My magnificent rail journey

Continuing our Great Westcountry Journeys

series, Martin Hesp has been letting the train take the

strain from one end of the peninsula to the other

NO imagery is more redolent of the last century than the

series of old railway posters that used to speak so magically

of long, jolly days out travelling to somewhere wild and

beautiful, far from satanic mills and other dreadful workaday

places.

It's a world that, by and large, has sadly disappeared but

you can still experience glimpses of it, particularly here in

the Westcountry.

No single entity provides such a big taster of this

long-lost world as the main railway line that threads its way

the length of the peninsula, but even that glorious bit of

engineering doesn't have quite the seaside clout of the St Erth

to St Ives branch line that potters so precariously along the

Cornish cliffs.

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Together, the two represent one of greatest Westcountry

journeys – which is why I hopped aboard First Great Western's

9.26 Paddington to Penzance service at Taunton recently.

The thing about experiencing the mainline train ride down

the peninsula is that you have the time to witness and

understand how the region is put together geographically. The

route skips from river valley to river valley over the odd low

watershed and also, most famously, via the coast – so that you

get to see how much of the Westcountry's lay-out is

structured.

Within a couple of minutes of leaving Taunton you are

afforded the ability to do this as the countryside hurtles by

in a 100mph blur. To the immediate left the ground rises

steeply to the Blackdown escarpment, topped by Wellington

Monument, while to the right the Quantock Hills fade away

northwards only to make way for the distant Brendon Hills.

These three ranges of hills are what form the vast sweeping

Vale of the Tone which provides the rail route with easy

passage as it traverses west.

But then we feel the powerful locomotive beginning to strain

as it climbs the gradient south. Every bit of water so far is

flowing east and north out of Tone Vale to the Bristol Channel

somewhere behind us beyond the Somerset Levels, but the

Blackdowns are getting very close now and suddenly there is the

blackness of a tunnel.

After this, every rivulet and stream flows south towards the

English Channel, and we follow their course – eventually

joining the fast-growing River Exe to reach Devon's capital

city. After which, the Exe gets very big indeed.

Now we passengers are about to enjoy the very best of this

magnificent line – the much photographed section where rail

meets salt water As the flood plain meadows give way to the

estuary we enter the historic parish of Powderham and through

an avenue of evergreen oaks we can see Powderham Church – once

the scene of a bloody siege during the English Civil War.

I mention it as an example of the tales you can muse over

while belting along in the quiet comfort of a modern train. On

a dark night in October 1645, 200 Parliamentarian soldiers

crossed the Exe to take Powderham Castle but, having found it

far better defended than anticipated, they seized the church

instead. After three hours of fighting the Royalists had to

retire, leaving a bloody trail in the snow – but so cold was

life inside the church that the troops were pulled out after a

day or two.

The entire western shoreline of the Exe plays host to the

Paddington-Penzance railway. Downstream, we come to Starcross,

famed not so much for being the main harbour on the western

shore, but for its association with the trains.

The old tower which dominates the village is just about all

that remains of Isambard Kingdom Brunel's experimental

atmospheric railway which ran along the shoreline, but which

failed and was superseded by his brilliant main Great Western

Line.

Next is the quaint little harbour at Cockwood. It, for some

reason I have never been able to fathom, is called Cockwood

Sod. Now with restricted access caused by the railway

embankment, this once busy port exudes an air of unspoilt

charm.

Past Dawlish Warren we speed to gain the most fabulous bit

of main railway line anywhere. How long the stretch between

Dawlish and Teignmouth will survive the rising tide levels and

wave-torn ravages of global warming, no-one can tell – but I

reckon all Westcountry-lovers ought to travel along the section

at least once before it all falls into the sea.

At Teignmouth the train blasts inland as if thoroughly

relieved to have passed the dangerous bit unscathed yet one

more time, and we roar up the otherwise peaceful Teign estuary

at a rate of knots that turns even the giant mudbanks into a

fleeting smear of seaweed and wading birds.

After Newton Abbot it's all uphill to reach yet another

tunnel that breaches a watershed – and after Totnes it's much

the same story, although the train's traverse of southern

Dartmoor's foothills requires many more bridges than

tunnels.

Once Plymouth is out of the way the route reaches one of its

other great moments. Brunel's Royal Albert railway bridge was

completed in 1859 and heralded as one of the wonders of the

world. It was all very innovative – the two huge central arches

were constructed on dry land, floated out on to the river on

barges and raised up to position at a dizzying rate of six feet

a week.

The spans cross the water at a height of 100 feet above sea

level – a stipulation laid down by the Admiralty which was

worried that tall-masted ships would be unable to pass

upstream. The modern road bridge next door was completed in

1962.

Now that we're in Cornwall the express train seems to

metamorphose into a quieter local service, stopping at just

about every junction and halt there is. Liskeard, Bodmin

(Parkway Station), Lostwithiel, Par, St Austell, Truro,

Redruth, Camborne (where the train does stop despite the

Cornish comedian Jethro's famous skit), Hayle and St Erth,

which is where we got off.

It does, of course, go on to Penzance, but we alighted at St

Erth because that's where you catch the amazingly scenic

service to St Ives.

From humble beginnings does this magnificent branch line

grow – a journey which starts in an unremarkable siding between

the mainline and the main road and which ends by enjoying some

of the most spectacular coastal scenery you will ever see from

the windows of a train.

St Erth is a small, quiet village straddling the Hayle river

a mile to the East, but the St Ives line leaves the station by

bending away from it to the North, between a scrapyard and the

sewage works. It's true to say this is the only unattractive

section of the entire journey.

Lelant Saltings comes first and passengers are treated to a

front-row perspective of this interesting inlet. When the tide

is in there's nowhere in the Westcountry where salt comes quite

so close to the wheels of a train. Just six feet of sloping

stone wall separate the line from the waves that race across

from the Hayle side of this brackish lake.

There's plenty of opportunity to catch a glimpse of the

Saltings rich bird life – we saw swans, oyster catchers,

dotterel, a heron and shelduck. Halfway along the inlet the

service reaches its first halt at Lelant Saltings where a good

many new passengers are waiting for a ride into St Ives from

the park-and-ride scheme. Indeed this is a very popular branch

line, with more than 20 trains running every week day.

Within a minute or two we are stopping again, this time at

Lelant Station. The village looks an attractive place, with a

number of homes set back in well kept gardens which would

presumably have stretched down to the water's edge if it

weren't for the line.

Next we pass through a cutting as the track begins to climb

a gentle gradient before being reintroduced with the river.

Here we look out over the narrowest part of Hayle Estuary where

the river passes between the dunes, known as Hayle Towans on

the far bank and Lelant Towans on the westerly side.

If you've a choice when you climb on board at St Erth, grab

a seat on the right-hand side of the train, for that's the

window with the view from one end of the trip to the other.

The line now curves west and an enormous panorama of the

ocean opens up as we climb across the links. Porth Kidney Sands

– a wide beach of fine, golden sand – stretches away just

beneath the train and to the right past Hayle Bar you can see

the strand continuing all the way up to Godrevy Point some

half-dozen miles away. Godrevy Island with its famous

lighthouse can be seen just off the jagged headland.

From here to St Ives the line is accompanied by the St

Michael's Way – a footpath running from one side of the Cornish

peninsula to the other. Irish pilgrims used the route in the

early days of Christianity when the passage around Land's End

was deemed downright dangerous. These devout souls were on

their way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain and the 14 miles

from St Ives to Marazion near St Michael's Mount was regarded

as a mere stroll by the earnest pilgrims who were about to

cross vast tracts of continental Europe.

The path has been reinstated and you can follow it from

north coast to south if you have the energy by following the

special scallop-shaped marks that signpost the way.

Once it's reached the far end of the Towans, the branch line

leaves the sea for just a few seconds before introducing its

passengers to the splendours of Barrepta Cove, known better as

Carbis Bay. There's a halt here and many passengers alight in

summer months to spend the day on this sheltered beach.

Next there's yet another dramatic section as the line

follows the cliffs around Porthminster Point and round the

final curve to terminate at St Ives Station above Porthminster

Beach. Along here passengers might try looking out to sea for

Jack Harry's lights – a local St Ives phenomenon which has

lured many an unwary sailor out to sea in a storm.

Legend has it that pilots stationed along this coast would

see these lights before a gale – and the ship seen with them

was sure to be the one that would be found wrecked once the

storm had abated.

Another St Ives superstition was known as the Seven

Whistlers – strange whistling noises which occurred only at

night were said to spell death or misfortune to the person who

heard them. A St Ives fisherman wouldn't have dreamt of going

to sea the day after the whistling had haunted his dreams –

though many sceptics put the strange sounds down to the passage

of migrating birds.

Whistles or not, Porthminster Beach has always been a

popular venue for lovers of sand and sea, especially when the

town's famous surf beach at Porthmeor is swept by strong winds

from the North-West. Passengers alighting at the terminus can

either walk straight down the steps to the beach in a matter of

a few seconds, or walk into this most picturesque of towns

through the attractive side streets and back alleys in just two

or three minutes.

All you have to do is watch out for seagulls. The blighters

that live in St Ives are the worst in the West and will mob you

savagely if you are holding anything they might eat. My 99 ice

cream lasted less than 30 seconds – much to WMN photographer

Mike Thomas's huge amusement.

Apart from those rats of the sky, St Ives is as pleasant a

place as any in which to have arrived by train. Although the St

Erth to St Ives line might be the shortest general service

railway in the Westcountry, its few miles are certainly among

the most fabulous and dramatic.