MAKING TRACKS - Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO – YORKSHIRE
True to his word, on 23rd December 1875 a telegram was received from Rhodes addressed to Ashenden P, Goathland Hall, North Yorks reading:
A R R I V I N G G O A T H L A N D R L Y S T A T I O N F O U R P M T O M O R R O W S T O P R H O D E S
The arrival of the telegram initiated a number of events. Firstly, of course, it stimulated Percy to approach his father in his study to ask if he might use the trap to collect his friend from the railway station. Secondly, the telegraph operator, not being known for his tact, wasted no time in informing the cook at the Hall that she would be feeding an extra mouth this Christmas. Naturally, the cook gave vent to her feelings about being the last to know, thought she was, in fact, the first, with the result that the news spread like wild-fire among the younger servants, who speculated what Mister Percy’s friend, whom he must have met at Oxford, which to many of them might just as well have been the other side of the World, might be like. Percy had two sisters, one older than him and one younger and both enjoyed a healthy interest in eligible bachelors, so it was not long before they also got wind of the imminent arrival of their brother’s friend. So far, only the Ashenden household were privy to the news. But the telegraph operator felt honour bound when drinking his pint of ale in the village pub that evening to explain to his less knowledgeable companions that, “Young men, like Master Percy Ashenden from the Hall and his friend, called Rhodes, who would be arriving tomorrow at the railway station, are sent up to Oxford University to learn stuff like Latin language, what the Roman soldiers used, and Greek like what the famous Hercules spoke, and mathematics, which is a posh name for sums, and such like, and they dress up in gowns and funny hats called mortar boards, ‘cos that’s just what they look like; and they get up to all sorts of pranks, what I have on good authority,” he said.
And so it was that the telegraph operator, the station master, the signalman and sundry urchins were witness to Cecil Rhodes stepping down from the train from Pickering at four o’clock the next day as the daylight waned and an evening mist rolled in from the moor, carrying a leather holdall, his only luggage, and dressed in a Gabardine over-coat, brown riding boots, and a slouch hat with a pipe in his mouth; he looked every inch the “Colonial”. Percy greeted him warmly, if somewhat formally, thrusting out both hand to shake Rhodes’ outstretched arm and saying, “It’s so good to see you again, by Golly, but is this all the belongings you’ve brought?”
“It’s all the belongings I’ve got!”, responded Rhodes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my evening dress in there”, he continued, pointing to the holdall on the ground by his feet, “ a quick one-over with the smoothing iron to take out the creases by one of your maids, and it’ll look as good as new. Come my friend,” he went on, gripping Percy by the elbow and leading him through the station building to the road where the trap waited, outside, “I need a warming drink and a blazing fire to take the chill out of my bones. There’s nothing but the North Sea between Sleaford and the Russian Steppes when the winter wind blows there, and it gets damnably cold.”
“I’m afraid you will have to wait till dinner for your drink,” explained Percy, apologetically, as he expertly handled the trap down the road from the station, “Father doesn’t allow us alcohol before seven o’clock in the evening. Of course, he doesn’t forbid a glass of ale at lunch-time, or the stirrup cup at the hunt, but what he calls serious drinking shouldn’t start before seven, he says. But I can promise you a coal fire in your room and piping hot bath water. Father employs a stoker from the Railway Company to manage the Hall’s heating system.” Changing the subject, he asked Rhodes about his journey.
“Next to the Bible”, intoned Rhodes portentously,”Bradshaws Threepenny Railway Guide is the most important publication in the English language, and it’s issued with a useful Travelling Map. Armed with this volume, I am able to consult the Official Timetables of all the Railways of England Wales and Scotland. I spent a most enjoyable afternoon earlier this week plotting my railway journey from Sleaford. My first train left Sleaford at nine-oh-five and arrived just an hour later in Lincoln. Half an hour later I rode on a train from Lincoln to Doncaster, where I connected with the London to York express. In York, I enjoyed an early lunch in the Great North Railway Hotel, and got on the train to Scarborough. This dropped me at Rillington from where the local afternoon post train brought me through Pickering and so deposited me here, at Goathland. Two hundred and fifty miles in seven hours, including a stop for lunch – not bad. Think what railways could do for Africa!”
By the time the trap had completed the journey from Goathland Station to the Hall, the light had already faded from the sky and the frost was settling on the scrubby grass that clung to the hillsides. The Hall itself was well lit with flares set in the walls and gas lamps over the entrance doorway, providing an unspoken welcome to the traveller leaving the rutted lane that had led him thus far as his conveyance encountered the relatively smooth and flat surface of the gravel driveway from the gate to the forecourt fronting the building. Rhodes was no stranger to elegant and formidable houses, there being an abundance around Bishops Stortford where he was brought up, but he would have had to admit that there was something extra in the imposing facade of a four-square Yorkshire country mansion. A servant stepped forward from the lighted porch and took Rhodes’ bag, while Percy ushered his guest into the house. The Entrance Hall was a large, rectangular double-volume space with doors going off either side leading to “who-knew-where”, and two flights of stairs, one on the left, the other on the right, meeting at their tops on a balcony running the width of the room, and also leading off to other regions. It was up the one on the right that Percy led his charge, and along the corridor turning left into a large bed-sitting room equipped with a window in an alcove overlooking the land behind the house. The heavy curtains were drawn across the window alcove and a coal fire burned brightly in the grate set into one wall. Another alcove set in the opposite wall contained a large wooden tub, set on its marble tiled floor, into which a maid was currently engaged in pouring steaming hot water from large jugs, which she had filled in the boiler room.
“Just like Oxford”, said Rhodes, “and a bit better than Kimberley”.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your bath and change for dinner”, said Percy. “Here is your bag” as the manservant knocked and walked in with the article, “and the maid will iron your kit while you soak. There is some reading matter beside the bed, which has been thoroughly aired for your arrival. A gong will sound at seven o’clock, and that’s when you can get stuck into your first beer, or sherry, or whisky. Father likes to reserve the port and the brandy until after the meal, so I shouldn’t ask for those, if I were you! James,” nodding in the direction of the departed manservant, “will help you to find your way around, and in particular to the tap-room, where we meet for drinks before dinner.”
After Percy had left, Rhodes gave the maid his dinner suit and clean, but crumpled, shirt to be ironed, and, in front of the fire, undressed prior to getting into the bath. Fortunately he had just crossed the room and lowered himself gingerly into the steaming bath-tub, when the maid re-entered the room with warm dry towels which she placed on a rack next to his bath. Slightly embarrassed, not having shared his ablutions with a female present since he had left home for boarding school, he coughed to let her know he was aware of her presence. The title maid should not be taken too literally. Elizabeth, for that was her name, was a 50 year old widow, whose husband had distinguished himself as a drummer boy at Waterloo, and risen in the ranks of the peace-time army to colour sergeant, only to be cut down in the Crimea at Balaclava. Some 20 years younger than her husband, Elizabeth had enjoyed the role of army wife, and after her husband’s death had gained employment as a maid of all work in Percy’s father’s household. She was a spare woman with a bony face and sinewy arms, who would have been considered elegant in her youth had she been born into the “gentry”, and indeed had most of the attributes that were expected of a country lady. Ignoring Rhodes’ embarrassment, she fetched yet another jug of piping hot water and unceremoniously poured it into the bath at Rhodes’ feet.
Ten minutes later Elizabeth returned to the room with the neatly ironed shirt and pressed trousers and jacket, and a set of woollen underwear, which she lay at the end of the bed. Taking one of the towels from the rack, she held it up in front of the bath tub and uttered the first words that Rhodes had heard from her.
“Cum on, lad. Tha’e bin in there lang enough. Tha’ll be gettin’ reet cowld if tha tarries much langer.” Wrapping himself in the towel, Rhodes crossed to the fireplace while Elizabeth raked the cinders and added more coal. The underwear combinations, consisting of a long sleeved vest and long legged drawers had been warmed and Rhodes gratefully scrambled into them while Elizabeth was out of the room. Putting on a robe that had been thoughtfully provided by his hosts, he picked up one of the books from the bedside and settled into an armchair for an hour-or-so’s read before dinner.
He was roused from his slumber by Elizabeth not-so-gently shaking his shoulder to tell him that the gong had sounded for dinner. The book fell, unread, off his knees onto the floor, as he leapt up and started to pull on his shirt and trousers. Fortunately, Elizabeth had often dressed her husband into his uniform, and getting Rhodes looking smartly turned out in his evening wear was a piece of cake to her practised hands. She was just putting the finishing touches to his tie when James arrived to show him to the Tap-room.
The entrance to the Tap room was through a doorway situated under the left hand flight of stairs in the Entrance Hall. This led into an oak panelled room about 15 feet by 10 feet Through the wall opposite the doorway was another door that led into the Dining room. Along the back wall leading down into the cellars, was a staircase at the head of which was another doorway set into the back wall that led out into a passage-way that connected the kitchen with the dining room. The staircase was protected by an oaken balustrade, in front of which was a refectory table and benches. Cubbies set into the opposite wall contained decanters of various wines and spirits which included several brands of whisky, sherry and port, as well as some more exotic liquors. Standing in the middle of the room, with a tankard of beer in his hand, stood the Master of the house, Percival’s father, Mister Ashenden. Until that time, Cecil Rhodes had mixed with men from a wide variety of backgrounds during his time on the diamond fields, which he basically classified as English, Boers, Foreigners and Natives. Englishmen could include Scots, and, at a stretch, Americans. This was his first encounter with a dyed-in-the-wool Yorkshireman! He was a big man in more ways than one, being as tall as Rhodes, and considerably heavier, although not what you would call corpulent. He had a ruddy, outdoors complexion, and shook hands with a firm grip. Rhodes was a good judge of a man’s character, as his dealings with all sorts on the diggings and with the Boer farmers could attest, and he reckoned this was not a man to be taken lightly.
“Ahm pleased to meet ye, Mister Rhodes,” he said, “Percival, ‘ere, ‘as told us a lot about you. Ay ‘ope ye’ll enjoy our ‘ospitality to the full. Now, what’ll ye be havin’ to drink? Once ye got a glass in yer ‘and, ah’ll introduce ye to ma wife and daughters. Now, what’ll it be?”
Neither the said wife, nor the daughters were to be seen at this juncture, and Rhodes later learned from Percy that they were only expected to join the men in the tap room after a decent interval, thereby allowing the men to have their beer drawn from the barrel and their first sup.
“I’ll join you in a tankard of beer”, if you’ll allow me a small whisky to chase it down” stated Rhodes, thus setting the scene for an evening of merriment.
“How old are you, if I may ask?”, was Mister Ashenden’s first salvo.
“Twenty-three” was Rhodes’ curt reply
“Percy tells me you’ve done sheep farming, diamond digging and Lord knows what else. I tho’t ’e were pulling ma leg when ’e told me ’e made friends wi’ you at Oxford. What’s a man like that doing at Oxford, I says to meself. At twenty three you should be out there earning yer livin’!”
Rhodes smiled. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his closed fist. “If I told you I’ve got enough for my living for a year in my hand, would you believe me?” Slowly he opened his fist to reveal five fair-sized rough diamonds. Picking out the biggest, and placing it in Ashenden’s open palm, he said, “In my judgement that’ll fetch two-thousand guineas in Hatton Gardens. An expert cutter will make close to ten times that much.”
“By Gum,” exclaimed Ashenden, rotating the diamond in his fingers so that the light was reflected by it, “That’s reet champion. And this is what you’re doing in Cape of Good Hope?”
“It’s really in Griqualand where we are prospecting and digging. That’s on the Northern border of the Cape Colony. Fortunately, our government has had the foresight to annexe Griqualand before any other power got hold of it. My friends and I have set up partnerships and when the opportunity arises we buy out claims where the owner has died, usually in an accident, or run out of money for living expenses or simply got bored and moved on. My brother was a case in point. He preferred to hunt the game in the bushveld than dig for diamonds, so gave me his claims and went off after the game. But we need to go deeper. I’m sure the diamond bearing pipe carries on down. We need pumps to clear the water from the diggings in the wet season, and enough capital to buy up all the claims. The individual diggers are selling their stones too cheap. We need to control the prices, and that means buying up any distress parcels when they are offered ”
Just then, a tall handsome woman of indeterminate age entered the room, followed by two young ladies, one about twenty years old and the other eighteen or thereabouts.
“Ah, Mother,” said Ashenden, extending an arm to the woman, “Allow me to introduce Mister Cecil Rhodes, a friend of Percy’s, to you. And while you’re busy taking his hand, have a look at this diamond he’s just shown me. What do you think of that?”
At this juncture, Percy stepped from behind Rhodes, took his arm and steered him towards the two girls. “And this, “he said firmly, “is my elder sister, Rebecca, and this my younger sister, Katherine.”
There then ensued one of those horrible moments when nobody knows what to say next (after the regulatory “Pleased to meet you”, or, ”My pleasure”) followed by everyone talking at once.
“Do you hunt, Mr Rhodes?” From Rebecca
“Does he hunt? He hunts lions and tigers!” from Ashenden
“Actually there are no tigers in Africa” corrected Percy.
“Oooh, Africa. I’d love to go there and be a missionary” from Katherine
“ Don’t be so silly, Kate, “ from Mrs Ashenden
“Actually, I like to ride to hounds when the opportunity arises,” Rhodes replied to Rebecca, and turning to face Katherine,” I was going to enter the Church at one time, but changed my mind”
“Well I am pleased to hear that,“ from Ashenden, “Can’t stand the clergy, meself. Too self satisfied by half.”
There was again one of those embarrassed silences.
“Actually, my father was a vicar” said Rhodes.
With a bellow of laughter, Ashenden took Rhodes’ tankard and said, “ ’Ave another drink, and thanks be to God you changed your mind, for all our sakes.”
The ladies were offered a small sherry each, while the men refilled their tankards. Rhodes declined a second whisky.
Helped by the effects of alcohol on their tongues, the party was soon comparing with great passion the Granitic drama of the Yorkshire moors with the Sandstone prettiness of the Cotswold villages, the erudite conversations of Oxford tutors with the basic Dutch expressions of the Boer farmers, and what are the Zulu warriors really like?
Rhodes was in the middle of describing how his Zulu cook in the “mess” he shared with his partners had, from babyhood, pierced and elongated his ear-lobes to take, as an adult, a wooden disc the size of crown coin as a decorative item, much to the looks of horror on the faces of the ladies, when James, the steward for want of a better description, announced “Dinner is served.” Mrs Ashenden led the party through the inter-leading doorway to the dining room, followed by the Misses Ashendens, Rebecca and Katherine, Rhodes, Percy and, finally, the Master of the House. The room was big for so small a party, but, as Percy explained, it often had to accommodate up to twenty dinner guests when his father had board meetings. A roaring log fire had been built up at the far end of the room, and the silver gleamed under the subdued lighting.
The first course was, naturally, Yorkshire pudding with gravy. Having been fed Yorkshire pudding at college, it was with foreboding that Rhodes tackled his large slice. To his amazement and relief, this Yorkshire pudding had a crust that was crisp on the top, and underneath it was soft and airy with only a thin doughy base. But what really made it was the gravy. Rich with oxblood from the meat, some wine added for zest, and molten dripping running in rivulets over the batter, it melted in the mouth. The second course was pheasant.
“Shot ’em on our own land,” remarked Ashenden with evident pride, “Aye we ’ave a shooting party ev’ry Saturday in t’ season. Watch out fer t’shot. Won’t do yer teeth much good! Don’t s’pose ye get much pheasant in Africa, eh?”
Not to be outdone, Rhodes replied, with some asperity, “Guinea Fowl does as well for the table, and we don’t have to shoot them! They walk their way into the kitchen!” but he had to admit, the cook had done a splendid job with these pheasant.
Roast Beef followed, with the to be expected commentary on its provenance from the master of the house and finally a suet pudding with lashings of cow’s cream.
The ladies withdrew (to the tap room) and the port was brought to the table by James. “Cigar, sir?” enquired James, and following his host’s example, Rhodes took from the proffered box. Percy waved the box away. “Cigars and rugby football don’t mix,” he remarked, “And I want to try out for England.”
Once he had got the cigar drawing nicely, and with the port following the ample quantities of wine he had already consumed, Rhodes felt confident enough to ask the question that his host’s largesse and expansive nature had prompted with increasing insistence in his mind.
“Mr Ashenden, he said, “I am most interested to learn from what source your evident wealth,” and here he swept his arm around taking in the silver and the remains of their sumptuous meal, “has arisen?”
“You mean,” responded the Master, “How did a rough Yorkshire sheep farmer amass the brass that you see around you? Well I’ll tell ’ee. Stocks and shares. That’s the way to make money. Ye get in when the Company’s formed and, if t’ business is profitable and t’growth ‘appens, as it will with a good business, t’value o’ yer shares jest goes oop an’ oop. Railways, them’s bin ma fortune. Mind, I were lucky. When t’railway from Whitby to Pickering were first mooted, it were surveyed to cross my father’s land. They gave him a choice. We pay you fer right o’ way, or ye can tek shares in the Company. Other farmers took t’cash, but my Dad spoke to George Stephenson who surveyed the line and he, George Stephenson that is, said to take t’shares. So my Dad did. What’s more, my Dad asked George to teach his son, that were me, t’rudiments o’ surveying, an’ I surveyed the whole line from Grosmont to Pickering, aye, even t’gradient up to Becks Hole. Then when Mr ’udson’s Company, York and North Midland Railway, acquired our line by act o’parliament, why we got given shares in that Company too. Eleven year since, I surveyed a deviation to avoid the gradient to Becks Hole, and as that went over our land I were given more shares. Oh yes, t’railways ’ave been good to uz.”
Sitting back in his chair, and contemplating his cigar, he continued, “Tek my word for it, stocks and shares is the way to go. Put your diamond claims into limited liability companies, raise the capital for the machinery you’ll need, and if the diamonds are there, ye’ll make your fortune.”
“Much as Ah’ve been enjoying yer company, Cecil,” Percy’s father intoned,” Ah think you might be well advised to retire soon. Percy will tell you what you can do, tomorrer, but we ‘ave a sort of tradition, ye might call it, of ganging to Church fer Christmas Service in Pickering which starts at eleven o’clock. Thing is” and here Mr Ashenden was clearly enjoying himself, ”There’s no regular train service on Christmas Day –we like to give the crews the day off – and so we make up a private train to tek passengers from Grosmont to Pickering. It’s quite safe, of course, ‘cos there’s no other trains on the track. I usually drive the train, and Percy does fireman’s duties, but this year, seeing as he has a friend with him, I’ll let him drive and you can be fireman! A strapping lad like you shouldn’t find it a problem – ah, but it does mean getting’ oop at five ay-em to get to Grosmont to get fire started. Percy’ll give you a call and you can ride over to Grosmont together! Ah’ll join you at nine and help wi’ coupling up t’ carriages.
Thanking his host for his kindness in offering this opportunity to broaden his horizons, Rhodes said goodnight and Percy led him back to his room.
“Five o’clock, then,” said Percy, “Your day clothes will be fine. We’ll get them washed afterwards, alright.” So saying, he left Cecil Rhodes to get what sleep he could for the next six hours, who, with the clear conscience and the good digestion of the young, was in that untroubled state of somnolence almost as soon as his head hit the Pillow.
At five o’clock the following morning, James (the general factotum) woke Rhodes with a steaming cup of good Arabica coffee, percolated to extinction, which was just the way Rhodes liked it. Three spoons of sugar and a dash of milk completed the beverage, and before he had finished his drink he was ready to go. Percy was waiting in the hallway when he descended the stair (by now he had the geography of the house taped) and the pair went out into the raw early morning air. An overnight frost had frozen the puddles and the stars above shone with the clarity that the low temperature gives to the atmosphere. A full moon was beginning to dip low in the West, but by its light they collected their horses from the stables and set off at a trot on the bridleway that would bring them into Grosmont.
Twenty minutes later, an easy ride saw them descending the steep path into Grosmont, a village hemmed in by the steep sides of the Esk River valley and its confluence with Eller Beck that had followed their ride from Goathland. The railway track which had also been following its sinuous down-hill course from Goatland, criss-crossing the Eller Beck, levelled out before entering an inclined tunnel through the granite cliffs that protected the village. The line emerged from the tunnel, crossed a metalled road that led to Whitby in one direction and, over the moors, to Middlesbrough in the other, and entered the precincts of Grosmont Station. However, Percy and Rhodes’ destination was the engine shed and marshalling yard that was laid out at the levelled nether end of the tunnel, where nature had provided a wide, flat space in which four or five rail spurs had been laid and a shed built to provide protection to items of rolling stock that might be vulnerable to inclement weather, and a work space that provided shelter to the work crews. In the shed was the locomotive that was to haul their train to Pickering, while, beyond the tunnel, a rake of four carriages stood at the station platform awaiting passengers and traction.
The two men dismounted and entered the shed. The locomotive was bigger than Rhodes had expected when he found himself alongside it. It was painted in the light green livery of the North Eastern Railway, later adopted by L.N.E.R., and carried the nameplate “AEROLITE” above its driving wheel. Percy explained that, while many early locomotives carried the water and coal required for longer journeys in a separate tender linked to the locomotive, this locomotive carried its supplementary water in a tank slung beneath the boiler and supported by the chassis of the loco, and additional coal in a bunker behind the driving position. Percy pointed to the steam pipes emerging from the smoke-box at the front of the boiler and the cylinders between the side frames into which they delivered the high pressure superheated steam. With obvious pride, Percy explained that this locomotive was the design of Mr E.Fletcher, and was unique to the best of his knowledge, but perfectly suited to the track conditions between Grosmont and Pickering – tight curves and steep inclines. With just one pair of driving wheels, five foot, seven and a quarter inches diameter, and front and back bogies consisting of just a pair of wheels each, the tight curves could be easily navigated and with most of the weight on the drivers, there was little slippage on the inclines.
Climbing into the cab, Percy opened the firebox door and instructed Rhodes to lay some kindling, stuff some rags soaked in oil between the sticks, and get the fire going. A good draught was provided by a chimney extension rising above the funnel of the locomotive through the roof of the shed, and soon Rhodes was able to add coal to his log-fire and it started to roar. Percy had checked that the water level in the boiler was sufficient and they waited in silence for the steam to generate. While they waited, Percy showed Rhodes where he should apply lubrication to the connecting rods and valve gear, and the check-points to be observed. The horses had been tethered to a hitching post while they got the fire started, but now Percy asked Rhodes to lead them into a livestock truck that was standing on a spur alongside the shed. Here he placed them in a stall each, and gave them some hay to munch on.
An hour had passed since they arrived at the shed, and steam pressure was being registered in the boiler. “Give it another 10 minutes, and we’ll have enough to move on” said Percy. “We operate on a hundred and forty pounds per square inch, but anything over ninety will be enough to move on, and once we have some exhaust steam to draw the fire, we’ll soon get the boiler up to working pressure. You’ve just got to build the fire up evenly and nicely. It’s looking good so far”
Despite the frosty air, Rhodes was sweating with the exertion of feeding coal into the fire-box, and was glad of a piece of waste cotton to mop his brow. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His labour in the diamond field was standing him in good stead now. Meanwhile Percy had busied himself by brewing a pot of tea with the heat of the fire which he now served to Rhodes in a pewter mug with lashings of sugar, “To replenish your energy”, as his father had been wont to say to him on his previous Christmas jaunts, when he was the Fireman.
With his eye on the pressure gauge, Percy eased the reversing gear forward, checked the drain cocks were open, and then pulled down on the regulator lever. With a hiss of steam and water from first one cylinder and then the other, the locomotive moved slowly forwards towards the open doorway of the shed. Although by no means unused to travelling on trains, even on the burgeoning railway system being developed in Cape Town, this was the first time Rhodes had been on the footplate of a steam locomotive in motion and, what was more, his was a significant contribution to this monstrous power, now held in rein by Percy’s left hand resting lightly on the regulator. The chuff of the exhaust steam echoed loudly from the surrounding cliffs, which Percy cut short, when he closed the regulator and allowed the engine to glide over the points leading from the spur on which the horse box was standing. With the engine coming to standstill, Rhodes jumped down from the footplate and switched the point ready for Percy to back up to the horse box. Pulling back on the reversing lever, and opening the regulator, two chuffs from the exhaust brought the engine gently up to the wagon containing the horses, which Rhodes then hitched by its chain to the drawbar of the locomotive. Once again with the reversing gear forward, Percy opened the regulator to take the train over several sets of points until the last set gave access to the running, or main-line. Rhodes, on Percy’s instruction, had run forward to switch all the points “clear” for the feeder line carrying the train, including this last set that had to be held open as they were weighted to return to the open position for the main-line. By the time Percy had completed these manoeuvres, and was ready to reverse the train through the tunnel to the station platform where the rest of the train was waiting, the steam in the boiler was up at its normal working pressure and the cylinder drain cocks had been closed by Percy, having eliminated the water condensate, and it was time for Rhodes to attend to his fire. Clambering aboard the moving footplate, Rhodes leaned against the side of the cab and watched the mouth of the tunnel approaching them as he regained his breath.
They entered the darkness of the tunnel, contrasting with the lightening sky as a watery sun peeked over the surrounding moors and, at the limit of their vision, they could discern the exit growing rapidly until they burst into the daylight about 200 yards from the Station buildings. Percy reached up and pulled on the chain that opened the valve to the whistle. They could discern a figure at the start of the platform swinging a green lantern from side to side, who turned out to be none other than Mister Ashenden, dressed in the smart uniform of a senior official of the North Eastern Railway. Percy shut off the steam, and the loco and wagon glided in relative silence, with a slight lurch at the points which took them into the bay where the four carriages stood ready for passengers. Applying the brake handle, Percy brought his charge to a standstill with a slight bump as they connected with the first of the carriages.
“Morning, Lads,” shouted the boss, as he liked to be known when in the service of the Railway.
“Grand timing. The first of the passengers’ll be here soon. They’ll have heard your blast on the whistle, no doubt!”
The first carriage was an eight-wheeled Saloon Car with luxuriously appointed seats and curtains, a small kitchen at one end and a built-in wash-room and toilet at the other. There followed three four wheeled carriages fitted with wooden bench seats which were designated Third Class. On this particular journey, it was traditional to carry the local population occupying these carriages without charge, and, of course, for the big-wigs to travel in style in the first carriage. Naturally, this included members of the Ashenden family.
Mister Ashenden crooked a finger at two young lads who were loitering on the station platform, and pointed to the chains slung between the buffers of the horse box and those of the first carriage.
“Jump down there, lads, and save our guest, Mister Rhodes here, from the indignity of having to make the coupling fast. Ye know how it’s done, and screw them nice and tight. We don’t want the wagons bucking back and forth, do we? The ye can fetch my hoss from the back, there, and lead him into livestock wagon wi’ t’other two”
Taking advantage of the respite while waiting for the locals to wander down to the station from their various cottages set up and along the road either side of the railway crossing, Percy and Rhodes stoked the fire with fresh coal and cleaned out the ash.
Looking portentously at his hunter from time to time, Mister Ashenden greeted each arrival with a nod of the head and, “A Merry Christmas to you”, and various words of admiration for the finery on display in the women’s outfits. The men were accorded a hand-shake and good wishes.
As the big hand on his hunter approached its zenith to signal ten o’clock, Mister Ashenden raised his whistle to his lips and gave a blast. With a last look around, to make sure no one was left behind, and that all the doors were firmly closed, he waved his green flag towards the front of the train, and stepped nimbly onto the running board of the first carriage as Percy pulled smoothly away from the platform. With a full head of steam, and a long blast on his whistle, he put the locomotive to the gradient that led to the tunnel entrance. There was a little wheel-slip as they crossed from the points onto the main line, but quickly brought under control, and the train entered the tunnel leaving the station precincts devoid of any signs of human habitation.
The first three miles of the journey was all uphill, with an average gradient of one in forty-nine. By the village of Beck Hole, the train was running on a ledge cut into the side of the mountain high above the Esk valley. Pausing briefly in his stoking duties, Rhodes watched as they passed the recently disused iron works, then bent his back once again to shovelling coal into the fire. The line curved to the East past Darnholm, where the fulling mill was making good use of the swift flowing Eller Beck which they crossed three times in quick succession as it followed its tortuous course down the mountain. A frozen water fall came into view, its water still flowing strongly beneath a sheet of ice. The distant country looked the very ghost of a landscape. A couple of white walled cottages seemed part and parcel of the snow drifts around them, drifts swept by the wind into fairy wreaths and fantastic caves. Golden gorse and purple heather broke through in bright colour in the watery sunlight, and the trees were festooned with blossoms of snow. Nothing looked black, except the flocks of crows that dotted the snowy slopes, their caws, as they rose, echoing the stentorian puffs of the locomotive disturbing them. Rhodes had worked up a good sweat by the time they pulled into Goathland Station, where he had arrived for his visit just 24 hours earlier. Here the horses were taken off the train, to await their riders’ return from Pickering later in the day and a couple more of the Ashenden household boarded the train. With a blast on his whistle, Percy opened the regulator to continue the ascent. Again the tracks criss-crossed Eller Beck but fortunately the gradient had eased for the next two miles to one in 100, giving Rhodes a chance to draw breath and get his second wind, but he was more than ready for a respite when they reached the summit. Percy pulled the valve linkage to a neutral position and closed the regulator to conserve steam, allowing the train to coast downhill for the rest of the journey to Pickering, some ten miles further on. Rhodes, resting on his shovel, was able to appreciate the grandeur of the rolling moorland with its sprinkling left by the early snow-falls, and the sun, low in the sky but without a cloud in sight. The train ran without stopping over a level crossing and through a station situated at a cross roads with no other habitation in sight. Giving a long blast on his whistle, Percy explained that the village which the station served, Levisham, was about a mile away and some 300 feet up the side of the valley, and this was the closest the railway could get to the houses.
Pickering Station was alive with people waiting to greet friends and acquaintances from along the line, and to share in a convivial cup of mulled claret provided from the family saloon by Mr Ashenden. Rhodes and Percy found themselves being given three cheers for their pilotage, before there was a general movement of people toward the big church. Rhodes caught sight of himself reflected in a window, his face black with coal dust and his clothing soaked with sweat, which was now getting distinctly chilly.
“I must have a bath and get some clean clothes on” he said grabbing Percy by the elbow.
Percy, whose visage was not much less filthy, grinned, “All taken care of, Old Boy” he said, “Pa has packed a valise with a change of clothing for each of us. He does the same every time we run the train. There’s steam bath just along the road from the Church, and we’ll go there to freshen up and change. Oh, we’ll miss a couple of hymns, but as long as we’re back in the church before the sermon, the vicar won’t mind.”
The steam bath was built on the original Roman bath site, and retained the grandeur of that great empire’s architecture. The hot spring water was supplemented by a coal-burning boiler and cistern and very soon Rhodes and Percy were feeling clean, warm and refreshed. In their fresh clothes they slipped into the church, joining Mr Ashenden in the family pew, just as the vicar started his sermon, taking as his text the story of the three wise men, who arrived late for the birth of Jesus, giving a meaningful look at Rhodes, Percy and Mr Ashenden .
The return run to Grosmont was due to depart Pickering at two o’clock, to ensure arrival while there was still plenty of light, but fortunately for Rhodes and Percy, the engine was to be driven and fired by one of its regular crews. This just allowed time after the church congregation was dismissed for a snack lunch and a glass of ale in one of the local hostelries before boarding the train as passengers for the run to Goathland, where the horses would be waiting to carry them home.
It was a bone weary Cecil Rhodes who gratefully sank into his warm bed that evening, after some quiet contemplation with his hosts, staring into the roaring blaze of the drawing room’s log fire with a whisky to hand.
The next day, Boxing Day, the hunt was meeting at Goathland, so once again the Ashenden family, and their guest, were on duty as hosts. Rhodes was mounted on the same horse as the previous day, and had become quite used to its foibles. It didn’t like fences, or ditches, which suited Rhodes who explained, “We don’t believe in fences and ditches in Griqualand”. He then had to explain to Percy’s sisters where Griqualand was. He was surprised to see relatively few mounts at the railway station, where the hunt met before setting off for the uplands in pursuit of the foxes. Nor was the huntsman attired in a traditional red costume, although he was equipped with his horn. Percy explained that much of the hunt had to be conducted on foot, because of the nature of the terrain in this part of the World, and killing foxes was far more important than a mere sport. The success of the lambing season would depend on how many of the foxes were despatched during the hunting season. The railway had helped, he explained, by creating an instinctive barrier that confined the foxes to certain territories on either side. Flushing the foxes from their earths had become easier for the huntsmen, and the riders could bring their horses up to the moors by train, saving on a wearisome ride.
In Rhodes’ mind, as he retraced his journey from Yorkshire down to Oxford the following day, as well as the lessons of Pliny and Cicero that he needed to absorb before term re-started, was the lesson he had learnt regarding the benign influence that the railways had in improving the mobility and efficiencies in the lives of the people they served. What a difference, he thought, they could make in opening up Africa and releasing its wealth to the benefit of all of its inhabitants.