The majority train passengers have long ceased writing letters when they find fault with the service; they now take to social media to vent their ire at those purporting to be their carriers. While they may not have bothered to write to British Rail 25 years ago about a late or crowded train, now instant communication gives them the facility to complain instantly to some abused railway functionary operating a Twitter feed. This was exemplified by Southern Railway admitting last week that passengers were daily sending 2,000 to 5,000 complaining tweets about the late and crowded services in and out of London Bridge. But do these Tweets actually have an effect? Does anything change as a result of them? It is hard really to tell. So, perhaps we have to look to the past for an answer.
Instances of deficient train services have been a part of the railway network since the start. Unsurprisingly, so has the passenger complaint. If you had to misfortune in the late 1870s and early 1880s to live within the suburban territory the London and South Western Railway (LSWR), finding fault with your train services would be pretty easy: they were slow, late and overcrowded. Funny Folks magazine of October 1878 noted the case of a season ticket holder who had unsuccessfully brought an action against the company because of delays. The Standard in September 1880 published a letter from an alleged ’victim’ of the company. The ‘unpunctuality of the [LSWR’s] trains is notorious…never in my life [have I] arrived at Waterloo at the proper time.’ The hardship of passengers was crystallised by a satirical paragraph in the Sporting Times of October 1881:
‘The most humorous piece of writing in the world is to be seen on the South-Western Railway between Fulwell and Twickenham. It is on a board, and the quaint, incisive words are, “Speed not to exceed ten miles an hour.” Even people with urgent appointments, the keeping of which means life and death as they dodder up to town at the old Thames Valley speed of four and a half miles an hour, have to shriek with laughter when they read Archibald Scott’s great joke. People tell with bated breath how there was once and engine-driver, appropriately termed Dare Devil Dick, who got six miles an hour out of Thames Valley train, and was seen by a directors, and was sacked for furious driving, and was hired by the Midland and sacked for slowness, and now, having qualified on the S.W.R., is earning an honest livelihood by driving a hearse.
The Archibald Scott mentioned in the piece was the LSWR’s General Manager, for whom things were not going well by the late-1870s. Scott had learnt the art of railway management in the 1840s and in 1852 had been appointed the company’s Traffic Manger, a post in which he had to organise the train services. His appointment in 1852 had been considered a huge success; he brought efficiency and effectiveness to every part of the company. Fast-forward by thirty years, and the ageing manager’s understanding of modern railway management was limited at a time when passenger numbers were on the rise: for the LSWR they had risen from 13.3 million in 1870 to 30.3 million in 1880.
Scott’s response to the growing demand on the network was poor. There were bottle-necks in the system, particularly outside of the company’s London terminus, Waterloo Station, and in 1878 and 1885 it had expanded it. The main running lines were also widened in the 1880s. But had these projects come earlier and been better suited to the demands of the traffic, had Scott pushed for infrastructure improvements, and had the company adopted more modern operational practices, many a suburban passenger would have been saved intolerable train journeys. Unsurprising, therefore, that the management of the company – for which Scott had responsibility for – was lambasted frequently in the press.
But is was an accident in mid-1884 that signalled the start of Scott’s downfall. On 3 June 1884 a train derailed between Downton and Breamore, killing four and injuring fifty-one. The report of the Board of Trade inspector, Rich, was fiercely critical of LSWR operational practices. He recommended ‘the company make a thorough examination of their system and stock, to classify their drivers, to classify their stock, to classify their several lines and to classify their trains.’ Rich also noted that passengers travelling elsewhere on the company’s complained of ‘violent shaking’ when travelling at speed. The LSWR was made out to be a scary, uncoordinated railway that was a danger to travel on; the event was a public relations disaster.
Worse was to come for Scott. On the 9 October five passengers wrote to The Times to complain about the unpunctuality of the LSWR’s suburban train services. What had over the years been a steady trickle of criticism became a torrent, with fifteen letters being written to the paper in quick succession. On the 16th a ‘victim’ laid the blame for the unpunctuality of trains at the feet of ‘the utter incapacity of the management of the London and South Western Railway.’ The climax of the barrage came on the 21 October, and one of six letters published that day proclaimed that ‘there is not one [company] so badly managed as the South-Western nor is there any time table which is so purely the work of supposition.’
Scott tendered his resignation on 10 November 1884. While internal politics were undermining his position, it was the further rapid decline of the railway’s public reputation that pushed him out the door. The Breamore accident had laid bare serious weaknesses in the company’s management, but it was the LSWR’s passengers, particularly the commuters, venting their ire in The Times that meant it was untenable for Scott stay. As such, despite it being hard to gauge how Twitter complaints influence the policies of train companies now, we can be certain passenger complaints have contributed to influencing change in the past. As for the LSWR? From 1885 under Scott’s successor, Scotter, it became one of the best managed railways in the country.
 Funny Folks, Oct. 26, 1878, 338
 The Standard, Sept. 15, 1880, 3
 The Sporting Times, Oct. 1881, 1
 Board of Trade, Railway Returns, 1870 and 1880
 David Turner, “Managing the “Royal Road”: The London & South Western Railway 1870-1911,” (PhD thesis, University of York, 2013), 187-190
 House of Commons Parliamentary Papers, Board of Trade, [C.4122] Railway accident. Report by Colonel Rich, R.E., to the Board of Trade, upon the accident which occurred on the 3rd June 1884 between Downton and Breamore stations, on the London and South-Western Railway; and correspondence thereon. Henry G. Chalcraft to LSWR secretary, 25 July 1884
 The Times, Oct. 11, 1884, 7
 The Times, Oct. 16, 1884, 10
 The Times, Oct 23, 1884, 12
 The National Archives, RAIL 411/7, Court of Directors Minute Book, Minute 1547, 13 November 1884
 Turner, “Managing the Royal Road,”” 226-229
Two lines originally thought to have been built around one year apart fight it out for the claim to be the ‘first’ British railway – this post explores the history of one of them. Huntingdon Beaumont was born at Coleorton in Leicestershire in around 1560, the youngest son of Sir Nicholas and Ann Beaumont. They exploited the rich supplies of coal within their estate and it is here that the young Huntingdon learned the business of mining. Driven by his insatiable energy, clear vision, but a reckless streak, in 1601 he moved to Nottinghamshire, and using what he had learnt at his parents’ mining business leased and worked coal pits at Wollaton, Strelley and Bilborough. His expectation was that once mined the coal would be moved to the River Trent and then onto the local and national markets. But the enterprise was a failure. Cracking local markets was easy, but entering local ones was far more difficult. This and the result of further failed mining ventures in Northumberland from 1608, again through his continued inability to tap the London coal trade, and an ostentatious standard of living, resulted in him dying as a debtor in Nottinghamshire gaol in 1824; his business partners having long-since deserted him. 
Within the tale of Beaumont’s tale of failed entrepreneurialism possibly lies the origin story of Britain’s railways. What made the young Beaumont stand out from his contemporaries was the ingenious tools employed in his mines – machines to pump water out of mines and boring rods – although where he originated them is unclear. Most notable amongst his many and varied devices was the waggonway (in this post I will use the spelling of the time). Between the Autumn of 1603 and 1 October 1604 he constructed a line from the coal mine at Strelley to Wollaton, where it was shipped by road to the river Trent. The agreement between Beaumont and Sir Percival Willoughby to build the line – the Lord of the Manor of Wollaton and lessee of the Wollaton pits – stated that ‘alonge the passage now laide with railes, and with suche or the lyke Carriages as are now in use for the purpose.’ The waggonway was considered a marvel in the Nottinghamshire area, one contemporary noting that they were ‘new and extronaiary inventions and practices for the spedy and conveyance of the said coals.’ Baumont also built three waggonways at his northern ventures to take coal for transshipment at the river Blyth and then on to London – although how much actually reached there is unclear.
The virtue of waggonways for mine owners was that they reduced operating costs and thus potentially represented a significant increase in productivity. The laying of rails on the ground reduced the friction on wagon wheels, meaning one horse could pull considerable loads easily, displacing an estimated twenty-four pack-horses and around three four-horse wain carts – the traditional means of moving goods. Mining companies adopting this nascent technology could thus achieve considerable operations savings, particularly in the cost of stabling and fodder. The downside was that the initial outlay on a waggonway was usually high, and in the mid-1700s it was sometimes in the region of £750 per mile. Wooden rails lasted also had a short life at around three years, meaning maintaining the way was costly.
Beaumont’s fall was thus the product of the heavy investment in waggonways, machinery and expensive leases of mines, in addition to his sumptuous standard of living, combined with the fact that his income stream did not cover his debt obligations. This failure should not however obscure his achievements; his realisation of the need to cut operating costs through technology and improving transport links from pithead to river were all ahead of their time and are a testament to the ingenuity and forward-thinking he brought to his business affairs. The suggestion has even been made that if Beaumont had lived within his means, he may have been a success and his death may not have been so ignominious.
 R S Smith, “Huntingdon Beaumont, adventurer in coal mines,” Renaissance and Modern Studies 1 (1957), 115-53
 Ibid., 115
 “Huntington Beaumont,” Wikipedia, Jan 3, 2015, accessed Jan 11, 2015, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huntingdon_Beaumont
 Paul Nix, “Huntingdon Beaumont’s Wollaton to Strelley Waggonway,” June 30, 2013, accessed Jan 11, 2014, https://nottinghamhiddenhistoryteam.wordpress.com/2013/07/30/huntingdon-beaumonts-wollaton-to-strelley-waggonway/
 Maurice R. Kirby, The Origins of Railway Enterprise: The Stockton and Darlington Railway, 1821-1863, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press: 1991), 10-11
 Lewis, “Reflections on 1604,” 11
 Smith, “Huntingdon Beaumont, adventurer in coal mines,” 13