When the Circle was Steam Operated - A footplate ride 1893
Aug 25, 2019 15:24:38 GMT
Colin D, Chris M, and 1 more like this
Post by Hutch on Aug 25, 2019 15:24:38 GMT
An interesting first-hand account of a steam footplate ride on the Inner Circle in 1893 and long out of copyright and transcribed by myself.
In the course of an interesting series of articles entitled “The Romance of Modern London”, which was included in “The English Illustrated Magazine” (published by Edward Arnold) 50 years ago, was the following vivid description of a footplate ride on the Inner Circle, in the days before electric traction. We reproduce this from the issue of August 1893, together with the original illustrations drawn by Fred T. Jane. The article was described as “Written and illustrated by our Artist-Commissioner.”
Editor: Railway Magazine, Vol. 90, No. 551, pp. 133-137+150 (May-June 1944)
When the Circle was Steam Operated
By the courtesy of Mr. Powell, Manager of the District Railway 1, I was provided with an “engine-pass” for the “Inner Circle”; and on a bright June morning I made my way to St. James’s Park Station. There I met Chief-Inspector Exall, who was detailed to accompany me generally. The train selected was a “down” one. “Down”, by the way, signifies up to the Mansion House; the explanation of this apparent paradox being that the northern part of the “Circle” was opened first. In those the line was only some 3½ miles long, and yet cost over a million pounds to construct.
In a short time our train rushed into the station, and a moment later we had boarded the engine. I was accommodated with a position near the left-hand tank, whence I could get an uninterrupted view ahead; but it had its drawbacks as the water in that tank was hot. No time is wasted at stations on the Underground, and a minute later the train was off – off into a black wall ahead with the shrieking of ten thousand demons rising above the thunder of the wheels. The sensation altogether was much like the inhalation of gas preparatory to having a tooth drawn. I would have waited just a minute or so longer. Visions of accidents, collisions, and crumbling tunnels floated through my mind; a fierce wind took away my breath, and innumerable black filled my eyes. I crouched low and held on like grim death to a little rail near me. Driver, stoker, inspector and engine – all vanished. Before and behind and on either side was blackness, heavy, dense, and impenetrable.
Westminster Bridge, Charing Cross, and the Temple were passed before I could do or think of anything beyond holding on to that rolling, rushing engine; then finding that I was still alive and sound, I began to look about me. Inspector Exall put his head to my ear and shouted something at the top of his voice, but I could only catch the word “Blackfriars”. I looked ahead. Far off in the distance was a small square-shaped hole, seemingly high up in the air with four silver threads palpitating like gossamers in the morning breeze. Larger and larger grew the hole, the threads became rails, and the hole a station; Blackfriars, with rays of golden sunlight piercing through the gloom.
Off again, a fierce light now trailing out behind us from the open furnace door, lighting up the fireman as he shovelled more coal on to the furnace, throwing great shadows into the air, and revealing overhead a low creamy roof with black lines upon it that seemed to chase and follow us. Ever and anon the guard’s face could be dimly seen at his window, more like a ghost than a man; while in the glass of the look-out holes were reflected the forms of engine-men, like spirits of the black pit into which we were plunging. Then again we would seem to stop, and to fall down, down, down, with always the wild shrieking surge and ceaseless clatter of iron wheels.
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1 Alfred Powell was Manager of the Metropolitan District Railway Company from 1885 to 1902, when he retired by reason of ill-health
In the course of an interesting series of articles entitled “The Romance of Modern London”, which was included in “The English Illustrated Magazine” (published by Edward Arnold) 50 years ago, was the following vivid description of a footplate ride on the Inner Circle, in the days before electric traction. We reproduce this from the issue of August 1893, together with the original illustrations drawn by Fred T. Jane. The article was described as “Written and illustrated by our Artist-Commissioner.”
Editor: Railway Magazine, Vol. 90, No. 551, pp. 133-137+150 (May-June 1944)
When the Circle was Steam Operated
By the courtesy of Mr. Powell, Manager of the District Railway 1, I was provided with an “engine-pass” for the “Inner Circle”; and on a bright June morning I made my way to St. James’s Park Station. There I met Chief-Inspector Exall, who was detailed to accompany me generally. The train selected was a “down” one. “Down”, by the way, signifies up to the Mansion House; the explanation of this apparent paradox being that the northern part of the “Circle” was opened first. In those the line was only some 3½ miles long, and yet cost over a million pounds to construct.
In a short time our train rushed into the station, and a moment later we had boarded the engine. I was accommodated with a position near the left-hand tank, whence I could get an uninterrupted view ahead; but it had its drawbacks as the water in that tank was hot. No time is wasted at stations on the Underground, and a minute later the train was off – off into a black wall ahead with the shrieking of ten thousand demons rising above the thunder of the wheels. The sensation altogether was much like the inhalation of gas preparatory to having a tooth drawn. I would have waited just a minute or so longer. Visions of accidents, collisions, and crumbling tunnels floated through my mind; a fierce wind took away my breath, and innumerable black filled my eyes. I crouched low and held on like grim death to a little rail near me. Driver, stoker, inspector and engine – all vanished. Before and behind and on either side was blackness, heavy, dense, and impenetrable.
Westminster Bridge, Charing Cross, and the Temple were passed before I could do or think of anything beyond holding on to that rolling, rushing engine; then finding that I was still alive and sound, I began to look about me. Inspector Exall put his head to my ear and shouted something at the top of his voice, but I could only catch the word “Blackfriars”. I looked ahead. Far off in the distance was a small square-shaped hole, seemingly high up in the air with four silver threads palpitating like gossamers in the morning breeze. Larger and larger grew the hole, the threads became rails, and the hole a station; Blackfriars, with rays of golden sunlight piercing through the gloom.
Off again, a fierce light now trailing out behind us from the open furnace door, lighting up the fireman as he shovelled more coal on to the furnace, throwing great shadows into the air, and revealing overhead a low creamy roof with black lines upon it that seemed to chase and follow us. Ever and anon the guard’s face could be dimly seen at his window, more like a ghost than a man; while in the glass of the look-out holes were reflected the forms of engine-men, like spirits of the black pit into which we were plunging. Then again we would seem to stop, and to fall down, down, down, with always the wild shrieking surge and ceaseless clatter of iron wheels.
-------------------------
1 Alfred Powell was Manager of the Metropolitan District Railway Company from 1885 to 1902, when he retired by reason of ill-health
