On Thursday 21 June 2007, the longest day of the year, I set off for Liverpool, where I would buy the rover and let the proceedings begin. The journey up involved a Pendolino to Crewe, a short wait (and a FOUL coffee) then a Desiro to Liverpool Lime Street. I've only been here once before, and remember not being overly impressed with the place. It's now being refurbished, resembling a building site like so much of the UK at the moment! The booking clerk needs a bit of help to locate the Rover ticket, I suspect they may not sell many, and with it clutched in my grubby mitt, I descend into the Mersey Undergound. These are the third rail electric services that are an amalgamation of the old Liverpool Overhead Railway and various other local lines. In the mid-1970s they were reorganised to run as a system, largely centred around a single-track clockwise loop under the city, calling at all the major stations, using a combination of new and old tunnels. They've recently been refurbished and are run as a self-contained company in conjunction with the PTE, running an increasingly reliable service. When I arrive on the platform it is very much like the tube, as the lines are organised into particular routes - Wirral Line, City Line, Chester Line etc, and as you wait on the platform, the sights, sounds and smells are the same. You watch the displays ticking down to arrival, hear the rumbling as the train gets closer, and smell that dank tunnel smell!
All the Merseyrail trains are class 507 or 508 EMUs. My first trip is on the Chester Line to its terminus, an uneventful trip. It still amazes me how quickly you leave the city and head into the countryside in other big cities. The service is fairly well used by a cross-section of the public. At Chester I have a shortish wait for the next trip - on a three class 175 - to Manchester Piccadilly via Warrington. This has come from Holyhead and thus is fairly full. At Manchester I have time to grab some lunch from M&S, the pub being somewhat disappointing there, and then climb on board a Sprinter to Southport. This goes via Bolton and Wigan, cities I've never seen before. Bolton reminds me of Huddersfield, the skyline being dominated by older buildings. The station seems huge as well, though I don't suppose it gets particularly long trains calling any more.
I have no chance to visit the Victorian resort of Southport, as I have to clamber back on a Merseyrail to Hunts Cross. The lines diverge out of the town in two different directions. This line passes through Bootle and gives a view of the Liverpool Docks, what's left of them. At Hunts Cross the Merseyrail train terminates in a third platform next to the through platforms on the world's first public railway between Liverpool and Manchester. On this occasion I just get the return Merseyrail to Liverpool Moorfields, then travel the loop again down to New Brighton on the Wirral. By this time manky kids are getting on and with them come security staff with head cameras. I gather they also have DNA kits for when people spit at them, there are some really charming people about. At New Brighton I stay on and return to Hamilton Square, crossing platforms and getting the next Wirral train to West Kirby. After that it's a return trip round the loop to Liverpool Central. I stop and have a drink in a classically stereotypical Liverpool pub where Irish music is on the jukebox and the punters are singing along. Central station has been rebuilt as part of a shopping centre, and the pub commemorates the fact with railway memorabilia. It also turns out to be the founding pub for the local CAMRA branch which is nice.
Having completed the Wirral I clamber on to the City Line train to Kirkby, a place about which I have heard little good. Rush hour is in full swing now and there are plenty of people standing. At Kirkby I see the first of the two weird junctions they have on Merseyrail. The Merseyrail service terminates at the buffers, half-way along the platform. The third rail stops. Then there is a tiny break in the track, and in the same trackbed, another set of buffers facing the other way, and the start of another line, as Northern takes over the remainder of the line to Manchester. How this came about I can't imagine, presumably something to do with electrification. The same set up exists at Ormskirk which I will cover tomorrow. Myself and a few of the others have to simply walk along the platform to a waiting facing Sprinter to continue our journey onwards.
Back to Manchester I go, this time to Victoria, via Wigan, Swinton and Salford, which helpfully crosses off another of the lines into Manchester. The train starts to fill as it nears the city. I like Victoria. It's an interesting mix of the original building and new additions, with trains, trams and road vehicles sprawling across its site. You can still see the remnants of the record-breaking platform ten that actually stretched all the way down the line to the now-closed Exchange station. This was in 1969, and at the same time, the magnificent Manchester Central was closed. Originally this was the city's major terminus. It later became the G-Mex centre, and at the same time, the city's services were rationalised. Broadly speaking, local services go from Victoria, and inter-city services go from Piccadilly, now chiefly a terminus though it still has very busy through platforms. I find my way to the Grand Hotel, though I didn't realise how grand it was, and I feel rather out of place. I have a nice meal in my room and observe the Lights Out London gesture of turning out the lights for an hour, before realising it's only London that is doing this. Oh well. Day one over with all lines covered.
Friday 22 June 2007 starts with a manic breakfast that is nowhere as good as the evening meal. I should have left earlier and found a cafe. I should have learnt my lesson from previous unpleasant breakfasts! Anyway, I head to the tram stop and buy a ticket, feeling almost like a native as I commute to Manchester Victoria with the rest of the city. I don't have long to wait for the first train of the day - the 2 coach Sprinter to Clitheroe, though I am actually heading for Colne, so I have to change at Blackburn. Firstly we head along the line to Bolton that I covered yesterday, but then spur off in a gentle north-west direction towards Blackburn. I'm struck by now pretty this stretch is, all the more amazing given that it is stuck between two cities. Blackburn starts to build up around us in the form of Darwen, which appears to be growing into the city. It's a busyish station, a junction as well as a major stop on this particular route that links Yorkshire and Lancashire. There are five such routes, of which this is the fourth I've been on. Later in this trip I will complete the fifth. While various services rattle in and out, I stock up for lunch at the shop there as I do like bakeries in the north.
Shortly the Colne train arrives, having come from Blackpool. The rest of the trip. This is not a nice landscape, post-industrial and still looking for a new purpose. Burnley Central looks particularly run down. No shiny new offices and flats here. We're at our destination before I know it, the journey having seemed rather like a trip through the suburbs. Colne was a through station until 1970, when BR closed the line between here and Skipton in Yorkshire. Needless to say there is a campaign to re-open it, as locals are keen to improve links into the booming Leeds. I hope it succeeds though it will be a tall order, given that it is over ten miles of line to rebuild. Recently the campaign ran a special train from Colne to Skipton via Blackburn, Halifax, Bradford and Leeds to make the point that residents are forced to do this ridiculous detour if they want to reach parts of Yorkshire by rail that are no distance at all. Colne could do with the help of such a project judging by the general appearance of the place, and I am happy to get the return service down the branch. I backtrack the route I've just travelled, past Blackburn, but then continue to Preston. There I grab a cup of tea before getting on a Voyager service from Glasgow to Manchester Piccadilly, crammed full as usual, which completes another section for me - Preston to Bolton via Chorley.
Back in Manchester I eat while I await a Liverpool train. There are two direct routes between the two cities but today I want the main line. This is significant in railway history as the first public passenger carrying rail service in the world, opening in 1830. It was also the first inter city route, the impetus for which was carrying cotton from Liverpool Docks to the Lancashire cotton mills. Track and rolling stock were designed by the giant of engineering, George Stephenson. The line was a masterpiece, passing through several tunnels and viaducts, a major achievement for its time, as well as across a vast bog, Chat Moss, that was deemed impossible to drain. Stephenson floated the tracks on wooden and heather, weighted by earth and stones that were sunk into the bog continuously until a solid foundation was created. Today the double track route still crosses these same constructions, and now here I am on a three coach class 170 diesel venturing across it.
At Liverpool Lime Street, I find a curious pub that seems to be part of the station but part of a bigger, separate complex of pub and club. The part that is open has a fantastic high ceiling and a dusty gothic feel. This is slightly tainted by a series of arguing loonies who seem intent on spoiling the atmosphere whom I suspect have come in to shelter from the sheet rain that is now pounding down outside. Trouble is now, I can't remember what the place is called! I enjoy a local beer while watching the rain before heading for the next train. It's at this point that things start to go awry. I'm now supposed to be heading for Ellesmere Port then on to the little-used link between there and Helsby (on the line between Chester and Warrington that I travelled on yesterday). Unfortunately I've read my itinerary the wrong way round. I get on a Pacer that is going to Warrington, that I think is reaching Ellesmere Port from the east, but I should have got on the Merseyrail underground train to approach it from the west. I only realise my mistake when I get to Warrington and the train doesn't actually go any further (it's not unusual for routes that incorporate unusual ways of reaching a station to not advertise all the stops). I have now therefore missed the rare train I was aiming to get and there are only a couple of trains a day. I stop for a drink in the hotel next to the station and consult my timetables to see what I can salvage. All I can do is take the return train back to Liverpool via St Helens, the route I've just been on, and pick it up from there.
Next stage is to get a Merseyrail service to Ormskirk, granting me a view of the docks. At Ormskirk there is the same junction arrangement as at Kirkby, diesel and electric tracks meeting on the same platform with two sets of buffers in between. Only Ormskirk seems more pleasant than Kirkby and has a reasonable pub not far away, the inevitable Railway Arms. I have half while waiting for the Preston train (of which there are not many), then we're off and the next stage of the journey is underway, on a one coach Sprinter. This is a very pleasant rural line, though I'm surprised it has never been upgraded, seemingly being a more direct route from Liverpool to Preston.
At Preston things go seriously wrong. Remember that rain earlier? Well further down the line at Crewe, it had submerged the tracks and delayed all trains on the West Coast Main Line for hours. Including the northbound train I am trying to get to Lancaster. As usual when something goes wrong, there is no information, the whole thing falls apart and the staff seem to be absent. Seeing that there may be a train in half an hour, I head out and find a Railway Arms close by. It's got quite a friendly atmosphere, a mixed crowd, karaoke and a decent couple of beers on tap. However when I return, the train is delayed for another half an hour. I realise that the Trans Pennine trains from Manchester will be relatively unaffected. I see one going to Grange Over Sands and head over to the platform to wait for it. I don't see the display on the front as it comes in, a mistake as it turns out. On board the three coach 185 I try to ignore a gang of manky Scouse teenagers quizzing some bemused Blackpool-bound Poles as to whether they have any skunk. Suddenly I realise we have left the main line because the overhead lines have vanished. We are on the Blackpool branch, hence the Poles. I jump off at the first stop, Kirkham and Westham, to see the return train about to set off on the other platform. There are too many people getting off to get to it in time. The next train back is another hour, after nine, and I still have to get to Lancaster somehow. This is a horrible boarded-up dump of a place as well, and I feel thoroughly miserable. I can see a couple of reasonable pubs in the near distance, but I don't fancy anything else to drink. I spy someone with chips and try to find their source. It's not far, and as I go in, they lock up behind me. So close! The chips and curry sauce will keep my spirits up until the next train comes. A couple of middle aged blokes, slightly drunken, ask me when the next train is and where I got the chips. They groan in just the way that I would have done had I arrived at a shuttered chippy.
Another 185 takes me back to Preston, then I get a local Sprinter going to Barrow on Furness to take me to Lancaster. The countryside is starting to get a more remote feel now, as we pass away from the very populated parts of the UK. The station is a beautiful sandstone construction, with buildings on both sides of the tracks intact. I walk up a steep hill to the guest house which is on the other side of the town centre, past the famous John Of Gaunt pub, which I would like to try out now, but am too knackered. I should have been here two hours ago and it is past ten now. I hear a clock striking the hour as I approach the guest house and call the owners quickly, as they have told me that they lock up at this time to prevent revellers coming out of the nearby club wandering in. The owners are perfect hosts, making me a coffee when I arrive, and I hope to maybe come here for a longer stay next time, as despite the club, it's a peaceful night, and much needed. Day two done, and almost all the day's lines done.
Saturday 23 June dawns as gloomily as the previous day finishes. I desperately hope that the west coast is back to normal as I don't really know what else to do if I can't keep to the schedule. According to the indicator boards all is fine. Certainly the 3-coach 185 that arrives to take me to Windermere is on time. It's busy with walkers and tourists as expected, not put off by the threatening clouds. I suppose it's hard for this landscape to be bowed by mere grey skies. Oxenholme looms up, a place that's only ever been a name on a map to me, and as we pass out of the town on to the branch, it's clear that it is a suburb of Kendal. It doesn't take long to wind down to Windermere. There is a new station, basic but pleasant, the original building now part of Booths, a northern supermarket chain. I'm not sure if this was the case when I came here in the 1990s. Anyway, I have time for a wander down to the lake then a cup of tea before joining the American tourists on the next 185 back to Oxenholme. Here it becomes clear that the supposedly real-time displays work as well here as at my local station, ie, as soon as there is a problem, they just carry on showing the expected schedule and not informing you of any delays or problems. The rain-invoked problems of the previous evening are still causing delays, and as usual nobody is giving out information as to what to do. Luckily the next Carlisle-bound train has not from London, and thus is not affected as badly as the London trains. It's a Voyager, and remarkably, sparsely loaded, the only time I've ever experienced such a thing! We rush through the starkly beautiful landscape of Cumbria, making an untimetabled stop at Penrith, before heading for Carlisle. Carlisle is an amazing castle of a station, indeed, it was known as Carlisle Citadel once upon a time. There are plenty of London stations that would benefit from being such a size. Anyway I head to the large pub on the corner of the road outside the station for a couple of pints of Piddle on Holiday from the Wyre Brewery, and notice as I did last time, that cities such as Carlisle are the nearest we have to continental-style border towns where accents from different regions start to meet and merge. Then it's back for the Cambrian Coast train that will take me back to Lancaster.
Sadly it's a one-coach Sprinter when at least two might be better, though it does MOSTLY provide enough capacity for the number of passengers. This is possibly because I am the only one doing the full journey, whereas most people are doing a short journey. Indeed, trains that do the full length of the line are rare. Usually they run from Carlisle to Whitehaven, or Lancaster to Barrow, and the like. The line skirts the coast line of the Lake District, so the scenery in both directions is pretty spectacular. Whitehaven hosts a major employer, where nuclear subs are maintained, one of the major reasons that the line survives, and we pass another one - the infamous Sellafield Processing Plant. At the other end of the line the line twists and turns to follow the jagged coastline here. By some miracle about a thousand people manage to cram on at Grange Over Sands, a group of walkers returning to Lancaster. Just before joining the main line we call at Carnforth, which was once a junction between the two lines. It now only has platforms on the branch. Its claim to fame is posing as Milford Junction in the film, "Brief Encounter," and I hope for a closer look tomorrow. We cross the River Lune just before arriving back in Lancaster, where I get on a southbound Voyager to Preston. I head back to the pub I visited yesterday then get on to a packed Pacer going to Blackpool South.
Blackpool South is a miserable skeleton of a station, the North branch being the main one now, and this reflects the part of the town that I have arrived in. It's full of run-down buildings and people and cars with loud stereos, all bad signs. I keep my head down and make for the front and the tram stop. I've always wanted to go on the Blackpool Trams, and didn't get the chance when I came here before. It's a thoroughly enjoyable experience. The staff are incredibly friendly and helpful - nice to see conductors. It's a great way to see the long sea front. And all the trams are of a different design - old and new - which must give them a maintenance headache, though being of interest to the eye. Finally, it saves me quite a long walk to my B&B in the north of the town. The north is much smarter, with rows of B&BS. Given the sheer number of hotels, it's hardly surprising that my room is so cheap. It's a tiny double room, reminding me of a caravan, but is perfectly good. It has everything you need, including TV, tea and coffee, and a brand new ensuite bathroom with shower. I go for a wander to get some fish n chips, and to make sure I know where Blackpool North is for the morning. Unfortunately the rest of the place is about as nice as the bit I saw near the South station. It's full of drunken crowds, chiefly stag and hen parties, which is famous for, but this does make for a threatening town if you're not part of it. The station is also colonised by yobs and I wonder what the security guards there are for. I'm happy to get back to my hotel and have a pleasant night in watching the television. The day is rounded off by a quiet night's sleep. On Sunday 24 June, the B&B owner is happy to give me an early breakfast as I have to be at Blackpool North for 8.40, which is pretty good of him on a Sunday. I shall certainly seek this place out when I do a proper trip to Blackpool. I enjoy a walk along the front in the rain; the place is so much nicer in the morning when everyone else there is still snoring in strange beds. Also before the binmen have been you get to see sights such as seagulls fighting over discarded fish n chips and wonder how different to them we really are. I head inland to the North station - clear of yobs given the early hour, and hop on to a special train to Carlisle. This 4-car Sprinter is run by Northern for a local walking group though it is open to all. It only runs on Summer Sundays. There are two trains. The first does Blackpool-Preston-Blackburn-Clitheroe-Settle-Carlisle and the second starts later from Preston and follows the same route. They then do the two respective return trips in the evening. The idea is to open the area to a wider area for walkers from Lancashire. I'm on it for four reasons. One and two, it does the Blackpool North and Clitheroe branches. Three, it travels the freight-only section between Clitheroe and Hellifield. Four, that gives me easy access to another unconquered line, the Leeds to Morecambe route, which has only a handful of trains a day. This bumper journey is uneventful until we reach Preston. Then a gaggle of walkers get on and start sticking signs up on the windows to indicate that certain seats are for Group Officials only. I get the impression that they may normally reside in the bay of seats that I'm in and don't like this intruder on their train one little bit. I keep getting sideways glances! At Blackburn the feeling that this is "their" train is heightened by the catering trolley being hoisted on by two group members rather than Northern Trains staff. Also, a woman of about 60 makes a big point of wanting to sit right next to me even though the seat opposite is free, as if she always sits there and can't change for anything. I've never been part of one of these little groups, but I've known other people who have been, and they always seem to be like this. Self-important, full of internal power struggles and generally hostile to outsiders. Why can't they just get on with enjoying what they form to do and not get dragged into the other stuff?
I've covered the majority of this trans-Pennine route previously between this weekend and the Settle-Carlisle trip, so am familiar with the scenery. On the Clitheroe branch it's surprisingly urban. Clitheroe station itself has an amazing display of planters and hanging baskets, and it's beyond here that is of particular interest. Usually only freight uses this section that eventually joins the Settle-Carlisle line just before Hellifield. The line speed is faster than I expected and the scenery is predictably impressive. By now we've crossed into Yorkshire, a place with which I am more familiar and feel curiously more at home. I admire the spectacular Hellifield station, once of the many that the Friends of Settle-Carlisle have restored, then head off for a walk around this small town. There's a couple of pubs, already serving, but not much else, except so much traffic! What happened to the day of rest? A three coach Pacer bumps over the junction into Hellifield to take me to Morecambe. There's hardly anyone on it, which is a bit dispiriting for a Summer Sunday, though the weather is not brilliant. This is another scenic line, passing through empty countryside, aside from the interestingly named town of Giggleswick. It then crosses the west coast line, heads south into Carnforth (where I have time to take some photographs of the famous clock, recently retrieved and restored) then into Lancaster. This arrangement was originally designed in the early 1980s, to provide a link from West Yorkshire to the West Coast Line, as a replacement for the Settle-Carlisle link that was then scheduled for closure. However as it didn't close we now have two lines that serve as scenic tours! At Lancaster we reverse and head up the branch to Morecambe, the only stop but not quite the terminus. By now the rain is tipping down and I get drenched in seconds. Sadly I can neither appreciate the great sweeping sandy bay or the statue of Eric Morecambe. The rain also distracts me from the general chavdom that is supposed to haunt the place. I kill the remaining wet minutes until the next leg of the trip. This is down another branch on a two coach Sprinter that heads out of Morecambe to Heysham Port. There are just two trains there and back a day, to meet the Isle of Man ferry. It's also a freight line, though perhaps not that busy as I notice the guard has to get out of the train at the junction with the line to Lancaster to set the points himself. There is not even a running in board at the port station, and just a couple of people get off. No-one gets on and we head back to Morecambe, then reverse out to Lancaster once more. By this time I am getting tired and look forward to going home. The trains are also up to their Sunday best too. There are noticeably fewer of them and they are more prone to lateness. I head into Lancaster where I have promised to get some tea from a specialist shop for a friend who used to live there. Also I want to go to the famous John O'Gaunt pub. But the former is closed and the latter is too busy for me to have any hope of being served before having to return for the next train. In the event I could have stayed as the train to Preston is late and getting later and later. Eventually the perennially packed Voyager comes in. I have time to look round Preston and snatch a very cheap beer before the next and final new line of the trip. It's the very full Preston to Liverpool via St Helens two coach Sprinter. At Liverpool I get some food for the journey home and get the return Preston train. This time I get off at Wigan North Western, and head for the Swan and Railway. This is a magnificent old Victorian pub with a big central bar and two saloons. There's lots of railway memorabilia as the place lurks in the shadow of a bridge carrying the main west coast line. It has a good selection of beers, and that phrase, I plan to return some day, is appropriate yet again. Final steps...the Pendolino to London followed by the journey across town. The busiest trip I've done so far, and I suspect there will not be another quite like it. Unless I cover Scotland in a week. Now there's an idea.
Full itinerary
Thursday 21 June 2007
London Euston-Crewe
Crewe-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-Chester
Chester-Warrington-Manchester Piccadilly
Manchester Piccadilly-Bolton-Wigan-Southport
Southport-Hunts Cross
Hunts Cross-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-New Brighton
New Brighton-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-West Kirby
West Kirby-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-Kirkby-Wigan-Manchester Victoria
Friday 22 June 2007
Manchester Victoria-Bolton-Blackburn
Blackburn-Colne
Colne-Blackburn-Preston
Preston-Chorley-Bolton-Manchester Piccadilly
Manchester Piccadilly-Warrington-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-St Helens-Warrington
Warrington-St Helens-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-Ormskirk-Preston
Preston-Kirkham-Preston (unscheduled!)
Preston-Lancaster
Saturday 23 June 2007
Lancaster-Oxenholme
Oxenholme-Windermere
Windermere-Oxenholme
Oxenholme-Carlisle
Carlisle-Barrow in Furnesss-Lancaster
Lancaster-Preston-Blackpool South
Sunday 24 June 2007
Blackpool North-Preston-Blackburn-Clitheroe-Hellifield
Hellifield-Lancaster-Morecambe-Heysham Port
Heysham Port-Morecambe-Lancaster
Lancaster-Preston
Preston-St Helens-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-St Helens-Wigan North Western
Wigan North Western-London Euston
