steven round and learned that Brunel’s buildings on the northern arrival side were demolished in the early twentieth century.

The north side of the station has been repeatedly altered, first with the arrival of the Metropolitan Railway terminus, tucked in the north-west corner, in 1863, then the Span Four extension (1913-14), which respectfully follows the proportions of the 1854 station, and again when new buildings were added by the company architect, Percy Emerson Culverhouse (1871-1953), in the 1930s.

In the course of its history the station has extended from four platforms to seventeen including through platforms for the Underground and the Elizabeth Line.

Steven Brindle couldn’t show us the most remarkable of his discoveries at Paddington Station, the remaining span of Brunel’s first iron bridge, over the canal at Bishop’s Bridge.   The actual ironwork is in store in Fort Cumberland near Portsmouth.  The story is at Bishop’s Bridge – Wikipedia.

L T C Rolt relates that at an early meeting of the Great Western Railway directors, someone cast doubts on the practicality of driving a railway all the way from London to Bristol, and Brunel replied, “Why not make it longer, and have a steamboat go from Bristol to New York and call it the Great Western?”

You can take a train from Paddington to Bristol Temple Meads, passing the Wharncliffe Viaduct, the Maidenhead Bridge, Sonning Cutting, Swindon and Box Tunnel – each of them a pioneering work of genius – to visit Brunel’s surviving steamship, SS Great Britain, in the dry dock in which she was built.

He was a truly remarkable man who lived a remarkable life.

“The Pennsylvanian” – to Pittsburgh by rail

Pittsburgh, PA: Penn Station
Pittsburgh, PA: Penn Station

Rather than take a humdrum flight into Pittsburgh, I travelled by rail from Philadelphia in 2017 along what’s now called the Keystone Corridor.  It’s a much more meaningful experience.

The historic main line of the Pennsylvania Railroad from Philadelphia crosses the forbidding Allegheny Mountains, passing through formerly prosperous steel towns that, when they fell on hard times, were identified as part of the Rust Belt.

Altoona, the Pennsylvania Railroad’s railway town, is still an important centre bristling with the works and sidings of the PRR’s successor, the freight operator Norfolk & Southern, and also the location of the Railroaders’ Memorial Museum.

Five miles west of Altoona lies the Horseshoe Curve, opened in 1854, a 220° curve which is so spectacular it’s a tourist attraction.  The purpose-built observation park opened in 1879.  On the train, the attendant alerts passengers with a PA announcement. 

The Horseshoe Curve was part of a scheme to replace the Allegheny Portage Railroad, opened in 1834 to transport barges on the Pennsylvania Canal over the watershed.  Unlike British canal inclines, such as Anderton and Foxton, the vessels were lifted out of the water and conveyed by rail on flat cars:  Old Portage Railroad by George W. Storm – Allegheny Portage Railroad – Wikipedia.  Charles Dickens described riding the Portage Railroad in American Notes for General Circulation (1842):  Conquering the Alleghenies | Pennsylvania Center for the Book (psu.edu)

Johnstown has a powerful history – home of the Cambria Steel Company (founded 1852), the site of the notorious Johnstown Flood of 1889, a dam-failure which killed well over two thousand people, and the location of the Johnstown Inclined Plane of 1891, a funicular like Saltburn’s but big enough to carry a car.

Further on there are stops at Latrobe, birthplace of the banana split according to Wikipedia, and Greensburg, a coal town that seems to have reinvented itself more successfully than most, partly perhaps because it has a university campus.

Arrival in Pittsburgh is less than dignified:  the two daily arrivals and two corresponding departures run into an annex beside Daniel H Burman’s magnificent Penn Station (1898-1902) which is now an apartment block.

However, a five-minute taxi transfer took me to the Omni William Penn Hotel, where I was speedily installed in a spacious and comfortable room with a vast bed, a generous bathroom and a walk-in closet (wardrobe) which could itself almost have taken a single bed. 

The William Penn is an illustrious, civilised landmark in Pittsburgh, opened in 1916 by a consortium that included the much-disliked Henry Clay Frick, and host to a succession of US Presidents from Hoover onwards:  https://www.omnihotels.com/hotels/pittsburgh-william-penn

Barack Obama, apparently, was the first president to be barred from the top-floor presidential suite because his security people insist on occupying the floors above and below him. 

His successor appears never to have darkened the doorstep.  Perhaps he owns or leases some place else.

Foxton Inclined Plane

Foxton Inclined Plane, Grand Union Canal, Leicestershire

Sir Edward Leader Williams’ Anderton Boat Lift (1875) in Cheshire successfully enabled canal boats to move between the River Weaver and the Trent & Mersey Canal, a vertical distance of fifty feet.  Despite problems with maintenance it worked efficiently for over a century, and after a radical overhaul in 2000-02 it’s now likely to operate for another hundred years.

A completely different, less fortunate engineering solution to the same difficulty was tried in the Midlands, on the border between Leicestershire and Northamptonshire near Market Harborough.

The engineers who built the old Grand Union Canal at the beginning of the nineteenth century faced a similar situation at Foxton, where their main line climbed 75ft from a junction with a branch canal to Market Harborough up to the summit level.

The solution was a staircase of ten locks, opened in 1813, which took narrow boats forty-five minutes to travel.  At the other end of the summit pound, at Watford Gap, another flight of locks dropped 54ft 1in.

In 1894 the Grand Junction Canal company amalgamated with the old Grand Union and the Leicestershire & Northamptonshire canals to operate the trunk route between Leicestershire and London as a single entity.

It still seemed practical at the end of the nineteenth century to compete with the railways for bulk, non-urgent freight traffic, using broad barges, provided the bottlenecks at the narrow locks at Foxton and Watford were eliminated.

The Grand Junction engineer Gordon Cale Thomas devised and patented a steam-powered lift that drew tanks, called caissons, laterally up a ramp between the top and bottom of the old locks: Foxton Inclined Plane – Foxton Inclined Plane – Wikipedia.

This device, which opened in 1900, had numerous advantages:  each caisson could carry two wide barges between the two levels in twelve minutes and, whereas canal locks lose a lockful of water whenever a boat passes up or down, the lift lost hardly any water at all.

The disadvantages were that the winding engines had to be kept constantly in steam whether there was traffic or not, and there turned out to be insufficient traffic to justify the ongoing cost.

Perversely, the canal company chose to rebuild the Watford locks as narrow locks, simply moving the bottleneck further south and leaving the Foxton incline underused.  A boat lift at Watford would have speeded up traffic dramatically, and may have yielded better cost benefits.

Because the main carrier, Fellows Morton & Clayton, demanded twenty-four-hour working, Foxton Locks was rebuilt, also as narrow locks, in 1909 and the incline was mothballed after ten years.  It was used intermittently when the locks needed repair until it was scrapped in 1928.

Its site was abandoned for nearly half a century until it was scheduled as an ancient monument in 1973, and the Foxton Inclined Plane Trust was founded in 1980.

Nowadays the site of the ramp is cleared and the scale of this sophisticated piece of Victorian canal engineering is apparent to visitors.  The reconstructed boiler-house is a museum which explains the vanished incline and the Trust intends eventually to restore the lift.

It won’t happen any time soon, but the Trust is actively curating the site and maintaining public awareness of a fascinating corner of the canal network:  https://www.fipt.org.uk/copy-of-about-fipt.

Anderton Boat Lift

Anderton Boat Lift, Cheshire

In the early 1970s, the time when I learnt about industrial archaeology from the Arkwright Society based in Cromford, there was a sense of urgency about witnessing, if not safeguarding, relics of the Industrial Revolution that were deteriorating and going out of use.

The Arkwright Society had among its members Leslie Bradley (1902-2004), formerly headmaster of Derby School from 1942 to 1961, who led a succession of canal day-trips which were themselves an education.  Leslie knew his way around the canal system because he had, like Tom Rolt, converted a narrow boat to a leisure craft before many other people took to the idea.

In 1973 Leslie ran a trip including potentially a last chance to experience taking a boat through the Anderton Boat Lift.  This unique survivor was built in 1875, rebuilt in 1906-08, and was clearly nearing the end of its useful life.

It was built to provide a more efficient link between the Weaver Navigation which served the Cheshire salt beds and the Trent & Mersey Canal, which connected with the industrial heart of the Midlands and the waterways of northern England.

The Lift replaced the collection of chutes, cranes and inclined planes dating from the end of the eighteenth century that transhipped freight up and down the fifty-foot vertical distance between the two waterways.

It was designed by Sir Edward Leader Williams (1828-1901), the chief engineer of the North Staffordshire Railway which owned the Trent & Mersey Canal, as a development of the lifts designed by James Green (1781-1849) for the Grand Western Canal in Devon.  Sir Edward proposed an iron tower containing two caissons, side by side, to lift and lower floating narrow boats, powered by hydraulic rams assisted when necessary by a steam engine. 

The Weaver Navigation Act (1872) empowered the river trustees to construct the lift, which opened to canal traffic on July 26th 1875.  Boats gain access from the river at the base of the lift which stands on an island in the middle of the river, like Williams’ later Barton Swing Aqueduct (1893).  At the top of the structure an iron aqueduct leads vessels into the canal on its embankment.

The polluted canal water that powered the hydraulics repeatedly caused difficulties with the machinery over the following three decades.  The trustees were advised by their engineer Colonel John Arthur Saner (1864-1952) to install a system of electric motors and counterweights which would be cheaper and easier to maintain and had the advantage that the caissons could operate independently rather than in tandem.  However, the full 252-ton weight of the water-filled caissons was no longer cushioned by the rams, so Colonel Saner reinforced the structure with steel A-girders to support pulleys that led the wire ropes which bore the load.

The conversion from hydraulic to electric power took place within two years, 1906-08, and operated efficiently until the 1970s, despite increasing doubts about the effect of atmospheric pollution on the integrity of the structure.  A 1983 inspection revealed such severe corrosion that the Lift was closed immediately.

Fortunately, it had been listed as a Scheduled Monument in 1976, so there was no likelihood it would be dismantled, but it stood idle until an admirable £7,000,000 restoration programme brought it back to life in 2000-02.

The Lift is now once more hydraulic-powered using oil, and the redundant A-frames and pulleys remain to show how the structure looked for most of its working life.  The heavy counterweights were not replaced, and now form a maze in the grounds of the two-storey visitor centre.

Now the traffic is no longer salt but people – leisure boaters and day visitors. 

I’m glad to think that Leslie Bradley lived long enough to know of the restoration.  It was industrial-archaeology pioneers like him who helped to save for future generations a priceless legacy of mementos of British industrial genius.

Destination station

Schlesisches Tor U-bahn station, Berlin

The Schlesisches Tor station on Berlin’s U1 elevated railway is spectacular – much more than a place to catch a train.

It formed part of Berlin’s first overground electric rail service, built to the designs of the architects Hans Grisebach (1848-1904) and Georg Dinklage (1849-1926) by the construction company Siemens & Halske, pioneers of electric traction.  Heinrich Giesecke (1862-1937) was responsible for the architectural decoration which included elaborately carved stonework, wrought-ironwork and an onion-dome turret.

Its opulent historicist style gave it prestige, and the street-level facilities were generous – several shops, including a pastry shop, and a restaurant named Torkrug.

Named after a former entrance to the city, the Silesian Gate, it was opened in 1902.

It suffered a direct hit in an Allied air raid on March 11th-12th 1945, but services continued until the power supply failed, putting the entire network out of action on April 22nd.

For a time after the end of the War Schlesisches Tor became a terminus until the through service was restored in April 1947.  It was interrupted again, briefly during an uprising in 1953, and ultimately when the Berlin Wall divided the city in 1961.  The through service was eventually reopened in 1995.

Even before reunification the station was recognised as a historic monument.  The former restaurant was occupied by a retail store, the Kaufhaus am Tor (commonly shortened to Kato).  The name Kato was perpetuated by a club which took over the space after 1981.  From 2012 Kato was succeeded by a night-club, Bi Nuu.

The station was listed in 1980 and renovated for the International Building Exhibition in 1984 and the 750th anniversary of the city of Berlin in 1987.

A commemorative plaque honours Alfred Flatow (1869-1942), a Jewish gymnast who won three gold and one silver medals in the 1896 Olympic Games.  He and his colleagues were suspended by the national gymnastics governing body Deutsche Turnerschaft which regarded the Games as “unGerman”.  Alfred and his cousin Gustav (1875-1945), who himself won two gold medals in 1896, were among the founders of the Judische Turnerschaft in 1903.  Both perished in the Holocaust – Alfred at the Theresienstadt Concentration Camp and Gustav in the Theresienstadt Ghetto.

Both cousins are commemorated in the naming of the Flatow-Sporthalle nearby, the renaming of the Reichssportsfeld Strasse [street of the National Sports Complex] as Flatowallee [Flatow Boulevard].  They are also illustrated on one of a set of four stamps issued by Deutsche Post to celebrate the centenary of the 1896 Olympic Games.