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  His view of Rennaud was a model of charity compared with his comments on Mr Barry of the Bordeaux Board. He was ‘a base double dealing villain’ and he told him so to his face.

  Reading the day-by-day account of contractors at work in France, such events obviously stand out, but more impressive is the picture that slowly builds up of the steady, relentless advance of a railway and the immense resources that were needed in its construction. On one day one reads of buying bricks in Paris for tunnel lining: the two batches he agreed on came to a total of a million bricks, for which half the cash was put up in advance. At the opposite extreme, negotiations with a local farmer for permission to open a quarry on his land came to a happy conclusion when the deal was struck for ‘a case of needles and a pair of English scissors’. William Mackenzie’s time was divided between England and France, making deals running into hundreds of thousands of pounds, but he still found time to make regular visits to the works, where he took a minute interest in everything, even-handedly doling out praise and blame. A period in the summer of 1845 shows something of the variety of this life.

  23 June Started a contract with Belgian interests – Bischoff-sheam & Oppenheim. Gave sureties – caution money to Belgian govt. 111775.05 fr.

  23 July Looking at the Orleans rly – visited No 3 Ballast pit where a new mechanical excavator was about to be installed. ‘Mr Beary the manager must be sent away, he is good for nothing’.

  26 July We found a French Ganger going well. Went to Simcox’s platelayers, he had got over the Viaduct and through cutting into the wood and was going on well. I gave his men each one franc for doing so well. We called on an Irish gentleman … he promised to render our men assistance for lodgings in the village.

  His brother Edward’s life was far more routine: daily inspection of the works, estimating work done, dealing with local traders, checking the workshops and puffing to and fro along the completed track on one of the contractor’s locomotives. It was a hard life, regularly involving before breakfast what to many would seem like a full day’s work.

  St. Pierre built by Allcard, Buddicom & Cie for the Paris-Rouen Railway in 1845 and now preserved at the Cité du Train, Mulhouse.

  As time went on and William became ill – he died in 1851 – Edward took on more and more of the responsibility for the running of the whole concern. The flippant tone of the early diary entries gives way to a new self confidence.

  14 July Carriages got off the line yesterday and that the Directors were in a great fright about it I at once went to see them & Baron de Richemont explained the affair to me as being the fault of the points which in my opinion was not the case and 1 told him so.

  16 July I met the 9 am train for Poitiers and Charles with me. We left by it taking the letter I have received from the Directors to contradict as much as possible the blame they wished to throw upon us. I got to Poitiers 2 pm and examined all the points &c there as well as every other place along the line and in every instance can show that the blame is in the imperfect state of their rolling stock.

  Not everything went smoothly, even for the mightiest of contractors, and Mackenzie and Brassey were confronted by one huge disaster in the collapse of the Barentin viaduct on the Rouen to Le Havre line. It was a massive construction, 100 ft. high and a third of a mile long with twenty-seven arches. In a somewhat self-congratulatory mood William Mackenzie noted in February 1844 that his estimate for the viaduct had been accepted: ‘It was competed for by two French gentlemen against us and we came under them, 10 per cent under the lowest and the next 30 per cent and we in reality are 6 per cent too low – our estimate is 2,008,635 Fr.’ (approximately £800,000). Was the need to cut costs a contributory factor in the events of two years later? Corners were certainly cut, but the contractors claimed it was none of their doing. Perhaps this was so. It is a thought to bear in mind when reading the generally accepted, rather heroic account of their response to the disaster. The story of Barentin is often quoted as an example of Brassey’s stoicism in the face of adversity. Helps, in the biography, at least gives Mackenzie equal billing.

  Mr Brassey was very greatly upset by this untoward event; but he and his partner Mr. Mackenzie met the difficulty most manfully. ‘The first thing to do,’ as they said, ‘is to build it up again,’ and this they started most strenuously to do; not waiting, as many would have done, whether justly or unjustly, to settle, by litigation or otherwise, upon whom the responsibility and the expense should fall.

  Not a day was lost by them in the extraordinary efforts they had to make to secure millions of new bricks, and to provide hydraulic lime, which had to be brought from a distance. Suffice it to say that, by their indomitable energy and determination promptly to repair the evils and by the skill of their agents, they succeeded in rebuilding this huge structure in less than six months.

  The Mackenzie family copy of the book is annotated: ‘This should have been entirely credited to Mr Mackenzie (W). Mr Brassey was not even in France at the time.’ William Mackenzie’s diary shows this to be a case of misplaced family loyalty. It also gives a very firm opinion of where the fault for the catastrophe lay. His entries for 12 January 1846, when he first heard the news, read,

  12 January Mr Illidge informed me on Saturday last Barentin Viaduct fell to the ground a heap of ruins – fault – Bad Mortar. We told Mr Locke mortar was bad and proposed to use Hydraulic for mortar and bear half the expense of the extra. He said he would allow nothing, but we were at liberty to use it if we pleased. The result is now to be seen.

  13 January Today I met Locke with Mr Brassey. He looked sad and was low in spirit. Afterwards went to Newman’s office where I found him engaged in making a plan for reconstructing Barentin viaduct and instead of building as before hollow piers opening with 4 chimneys 2’ 6” square is now to be solid and the piers instead of brick arches they propose timber ones.

  Mackenzie and Brassey went together to inspect the damage: ‘bricks good, mortar infamous’, and then went on to the Malaunay viaduct where they ‘discovered some very ugly cracks in the piers that is a little alarming.’ They had the piers strengthened with the beams. Even so, the French were taking no chances. Before any passenger trains were allowed to use the line, they heaped 3000 tons of earth on the top and left it there for several days. When no cracks appeared, they brought out a goods train of heavily laden wagons and ran that backwards and forwards several times. Only then did they finally declare themselves satisfied.

  The Mackenzie-Brassey partnership was one of convenience rather than conviction, and as work came to an end in Normandy they agreed to go their separate ways. The document of October 1850 setting out the details of their separation is fascinating for the light it throws on the huge wealth of the men involved and the extent to which their empires were built in railway share holdings.

  Mackenzie took the Orleans to Bordeaux contract and the Pont Audemer iron works, established to provide material for the railways, for which he agreed to pay Brassey £47,000. In return Brassey took on the maintenance contracts for the Paris to Rouen and Rouen, Le Havre and Dieppe Railways for which he paid £4000. There then had to be a division of the spoils: each came away with approximately 3000 shares in French railway companies, mainly the Dieppe line. This reflected the common practice of contractors taking a large proportion of their payment in shares instead of cash. From the general balance sheet, Mackenzie had to pay Brassey £32,053. In all he paid over £80,000 in the final settlement, of which £25,000 was in Great Northern Railway bonds and another £25,000 in North Staffordshire Railway bonds. What emerges is a portrait of rich and powerful men, whose prosperity was almost wholly dependent on the success of the lines they built. Small wonder that they and their counterparts looked as carefully into the profitability of a line as they did into the engineering problems they might have to face.

  As work on the first French lines drew to a close, the contractors were busy looking for fresh contracts, and their travels around the continent reinforced their beli
ef that railways were sorely needed. As early as 1845 William Mackenzie had led an expedition to survey proposed lines in Spain. He and his companions set off on 5 April and crossed the Pyrenees in a coach hauled by the unlikely coupling of two bullocks and four mules. By 9 April they reached Castilego. Here they stopped at ‘a very miserable inn’ where to make matters worse the wine was ‘undrinkable’. The next day was certainly no better.

  We started from Castilego, the place most miserable with 6 mules and about 4 inches of snow. The stage about 13 miles 3½ Spanish league. We left at 6 o’clock and were 4 hours getting through the pass and ascending we experienced frost and snow. The roads were very heavy. The postilions and beasts could do no more, they executed their whole strength and power – we gave the men some of our real brandy which caused them to scold the mules more and more. They have a custom of talking constantly to them sometimes praising them, other times all sorts of bad names and at times barking like dogs at them.

  Adler (the Eagle) one of the first locomotives to run in Germany, was built for the Ludwig Bavarian Railway at the Robert Stephenson works in Newcastle

  They eventually reached Madrid, then travelled on to Barcelona, from where they were able to return to France, a good deal more comfortably, by steamer. Brassey was to join with Mackenzie in one last project that grew out of the Spanish expeditions, the Barcelona & Mataro Railway. He was then to continue in a new partnership with Morton Peto and Edward Betts, building railways throughout Europe.

  Railway construction in Europe was not quite the simple matter it sometimes seemed of establishing where a line was needed, assessing likely costs and revenue, setting out to raise the money, then either pushing ahead or dropping the scheme. Many lines were promoted due more to the amour propre of local interests than to rational analysis. A great many more were tied to political ambitions. Continental Europe in the early nineteenth century was a patchwork of states large and small, and this pattern was changing all the time. In a world of shifting boundaries and allegiances, railways were seen by many as a unifying force. Among the ambitious politicians who espoused this view was the great advocate of Italian unity, Count Camillo Cavour. He worked assiduously from his base in Piedmont to create a unified Italy. He realized that a nation where citizens of one area could easily move to meet citizens of another had a far greater chance of achieving unity than one where the parts remained in isolation. Railways were to play an essential role in achieving his political dream.

  In 1851 Cavour began searching for capital for railway construction, and an obvious first step was to approach one of the most successful railway builders of the age, Thomas Brassey. Negotiations began for establishing a partnership for a line from Turin to Navara; the political element involved a partnership between Cavour’s Piedmontese government, the Italian provinces, Brassey and the local people. Three parts of the structure held, but the fourth, the general public of Italy, showed no interest in joining in. Cavour then turned back to Brassey and suggested that the government should put up half and Brassey and his associates the rest. It probably seems more remarkable in retrospect than it did at the time. Yet here was a nation-state engaging in a major project, aimed both at revolutionizing the transport system of the region and encouraging political unity, applying to a private company in a foreign country for half the funding.

  If anything shows just how far Thomas Brassey had travelled since his first contract for the Penkridge viaduct, then surely this was it. For the man himself was not even consulted: the decision was taken on his behalf by a partner in the enterprise – and a junior partner at that – Nathan Giles. And even then, there was more to come. The fact that so successful a contractor as Brassey had unhesitatingly put his own money into the scheme was enough to raise confidence. The Piedmontese, who before were reluctant to invest in the project, now began complaining that there were no shares available. Cavour, who had begged Brassey to take shares in the enterprise, was now placed in the somewhat embarrassing position of asking him to sell them again. Brassey agreed, though it proved a loss on his part, for once the line was open handsome dividends of 14 per cent were declared. The Piedmontese, who had been reluctant to risk a penny, were happily reaping high dividends. On the other hand, Brassey had struck a sound bargain, for he was to be very much favoured when other lucrative contracts were being handed out.

  Brassey’s partner, Nathan Giles, was heavily engaged in the arrangements for building the Lukmanier railway, from Lucarno on Lake Maggiore to join the Union-Suisse Railway at Coire. This was another line actively promoted by Cavour. He approached Brassey who in turn handed the planning back to Giles. His description of the negotiations (quoted in Helps’ biography of Brassey) gives at least a hint of the problems faced by anyone attempting to build railways across the complex chequer-board of European states. It begins with Giles’ first meeting with Cavour.

  I may mention that it was not unusual for Count Cavour to see people in the summer-time at five o’clock in the morning. My appointment was at six o’clock. I waited upon him as appointed. We then discussed the Lukmanier, and we came to an arrangement. I said, ‘There are no “surveys” in this matter, or no reliable surveys – they are all made by the people in the country. Will you share part of the expense of a definitive survey?’ He replied, ‘I do not think, in the present position of matters, it can be done. It is in Switzerland; and the Swiss are so touchy about any interference of a foreign Government, that I think our doing so would have a prejudicial rather than a beneficial effect; but I should be glad if Mr. Brassey can see his way to making them without any assistance from us.’ I spoke to Mr. Brassey about it, and the surveys were made in the spring of 1858.

  The proposal went forward and Brassey agreed to take Cavour over the proposed line, but as inevitably happened from time to time in the busy contractor’s life, other circumstances and other lines got in the way – on this occasion it was a line to Cherbourg and the need to be there for the official opening by the Emperor. Cavour was sufficient of a realist to know that mere Counts must give precedence to Emperors. Giles’ account of his conversation with Cavour is as eloquent a testimony to the reputation of the English contractor as one can imagine, and goes some way towards explaining why his services were so much in demand. Cavour said,

  I very much regret Mr. Brassey is not here, as I have looked forward to the pleasure of going over the line with him, and thoroughly understanding how he proposes to construct the two sections, and the carriage road over the mountain. I am already acquainted, through M. Sommeiller, that Mr. Brassey thinks it better to make a good tunnel even in fifteen years than a bad one in six years. I think so too; indeed, I shall be disposed to accept whatever Mr. Brassey proposes, as I have full confidence in his opinion. I should like very much to go over the line with him; and if you will inform me when he will be at Coire, I will do my best to return, and accompany him over the line, as I am most anxious to have my lesson from the most experienced contractor in Europe, and so be able to discuss the question au fond, and with a full knowledge of the facts.

  Brassey was more than just a brilliant organizer, who had built up an organization big enough to tackle the most complex problems, he was also a man who recognized abilities in others and encouraged innovation. As part of the growing network of lines out of Piedmont, a route was proposed into France along the pass of Mont Cenis down the Arc valley to Culoz on the French frontier. It was named the Victor Emmanuel Railway, in honour of the King of Sardinia and presented immense difficulties to its builders. Brassey, Jackson and Henfrey undertook the united survey. That was difficult enough in the rugged mountain terrain, but it came up with the daunting result that a tunnel would have to be forced through the solid rock of Mont Cenis, and it would need to be almost eight miles long. Moreover, the tunnelling techniques then in use on English railways would be of no use here. In Britain it was the usual practice on a long tunnel to sink a number of shafts down from the surface to tunnel level, and then work outward from the foot
of each shaft. The headings would then link up to create one continuous bore. Such a method was wholly impractical in the mountains, where the tunnel was to run deep under a lofty Alpine peak – at its greatest depth it lay nearly a mile beneath the summit of Mont Frejus. The only answer was to start at each end and work inwards. This required a very accurate survey to establish the alignment. In all, twenty-four survey points were established by the surveyors as they scrambled around the crags, and the results translated into lines of posts set out by the two entrances. During tunnelling, which commenced from both ends, a constant check was kept by sighting back down the excavations with a telescope. It is very doubtful, even then, if the tunnel could ever have been completed without the invention of a new type of boring machine by Brassey’s agent, Thomas Bartlett, who was put in charge of the construction. He invented a pneumatic drill, which hammered away at the rock at the rate of 300 strokes per minute. The compressors were water-powered, and the compressed air produced was used to ventilate the galleries as they were advanced deep into the mountain. Progress was not spectacular: the tunnel was only pushed forward at a rate of half a mile a year, but given the technology available (for instance the fact that nothing more powerful than common black powder was available for blasting), this was in itself a triumph.