Joseph Locke Page 5
I have spent many a weary hour and I might say night, because Mackenzie … would often, after finishing his pipe and glass of brandy and water … go out to one of the shafts which, as ill luck would have it, was close to his house and if, by further bad luck he found a bucket going down he would at once cry, ‘Now then Stevenson, let us jump in and see what these fellows are about down below.’…and the whole night’s expedition terminated in making our exit into daylight at 4 or 5 in the morning.
Mackenzie was to play an important role in Locke’s career, as we shall see later.
The date fixed for a ceremonial opening of the line was Wednesday, 15 September 1830. By now a number of new, improved versions of Rocket had been built at the Stephenson works in Newcastle. They were no longer limited by the size and other restrictions imposed for the competition with one notable exception: they were still required to ‘consume their own smoke’. In practice, this meant using coke instead of coal for firing. In all there were to be eight trains of carriages, hauled by locomotives in this order: Northumbrian, Phoenix, North Star, Rocket, Dart, Comet, Arrow and Meteor. Although he was no longer employed by the Company, Joseph Locke was given the honour of driving Rocket, an honour which, in view of later events, he must have often wished had gone to someone else. The Orders of the Day laid out what was to happen:
When the Trains of Carriages are attached to their respective Engines a Gun will be fired as a preliminary signal, when the Northumbrian will take her place at the head of the Procession: a second Gun will then be fired, and the whole will move forward.
The Engines will stop at Parkside (a little beyond Newton) to take in a supply of water, during which the company are requested not to leave their Carriages.
Everything, it seemed, had been catered for, including the safety of the expected crowds of onlookers. Railings had been set up along the edge of Olive Mount cutting to prevent anyone toppling over the edge.
The occasion attracted huge crowds, as reported in the Liverpool paper The Albion:
All the hotels, inns, and taverns in the town and its vicinity were crowded to excess. A number of private houses were also filled with strangers. So that there was, on Wednesday morning, a greater concourse of strangers in Liverpool than there had ever been before at one time in its annals.
The guest of honour was the Duke of Wellington, not perhaps the happiest choice, since he was very far from being a railway enthusiast. And though to many of the nation he was the Hero of Waterloo, in the northwest, and in Manchester in particular, he was the Villain of Peterloo. It was his political party that had ordered in the cavalry to break up a peaceful meeting in Manchester to call for parliamentary reform, an action that resulted in many deaths and injuries. Nevertheless, he was treated with great dignity and was to travel the line in a specially prepared eight-wheeled carriage, handsomely decorated with gilded moulding and covered with a crimson canopy: ‘the whole had a magnificent and imposing effect, in the Grecian style of architecture.’
All went well at first and Northumbrian made its scheduled stop at Parkside, and was shunted off the main running track. Several of the passengers now got out and began to roam all over the lines, ignoring the regulations. It was not perhaps surprising: few, if any, of those present were familiar with railways, and those who had a knowledge would only have seen the older, slow colliery engines. They did not appreciate the speeds now attainable and the danger the new locomotives represented.
William Huskisson MP was of a very different political persuasion from the Duke, as radical as the latter was conservative, and there was a history of personal antagonism between the two men. However, the Duke leaned out of his carriage and seemed to be offering a conciliatory handshake: Huskisson moved across to join him. Then there were shouts that a locomotive was on its way. Rocket was approaching at speed and people began to scramble hastily back into their coaches. Huskisson, who had been ill recently, seemed confused. He clung to the door of the Duke’s carriage. Rocket hit the door, flinging Huskisson onto the tracks, where he was run over and his thigh crushed.
A Birmingham man, Joseph Parkes, lifted him from the rails.
‘This is the death of me,’ murmured Huskisson.
‘I hope not sir,’ said Parkes.
‘Yes it is.’
Every effort was made to help the injured man. Northumbrian was detached from its train and a flat car that had held a band of musicians was coupled up. Huskisson was laid carefully on top, and the locomotive sped away with George Stephenson taking control. The locomotive reached 36mph, but speed could not save Huskisson, and the man who had done so much to promote railways died.
One can only imagine Joseph Locke’s feelings on that day, as triumph became tragedy. There was no question of blame attached to him: there was nothing he could have done to prevent the accident, which was caused by disregard of the rules for the day. There were attendants in charge of each train, but they would hardly have dared tell such important guests what to do. When such accidents happen today, the unfortunate driver would be given counselling and support, but no such services existed then. He had to cope with the fact that he had killed a man and get on with his life.
Meanwhile, the organisers had to decide what to do. The crowds were gathered at Manchester so it was decided to go ahead with the programme as originally planned. The Duke had left Liverpool to the cheers of the crowd: he arrived at Manchester to boos and brickbats. He appeared calm and must have expected a rowdy reception, and the return journey passed relatively uneventfully. Due to the detachment of Northumbrian everything had got out of order and darkness was falling by the time they got back to Liverpool. There was, however, the dramatic finish of a journey down the Edgehill tunnel, lit by gas lamps.
Though marred by tragedy, the day had proved that there was a huge interest in and enthusiasm for railways, and the following day when the line was opened to the general public, there was a clamour for tickets. The Liverpool & Manchester Railway was not only built on a larger scale than its predecessors, but it had vividly demonstrated that passenger travel would in the future prove as important as the movement of freight. For Joseph Locke it had provided an opportunity to learn a range of different skills and prove himself to be a trustworthy and highly competent engineer.
Chapter Four
THE GRAND JUNCTION
With the successful opening of the Liverpool & Manchester and the triumph of the steam locomotive over cable haulage, the expansion of the rail system was inevitable. Plans were soon being made to join the line to Birmingham and to build on from there with a line to London. For both Joseph Locke and Robert Stephenson it was a time of great opportunity, and both were eager to grab their chances. Robert was soon to be appointed as the Chief Engineer for the new London & Birmingham Railway, but Joseph’s path to success was to prove altogether more tortuous. He was, however, ready to accept any challenge. He had served his apprenticeship as an assistant engineer and proved his abilities in civil engineering. He had learned how things should be done and, just as importantly, had developed a pretty good idea of how they should not be done. Both lessons had been learned from George Stephenson.
Locke had seen the problems that had arisen when Stephenson had failed to take full control of operations. They had been apparent early on in the construction of the Liverpool & Manchester, when the great engineer had entrusted vital work to often inexperienced assistants and an ill-organised workforce. Thomas Telford had been asked to report on the state of the workings at the end of November 1828. He would have expected to find such a major undertaking parcelled out between experienced contractors, who would have been given precise instructions and specifications. He sent one of his best men, James Mills, to find out exactly what was being done. His report of 7 December was not what Telford had expected to receive:
There is some difficulty in making out correctly the value of what is to do, for in truth there does nor appear to be a single contract existing on the whole line. Stevenson [sic] seems
to be the contractor for the whole, and to employ all the different people at such prices as he thinks proper to give them, the company finding all Materials, not only rails and wagons, but even Wheelbarrows and Planks &c.
Telford was horrified and wrote a scathing comment of his own, but nothing much changed. Joseph Locke would not make the same mistake. The different approaches to construction were to set the young man and his mentor in a destructive opposition that would sour their relationship forever. At this stage, however, things were going reasonably smoothly. Locke had gone to Ireland with Stephenson to look over the proposed line from Dublin to Kingston in February 1832, which when it opened in 1834 was to be that country’s first railway. Inevitably, with Stephenson’s involvement in the project, it was built to his 4ft 8½in gauge, but unlike the lines in the rest of the British Isles it was not to become the standard. Later routes were built to 5ft 3in and the Dublin & Kingston was eventually converted to the new Irish standard in 1857.
Back in England plans were beginning to be laid for the connections between the Liverpool & Manchester and Birmingham. There was already a short spur off the former route, the Warrington & Newton Railway, and the directors of that Company were understandably anxious that their line should be included in the through route, which became known as the Grand Junction Railway. George Stephenson was very much the man of the moment and he was called in to advise on the likeliest route, but it was Robert who carried out the survey. He proposed a route through Sandbach. The route was opposed by the Marquess of Stafford, who was also the 1st Duke of Sutherland, the man mainly known for instigating the infamous Highland Clearances. He had been among the earliest promoters of canals in his younger days and had a considerable income from the Bridgewater Canal. He had, however, been quick to see the potential in rail travel and had acquired a 20 per cent share in the Liverpool & Manchester. It is not known exactly why he opposed the Sandbach route, but as it was the Liverpool men who were promoting the line, his voice could not be ignored. As a result, Joseph Locke was sent off to survey an alternative route. It was still connected to the warrington & Newton, but took a different line, past Crewe Hall and the tiny hamlet of Crewe, that was destined to become famous in railway history.
Not everyone was happy with the proposed route, and Charles Vignoles was given the task of finding a more direct alternative. His route involved the construction of a massive – and very costly – viaduct across the Mersey at Runcorn. There was even a proposal for an even more expensive alternative, a tunnel under the river. In the event, costs for the direct routes ruled them out, and it was the Locke line that was accepted. Now all that remained to be done was to reach an agreement with the owners of the Warrington & Newton. At first there was a good deal of quibbling about the price that would be paid for shares. The Grand Junction were aware that the line, just 4¾ miles long, would need considerable upgrading, and needed to set the price to take that into account. It was only a small part of a route that would have to run for another 77 miles to reach Birmingham, but an important part. When negotiations seemed stuck, Locke was asked to look at alternatives. In the event, he estimated that even paying over £100 a share and paying for the upgrade, with what would be a new, improved track, would still be the better option. The shares were bought for £114 6s each, and everyone declared themselves happy.
The directors of the Grand Junction were more than satisfied with Locke’s part in the proceedings to date, but there was never much doubt about who would be asked to take on the post of Chief Engineer. It could only be the now famous George Stephenson. In spite of recent differences, Locke probably felt confident that, having done so much of the preparatory surveying, he would be appointed Resident Engineer to take charge of the day-to-day construction work. When the Bill was passed, Stephenson began to make his arrangements: he wanted to follow the system he had used on the Liverpool & Manchester, with the line divided into three and Joseph being simply an assistant on part of the route. The directors were unhappy with the suggestion and Locke was even less happy: he knew he had earned better.
Negotiations got nowhere at first, so Locke eventually felt that he had no alternative but to withdraw from the whole enterprise. That was a situation that was even less to the directors’ liking; they wanted him to be involved in a major capacity. There was some hurried rethinking. A new proposal was brought forward. Stephenson would be Chief Engineer, but Locke would be Resident Engineer, with responsibility for the northern section – and would take over the whole in Stephenson’s absence. According to Devey’s biography, the great engineer declared that he would never be absent to give Locke a chance to interfere. If those were his words, or his true feelings, then it would seem that this would be an arrangement that would not last very long. So it was to prove.
The first matter that had to be considered was the letting of contracts. Locke was well aware that this was of the very greatest importance, and set out his ideas to the directors. In his opinion it was the main job of the engineer to provide detailed plans and specifications for the line, so that no one was in any doubt about what the work would entail. Secondly, he felt that as railway construction was so new, contracts should only be let out in ten-mile parcels, to ensure that no contractors were able to take on more work than they could actually perform. George Stephenson preferred to follow the far looser system that he had used on other lines. The judgement of the two men was about to be put to the test.
By the end of September 1834, all the lots laid out by Locke had been tendered for and agreed. The estimates prepared by the engineering staff were in close agreement with those of the contractors and everyone was delighted. By November, the remaining lots for the section under the control of Stephenson and his assistant had still not been settled. What was even worse, there were huge discrepancies between the engineers’ and contractors’ estimates. Not surprisingly, the Company found this situation alarming, so Locke was asked to do his own checks. It rapidly became apparent that the information supplied by Stephenson was so vague that the contractors were relying largely on guesswork, and upping the price simply to make sure that they covered all eventualities. The most striking example was the Penkridge viaduct for which the contractor had estimated a cost of £26,000. Locke then provided him with an exact specification, setting out clearly and precisely what was required. The contractor now came up with a figure of £6,000, said to include a handsome profit for himself.
The directors could only draw one conclusion, but they were still loath to lose the great engineer and suggested that the two men should act jointly as chief engineers. This arrangement was even less likely to work than the previous one, and in August 1835, Stephenson withdrew and Joseph Locke was now Chief Engineer for the Grand Junction Railway. There was to be an interesting corollary to the story of the Penkridge viaduct, and it starts during the construction of the Sankey viaduct for the Liverpool & Manchester. Stephenson needed to find a source of good stone and he found what he needed in a quarry managed by a young man from Birkenhead, Thomas Brassey. The two must have got on well, for Stephenson suggested to him that he should apply for one of the Grand Junction contracts. He put in a tender for the huge Dutton viaduct, but his offer was £6,000 higher than that of a rival contractor, the far more experienced David McIntosh. He then tried for the ten-mile stretch that would include Penkridge. It was here that he was successful.
According to one story, Locke got up early one morning at his lodgings in Liverpool, breakfasted, walked to the ferry, crossed the Mersey and arrived at Brassey’s Birkenhead home at eight in the morning. They discussed the Penkridge contract and reached a rapid agreement. Brassey must have been impressed by Locke’s energy and it seems Locke in turn was equally impressed by Brassey’s enthusiasm. He and Joseph Locke were the same age, and it was to prove the start of a long and successful collaboration. They not only worked together on many major projects but also became good friends.
Brassey was not the only contractor on the line who was to have a lon
g working relationship with Locke. William Mackenzie was born into a family who had been involved with civil engineering projects since the start of the Canal Age. He was the eldest of the eleven children of Alexander Mackenzie, whose first encounter with these works was as a navvy on the Forth & Clyde Canal, but he soon rose through the ranks and became a contractor on the Leeds & Liverpool Canal. William was born in Lancashire and at first it seemed he might take a different path, as he was apprenticed to a weaver. That life did not suit him and he was soon following in his father’s footsteps. Over the years he was to work on many important projects and spent some time with Thomas Telford. One of the biggest schemes he worked on was the construction of a new main line for the Birmingham Canal, a task that involved immense earthworks, including some of the deepest cuttings ever made for a transport route at that time. On this project he was actually appointed as the Resident Engineer. So when the Canal Age gave way to the Railway Age he was ideally suited for the new world, with a wealth of experience behind him. He took a contract on the tunnel between Edge Hill and Lime Street and, whatever fault Locke may have found with the engineers supervising the work, he clearly laid no blame on the contractor, for he was given the very important contract for the Warrington end of the Grand Junction, worth £43,000.
Things did not always go smoothly. It was decided to realign the route near warrington, which involved moving the site for the viaduct across the Irwell. This inevitably caused delays while negotiations went ahead to purchase the new land needed for the realignment. Mackenzie grumbled in a letter of 19 June 1835 that his bricklayers had been idle for three weeks ‘and I need not add that Bricklayers do not relish Idleness in the Month of June.’ Apart from this small setback, work went on smoothly to the satisfaction of both contractor and engineer. The two men appear to have respected each other but their relationship was scarcely amicable as will appear later.