Red valerian and red sandstone

I was born, and brought up, in Paignton, one of the three towns that make up Torbay, and, despite leaving in 1968, I have a strong attachment to my roots in South Devon. Unfortunately, I get few opportunities to visit but, very close to where I live currently, in Berkhamsted, there is a patch of flowers (see below) that instantly brings back memories from over fifty years ago. 

Red valerian is a very common plant in the south west, being a widely-dispersed introduction from its native Mediterranean region – appropriate, given that Torbay prides itself on bring the English Riviera. It probably arrived as a garden plant and is described by Clapham Tutin and Warburg [1] as being ”abundantly naturalised on old walls, cliffs, etc. particularly in the south and west.” It certainly has the ability to thrive where conditions look unsuitable for plant life and its establishment can be a threat to the fabric of old buildings [2].

My recollection of red valerian is the strong colour combinations that its pink flowers and green leaves make with the red sandstone that is the underlying rock of the central part of Torbay and which was used extensively for building construction. Technically described as a sandstone breccia conglomerate, this rock, exposed at Roundham Head, for example (see below), has been used in building houses and walls in Paignton since mediaeval times [3]. I lived in Polsham Park (the cul-de-sac road), part of the Polsham Park Estate designed by W.G.Goudrey and George Soudron Bridgman, and constructed in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century [3]. This was 50 years after the building boom in Torquay, where many villas were in an Italianate style, to reflect houses of the Mediterranean Riviera. 

The buildings of the Polsham Park Estate were dressed in brick – ours were cream in colour – but the sandstone was unforuately suject to weathering, as anyone looking at Roundham Head, and other coastal promontories, readily appreciates. As our house had a verandah, one of the jobs that I helped with was the sweeping up of the red dust that accumulated on the tiles (red, of course) that were used as flooring. Nowadays, the appearance of many of the houses has been altered by the extensive use of PVC replacement windows, and roofing other than slate, the Conservation Report [3] stating that “almost overwhelmingly the workmanship is inferior in design and materials: artificial slate and PVC glazing are almost universal replacements.” Two recent images of houses on the Estate are shown below:

When I lived in this area of Paignton, it was little changed from its original condition, but that wasn’t important to me. What I enjoyed, was being able to run along Polsham Park (the road) to Victoria Park (the entrance to which is shown below) where I could play on the swings, slide and roundabouts, run around on the “pitches”, or go at top speed along the path by the railway line to exit within easy walking distance of the railway station, there to indulge in my favourite pastime of trainspotting. Much of the park was completed in 1894, with the boating pond (see below in a separate image), where I sailed my elderly, re-painted yacht, completed in 1895 [3]. The “pitches” next to the main road to the west were previously the Victoria Nurseries and were added to the Park in the first half of the twentieth Century.

None of this was known to me either, and which child would be interested in such things? Now that I am much older, and enjoy nostalgia, it is all fascinating to discover the history of what was so familiar in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Certainly, the combination of red valerian and red sandstone remain powerful triggers for memories of the joys of childhood and an appreciation of the “respectable” part of the town that was once my home.

[1] A.R.Clapham, T.G.Tutin and E.F.Warburg (1959) Excursion Flora of the British Isles. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

[2] R. Motti, G. Bonanomi and A. Stinca (2021) Biodeteriogens at a southern Italian Heritage site: Analysis and management of vascular flora on the walls of Villa Rufalo. International Biodeterioration & Biodegradation 162 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ibiod.2021.105252

[3] https://www.torbay.gov.uk/media/7583/polsham-caa.pdf

 

Seaside resorts: seasons, decades and geological time

We have all visited seaside resorts and some of us are fortunate enough to have been brought up in one: I lived in Paignton in South Devon and went to school in Torquay more than 50 years ago, so knew both towns well. I expect that they are rather different now to the way that I remember them, while both resorts have an interesting history. 

In his foreword to John Pike’s Iron Horse to the Sea, Crispin Gill writes [1]: 

The turnpike roads to Exmouth and Torquay first created the resorts of South Devon, but it was the coming of the railway.. ..that really saw these places grow. In the early days it was the aristocracy and the upper middle class who could afford holidays when these resorts were frequented mainly in the winter. Since the First World War, with the growth of holidays with pay, these resorts have become accessible to all and are now among the most popular in Britain. 

Initially, the railway terminated at Torquay (at what is now Torre) and Pike [1] describes the onward extension (including quotes from private papers supporting the proposal to build the railway): 

The route of the proposed railway was 11 miles in length and approached quite near to Brixham which was then becoming an important fishing port. Equally of interest is the prophecy of a future for Paignton ‘in climate of equal salubrity with Torquay, it possesses, in addition, a hard sandy beach nearly two miles in length, admirably adapted for bathing. Being in the centre of the Bay, it also embraces, within easy drives, all points of beauty … [it] annually draws to it numerous visitors for health as well as recreation.’ 

In Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Handbook [2], originally published in 1863 shortly after the extension had been completed, we have a fulsome account of the pleasures of Torquay, while Paignton is described thus: 

The situation of this place is really beautiful, commanding a central aspect of Torbay. Its picturesque church and the sand rounding from it to the fine woods of Tor Abbey, and the town and pier below it, form a pleasing coup d’œil. 

No mention of the swampy land between the railway and the sea and, by the relative size of the two entries, readers of Bradshaw’s will gain the impression that Paignton was regarded as a poor neighbour of Torquay, although there were wealthy residents. This may well have been the attitude of many outsiders, and some Paignton residents would not disagree with that perception, despite our pride in the town. 

The importance of winter visitors has been emphasised by StJohn Thomas and Smith [3]: 

As late as the 1890s, when following the abandonment of Brunel’s broad gauge, the first through trains ran from the North to Torbay, the resorts were still busier in winter than in summer, when many of their facilities closed down. Sea bathing (of course dependent on the bathing machine) was however growing rapidly in popularity and certainly local traffic was heavier in summer; Exeter in particular has a strong tradition of sending its people to the sea on day trips.. ..and by 1914 the upper middle class family by the sea was more usually a summer affair. 

By my time, in the 1950s, Paignton was a popular family resort and any wealthy visitors coming down in winter for their health were not apparent to us residents. In the opening of Walking with Gosse, I describe what I remembered [4]: 

After the summer holiday season, Paignton in the 1950s was typical of many seaside towns in the UK, being quiet and left to its residents. A small theatre put on rather good amateur pantomimes at Christmas and, at other times, hosted school music festivals, elocution contests, and the occasional Billy Graham-style Christian “Crusade”. Bakers, butchers, grocers, newsagents, chemists, banks and other high street shops supported the local community; while pubs, churches and clubs, associated with organisations like the British Legion, provided social life. In almost all homes, meals were prepared from basic ingredients and, as a treat, fish and chip shops dotted through the town were a source of takeaway meals: the fish being cod, plaice, haddock, bream or rock salmon (dogfish), all caught locally. 

Nothing much seemed to change in the pattern of life during the week, with Saturdays a time for relaxation and, perhaps, watching, or playing, sport. Sundays were for dressing in one’s “best” clothes, with very few shops, or places of entertainment, open. It was a day for gentle walks, going to church or Sunday School, and having a roast lunch (called dinner), followed by tea with tinned fruit and fancy cakes. If the routine of the week was broken by illness, support came from General Practitioners and a small hospital; while several dentists looked after teeth and dentures (that were much commoner then than now). 

That is one person’s view of winter in a summer-resort where all the shops selling rock, “kiss-me-quick hats”, saucy postcards, etc.. were boarded up, as were the stalls selling candyfloss, seafood, chips and the like. Some cafes remained open, but winter provided a bleaker outlook that was such a contrast to the summer, when train after train brought holidaymakers on Saturdays (changeover day), with similar numbers of trains taking them home after a week. I have tried to capture Paignton in winter in photographs (see below), as, to quote a 1918 advertisement, “one picture is worth a thousand words”.

 

Clearly, I have little skill as a photographer, but Rob Ball is highly skilled and also has the eye of an artist. He produced a wonderful photograph in his recent collection entitled Silent Coast [5] that was referenced by the Financial Times Magazine of 4th June 2022 (see below – the associated text is worth reading).

 

This image is not from Paignton, of course, but Rob’s photograph conjures up the ghostly feeling that seaside resorts can create out of season. There is no-one to be seen, yet everything that provides entertainment is still there, but locked up. In looking at the image, one remembers the noise of excited children running around in bathing costumes, the warmth of the balmy air, the thrill of slides (especially water slides), etc.. 

There are not only changes in types of visitors and their means of getting to the resorts of Torbay at different times of the year as there are also changes in topography. For example, the magnificent view of the coast from Babbacombe has been altered by the cliff fall at Oddicombe (see images below), where saturated sandstones fractured at weak points and then slid down. A different form of erosion comes in the effect of tides and waves that attack coastal defences and have severed some coastal paths that linked adjacent coves. Storms and tidal surges have also affected the railway lines that run to Torquay and Paignton through Dawlish, where landslips and breaches are familiar to both contemporary residents and those that are interests in transport history. These are decadal, rather than seasonal, changes, but what of Paignton in earlier times?

 

Before it became a resort, the town was renowned for its production of vegetables and it was a centre for cider making. There were also “Paignton cockles” and other shellfish, and fish, to collect and that reminds us of the other, non-human, residents of the shores of Torbay, well-known to those residents and holidaymakers that enjoy rock pooling and similar activities. There are many types of seaweeds, snails and barnacles and these show different levels of tolerance to drying, with some found higher up the shore than others and some never uncovered by the sea, even at low spring tides that occur every two weeks or so. Of course, tides are familiar to holidaymakers, as the sea creeps up the beach as the tide comes in twice each day, reducing the available space on the sand and creating a Canute-style adventure for children who have defences around their sand castles. Very few visitors and residents think of the effect of tides on other shore life. 

The presence of the beach for sunbathing and swimming is something we take for granted and, apart from the various erosional events, is little changed within our lifetime. However, if we go back tens of thousands of years to the time of the last Ice Age, the coast was way to the east of where it is now and Torbay was part of a lowland forest. We would recognise some features, like headlands and hilly peaks, but we would certainly not recognise the coast as it was then; increase in sea level at the time of the melting of the northern ice cap giving us the outline of the shore that we have today. If we look into the future, it seems certain that sea level rise resulting from global warming will cause local inundations and, without increased sea defences, the coastline will be inland of its current position. I wonder what it will be like and what kinds of visitors it will attract? 

 

[1] John Pike (1987) Iron Horse to the Sea: Railways in South Devon. Bradford on Aven. Ex-Libris Press. 

[2] Anon (1863) Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Hand-book of Great Britain and Ireland. London, W.J.Adams. 

[3] David StJohn Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith (1973) Summer Saturdays in the West. Newton Abbot, David & Charles. 

[4] Roger S Wotton (2020) Walking with Gosse: Natural History, Creation and Religious Conflicts. e-book. 

[5] https://www.robball.co.uk/

 

 

 

 

Homage to the Torbay Express

Growing up in South Devon, I appreciated how lucky I was to be able to walk around the coast and through country lanes, lined by deep hedges, to woods and meadows with abundant wild flowers. Solitary walks were a source of solace from unhappy times and they also enabled me to recognise the importance of the natural world; something that has stayed with me ever since. It influenced my choice of subjects to study in the Sixth Form at school and then at university, and, although I could be called a scientist, I prefer to think of myself as a natural historian, as physical sciences are still a bit of a mystery to me and the study of biosciences is now dominated by one animal, rather than the wide range of animals, plants and micro-organisms that make up most of the natural world.

My other passion as a boy was trainspotting [1] and we were lucky in having a large number of trains bringing visitors to Torbay, especially on summer Saturdays. One train stood out: this was the Torbay Express that ran daily from Paddington to Kingswear and I looked on it with both admiration and envy; the former coming from the condition of whichever Castle Class locomotive pulled the train in the 1950s, and envy because I felt that there was no chance of me travelling on anything so prestigious. The Torbay Express was second only to the Cornish Riviera Express (called the Reveera by us) that didn’t come along our line and, as its name suggests, went to Plymouth and then on to Cornwall. Like “The Torbay”, it was not a train used much by holidaymakers; more by those in business and similar occupations, or by those who preferred smart, and rapid, travel.

The Torbay Express was originally called the Torbay Limited and ran on the GWR’s direct line through Berkshire, Wiltshire and Somerset, rather than on the earlier main line through Bristol. After Taunton, the line climbed to Whiteball tunnel and then entered Devonshire (an image of the express at this point is shown below, together with one of the train entering Exeter, where it made its first stop in the 1950s).

 

O.S.Nock [2] describes the journey on to Torbay: 

Emerging from the western end of Parsons Tunnel [see image below] the coastwise prospect is completely changed and extends to the rocky islets at the entrance to Tor Bay that we shall see at closer range later. The red cliffs are higher than ever here though less dramatic in their formation, but the sea wall, an invaluable protection for the railway in winter, is a favourite promenade for the holiday-makers of Teignmouth, whether they are railway enthusiasts or not.. 

..The line runs through the back of Teignmouth town between high retaining walls, in Dartmoor granite, but quickly enough on the left hand side there come delightful glimpses across the harbour, boat yards, and the estuary of the River Teign, with the beautiful little town of Shaldon beneath the high red cliff of the Ness.

The description by Nock continues after the Torbay Express has run through Newton Abbot (see image above) and then on through Kingskerswell and Torre to its next stop in Torquay: 

The present main station, by Livermead Sands, is near enough to the beach for some enticing glimpses of the waters of Tor Bay, and as the train starts away for the south, and negotiates some sharp though short gradients the line comes right out above the beach [at Hollicombe] and the full beauty of Torquay’s situation and its superb and rugged coastline is displayed. At this stage in the journey the prospect is soon cut off, by the houses of Paignton.. 

..On leaving Paignton, and climbing on to the cliff edge beyond Goodrington Sands (see image below) the wide panorama over the entire sweep of Tor Bay reveals some of its interesting and complex geological features. The red sandstone cliffs of Dawlish and Teignmouth recur at Paignton, in an even deeper shade of red, but at each end of the bay, on the north side extending outwards from Torquay to Hope’s Nose, and at the south beyond Brixham to Berry Head, the tattered and splintered rock formations from “London Bridge” to the outlying Thatcher and Oar Stones, and Berry Head itself are examples of carboniferous limestone, and provide such striking and spectacular cliff structure as to cause at least one eminent geographer to compare it with those of the Mediterranean Riviera resorts.

Passing over the summit at Churston the express then ran down to the beautiful Dart valley, skirting along the river bank to the terminus at the small town of Kingswear at the mouth of the river. Remaining passengers could then travel over to Dartmouth by ferry, the town having a railway station but no railway lines (there were never any!). What a contrast it must have seemed to London and its suburbs, and what a pleasure to be able to study the landscape from a railway carriage as it passes down the line.

All this was for the passengers. Trainspotters could either find a location where the express sped past or see it at Exeter, Torquay or Paignton. There, the polished locomotive could be admired and one could take in its metallic, oily and smoky smells after the rapid, and hard-working, journey down from London. All very special memories and, as Nock points out in his descriptions of the section of line through South Devon, a link between the wonders of steam locomotives and the geology of the terrain through which the Torbay Express passed at the end of its journey. Geology is part of natural history after all, but my main interest in that subject did not involve distant views, rather in what plants and animals could be seen first-hand on shores, or in hedgerows, and what could be seen with a simple microscope.

I still like steam locomotives and, as my career has shown, I have an abiding love of natural history. Both started when I was in a boy in Torbay and I’m pleased that, in this regard at least, I have failed to grow up.

 

[1] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2021/07/memories-of-privet-in-torbay.html

[2] O.S.Nock (1985) Great British Trains: An evocation of a memorable age in travel. London, Pelham Books.

Photograph credits (in sequence) R.J.Blenkinsop; S.Creer; Ben Brooksbank;  R.J.Blenkinsop; and Derek Cross.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Honouring Sid Wotton

In her anecdotal history of small-town life in Paignton [1], Peggy Parnell writes of a local outfitter’s business and its progress from a humble start to having several successful shops. Perretts was considered “up-market” and had a year-round clientele, as well as the casual summer trade found in any seaside resort. The company was run by three generations of one family and was staffed with tailors to make alterations to clothes, and shop assistants to “measure-up” and engage in sales patter. It was so different to today’s internet-dominated approach to clothes retailing and, of course, the business no longer exists.

Included in Peggy Parnell’s chapter on Perretts is the paragraph shown below:

Obviously, a tragic occasion as he was only 59 years old, but who was Sid Wotton and, if he left such an impression on the owners and the staff of the company, what was his effect on the public who shopped in Perretts?

Firstly, Sid Wotton had a deep knowledge of outfitting, was unfailingly courteous, remembered returning customers and their requirements, and was very loyal to the Perrett family, as they were to him. Add to these qualities, the ability to make a sales pitch and you have all the essential ingredients of a valuable employee in the old world of retailing. What else do we know about him?

Sid Wotton was born on 17th August 1909 in Princes Street, Paignton, and he remained in the town (except for war service in Belgium, see above) all his life. On 10th October 1934 he married Doris Youlden at Winner Street Baptist Church (see above), attended by both, and where Sid was a member of the choir. In 1933, he had been involved in the selection of a new organist [2] and Sid had a fine tenor voice, singing hymns and oratorios with gusto. In addition to his singing, Sid also spoke at Church garden parties (see below) and it is easy to see that his skills as a salesman were useful if these parties involved fund-raising.

Sid and Doris had three sons, all brought up to attend Winner Street Church each Sunday, and the anniversary of the founding of the church was usually celebrated by a group photograph, like the one below. In addition to his connection with the church community, Sid was a Freemason, becoming Worshipful Master of Torbay Lodge No. 1358. Outside those interests, life revolved around Perretts and the growing family, but then illness intervened. Doris, who was anxious by nature, suffered from uncontrollable hypertension and this led to a stroke from which she died aged 49. This must have been a very difficult time for Sid, especially as he had been diagnosed with diabetes and then developed cardiovascular disease. By 1965 all three boys had left home and we come to the events described by Peggy Parnell. That’s not how Sid should be remembered.

Andy Warhol suggested that everyone should be famous for 15 minutes. I’m not sure that a paragraph in a book counts as fame, especially when the ending is so tragic. Rather, I want to celebrate the Sid Wotton who was such an important person to those who knew him and who showed fine qualities of loyalty and service in everything that he did. It’s all history now, of course, but that doesn’t make celebrating the man any less important.

[1] Peggy Parnell (2013) A Paignton Scrapbook. Stroud, The History Press.

[2] Patricia M. Leaman (1986) A History of the First 100 Years of Winner Street Baptist Church, Paignton. Publisher unknown.   

I would like to thank David Wotton for telling me about the reference to Sid Wotton in Peggy Parnell’s book.

Torbay and a passion for collecting on the shore

Many British seaside towns are currently fighting a reputation for being run down, having many residents suffering financial hardship, having an influx of homeless people with all their problems, and also for open drug use. This is, of course, a generalisation, as there are many “bijou resorts” with many (un)occupied second homes and even the major resorts have marinas filled with craft owned by wealthy residents or by visitors who own apartments where they spend a few weeks, or week-ends, each year.

The influx of visitors to UK resorts has always been at its height during summer and in the 1950s and 1960s tourists poured in by train, coach and, latterly, by private car. “No Vacancy” signs were everywhere: on large and small hotels and also on guest houses, often converted from large Victorian properties built for a quite different type of visitor. I was brought up in Torbay and, as a year-round resident, was aware of the huge differences in the numbers of people in Paignton and Torquay in the summer months compared to the population in winter, when so many businesses that catered for holidaymakers shut down. All this was obvious, but I was not as curious as I should have been about the origins of the handsome villas and large houses that had been converted to accommodate visitors (and are now more widely used as holiday apartments). The young rarely are curious about history: it is something which comes with age and a sense of time passing.

Torquay was especially lucky in having a building boom in the mid-Nineteenth Century, with villas in an Italianate style being common, mirroring the Riviera feeling that the location of the town provided. Some of the villas were permanent residences and some were for shorter-term stays for those who wanted to own property in this fashionable resort. Then there were hotels that catered for First Class passengers and for members of the burgeoning middle classes who were attracted by the climate, beautiful setting and social cachet of the town. It was a time when visitors enjoyed a gentle walk, or a carriage ride, through the beautiful countryside and many also joined in the passion for Marine Natural History that was at its height at this time.

We get an idea of just how important a visit to the shore could be from the writings of Philip Henry Gosse, who lived in St Marychurch in Torquay, venturing round the coast and out to sea [1]. He was one of the great popularisers of Natural History and part of the fascination for visitors to the shores of Torbay was down to him [2]. In his book Land and Sea [3], Henry Gosse describes the local coastal scenery and the book is illustrated by woodcuts in a highly Romantic style that must have encouraged readers to visit Torbay (some are shown below).

Another woodcut from the book (see below) shows a man and woman on the shore, dressed appropriately for collecting and making observations [4]. This is what Henry Gosse writes about the effects of collectors, especially of sea anemones, that would be added to their parlour aquaria, a popular form of “entertainment” at the time:

Ah! gentle reader, I’ll whisper a secret in your ear; but don’t tell that I said so for ‘tis high treason against the ladies. Since the opening of sea-science to the million, such has been the invasion of the shore by crinoline and collecting jars, that you may search all the likely and promising rocks within reach of Torquay, which a few years ago were like gardens with full-blossomed anemones and antheas, and come home with an empty jar and an aching heart, all now being swept as clean as the palm of your hand! Yet let me do the fair students and their officious beaux justice: the work is not altogether done by such hands as theirs; but there is a host of professional collectors, small tradesmen whom you must search-up in back alleys, and whose houses you will easily recognize by the sea-weedy odour, even before you see the array of pans and dishes in front of the door all crowded with full-blown specimens. These collect for the trade, and are indefatigable. Only think of the effect produced on the marine population by three or four men in a town, one of whom will take ten dozen anemones in a single tide!

A reflection then of the popularity of the pursuit of collecting marine animals. It is not something that we recognise today, although families still venture on the shore to examine rock pools.

Later in Land and Sea, Gosse describes travelling to parts of Torbay that were less popular for collectors [3]:

Therefore it was that we ran some miles away from home, and pursued a pleasant road, partly through green lanes, rank with the glossy young leaves of the arum, and the arching fronds of the hart’s-tongue fern, scarcely embrowned by the late arctic winter; and partly sweeping along the shore-line and over the cliffs that make the base of this beautiful bay; till, Paignton being some distance behind us, we turned off to the left down a little lane, and drew up at the margin of the broad flat beach called the Goodrington Sands.

Far away is the edge of the sea, for the tide is wonderfully low, though we have yet a full hour and a half before it will be at its lowest point, and an immense breadth of soft, wet sand lies exposed. We pause for a moment to gaze on the boundary to the right. It is Berry Head, a noble headland that projects like a long wall far out into the sea, and presents its bluff termination, crowned with fortifications, to the impact of the waves that drive in with impotent fury from the wide Atlantic.

Berry Head is mentioned in the label to the woodcut of collectors shown above and, in Land and Sea, Gosse goes on to describe his methods of collecting, although contemporary Natural Historians would frown at his use of chisels and hammers to remove specimens together with the rocks to which they are attached.

Above are two contemporary images of Goodrington Sands and I wonder how many visitors today are aware of the activities of the passionate collectors of the mid-Nineteenth Century? The rocks in the lower picture were one of the collecting sites used by Henry Gosse and it is good to see young children in the picture following his example, but presumably without chisels and hammers. If only they knew about their enthusiastic predecessors.

[1] Edmund Gosse (1896) The Naturalist of the Sea-shore: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse. London, William Heinemann.

[2] Charles Kingsley (1855) Glaucus; or, The Wonders of the Shore. London, Macmillan and Co.

[3] Philip Henry Gosse (1865) Land and Sea. London, James Nisbet & Co.

[4] http://www.rwotton.blogspot.com/2014/01/what-to-wear-on-shore.html

Celebrating the coming of the railway – the “Paignton Pudding Riot”

It is difficult for us to imagine the excitement caused by the building of railway lines in the Nineteenth Century. For example, the arrival of the extension of the line from Torquay to Paignton in 1859 saw a celebration that ended in a wild and notorious disturbance.

Paignton had a tradition that, every fifty years or so, a large pudding was made and shared between members of the local parishes who gathered on Paignton Green for the celebration (the green is seen in the aerial view above, taken from the englishriviera.co.uk website). Prior to the arrival of the Dartmouth and Torbay Railway, the previous festival was held on 1st June 1819, with a pudding weighing 900 lbs. (pounds) and contained four hundredweight of flour, 120 lbs. of suet, 120 lbs. of raisins and a “large number” of eggs [1]. White describes the disaster that followed:

[The pudding] was boiled in a large brewing copper at the Crown and Anchor Inn; it was contained in a huge bag, which was held in a net suspended to a beam, from which it was lowered by a tackle into the boiler, and kept just three inches off the bottom. After boiling for three days it was hoisted out, placed on a waggon, and drawn to the Green by three horses. But those who had assembled to eat the pudding were doomed to disappointment; the outside, from the constant boiling, had been reduced to the consistence of paste, and the inner part was not even warm.

The organisers were aware of the problems of 1819 when planning the celebration for the arrival of the railway on 1st August 1859. It was to be held once again on the Green and the pudding was even larger. White [1] continues:

In order to secure success on the present occasion, it was arranged that the pudding should be baked in sections, eight sections forming one layer, the whole being afterwards built together. The pudding consisted of 573 lbs. of flour, 191 lbs. of bread, 382 lbs. raisins, 191 lbs. currants, 382 lbs. suet, 320 lemons, 144 nutmegs, 95 lbs. of sugar, a quantity of eggs, and 860 quarts of milk; the cost was £45. When completed the weight of it was one ton and a-half; it was thirteen feet six inches in circumference at the base, and five feet at the top. Besides this remarkable pudding, there were provided 1,900 lbs. of meat, 1,900 lbs. of bread, and an unlimited supply of the staple product of the Paignton orchards, - cider.

Perhaps it was the latter that fueled subsequent events. The waggon containing the pudding arrived and five policemen guarded both the pudding and dignitaries who had assembled for speeches etc. but they were overwhelmed by members of the public who left their tables and swarmed around trying to get a slice from the pudding. They were joined by navvies who had built the railway and who were also part of the celebrations, and White writes:

A disgraceful scene followed in which men, women, and boys, struggled and fought for the possession of the pieces thrown out from the waggon; and this continued until not a morsel was left.. ..For weeks afterwards the Post Office was inundated with greasy packets, containing morsels of the pudding, sent off as so many souvenirs to distant friends.

As members of my family lived in Paignton in the Nineteenth Century, they are likely to have been present at the “pudding riot”, but it is not part of family folklore. 

One can’t imagine such a scene today, or could one?  

[1] J.T.White (1878) The History of Torquay. Torquay, The “Directory” Office.

A religious upbringing?

Canadian rock legend Neil Young sold some of his extensive model railway collection this week: https://www.liveauctioneers.com/catalog/112391_property-from-the-collection-of-neil-young/ As a child, I would have been very envious of these, as I had a hand-me-down Hornby clockwork set to play with and, although there was lots of track, locomotives, coaches and wagons, there was little concession to reality and patience ran thin when derailments, and spectacular crashes, occurred so frequently.

My interest anyway was in the railways on which the models were based and I was fortunate in being brought up in Paignton during the 1950s and early 1960s, a time when full-sized trains played an important role in the life of the town. We were a family of five and all three brothers had an interest in trainspotting so, as the youngest, it was inevitable that I would follow suit and eventually be given an Ian Allan book to underline the numbers of locomotives I had seen. For me, it almost had the status of a religion and I could relate to the thrill of seeing all the different types more easily than I could to the excitement I was led to believe came from Bible stories. Of course, trains provided no promise of salvation, or any link to something supernatural, but they provided an introduction to steam locomotives with the names of castles, halls, granges and manors in shiny brass letters on their curved nameplates: places that seemed as exotic, and yet rather closer to home, than the various Biblical names I heard so frequently at Winner Street Baptist Church. Another difference between the two “religions” was that train worship was seasonal, with a concentration in July and August and it was Saturday, not Sunday, that required my attendance at the railway station early in the morning. My place was against the railings just visible in the far left of the contemporary photograph (above), taken in quieter times and there was nothing like summer Saturdays for rarities from distant parts. All manner of locomotives were pressed into service, including those designed for pulling freight trains.

So, why was Paignton such a mecca (if you will excuse an Islamic pun)? Something of the flavour of events is described by David St John Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith in their book Summer Saturdays in the West [1]:

The overnight trains always had a reputation for running late, and on the busiest Saturdays when many ran in several parts the average late arrival at..Paignton could be as much as two hours. If it was as bad as this, then engines and stock were often not available to start return trips from Paignton to London, the Midlands or North in time, and so delays spread. At times, almost a half of the incoming holidaymakers arrived in their resorts by breakfast time.. .. Of course, these masses of incoming visitors could not go to their hotels or camps until noon or even later and were this something of a liability to the resorts, swamping swimming pools and cafes (once a Paignton cafe sold 600 eggs at a Saturday breakfast time) and overfilling public shelters or just remaining on the station platforms when it was wet. Those who had not booked accommodation would form queues outside information bureaux before opening time..

..Once the overnight trains had passed through there would be a slight lull on the down line, filled in by a few strictly local trains for the large numbers of Taunton and Exeter people going to the sea on day trips..

I noticed the crowds streaming off the trains, of course, but they were of little importance to me compared to the busy work of the locomen, guards and station staff and the wondrous noises and smells from the locomotives. In the picture below (taken from Thomas and Smith’s book) you can see the crowds at Torquay (the next stop up the line) waiting for a train to Manchester, as a train for Leeds pulls out of the station. The same scene played out at Paignton, but departing trains never had the same interest, as their locomotives had already been seen on the way down. However, the crews needed to make a spirited getaway as the line quickly began a climb and there was much other activity as departing, and arriving trains, passed over a level crossing, with gates controlled manually from the signal box. All a whirl of activity, although my interest waned after a few years, as did the number of trains.

I don’t know whether my experiences on these summer Saturdays provide an example of the Jesuit maxim “Give me the child for his first seven years, and I’ll give you the man”, but I’ve retained my interest in railways, and in steam locomotives, having taken a locoman’s course (see below) and had the pleasure of riding on the footplate of a steam locomotive on more than one occasion (see below). In contrast, my interest in churchgoing – never strong – dwindled to nothing by the time I was 12 years old and I no longer attended at Winner Street. I realised then that my interest in Natural History was becoming absorbing and provided me with a sense of wonder that doesn’t need a theistic explanation. I'm afraid it is still like that.

[1] David St John Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith (1973) Summer Saturdays in the West. David & Charles, Newton Abbot.