Bradshaw’s Britain: destination Bletchley

Stephen Roberts’ latest trip based on his 1863 Bradshaw’s Guide takes him from Watford Junction to the home of the Second World War codebreakers.

This ninth instalment in my series on Bradshaw’s Britain says a great deal about the enduring appeal of Bradshaw’s Handbook, and my 1863 version of this wonderfully detailed, curiously quirky and slightly archaic representation of Britain’s railways more than 160 years ago.

For this latest Victorian jolly, I’m tracing a chunk of the West Coast Main Line between Watford Junction and Bletchley, with some lost branch lines along the way.

Watford Junction

I start in Watford (population 4,385 but given as over 100,000 today). Yes, it’s no longer the small market town that Bradshaw would have recognised, consisting of “only one street, with minor roads diverging from it”.

He directs me to the Essex Arms, which was certainly around in 1851, when the publican was a Frederick Webb, and it was handily placed in the High Street. Rather unhandily, it is no more, although there is a modern Essex Arms elsewhere in the town.

Checking in to the former Essex Arms may not have rewarded me, for Bradshaw dismisses Watford as being “deficient in points of picturesque or antiquarian interest”, although he does concede that there “are several places of attraction in the neighbourhood”.

To emphasise the point, he chucks in the names and addresses of some of the local worthies and their stately piles.

The first Watford station was built in 1836-37 for the first section of the London & Birmingham Railway (L&BR), with today’s Watford Junction station opening in May 1858. This is the one to which Bradshaw refers.

He also mentions a tunnel “1,725 yards long”, which was the original of two such tunnels, and built in 1837. The Watford Tunnels are just north-west of Watford, the second tunnel being opened in 1874 when the line was widened.

He also says: “A short branch turns off to the left. A little distance from the junction the line passes through the town of Watford, continuing its course to the town of Rickmansworth.”

The Watford and Rickmansworth Railway (W&RR) had opened the year before my Bradshaw in 1862, so was hot off the press at the time of my handbook. But the Rickmansworth Branch was closed in 1952, with a later Croxley Green Branch off this which opened in 1912 and was closed as late as 1996.

St Albans Branch

One branch from Watford that has survived is that to St Albans - “a run of seven miles from Watford, passing Bricket Wood and leaving the little village of Park Street, a little to the right, brings us to the town of St Albans”.

This gives Bradshaw the opportunity to wax lyrical about the abbey town, with its population of 7,675 (well over 80,000 today).

Judging by what he has to say, it seems a jolly along the so-called “Abbey Branch”, opened by the LNWR in May 1858 and the first to reach St Albans, is more than prudent.

Bradshaw mentions the two original intermediate stops, although others would follow - such as Callowland (today’s Watford North), which opened in 1910.

Having reached the town, my handbook recommends “its venerable abbey church, and that of St Michael’s, which contains an excellent full-length statue of Lord Bacon, as he used to sit, thinking, in court” (he lived nearby).

Bradshaw also regales me with tales of the martyred St Alban (293 AD), Boadicea (who sacked the place), two battles of the Wars of the Roses (1455 and 1461), and “Good Duke Humphrey” whose tomb is in “the old church”. Apparently, “the body of Duke Humphrey was found embalmed in pickle in 1703”.

As far as gainful employment is concerned, “much straw-plait is made here for the London market”.

St Albans has been fun, but I must away and return to the main line.

Upon leaving Watford Junction, the train “passes beneath a bridge, and a short distance beyond we enter the Watford Tunnel (as above), and, on emerging therefrom, we continue for some time through an excavation”.

Kings Langley

We arrive at “the ancient village of Kings Langley , so much frequented by King John”, and where “the Grand Junction Canal here runs close to the line”. Population is a modest 1,509 (over 5,000 nowadays).

I’m directed to the Rose and Crown, which is still going strong in the heart of the village. It’s a ten-minute yomp from the station, which lurks almost under the M25, but which was opened in that railway dawn long before 

petrol engines came along to wreck everything.

Bradshaw tells me to note “the square tower and short spire of its ancient church”, observing also that “there are several paper mills in the neighbourhood”, of which “that of the Messrs. Dickinson and Longman, at Two Waters, deserves a visit”.

I confess, I hadn’t considered popping in on a paper mill for a bit of recreation, but Bradshaw’s never short of quirky suggestions, which maybe weren’t so quirky at the time.

“Good fishing abounds’”, while “several iron coffins were found here in 1840”.

Leaving Kings Langley, the line “crosses the King’s Langley Viaduct, and thence by a bridge over the Grand Junction Canal, from which the prospect is extensive and beautiful”.

We’re heading towards Boxmoor (1837), which experienced a few changes of nomenclature before finally settling on Hemel Hempstead in 1963.

There’ll be no mention of Apsley station, on the southern outskirts of Hemel, which opened in September 1938.

Designed by the Wigan-born architect William Henry Hamlyn (1889-1968), who was noted for his LMS work, the station building at Apsley has a decidedly Art Deco look about it.

It was built to serve the paper-producing area of Apsley Mill (which was churning out 100 million envelopes a week by 1933, and by 1937 was employing 5,000 people) and Nash Mill (which gave its name to the residential area, Nash Mills).

Bradshaw mentions “‘on the right, and near the line are Nash Mills”, but I think he may be talking mills rather than residences.

He also describes “a cutting nearly two miles long, on leaving which the train immediately arrives at the station at Boxmoor (Hemel Hempstead)”.

Hemel Hempstead

Opened as Boxmoor in 1837, Hemel Hempstead station has achieved five subtle changes of name, with the Boxmoor bit clinging on stubbornly for just over 125 years.

It’s all a bit bewildering, so I seek out Bradshaw’s recommendation of the King’s Arms to ease my furrowed brow.

I’m chuffed to find The Olde King’s Arms still prospering in the High Street. It’s an establishment dating back to Tudor times (the early 1500s, in fact), with the hotel website claiming a visit from Henry VIII and one of his six wives.

I’m gratified - I feel that any self-respecting town should have something ‘olde’ about it.

There was another Hemel station, which opened in 1877 as a terminus of the Midland Railway’s ‘Nickey Line’, which ran to Luton and later Harpenden. The line was extended to Heath Park Halt, which was more central to Hemel, in 1905, but never to Boxmoor. Passenger services ceased on this line in 1947.

Bradshaw ponders on the moor of Boxmoor, but concludes that “the moor is at some distance” - although “the scenery in the neighbourhood of the station is exceedingly pretty and fertile”.

It sounds positively bucolic, yet my guide offers me no other reason to hop off the train here.

This is disappointing, for Hemel had (has) much to commend it - including the large, 12th century St Mary’s church, reputedly one of the country’s finest with its 14th century timber spire lofting nearly 200 feet.

There’s a lot of 18th century stuff, including the Sun Inn (1726), while our old friend the King’s Arms is half-timbered and retreats into a side alley, one of several off the High Street.

We are soon on our way then, and “on leaving the station, the line passes over an embankment”, after which Bradshaw does mention “the church of Hemel Hempstead among the distant hills”, so all is forgiven.

The line crosses the Box Lane Viaduct and “runs parallel for some distance by the side of the Grand Junction Canal” before crossing said canal, after which it “proceeds along an embankment, which affords a fine prospect”.

It is at the village of Bourne End where this embankment terminates. According to Bradshaw, we then have a cutting, then “we pass under Haxter’s End Bridge, where the right hand bank of the cutting terminates”, before we reach Bank Mill Bridge and “a landscape of very great beauty bursts upon our view, including a view of the tower of Berkhampstead (sic) Church, the town itself, and the ruins of its ancient castle”.

Another cutting and an embankment bring us to Berkhamsted station.

Berkhamsted

After Bradshaw’s neglect of the sights of Hemel, I feel that he is about to go overboard on my next stop, judging by his glowing intro.

Population 3,631 (over 16,000 today), the recommended hostelry in Berkhamsted is confusingly another King’s Arms in the High Street, this one just a ten-minute yomp from the station.

It’s a former 18th century coaching inn. My guide tells me under ‘Mails’ that’s there are “two arrivals and departures, daily, between London and Berkhamsted”. What price progress?

Bradshaw mentions “the elevated position of this station” which “commands a delightful view of the valley on the left, in the bosom of which lies the town”.

The station to which he refers was one of 1838, replaced by today’s structure (around 100 metres to the north-west) in 1875. And Bradshaw is lyrically waxing. Berkhamsted is where “the author of The Task, the poet Cowper, was born in 1731, and whose father was rector of this town”.

He does then rather get carried away on the “beauties of the vale”, positing that “one cannot avoid remarking how singularly happy ‘Nature’ or the ‘Muses’ are in selecting the birthplaces of her favourite minstrels”.

He then chucks in Burns and the Bard, whom he reckons were similarly favoured with sylvan birthplaces.

With his feet on the ground again, Bradshaw tells me that “the church is cruciform, and as old as the cross”, while “Berkhamsted Castle, in ruins, was built soon after the Conquest by Robert Montaigne”.

Leaving Berkhamsted, Bradshaw sees fit to comment on “the houses of the town”, which “extend by the side of the line for some distance”, as though he’s picked up on some objectionable urban sprawl.

We have the by now familiar embankment and cutting, followed by Northchurch Tunnel, then another embankment “with a charming prospect on either side”.

After a spot of name-dropping, for which I’ve previously noted that Bradshaw is partial, we have more embankment and cutting, then Wiggington Bridge and a view of the Chilterns - “the name of which is so familiar to us in connection with retiring members of parliament”.

We’re now close to Tring: “Tring Park is then seen to the left of the line, beautifully situated among hills, studded with trees, and containing a splendid mansion, built by Charles II, for the unfortunate Nell or Eleanor Gwynn.”

Tring

Population 3,130 (approaching 12,000 today), Tring has two recommended hotels - the Rose and Crown, and almost inevitably another King’s Arms.

The Rose and Crown is no more. The building Bradshaw had in mind for us was another coaching inn, but this was replaced by a half-timbered, mock-Tudor pile in 1905, built to provide accommodation for the many guests visiting Tring Park (which by then was a Rothschild estate).

The hotel was closed in 2013 and converted to apartments. But the King’s Arms maintains the tradition of such-named hostelries on this route - it’s still going strong in King Street, having been built around 1830.

I did this route with my eldest grandson once, and joked that Tring was the birthplace of the mobile phone (‘tring, tring’). As humour goes, it was definitely a sad prairie grass tumbleweed moment.

Anyway, Tring station is an original from 1837, but around one and a half miles from the town centre, closer to the village of Aldbury.

Bradshaw tells me that “at this station the railway reaches its greatest elevation, being 

420 feet above the level of the sea, and 300 above that of Camden Town depot”.

What he doesn’t add is that the station was the work of George Aitchison (1825-1910), the London-born architect who had a happy knack of obtaining commissions from well-heeled clients - the kind of people Bradshaw normally likes to name-drop.

Rather like Hemel, my guide is somewhat dismissive of Tring, commenting merely on its “handsome church containing some good monuments, and a curious enriched font”. We are soon on our way.

After Tring, there’s another of those cuttings (a deep one through the Chilterns), after which the line passes from Hertfordshire into Buckinghamshire.

As Bradshaw extols the “fertile vale of Aylesbury”, I’m reminded of my previous trip with the chap when I rocked up at Aylesbury, and discovered that its first line had been the one from Cheddington (1839). That’s where I’m headed now.

Bradshaw prepares the way: “We have on our left Cheddington Hill, which conceals the village of Cheddington from our view.”

Before we arrive at Cheddington, we travel over Mentmore Bridge - formerly Bridego Bridge, the scene of the train robbery on August 8 1963.

Cheddington and the Aylesbury Branch

Population a tiddly 628 (and only around 1,750 today), Cheddington is a village whose greatest claim to fame may well be that robbery, which was also known as the ‘Cheddington Mail Van Raid’.

The station had opened as Aylesbury Junction in April 1838, with the branch to Aylesbury coming online in June of the following year.

Bradshaw refers to the station as Cheddington Junction, the name having been changed in 1850.

The station would close to goods in 1963 (ironically the same year as that robbery), and would become plain ‘Cheddington’ in 1970. The branch, as previously reported, had closed to passengers in 1953 and to freight in 1964.

Bradshaw has little to say about Cheddington itself, save that the station was a half-mile from the village, while the nearest telegraph station and money order office was 4½ miles away, back at Tring.

Having written about Aylesbury at some length in a previous Bradshaw’s Britain, I shall resist the temptation to engage in repetition, other than to quote Bradshaw who states that: “From this station a branch rail, seven miles long, turns off on the left to Aylesbury, which we will describe, and then continue our progress with the main line.” Instead, we shall merely ‘continue our progress’.

My guide tells me that the line “crosses Aylesbury Vale by an embankment, which is 25 feet in height, and affords an extensive view in every direction”.

We cross the Horton Viaduct, then “catch a glimpse of the spire of Leighton Buzzard Church … and shortly after of that town itself”.

There’s “alternate embankment and cutting” (as seems to be the norm on this route), before we reach Leighton Buzzard - or as Bradshaw puts it ‘Leighton Junction’ (Leighton Buzzard).

Leighton Buzzard

Bradshaw wants me to find either the Swan or Unicorn hotel.

The Swan is still in the High Street. It’s a Wetherspoons pub these days, with the former hotel building dating back to the early to mid-19th century.

There had been a Swan drinking house on the site before then, perhaps as early as 1600, although the establishment really came to prominence as Leighton Buzzard’s leading coaching inn and ‘posting house’.

The Unicorn Hotel, in Lake Street, was mainly 17th century. But it had become a nightclub in 1965, and more recently been a pub, the Lancer, which closed in 2020.

A “small market town of 4,330 inhabitants , who make lace and straw-plat, is situated in Bedfordshire”, so we have county hopped again.

Bradshaw marks my card regarding the sights: “Leighton Church is a good Gothic 

cross, with stalls, and a tall spire, 193 feet high, before about 25 feet was struck down by lightning, 16th July 1852.”

There’s also “its ancient Cross … a genuine relic of early English work, built about 1300, and stands 24 feet high on five steps, and set off with pinnacles and niches”.

While Bradshaw goes off to explore the neighbourhood, including details of some of its local worthies, I need to have a look at the station and its branch line.

Bradshaw is cognisant of Leighton Buzzard’s second station. The first (London & Birmingham Railway) station opened as ‘Leighton’ in 1838, and the second (courtesy of the LNWR) in 1859, four years prior to my handbook, just 160 metres to the south.

It was renamed Leighton Buzzard in 1911 and lost its goods services in 1967, before experiencing a rebuild in 1989.

Dunstable Branch

Bradshaw records laconically that “the branch to Dunstable turns off here”.

This was indeed true for it had opened 15 years earlier (in 1848), the branch service being maintained until 1967.

“A rail, seven miles long, turns off on the right from Leighton Buzzard to Dunstable, in Bedfordshire.”

He then offers a quick summary of the delights of Dunstable, prefixed by a trio of recommended hotels (including the very tempting Railway) and offering its principal attractions as “its ancient priory church, and the celebrity of its inns”. Definitely sounds like a trip up the branch is a must.

Like Leighton Buzzard, “it is noted for straw-plait manufacture”.

Bradshaw then mentions that “the remainder of this route to Luton and Hertford” can be found in another section of his redoubtable handbook, leaving me to return to the LNWR main line and find my way to Bletchley - firstly “over a level country for nearly 15 miles”, but the line “has occasionally to go through a tunnel or cutting in its course”.

Bradshaw records various communities - including Stewkley, whose church “is one of the most enriched and perfect specimens of Norman architecture now existing”, before we arrive at our final destination.

Bletchley

With a modest population of 426 (but a whopping 37,000 these days), Bletchley doesn’t offer too much hope of interesting diversions - at least, not in 1863.

Bradshaw comments on the “peculiar position of this station” (1838-39).

It was known as Bletchley and Fenny Stratford (1841-46) and then Bletchley Junction (1851-70). The name Bradshaw uses follows the opening of the line to Bedford (1846) - today’s Marston Vale line (Bletchley-Bedford), the surviving part of the one-time Varsity Line which operated between Oxford and Cambridge up to the late-1960s. It’s a route that is set for a new lease of life as part of East West Rail.

Unsurprisingly, Bradshaw has nothing to say about Bletchley, other than the view from the station - “a most extensive prospect of the line of railway, and of the surrounding country, embracing the town of Bletchley”, etc.

“In the distance may be seen Whaddon Chace and Hall, in which Queen Elizabeth was entertained by Arthur Lord Grey.”

Bradshaw’s contemplating goodies up the Bedford Branch, however, as “to the right of the station, and standing on a hill, is the small town of Fenny Stratford”.

It’s certainly a place to alight and stretch one’s pins, if you’re into history. But first, before departing Bletchley, I should give a nod to a couple of things Bradshaw knew nought about, but which surely would have impressed him.

There’s the Second World War story of Bletchley Park, of course, but also the emergence of Bletchley’s northern neighbour, Milton Keynes - a new city born only in 1967 but with a population of more than 250,000 today.

It’s the next stop on the main line, namely Milton Keynes Central, which opened as recently as 1982. But we’re not heading that far.

Bedford Branch

“From the Bletchley station branch, rails turn off on the left to Winslow, Oxford and Banbury, and on the right to Bedford,” continues Bradshaw.

It’s the extant line on the right that we’re interested in, and “the first station on this branch being partly in the parish of Bletchley” is quickly announced.

We’ve arrived in Fenny Stratford (population 1,199 then and regarded as a constituent town of Milton Keynes these days).

Bradshaw explains the ‘Fenny’ bit (kind of), but also drops a historical bombshell: “Fenny Stratford is in a once-fenny part of the Ouzel, on the Watling Street, or Roman way, which crossed the Ouse further on at Stony Stratford, where Richard III seized his poor little nephew, Edward V.”

So, ‘fenny’ means having the characteristics of a fen - aka boggy.

A little trip up the Bedford branch is worthwhile to experience the Stratfords, alighting at Fenny and yomping to Stony to see where young Edward was taken into the custody of Richard, Duke of Gloucester (Richard III to be) to await an uncertain fate in the Tower of London as the elder of the two ‘Princes in the Tower’.

I’m ending my journey there, as I just don’t feel anything can trump that.

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