Tales From the Terminals: St Pancras (Part One)
Tales From the Terminals now moves onto one of London’s most celebrated examples of architecture- St Pancras Station… or, as it’s been known since 2007, St Pancras International.
A Roman Martyr
It is all too easy to confuse ‘Pancras’ with the word, ‘Pancreas’… i.e., the gland organ which forms part of the digestive system!
In fact, St Pancras takes its name from a derivation of ‘Pancratius’; a 3rd century martyr who was born in Phrygia (now part of modern-day Turkey).
Orphaned at an early age, Pancratius was taken under the wing of his uncle, Dionysius.
The pair decided to travel to Rome and, whilst there, they converted to Christianity; a dangerous thing to do in those days.
Even more daring, Pancratius and Dionysius publically proclaimed their faith… an act of bravery which quickly led to their arrest. Dionysius died in jail and Pancratius- aged only 14- was beheaded for his beliefs.
The two early Christians later gained martyrdom and were made into saints.
Saint Pancratius
It is believed that a church dedicated to St Pancras the Martyr has existed in the vicinity where the railway station now stands since the 7th century.
Today, there are two churches in the area; St Pancras Old Church (which sits a short distance behind the station) and the later St Pancras Church; a far grander affair which was built in 1822 and can be found on Euston Road
St Pancras Old and New Churches
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A Station is born
St Pancras Station dates back to 1863, when the Midland Railway decided to construct a terminal of their own. Up until that point, they’d shared space with The Great Northern Railway; based next door at Kings Cross Station.
With their plans for a new station in mind, bosses from the Midland Railway purchased land in the area known as ‘Agar Town’ which came under the parish of Old St Pancras church.
The land upon which Agar Town stood had once been open fields, belonging to wealthy landowner, William Agar.
When William Agar died in 1838, his widow began to lease the land at cheap rates… as a result, Agar Town- essentially a shoddily built shanty community, began to spring up.
Map of Agar Town
The settlement was horrendously poor and, by the early 1860s, Agar Town was considered to be one of the worst slums in London. In 1851, Charles Dickens paid a visit to the area, describing it as:
“A complete bog of mud and filth with deep cart-ruts, wretched hovels, the doors blocked up with mud, heaps of ashes, oyster shells and decayed vegetables. The stench on a rainy morning is enough to knock down a bullock.”
Disruption
When construction of St Pancras Station and its sprouting rail tracks began, Agar Town, being inconveniently in the way, required complete flattening.
Although the landlady received a handsome £19,500 through the sale of the land, the residents of Agar Town- of whom there were approximately 5,000- were unceremoniously kicked out with no compensation offered.
The demolition of St Luke’s- an Agar Town church- was also required but, being rather pious people, the Victorians re-built the place of worship a little further north in Kentish Town at a cost of £12,000. The relocated church still stands today, and can be found on Osney Crescent.
St Luke’s Church, Kentish Town (from Google Street View)
The disruption didn’t end there though.
Old St Pancras Church also lay very close to the worksite, and the need to dig a tunnel near the new station caused major disruption to the church’s graveyard.
The cemetery belonging to Old St Pancras was the final resting place for 1,000s of people (many of whom had been refugees. who had fled to London during the French Revolution) and, although it had been closed to burials for some 30 years, there was public outcry at the railway’s interference with the burial ground.
Many of the bodies had to be exhumed and re-buried but, rather than giving the corpses fresh plots, the authorities simply dug a 40 ft. deep pit, into which 7,000 cadavers were hastily placed.
One of the officials employed to oversee this morbid task was none other than Thomas Hardy- a young apprentice architect who later went onto become one of Britain’s most celebrated authors; penning novels such as The Mayor of Casterbridge, Jude the Obscure and Tess of the d’Urbervilles.
Thomas Hardy
In 1882, nearly 20 years after taking part in the St Pancras dig, Hardy summed up the grisly mass grave in his poem, The Levelled Churchyard; with one of the verses reading thus:
“We late lamented, resting here
Are mixed to human jam,
And each to each exclaims in fear
I know not which I am!”
Today, the burial pit has been built over and, perhaps quite appropriately, St Pancras Coroner’s Court now sits on top of it.
St Pancras Coroners Court (from Google Street View)
A number of tombstones from the torn up graves were retained by the Victorian planners, and grouped around a tree. This memorial of sorts is known as ‘Hardy’s Tree’ after the famous author who unhappily took part in the desecration.
Hardy’s Tree
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St Pancras Station Opens
By 1868, St Pancras Station was ready for business.
The new station was a true marvel of Victorian engineering, frequently drawing comparisons to a cathedral.
The Midland Railway’s directors had clearly done their homework; taking note of earlier stations and incorporating the best bits from them into their own terminal… the grandeur of old Euston, the soaring iron and glass roof at Paddington and the practicality of Kings Cross all played their part in influencing St Pancras.
The mighty roof of the train shed was designed by William Henry Barlow, a seasoned engineer who had been involved in many projects- including the task of completing Bristol’s Clifton Suspension Bridge following Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s death.
Barlow’s roof is 210 metres long, 73 metres wide and sits 30.5 metres above the rails; all supported by hefty iron ribs weighing 55 tonnes a piece.
The roof under construction, 1864
When it first opened, this breath-taking canopy boasted two records; being both the largest single span construction and the largest enclosed space in the world.
Believe it or not, St Pancras station owes much of its immense size to… beer!
When the station was built during the 1860s, ale brewing was big business.
One of the major centres of this industry was the midland town of Burton-on-Trent, which had forged close links with the Midland Railway.
So huge was the industry in Burton-on-Trent, that the town’s brewers built their own, private railway specifically for moving their product around.
‘The Crossing’ (1961) by Lowry, depicts Burton’s private beer railway
As part of this system, the brewers secured storage space at St Pancras; the new station being specifically designed to incorporate a vast network of cellars for the purpose. At its height, the vaults beneath St Pancras were able to store over a million barrels of booze, most of which went onto be shipped all over the world.
Gothic Splendour
St Pancras’s main façade, which faces the Euston Road, is in fact a hotel; the Midland Grand (now called the St Pancras Renaissance).
It was built between 1868-1872, following a competition held by the Midland Railway to find an architect for the ego-boosting project.
The contest was won by Sir George Gilbert Scott (father of Giles Gilbert Scott who followed in his father’s footsteps; becoming an architect and designing the iconic red telephone box, Battersea Power Station and the Bankside Power Station which now houses Tate Modern).
Sir George Gilbert Scott
It is perhaps surprising that Scott’s design proved victorious- because, out of the 11 plans entered, his was by far the most expensive!
However, it was no secret that the Midland Railway were out to impress. They wanted their new combined hotel-station frontage to be the biggest and boldest in the British Empire. Their wallets were deep and cost was no object.
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Much of Scott’s soaring gothic design for the Midland Grand Hotel was actually based upon plans which he’d originally drawn up for Government offices in Whitehall.
However, unlike the board of the Great Midland Railway, parliament were not willing to bankroll such frivolity! The government’s rejection hurt Scott, but the opportunity to carry out similar work at St Pancras eased his upset somewhat. As he later recalled:
“It is often spoken of to me as [St Pancras being] the finest building in London; my own belief is that it is possibly too good for its purpose, but having being disappointed through Lord Palmerston of my ardent hope of carrying out my style in the Government offices…I was glad to be able to erect one building in that style in London.”
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When the Midland Grand opened its doors in 1873, it was with the boast that the hotel was “the most perfect in every possible respect in the world”, and it did indeed remain at the height of luxury for the remainder of the century.
The Grand Midland’s Dining Room
The hotel was a hive of mod-cons, including flushing toilets, electric bells, hydraulic lifts (or ‘ascending chambers’ as the Victorians liked to call them) and Britain’s first revolving door.
In 1896, a ladies’ only smoking room was opened at the hotel… this liberal move proved rather scandalous at the time, as giving the ok for women to have a puff in public just wasn’t the done thing!
Beds were priced at 14 shillings a night; over £60 in today’s money. Arthur Conan Doyle (creator of Sherlock Holmes), was bowled over by the hotel, commenting that “nothing in fact or fiction can match this wonder…”
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Decline
By the 1930s, the opulent hotel had become sadly outdated.
The main reason for its faded eminence was that the hotel had been constructed in an era when en-suite bathrooms were unheard of.
As the twentieth century wore on, concerting guests at the Midland Grand were still having to ask for jugs of hot water to be brought to their room; a once gentlemanly custom which had rapidly become uncomfortably outdated.
The management introduced more gimmicks- namely an in-house orchestra and Moroccan style coffee room- in an attempt to boost the flagging numbers, but they were fighting a losing battle.
Unable to incorporate the required plumbing or space for en-suites, the hotel closed down in 1935.
The hotel building was later renamed ‘St Pancras Chambers’, and was converted into office space for use by British Rail.
Despite the hotel’s closure, St Pancras Station continued to play its part as an important railway terminal.
During WWII, the station was a major departure point for both troops marching off to war and for 1,000s of London youngsters being evacuated to the safety of the countryside.
In August 1942, the station was heavily bombed; badly damaging tracks, rolling stock and the once magnificent roof. But, in the typical wartime spirit, it did not take long for railway workers to get St Pancras up and running again.
St Pancras war damage, August 1942
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St Pancras Station’s greatest fight
By the 1960s, a threat far greater than a lack of plumbing or fascist bombing was presenting itself to St Pancras station…
Whilst the 1960s gave much to the world in terms of music, fashion and social advancements, its record on architecture leaves much to be desired.
As mentioned in a previous post, the old, Victorian Euston station, along with its much celebrated Doric Arch, had been smashed to pieces in the early 1960s.
As work got under way building the new, somewhat boxy Euston, nearby St Pancras was the next grand railway terminal to swing into the developers’ sights….
Planners from the mid to late 20th century were a ruthless, unsentimental bunch, with little time or appreciation for Victorian architecture.
St Pancras Station was regarded in such circles as a vulgar, over-blown building from a bygone era which warranted wiping out.
As with Euston Station, it was agreed that the old St Pancras should be demolished and replaced with structures of the utmost modernity.
The plan envisioned sweeping away Scott and Barlow’s masterpiece and plonking a towering office block, leisure centre and social housing on the vacated site; a development that would not have looked out of place in Soviet Moscow.
As part of this plan, the routes running into St Pancras would have been re-directed to next door’s Kings Cross, also earmarked for a major overhaul.
Thankfully, St Pancras found a saviour in the form of Sir John Betjeman, the noted writer, broadcaster and poet laureate from 1972 to 1984.
Sir John Betjeman
Born in Highgate, North London in 1906, Sir John Betjeman was a strong advocate of Victorian architecture and its preservation; a passion which, in the 1960s, seemed to be something of a lost cause.
Sir Betjeman had campaigned to save Euston and the Doric Arch in the first half of the decade but, despite popular support, had sadly failed.
In 1966, a British Rail employee who shared Betjeman’s love of Victorian architecture, leaked the proposed but hushed St Pancras demolition plans to the writer. The act of kindness from this mysterious benefactor granted the writer and his contacts at the Victorian Society valuable time to mount a large campaign to rescue the station from its fate.
Sir Betjeman branded the demolition plans a “criminal folly” and the campaign he fronted involved the constant insistence to bureaucrats that the station had a special place within the hearts of Londoners.
As the poet romantically summed up;
“What the Londoner sees in his mind’s eye is that cluster of towers and pinnacles seen from Pentonville Hill and outlined against a foggy sunset, and the great arc of Barlow’s train shed gaping to devour incoming engines, and the sudden burst of exuberant Gothic of the hotel seen from gloomy Judd Street…”
St Pancras seen from Pentonville Road
Unlike the earlier Euston campaign, the attempt to rescue St Pancras was successful… but it was a still a close call…
The station was saved when the government bowed to pressure and blessed St Pancras with a ‘Grade 1’ listing, thus making it untouchable.
This rating was decreed on the 2nd November 1967… a mere 10 days before demolition was due to begin…
Please click here for Part Two
Tales From the Terminals: St Pancras (Part Two)
Smashed!
Although the shell of St Pancras had been saved, the interior was in a rather sorry state. It had been deteriorating for some time, and would continue to do so for several decades.
An effective indicator of this decaying state could be found in the form of the station’s grand clock.
Perched high over the station’s entrance and facing the platforms, the mighty clock- which was 18ft in diameter- had informed generations of travellers of the all-important time, as they hurried to and from their trains.
The clock had been crafted by ‘Dent of London‘ ; major purveyor of luxury timepieces whose craftsmen had also provided the faces for Parliament’s clock tower (aka Big Ben), as well as equipment for Charles Darwin and David Livingstone.
By the late 1970s, the clock was peering out over a dark, smelly station; the once grand timekeeper now nothing more than a magnet for cobwebs, pigeons and bird muck.
In 1978 and in need of cash, wheeler-dealers at British Rail agreed to flog the St Pancras clock to an American collector.
The sum paid was huge- £250,000… so it must have been quite shock when, in the process of taking the clock down, the workmen fumbled their task… and dropped the valuable timepiece!
The clock plummeted to the ground, smashed to smithereens and lost its high price tag in a nanosecond-an expensive catastrophe which bears quite a similarity to one of the most famous scenes from the legendary comedy, Only Fools and Horses!….
In their shattered state, the clock pieces were now deemed to be worth only £25… and a new buyer came forward- Roland Hoggard, a train driver who was shortly due to retire.
After transporting the jigsawed clock back to his home in Nottinghamshire (a task which took over a week), Roland managed to painstakingly piece the 18ft wide clock back together, attaching his labour of love to the side of a barn on his farmland.
Roland Hoggard with his masterfully repaired, original St Pancras clock
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The photo below depicts St Pancras in 1984 (note the obvious absence of the clock, which used to hang in the middle of the rear arch) and shows just how gloomy and dilapidated the terminal had become.
Although it had survived demolition 17 years before, the station looked positively ready to crumble and rot by its own accord.
St Pancras Station, 1984
To make matters worse, towards the end of the 1980s, the St Pancras Chambers offices (which had been converted from the old Midland Hotel) were deemed a death-trap by inspectors, who refused to grant the complex a fire safety certificate.
As a result, the offices were forced to shut down, thus transforming a vast slice of St Pancras into abandoned dereliction.
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Renaissance
By the late 1990s, St Pancras Station was in an appalling state.
I personally remember the station around that time as being most grotty, with grimy, sticky floors and a strong odour hanging in the air; a mixture of rotting food and smoky diesel fumes.
The station was dark and forlorn, mainly because the once gleaming roof was now a patchwork of botched repairs and glass panels which had been coated in paint.
It was also surprisingly quiet, as the level of railway traffic in and out of the terminal had been steadily declining over the years.
In short, the station was a shadow of its former self; a grimy, cavernous mausoleum to a long bygone era.
However, St Pancras was about to be reborn…
At the turn of the 21st century, it was decided that St Pancras should become the new terminal for Eurostar services to and from Paris and Brussels.
At the time, the station employed for this purpose was Waterloo; a role which the station south of the Thames had been playing since the Channel Tunnel opened in 1994.
However, the line connecting Waterloo to the coast was old, twisty and torturously slow; especially embarrassing as the French tracks on the other side of the channel were sleek and hair-raisingly fast.
A new, high speed line was needed for the UK leg; one which would make the journey to the Continent as fast and efficient as possible.
Labelled ‘High Speed One’, the new route was designated to link up with St Pancras.
In line with this new project, the dilapidated terminal was expanded and given an unprecedented makeover; polishing it to a standard which exceeded all expectations and made it befitting of a major European transport hub.
The re-build took place between 2004-2007 and cost £800 million.
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Branded as St Pancras International, the once chronically neglected station is now one of the largest railway terminals in Europe; a beautiful building, bursting with light and energy, transforming the station from crumbling backwater into what is now one of London’s most celebrated landmarks.
The former Midland Grand Hotel, which stretches across the front of the station, has also been given a new lease of life
Main entrance to the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel
Fittingly renamed the ‘St Pancras Renaissance’, the once long empty, rotting rooms have been breathtakingly restored.
Today, the hotel is a five star affair; one of London’s most luxurious destinations- and with prices to match… although prices start at £205 per night, you can always go for the ‘Royal Suite’- a 3 bedroomed apartment which will set you back a cool £10,000 per night….
Part of the Royal Suite
The new hotel contains a number of bars and restaurants- including of course the ‘Hansom Lounge’, a glamorous meeting place which incorporates the station’s old, horse-drawn taxi rank (you can find us modern cabbies ranked up around the corner; on Midland Road).
The Hansom Lounge
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Back out on the main station concourse, St Pancras is now unrecognisable when compared to images of its former, sorry state. The station today is light, airy and enjoys all the buzz of a major European gateway.
The metalwork of the vast, restored roof has been painted an appealing sky-blue. At first, this may seem like a nod to modern tastes, but this shade is in fact the same colour used way back in 1868 when the station first opened.
The expansive labyrinth of cellars below, once hidden and used for squirreling away beer barrels, have been thrown open and converted into a bustling shopping arcade, linked to the station’s upper decks by gleaming escalators and glass walled elevators.
Upstairs, parallel to the Eurostar platforms, you’ll find Searcy’s St Pancras Champagne Bar– the longest of its kind in Europe.
St Pancras Champagne Bar
If you’re the sort of person who can afford the £10,000 per night price tag for the St Pancras Renaissance’s Royal Suite, then the Taittinger Brut Reserve which comes in at a mere £1,500 should pose no problem to your bank balance.
For those of us without our own personal jet though, the champagne bar’s cheapest bubblies start at £8.50…
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As part of St Pancras Station’s overhaul, the famous clock, which had been embarrassingly destroyed in the late 1970s, was recreated by Dent of London; the very same company who had produced the original so many years before.
In order to construct the replica, clockmakers from Dent paid a visit to Roland Hoggard; the train driver (by now well into his 90s) who had purchased and repaired the smashed original.
Thanks to Roland’s admirable reconstruction, the craftsmen were able to re-create an extremely accurate replica of the original. As a way of thanks, Roland Hoggard was invited to the grand opening of the remodelled St Pancras International.
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Below the reinstated clock there stands a new, huge sculpture of a couple embracing.
This 9 metre tall sculpture is entitled ‘The Meeting Place’ and was created by Paul Day.
The couple are intended to represent England and France, and the close bond which the Channel Tunnel has forged between the two nations. On the plinth below, there are a set of detailed friezes, representing scenes from history and everyday London life:
A short distance away from this towering sculpture, there is a far smaller, more profound statue crafted by Martin Jennings… an affectionate representation of Sir John Betjeman, peering up in awe at the beauty and resurgence of the station he loved and fought to save.
Next time: Kings Cross
Tales from the Terminals: Euston. Part One (1830s Euston)
Continuing our journey through London’s numerous railway terminals, we now reach Euston; a station which has experienced its fair share of problems and controversy over the years.
Despite its current, modern appearance, Euston Station is in fact the oldest of London’s inter-city terminals, tracing its roots all the way back to 1837.
Euston takes its name from a small village in Suffolk, which dates back to at least 1086 when it was recorded in the Domesday Book as ‘Eustana’. In this peaceful village, you will find ‘Euston Hall’ which has been home to the Dukes of Grafton for hundreds of years.
Euston Hall, Suffolk
In 1817, Euston Square, named after the Duke of Grafton’s seat, was built. The station followed a few years later, constructed around the same area.
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The First Euston Station
Today, trains from Euston travel great distances. Some- including the overnight Caledonian Sleeper which departs late from Euston six evenings a week- run as far as Inverness in the Scottish Highlands (a far longer journey than London’s St Pancras to Paris!)
However, the original line in and out of Euston was far shorter; first envisioned as a railway linking London to Birmingham. Christened ‘The London and Birmingham Railway’, the project did exactly what it said on the tin.
The London and Birmingham Railway, along with Euston Station, was masterminded by Robert Stephenson- son of railway pioneer, George Stephenson; the genius engineer who achieved many ground-breaking railway firsts- the most notable being the construction of the world’s first passenger line between Liverpool and Manchester, which began conveying the public in 1830.
As a young man, Robert had assisted his father in such projects, and was therefore blessed with a sound knowledge of the burgeoning Victorian technology.
George and Robert Stephenson
Planning for the railway began in the autumn of 1830; the cost of the project being estimated at £3,000,000.
When first planned, the London terminal was to be built at Chalk Farm (just outside Camden Town, and approximately 1 mile north of where the current station exists).
Some work was carried out at Chalk Farm for this purpose; in the vicinity behind what is now ‘Camden Roundhouse’ and, to this day, a siding on this site is still officially labelled as ‘The Terminus Siding’. The Roundhouse itself was built in 1847 to house a railway turntable. Today, the circular building is a popular performing arts venue.
Camden Roundhouse
In 1835, permission was granted to take the line a little further south. The Chalk Farm plans were abandoned, and the new terminal building was earmarked for a peaceful clearing called ‘Euston Grove’; a patch of land which belonged to Rhodes Farm. As mentioned earlier, the relatively new ‘Euston Square’ also existed in this locale.
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When Euston Station first opened, it was a very simple affair with just two platforms; one for departures and one for arrivals.
Euston Station, 1837
In 1837, steam engines and railway tracks were still pretty much a novelty, and only six trains per day ran out to destinations as far flung as Harrow, Watford and Boxmoor (now part of Hemel Hempstead).
Blood, Sweat and Tears
Despite humble beginnings, it took just over a year for the railway’s builders to thrash out over a hundred more miles of track, reaching the ultimate destination of Birmingham and thus linking London to England’s second city which, in those days, was also one of the British Empire’s most important powerhouses.
The men who forged these routes were known as ‘Navvies’; a term originating from the word ‘navigator’, first given to the builders who had dug Britain’s canal network several decades before.
A Victorian depiction of a Navvy, from ‘Punch’ magazine
The Navvies, who came from all corners of the United Kingdom, were ferociously hard workers with a reputation for drinking as hard as they toiled.
The cutting at Tring (Hertfordshire) under construction in 1837
As they built the railway, the Navvies tended to form themselves into work-gangs; groups of pals who worked, lived and drank together. These gangs camped on site, their itinerant lifestyle allowing them to follow the progression of the project on which they were employed.
Conditions were harsh to say the least.
Apart from the dangerous nature of the work (‘health and safety’ in those days being non-existent), these early railway pioneers were subjected to frequent outbreaks of cholera and typhoid; diseases which struck thanks to the unsanitary conditions in which they lived and worked.
The stressful work, hard boozing and frequent gambling resulted in many quarrels and fist-fights- some so severe that, on several occasions, the army were required to ride in and put a stop to the bad behaviour!
We don’t serve your kind here…
In the area around Camden and Euston, where extensive building work on the new railway was required, the pubs in which the men drank were segregated in order to prevent nationalistic quarrels and brawling.
The four main pubs were therefore named after castles located in each part of the UK, so each worker would know where he was welcome, and where he would find his fellow countrymen.
Today, all but one of the taverns are still going strong and are well worth a visit- and don’t worry, the jingoistic divisions are no longer enforced!
Here is a quick guide to them:
The Edinboro’ Castle
As the name suggests- even though it is curiously spelt incorrectly- this pub is where the Scottish workers came for a wee dram. The pub is perched high over the railway tracks, on the main approach into Euston. Today, the Edinboro Castle is a tempting gastro pub, especially popular during the summer thanks to its large beer garden.
The Pembroke Castle
Built for the Welsh gangers, The Pembroke Castle also backs right onto the railway line, and is a short walk from Camden Roundhouse. Today, it is well known for The Hampstead Comedy Club which hosts regular stand-up evenings.
The Warwick Castle
Sadly, this pub, which provided the English builders with ale, no longer exists. Until recently, it was known as the NW1 Bar, but is now closed and appears to be undergoing renovation (for a café apparently).
The Dublin Castle
Located on Parkway in Camden, the Dublin Castle was where the Irish navvies sank their wages. Today, this pub is a legendary music venue where, over the years, bands such as Blur, Supergrass and, most famously, quintessential London group, Madness have forged their careers.
In 1979, Madness filmed the video for their song, My Girl at the Dublin Castle (the Irish gentleman seen at the beginning of the clip is Alo Conlon. He was indeed the pub’s real landlord and was a Camden legend. Alo sadly died in 2009. You can read more about him here).
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An Uphill Struggle
Nowadays (assuming there are no leaves on the line of course), London to Birmingham by train can be achieved in about 90 minutes.
However, in 1838 when the service was first initiated, London to Birmingham on an old, puffing steam train was an ordeal which took over five hours…. five hours that is, assuming the train could actually make it out of the station!
Euston lies at the bottom of a steep incline and, for the first few years of service, this proved problematic as early steam engines simply weren’t powerful enough to haul their loads up the slope.
To overcome this obstacle, trains departing Euston therefore had to be attached to a long cable which stretched some 4,370 metres, all the way up to Camden Town.
At the Camden end, the ropes were linked to and driven by a pair of large, stationary, 60-horsepower engines; a set-up which enabled north-bound trains to be literally dragged away from Euston.
Chimneys belonging to the powerful ‘dragging’ engines which were at Camden Town
Incoming trains however used the slope to their advantage; allowing gravity, and the expertise of an experienced brakeman, to roll the carriages down to the arrivals platform. This novel process continued until 1844.
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Victorian Grandeur
Over the next few years, building and expansion continued at Euston; the station soon being transformed into a grand and celebrated London landmark.
The most famous aspect of the burgeoning terminal was the iconic ‘Doric Arch.’
The Doric Arch… with an early rank of horse-drawn taxis!
The Doric Arch was erected in 1838, at a cost of £35,000; a stratospheric sum for the time. The architect of the centrepiece was Phillip Hardwick; an engineer who had also worked on Liverpool’s Albert Dock.
This extravagance was justified to shareholders in a report stating;
“The entrance to the London passenger station… opening immediately upon what will necessarily become the Grand Avenue for travelling between the Midland and Northern parts of the Kingdom, the directors thought that is should receive some embellishment.”
Other additions to the station included the ‘Great Hall’, which was opened in 1849. This huge hall, which doubled as Euston’s main concourse and waiting area, was a grand affair indeed.
Built in the Roman-Ionic style, the hall was long, wide and boasted a towering roof, standing 19 metres above the ground. On the hall’s opening day, a newspaper reported that Euston, “as a railway station, is without equal.”
Alongside this grandeur, two hotels were also added; The Euston, which was stately and expensive, and The Victoria, which was far cheaper; offering dormitory style accommodation.
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Sadly, this grandiosity faded during the first half of the 20th Century.
By the 1930s, increased routes and usage had resulted in Euston becoming cramped and unfit for purpose
In response to this, the London Midland and Scottish Railway Company sought a complete rebuild of the station, and consulted Welsh architect, Percy Thomas to come up with a design. The suggested blue-print was a bold, classic affair, largely inspired by modern American architecture:
The Euston that never was… a shelved 1930s plan
However, shortly after the design was put forward, WWII broke out and the plan was dropped, never to see fruition.
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Tragedy on the Euston Line
A few years after the War, on the morning of 8th October 1952, the tracks running into Euston witnessed the worst civilian rail crash in British history.
The disaster took place at Harrow and Wealdstone Station, 15 minutes outside of Euston and one of the London terminal’s earliest destinations when first opened in the 1830s.
The accident, which took place in heavy fog, involved three trains.
A local, commuter train, was stationary at Harrow and Wealdstone when it was struck by a speeding express; the overnight sleeper train which was travelling from Perth in Scotland, to Euston. It appeared that, due to the thick fog, the sleeper train’s driver had failed to notice a signal set at danger.
Moments after the collision, a third train; another express- this one travelling from Euston to Manchester- ploughed into the steaming wreckage.
The debris from the triple crash was scattered across all six tracks and platforms. Part of the station’s footbridge was also ripped down.
Many were trapped in the tangled mess and the resulting recovery took several days. Overall, 112 people died and 340 were badly injured. 39 of the dead were Euston station employees; killed on the local commuter train as they made their way into work.
The death toll would have been even higher had it not been for the involvement of 150 American Air Force personnel. Shortly after news of the major crash was received, the Americans (based at nearby Ruislip) rushed to the scene.
The sheer level of destruction and injury resembled a battle field, leading the Americans to instinctively set up what was essentially a field hospital.
The consequent blood and plasma transfusions, conducted in improvised conditions amongst the devastation, saved many lives.
In the unit drafted in to assist, there was only one female; a 31 year old nurse from Florida called Abbie Sweetwine.
One of the only black, American women serving in the USAF at the time, Abbie administered first aid to many, as well as providing much tea and comfort. She also had the grim task of marking patient’s heads with symbols related to how severe their injuries were and if any treatment had been received. For this, she had to improvise… and used a tube of red lipstick.
So comforting was her presence, that survivors of the disaster nicknamed Abbie the ‘Angel of Platform Six.’ Several months after the disaster, she was honoured by the Royal Variety Club and given a silver cigarette case with her nickname engraved upon it.
Abbie Sweetwine can be briefly glimpsed (around the 1:10 mark) in the following newsreel from the time:
View from the Mirror 