More Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  Thereafter the ladies fell into the semi-slumber that is so often an element of long-distance travel. I was saved from a similar fate by the other occupant of an inside seat, who, up to that point had been silent.

  “Forgive me, sir,” he said, “I feared to interrupt your conversation with the ladies, but I could not help overhearing your reference to that old poem. May I enquire whether you have an interest in the legends and history of the north?”

  I answered that I did, and that I hoped to further my knowledge during my stay thereabouts.

  “It delights me to hear so, sir,” he continued. “So few of your compatriots, by which I mean southern gentlemen, can believe that anything save a howling waste exists outside the Home Counties. And yet, here, in the true England, we have quite as much beauty, in our way, as the South, quite as much history, of a much more antique variety, quite as much culture, and, if you will forgive me for saying so, rather more in the way of science and industry. It is a mere accident of history that made London the capital of the united country, and not York, or even Bamburgh. If the Danes had landed first in Thanet, rather than Lindisfarne, we should hear a very different story.”

  “We could say that of many events, sir. If King Henry the Fifth had not died so young, the crowns of England and France would have been united this day, and the lamentable revolution across the Channel given no cause. If Catherine of Aragon had given birth to a son who lived, we should have all been Papists. If Charles the First had been a wiser man, we might still suffer under an absolute monarchy.”

  “I take your point, sir, but, consider. Is this country of ours called England, or Saxonland? Where was Wessex when the borders of Northumbria ran from the Tay to the Trent? Where was the learning of the South when Caedmon sang, and Bede wrote?”

  Thus, we fell into conversation about the ancient history of the North Country, and its attendant legends, such as the Laidly Worm, the Cauld Lad and others, all of which promised to have some bearing on my thesis. This saw us right through Darlington and lasted us until all conversation was cut short by the awesome sight of Durham Cathedral, looming up from its perch above the rushing river Wear.

  My interlocutor beamed all over his face when he saw the expression on mine.

  “Strangers always look like that the first time they see the peninsula. Now tell me, has not the North sights to match anything in the South?”

  I was fain to repeat the words of Doctor Johnson upon another great cathedral, and own that I had never seen anything either so awful, nor so artificial.

  This seemed to satisfy him, for he immediately grew bashful, and appeared to regret his perhaps over-vehement praise of his home country.

  “Of course, you are seeing it at its best today, on a fine summer’s afternoon with the shadows lengthening to throw everything into a sharper perspective. It is not at all the same on a black, winter’s morning, with the sky a leaden grey, the snow knee-high in the streets and the river frozen from side to side, but I dare say you do not intend to stay to witness such a sight.”

  This was all merely apotropaic, of course, and it behoved me to assure him of my perfect belief in the superiority of his beloved cathedral to every other on the planet, after which we became fast friends, or as near friends as might be expected of a chance meeting on a public coach. His name was Thompson, and he was the owner of a coal mine, no less. This might be looked down upon by some, as trade, but such a stain tends to be washed away by the detergent powers of money. Certainly, nobody thinks any the less of the Russells or the Liddells, to say nothing of the Nevilles and the Bowes’s for the source of their fortunes.

  It turned out that he was acquainted with Mr. Potts, Lizzie’s old suitor, and, though perfectly uneducated himself, was, as had already been clearly shown, deeply interested, and profoundly knowledgeable, in the history of the old kingdom of Northumbria. Our conversation would have passed the time perfectly agreeably until we reached our destination, had the coach not come to an abrupt stop with a lurch so unexpected that the ladies were thrown almost onto the floor.

  We were still occupied with adjusting our persons when the driver’s head appeared at the door.

  “Sorry, gents, ladies,” he said. “We’ll be going no further the day, I doubt. One of them new-fangled springs has gone again, and took the front axle with it. There’s a village a mile or two ahead, Birtley, it’s called, and Jem’s taken one of the horses to fetch the blacksmith to see if he can fix it. It’ll tak him a canny while, and I doubt we’ll be on the road again afore the morn. You can stop here if you like, but you might be best walking to the village and seeing if you can put up there for the night or hire a trap to take you on.”

  There we were indeed in a pickle. Stranded in completely unknown territory, with night soon to be upon us.

  Chapter Sixteen:Future Travel in the North

  By the waters of Birtley I should have sat down and wept, had there been any sign of waters, or, indeed, of Birtley. Our plight would have been sorry indeed, had it not been for my new acquaintance.

  I was still staring around aimlessly – and just as hopelessly- when Mr. Thompson approached me.

  “Your pardon, Mr. Bennet,” he said, “but am I right in assuming that you would rather not trust the ladies to the dubious comforts of Birtley village, where, whatever our driver may say, I assure you, you will find neither chaise to convey you further nor any lodging remotely suitable for a gentleman and his family?”

  “I am reluctant indeed,” I replied, “but I do not see what else we may do.”

  “I have reasons of my own for being in Newcastle tonight,” he continued, “and intend to make my way there by other means available to me, means, which, if you will trust me, I should be happy to extend to you and your party.”

  “That is very kind of you, sir, but perhaps you could be more specific as to these ‘means’, which I find a rather mysterious word to use when describing a mode of transport?”

  “I intend no mystery, sir, but it is a mode with which I am sure you will not be familiar, and which you might, indeed, find somewhat mysterious.”

  “You intrigue me even more, Mr. Thompson. Perhaps you had better explain yourself. But to enable you to do so to all concerned, permit me to introduce you to my family.”

  The necessary introductions having been effected, our would-be benefactor continued.

  “As it happens, the colliery of which I am proprietor is but a step from here, just the other side of yon hill. If you will permit me, and be so good as to look after my bags in my absence, I will take that step, and send a cart back to convey yourselves and all the baggage. Once there, I have private means of transport to our destination which I should be honoured to share with you, and which I guarantee will get you to Newcastle, or at least as far as the Quayside there, sooner than any other means you may contrive.”

  Thinking back to what we had so far seen in the North, I thought I might know what he was talking about.

  “Is it a canal?” I asked. “Do I gather you have a canal to take the coals from your mine to Newcastle?”

  “No, sir, it is not a canal,” he replied. “The country hereabouts is quite unsuited to canals. It is faster and more convenient than any canal. It is what is sometimes called hereabouts a ‘Newcastle Road’, although others term it a ‘railway’.”

  “It is a term with which I am not familiar, sir.”

  “You do not surprise me, sir, for it is only here, in the heartland of the True North, the centre of all the greatest innovations to industry in our time, in eastern County Durham, and southern Northumberland, that you will find them. But they will spread, sir, they will spread, when their advantages become common knowledge. But, if you will excuse me, I will go and make the necessary arrangements.”

  So saying, he tipped his hat and set off along a lane to our left, and was soon out of sight.

  After half an hour’s wait, and long before any work had commenced on the coach, we spied a cart, drawn by two stubby p
onies, coming along that same lane. This proved to be our promised transport, although it took some little while to understand the accent of the driver.

  “Are you sure this is wise, Mr. Bennet?” asked Mrs. Bennet at this juncture. “We only met this person a few minutes ago and you are proposing to place us entirely at his disposal.”

  “I can see no alternative, my dear,” I replied, “save sitting in the coach, perhaps all night, while parts are fetched from Newcastle. Are you eager to spend the night in such a way? I am not, and intend to do whatever I can to avoid such a fate. I will not put the girls in an invidious position by enlisting their opinions in support, and I take all blame, if there be any, upon myself for making this decision, which is mine, as head of the household, to make.”

  Mrs. Bennet was clearly not happy, but it was equally clear that she really had nothing to say against this argument. She insisted on saying that nothing at great length, but that was only to be expected, and I made no effort to deny her the pleasure while the cart was loading. We all then clambered aboard and set off on our next, reluctant, adventure.

  The sight of our new acquaintance’s coal mine was indeed a revelation – in fact, rather reminiscent of the Book of Revelations.

  I will not attempt to describe what Mr. Thompson called the ‘pithead’ with its great hole into which men were lowered in a sort of iron cage suspended from a wheel turned by one of the new steam engines. This contrivance itself had a certain fascination, with its whirring wheels and clicking levers like a gigantic clock, the whole accompanied by a rhythmic, ‘chuff, chuff’ noise and clouds of black smoke and white steam.

  The great pile of coal next to it, won from seams far underground, was quite large enough to form a second hill even higher than the one we had just crossed, and men were laboring diligently at it, shovelling the mineral onto great, high sided iron carts with strange, flanged wheels.

  These were singular enough in themselves, but it was what they were resting upon that was strangest of all, for they did not run upon the earth, or on anything resembling a normal road, but upon iron rails, laid upon the earth, and joined at intervals by great wooden beams.

  “So, you have seen my railway,” said Mr. Thompson after greeting us and offering us tea, served in Mr. Wedgwood’s best china. “That is what will take us to the Water of Tyne, where a boat will be waiting to ferry you ‘ower that wide river tae your hinney’, as the old song says. But have no fear, ladies for your gowns and spencers. You shall not ride in one of the chaldrons, perched on top of the coals. I have my own carriage I keep for such a purpose, and I warrant it will surprise you with its ease and comfort.”

  I dare say we all had our own opinions on that point, but if the ladies shared mine, we were all sadly disappointed when we were ushered to a truly luxurious conveyance, to all intents and purposes a gentleman’s best carriage, with soft seats and padded walls and carpeted floor, finest pier-glass in the windows, and more comforts than I ever remember to have seen before in such a machine, perched on the same iron rails that led to the pithead, but at the opposite end of the colliery, where the ground sloped gently away to the northward.

  The inside was unusual, however, in that the seats did not face each other, but all faced forward, where a large window occupied most of the front of the coach.

  “I had it built this way,” said Mr. Thompson, “so that everyone can see the view of where we are going. I find it more convenient, and more entertaining that way, and I hope you will find the same.”

  The unusual seating and the large window certainly enabled us to see the absence of the one thing wanting for us to start our journey.

  Mrs. Bennet looked affronted, and the girls began to giggle in each others’ ears.

  “But where are the horses?” I asked.

  Our host beamed all over his face. “You are not the first person to ask that,” he said, “although such things are not uncommon in these parts, for those whose business it is to know about them. Horses have no place in a business like mine, sir. Temperamental, unreliable brutes, dear to buy and dearer to feed, tiring in an hour and falling ill every other week. No, sir, there are no horses. My railways – and I have two, sir, one to the Tyne and one to the Wear, so that I may ship from either Newcastle or Sunderland as tide and price require – run on something more constant, more reliable and more powerful than any beast, and what is more, it is free, or practically so.”

  “You cannot mean that you have them pulled by your labourers, surely?” I exclaimed for I did not relish the thought of being drawn along like some oriental sultan on parade, nor the time that such a performance would take.

  “Just wait, sir, and keep your eyes open, and you shall see,” was Mr. Thompson’s reply, as he leaned out of the window and loosed a stream of barely comprehensible argot at the driver, perched on top with nothing to hang onto save the brakes, and a sort of tiller, for the front wheels.

  I thought I caught something on the lines of -

  “Reet y’are, Jack, lerrer gan,” but was still pondering on the rest when workmen on each side of the coach removed the chocks which had been holding it motionless, and the driver released the brake.

  We all held our breath, while nothing happened. I opened my mouth to make a comment, when, with a barely perceptible jerk, and no more noise than a gentle rumbling of the wheels, we began to move.

  “You see, sir,” triumphed our host, “here we are, on our way, propelled by the force of gravity alone, a force always instantly on command, and completely free.”

  I could not help feeling a little taken in that I had not thought of this before.

  “I think I see what you mean, sir,” I replied, with perhaps less grace than might have been. “Your mine head is situated on higher ground than your destination, and you propose to let us merely roll downhill until we get there. I take it you have constructed your rail track so that it follows the contours of the land, going ever downwards towards the river. The canal engineers do something similar, only keeping theirs as level as may be, so that the water will not drain out. But such a scheme will not do for everywhere. You must be particularly blessed in your situation to be able to make it work. And how do you get your cars back up again? They may be empty when they return, but surely the labour and expense must be prodigious?”

  “Not at all, sir, although I admit that to be the case for such a route as you propose. But such a route would be impractical in terms both of expense and of time, for, like any other business, in the coal trade, time is money. I make no excuse for using that word, for all the world will be using it soon.

  No, sir, we do not meander about the countryside seeking the downhill path. We go directly to our destination by the shortest route. Any hills in the way, we negotiate by the same process we use to return our cars to the pit. Wait awhile, and you will see it in action. But for now, sit back and enjoy the journey. You will not have had such another, I dare say.”

  So we did just that, since it seemed there was no alternative. I cannot describe how odd it felt to be rushing almost silently through the countryside with no visible means of propulsion. At first we went little faster than a man would walk, but soon the slope steepened and the speed increased until we seemed to be hurtling headlong.

  I must have shown my concern on my face, for Mr. Thompson announced,

  “You need have no fear that we shall come off the rails, ladies. That is what the flanges on the wheels are for. They prevent just that, and are very effective. Accidents of that nature never happen on my line. Well, almost never, but you need not be concerned, I do assure you. I am convinced of the sobriety of our driver, and have instructed him to take the corners carefully.”

  I fear this announcement fell short of the desired effect, especially as our speed now began to increase to an alarming extent.

  “Do you always go as fast as this?” I enquired.

  “Why, sir, this is not half the speed we have attained. We are barely going faster than a coach and horse
s. But, never fear, I have told Jack to take it slowly, and in any case we shall soon see another face of things.”

  Even as he spoke, we could feel the coach slowing down, and very soon it came to a full stop, at the foot of a steep hill.

  The driver immediately leapt down from his box, took hold of a stout rope which hung by a hook from a framework by the side of the rails, and attached it to an iron loop at the front of the coach. He then heaved upon a lever fixed next to the framework, to which a rope of rather more reasonable porportions was attached, and immediately leapt back upon his seat.

  In the distance, we heard a shrill noise, something between a whistle and a hoot, and very shortly afterwards we could see the rope begin to tighten, and the coach start to move forwards again, but uphill this time. The whole process cannot have taken two minutes.

  Very soon we were bowling along at a very fair rate, thank you very much, quite enough for me, though not quite as headlong as our downhill progress, and in a few minutes we could see the tall chimney belching smoke on the hilltop.

  “Do you see?” asked Mr. Thompson. “A winding engine, just like the one that raises and lowers from the pit, on every hilltop, to haul the chaldrons up before they resume their downhill journey. The advantages must be obvious to all. We have not been twenty minutes on our journey, and already we are halfway to our destination. In wagons it would take all day.”

  “But is there not a great deal of time lost, attaching your cars to the ropes every time they reach a hill?” I enquired. “And is the coal for the engines not a great expense?”

  “You saw how long it takes. It takes a little longer for the lad to run back down with the hook when we are uncoupled at the top, so that it will be ready for the next comer, but it does not signify. And as for the coal, it costs us nothing, or next to nothing for we dig it out of the ground. It would cost even less were we in the fortunate position of our friends across the water, where the coal practically sticks out of the ground, but our Durham coal is buried deep underground, and the better quality for it, being less tainted with all the dross that you find in surface coal. Why, Northumberland coal is little better than the stuff every labourer picks up off the sea shore, all sparks and flaring lights, and none of the true, red heat you get from Durham coal. And, bless you, sir, do you think we only send one wagon down at a time? Why, we send forty or fifty at a time, in what we call a ‘train’, all attached one behind the other, so that the coal arrives at the staithes by the shipload. When you have seen one of those rolling past you at twenty miles an hour or more, you will have seen something worth seeing, believe you me. No, you may keep your Northumberland coal. Durham is best, I assure you.”