Locke’s impact on Parliament was limited: when he argued for estimates to be made transparent he spoke to an almost empty House. He had hoped, as a practical man, to convince Parliament that in its financial dealings and public works it should apply the same strict rules that he would have applied when engineering a railway. He failed. The complex bureaucracy of departments such as the Admiralty was not easily swayed and made to change their ways. He did, however, at least try to raise some important issues, even if he achieved little. It is perhaps worth noting that looking through The Times for the years in which he was a Member of Parliament, his name receives few mentions other than to record his voting: none of his speeches were ever recorded at length. It is as well that his reputation rests on his work as an engineer and not on his role as legislator.
He did, however, as a Member have some prestige and influence, and his old hometown of Barnsley hoped to persuade him to use it on their behalf. They were hoping that when the next Parliamentary reforms took place they would be made into an independent borough and gain a Member of Parliament for the first time. Locke replied to their request in February 1859. He was not very encouraging. ‘I feel some difficulty in knowing what the Reform Bill is to be’, he wrote, ‘and I am told the Bill is not yet settled by the Government.’ It appears that they had asked Lord Palmerston to act on their behalf, but he seemed to be more interested in Doncaster. Locke agreed that they had a good case, but ended his letter: ‘the initiative however must be taken by yourselves.’ Barnsley finally became a municipal borough in 1869.
Chapter Fifteen
THE FINAL YEARS
In order to be closer to the House of Commons, Locke had moved to 23 Lowndes Square, just south of St James’s Park, London and close to the offices he had opened with Errington. Unfortunately, the house no longer exists, the site now being occupied by a block of flats but still retaining its communal garden that runs the length of the Square. It was an elegant address, a large house with a full complement of servants and certainly very suitable for a successful engineer and politician. He lived here with Phoebe, and their adopted daughter, now officially known as Minna Locke. A niece of Phoebe’s, Gertrude Lawrence, came to live with them to keep Minna company and the two girls attended a day school in nearby South Kensington. Phoebe, at this time, was suffering from some form of paralysis according to Alfred Austin, though he gives no further details, but it seems that she was bedridden for some years and not expected to live into old age, though she was to prove rather more resilient than everyone expected. The household was completed by two of Phoebe’s relations: her elder sister Sarah McCreedy and a cousin, Eliza Murphy. Presumably they were a great help in caring for the invalid during Locke’s absences and there were many of them, for his life was as busy as ever.
As he turned 50, Locke began to turn down many of the jobs he was offered, and although he continued to act as adviser to many companies, the never-ending travels of the Chief Engineer in charge of construction were largely behind him. However, he did have one major scheme that had been many years in the planning, and it took him back to the south of England. Portsmouth had never been really adequately served by its rail links, given its importance as one of the country’s most vital naval bases. The original approach from the London & Southampton Railway had been via a branch line from Bishopstoke, and there was an even less direct connection via Chichester to the London, Brighton & South Coast Railway. Now the plan was for a through route to Waterloo, the Portsmouth Direct. The line was opposed by both the London & South Western and the London, Brighton & South Coast railways but Parliament took the view that a route that reduced the journey between two such important destinations by 20 miles was in the public interest. It was authorised in 1853 and the job of building went, inevitably, to Locke and Brassey.
The biggest problem he faced was the crossing of the South Downs, an unavoidable obstacle, running right across any possible line. He chose to tunnel through at the village of Buriton, just south of Petersfield. It was a major undertaking that involved the construction of a long, deep cutting on the southern approach. From the northern end of the tunnel, there was a 1 in 80 descent to Havant. The opening of the line was slightly delayed by continuing niggling arguments with the London, Brighton & South Coast over running rights, but it was finally opened in 1859. There would be further extensions at a later date, but it was generally agreed that the job had been done well, and at the official opening both engineers and contractor were praised for their efficiency.
Given Locke’s continued heavy workload as an engineer, combined with the time spent at Westminster, it is surprising that he found any leisure time at all. He was, however, under no financial restraints as he was far more than merely comfortably off. He had acquired shooting rights on a grouse moor in the Southern Uplands region of Scotland and would often, it seems, try and persuade his colleague, and now good friend, Thomas Brassey to join him. Devey, who had often been with the two of them on these expeditions, gives an amusing account of their very different attitudes to taking time off:
‘Why don’t you do as I do, Brassey?’ he used to say. ‘Look at me! I come down here to Moffat, and here I remain for six or seven weeks, and I won’t have anything to say to your railways. I ask you to come and stay with me. You come on Monday, and you go away on Wednesday, having tried very hard to get away on Tuesday night, and having spent the whole of Tuesday morning in writing letters; and you know very well that there is not one of them that required writing at all.’ ‘Well, well, my dear Mr. Locke, I won’t write any more letters. But, then, I have my own moor at Roehalion.’ Then came more banter:- how Mr. Brassey never went near his moor;-had he ever been there at all?-then it must have been with the intention of running a railway over it.
The story is confirmed by Brassey’s son, who described how whenever his father went out on the moor he took a bag of writing materials and letters to answer and, while others demolished the local bird population, he would make himself comfortable in the shelter of a stone wall and get on with his correspondence. Locke and Brassey were not only good friends but also close neighbours in London. Nor was Brassey the only one to join Locke on these shooting expeditions. Robert Stephenson was an occasional visitor, but was more inclined to wander off to study local geology. Locke’s nephew, Alfred Austin, was equally unenthusiastic and confessed to preferring scenery to shooting:
The music of the mountain streams, the colour of the glowing heather, the undulations and ravines in the hills, the floating clouds and their skimming shadows on the bracken, these it was that occupied my observation more than the flushing by the dogs of a covey of young grouse or the sudden flutter of an old blackcock, swiftly winging its way down wind.
He sneaked off to write his poetry, but Locke seems not to have minded, as he had always had faith in the young man’s ability. Earlier in his life he had given Austin the chance of a partnership in a law firm, but when the young man declined the offer, he simply told him he had probably made the right choice. And when he saw him writing instead of shooting, he merely remarked that he expected ‘great things’ from him. Austin did at least show an interest in some aspects of his uncle’s hobby, writing in some detail about Locke’s excitement at being able to replace his old muzzle-loaded gun with a new breech-loading rifle. Locke was, according to Devey, a skilled and patient stalker of his game, but at the end of the day it was back to the hotel at Moffat, where he would enjoy a hearty meal and several tots of the malt. He would then burst into song, ‘with his usual disregard of rhythm’ but with ‘fervour and sweetness of voice.’
The only other leisure activity we hear of is his love of literature. We know that when he was convalescing after his broken leg, he read novels, but he seems to have preferred poetry for his everyday reading, which may help to explain his willingness to help young Austin further his career. In the course of a discussion of how France should be treated, he quoted lines from Byron’s Ode written at the time of the Napoleonic wars:
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Oh! Shame to thee, land of the Gaul,
Oh! Shame to thy children and thee!
One of the guests expressed some surprise at his remembering poems, and Locke announced that he always carried a copy of Byron with him, and then went on to show his latest reading matter, a translation of Dante. He enthused over Byron’s lines ‘Splendid’ he said ‘they’re magnificent and not more magnificent than true.’ The man who had done so much to move France into the railway age and had been honoured for his work had clearly lost his enthusiasm for that country.
Robert Stephenson had, in his latter years, like Locke, preferred to limit himself to consultancy work, of which there was more than enough to keep him busy. His form of escape was to take to his yacht: he was to have two vessels, both named Titania and both built by John Scott Russell, the builder of Brunel’s massive ship, the Great Eastern. The first vessel, built in 1850, caught fire and was replaced by the second in 1853. Stephenson referred to it as his ‘house with no knocker’, as it was the one place he could go where he would not be visited by others wanting his professional advice. His favourite voyage was to Egypt, and on Christmas Day 1858, he dined in Cairo with his old friend Isambard Brunel. Brunel, it seems, had little time for any form of leisure in his hyperactive life, and the only reason that he was able to join Stephenson was that his doctor had ordered him abroad for a rest and told him to go somewhere warm and sunny for the winter. It was to be their last Christmas together: both men were suffering from nephritis, the kidney disease that can be successfully treated these days, but for which there was no remedy in the nineteenth century. Ill health had forced Stephenson to retire from the Presidency of the Institution of Civil Engineers in 1858, and Locke who had been Vice President took over the position. He must have been well aware that the two great engineers, who he counted as friends were ill, but even so their deaths came as a sad blow.
Brunel, in particular, had been very seriously ill. When the last of his great bridges across the Tamar was completed, there was a grand opening ceremony in May 1859 attended by Prince Albert. But Brunel was too frail to take part in the official ceremony: he was carried across the span on a special platform truck, drawn by one of Gooch’s fine broad gauge engines. It was his last visit. He had one other grand venture at that time: what was then the largest steamship ever built, the Great Eastern. Its launch had been fraught with difficulty but Brunel was hoping for better news from the maiden voyage: instead all he received was tidings of a disastrous explosion on board. The ship survived the blast, but Brunel’s failing strength gave way at the news. He died on 15 September 1859.
That same month, Stephenson was on his yacht, and was himself now seriously ill. After a desperate voyage home, he got back to London only to hear the news that his great friend had just died. Stephenson himself was to follow shortly afterwards, dying in his London home on 12 October. This was an even sadder blow to Locke. The two men had been so close in their early years, working together on the Liverpool & Manchester and, although there had been a rift between them over the Grand Junction, that wound had been healed when Locke rallied to Stephenson’s support after the Dee bridge collapse.
Locke was one of the pallbearers at Stephenson’s funeral at Westminster Abbey and shortly afterwards he spoke about his two great contemporaries at a meeting of the Civil Engineers. He praised both men for their achievements, starting with a tribute to Brunel and his contribution to railway engineering and ship building. But it was when he came to speak of Stephenson that the address became altogether more personal and emotional: ‘Robert Stephenson was the friend of my youth, the companion of my ripening years, a competitor in the race of life: and he was as generous as a competitor as he was firm and faithful as a friend.’
He concluded his speech with comments that were as applicable to himself as to the two friends he was mourning:
It is not my intention at this time to give even an outline of the works achieved by our departed friends. Their lives and labours, however, are before us; and it will be our own fault if we fail to draw from them useful lessons for our own guidance. Man is not perfect, and it is not to be expected that he should always be successful; and, as in the midst of success we sometime learn great truths before unknown to us, so also we often discover in failure the causes that frustrate our best directed efforts. Our two friends may probably form no exception to the general rule; but, judging by the position they had each secured, and by the universal respect and sympathy which the public has manifested for their loss, and remembering the brilliant ingenuity of argument, as well as the more homely appeals to their own long experience, often heard in this hall, we are well assured that they have not laboured in vain.
Locke, however, seemed to be in rude good health. He divided his time between caring for Phoebe, who by now was unable to travel any great distances and was confined to a wheelchair, and shooting expeditions in Scotland. She particularly enjoyed staying at Oatlands Park in Weybridge. This was a mansion built on the site of the former Oatlands Palace, which had recently been converted into a hotel. Apparently, one of her favourite spots was the grotto created there by a former owner, the Duke of Newcastle, and her husband often took her out for trips along the Thames towpath. They made one of these happy excursions in September 1860 but, according to Devey, Phoebe was well aware that he was missing his excursion up to the moors of Scotland. Like Stephenson on his yacht, it was here that Locke could get away from the office and the continuing demands on his time. So he set off for Moffat in good spirits.
On 16 Sunday he seemed in perfect health, and spent the evening in conversation with his friends. William Locke was with him at the time, and when Joseph failed to appear for his usual hearty breakfast, he went up to his room to enquire if he was well. He was reassured and told to go out shooting as usual: ‘bring home a good bag, and you will find me downstairs and all right, when you come home to dinner.’ But he was not all right, the local doctor was called and his friends fearing that the situation was grave sent a telegram to London summoning his regular doctor. His services were not needed. Locke spent the night in extreme pain, according to reports, in his bowels. He died the following morning. The cause of death was given as Iliac Passion, now known as ileus, a blockage of the intestine. Given the speed with which he deteriorated, the likeliest explanations are either ischemic colitis, a blood clot in the artery supplying the gut, or a tumour.
Locke’s body was sent by train back to London, following the route which he himself had engineered over the wild countryside of the Lowlands and across Shap Fell. A few days later he was buried, at Phoebe’s wish, at Kensal Green cemetery, next to her father John McCreery and not far from Brunel’s grave. Appropriately, the graves of these two great engineers were close to the lines with which their names were chiefly associated, with the Great Western to one side of the cemetery and the London & North Western on the other. Two years after his death an imposing slab of marble from Aberdeen was placed on his grave, with an inscription that read that it had been ‘Erected by his pupils in token of their esteem and affectionate regard.’
John Errington and John Swift were the executors of the will, who each received £500 and there were bequests of £2,000 each to his brothers and sisters, £1,000 each to nephews and nieces, £2,000 each to Sarah McCreery and Eliza Murphy, who had shared his home, and £1,000 to his doctor. The remainder of the estate went to Phoebe and would pass on her death to Minna, their adopted daughter. And it was a considerable estate. Locke had been very successful in his career and when he had made money he had invested it well. Various estimates have been given of just how much he left, but it seems that it was not less than £350,000. In terms of purchasing power that is equivalent to some £30 million at today’s values.
Phoebe arranged to make sure that Locke was not forgotten in Barnsley, which he always regarded as his home town, with a number of important bequests. She purchased seventeen acres of land from the Duke of Leeds to create a park for the enjoyment of all t
he citizens, and Locke Park remains a vital and much loved green space in the town. Barnsley Grammar School received £3,000 for the foundation of Locke scholarships, and although he was not himself a Catholic she gave £1,000 to the local Catholic school and smaller donations to other nonconformist schools.
Statues had been erected in London to both Brunel and Stephenson and Phoebe had the backing of the Institution of Civil Engineers for the erection of a statue to the third of the triumvirate of railway engineers. The Institution employed Baron Carlo Marochetti, an Italian sculptor who was brought up and trained in Paris. Application was made for the statue to be erected in the gardens of St Margaret’s, Westminster. This needed the approval of Parliament. They could hardly object to the statue on aesthetic grounds as Marochetti’s equestrian statue of Richard I had pride of place in front of the Palace of Westminster. It is possible they thought Locke undeserving, but it is rather more likely that his refusal to toe the party line had made him enemies in Parliament, but whatever the reason, the request was refused. Instead the statue was set up in Locke Gardens in Barnsley, where it still stands today. The statue was formally unveiled by Lord Alfred Paget in January 1866 in a ceremony attended by many of his old friends and associates and the citizens of Barnsley made sure that it literally went off with a bang. The local Corps of Volunteers turned up in force, complete with cannon to fire salvos all round the park. The main speech was delivered by John Fowler, the new President of the Institution of Civil Engineers, who linked Locke with Brunel and Stephenson, declaring that their days were ‘the days of giants’. If Phoebe was disappointed that her husband was not remembered in London, she at least had the satisfaction of seeing the respect in which he was held in the town where he grew up. She was to die at the end of that year, and was buried next to her husband. In her will she requested that the portrait of her husband painted by Sir Francis Grant should be bequeathed to the Institution of Civil Engineers where it now hangs in a prominent position.
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