Ouseburn

I walked to the Ouseburn Trust’s Lime Street site from the city centre. This involved crossing a footbridge squirrel-run over the Central Motorway and then following the busy New Bridge Street (A193) eastwards. Halfway across the long Byker Bridge, I realised that I needed to be down in the valley below, rather than up above. I was heading to Ouseburn…I guess the name should have given me a clue. I backtracked off the bridge and followed Stepney Bank road down to Ouseburn. Lime Street seemed a bit of an oasis compared to the noise of the motorway and the viaduct traffic. The red brick viaduct looked very impressive from below. Somebody had painted a large picture of a Barn Owl and Kingfisher on one of the arches. Unfortunately, the area around Lime Street had also had the attention of the less artistic graffiti taggers. This was a shame since I could see a lot of effort had gone into making the place presentable. There was even a city farm near to the viaduct, although it was shut for the day on this occasion. I wandered down to the Ouse burn that gives the place its name. It wasn’t a place I’d want to paddle, but there were some pleasant looking footpaths following it in either direction. Back on Lime Street, some workmen were making repairs to a large brick chimney. This was the chimney that you see in the photograph on the opening credits of the TV sitcom, The Likely Lads. I always wondered whether some of those places shown in the photographs still existed; well, this chimney certainly does. It only looks like half a chimney and that was because it was reduced in size during World War II. The authorities didn’t want it to be a navigational guide for German bombers. The east coast main line went over the nearby Ouseburn Viaduct and it would have been bad news indeed if that got blown up. I learned all this history from our guide as we waited in the Ouseburn Trust offices  for the remainder of our group to turn up. 

Lime Street And Ouse Street

Steve was our guide and Dotty provided the ‘lantern rouge’ service at the rear of the group. There were about 15 people who had subscribed to this tour. The entrance to the tunnel was about a kilometre down Lime Street and then Ouse Street. Even on this stretch Steve took the opportunity to point out the remains of the flue arches of the Liddle-Henzell glassworks and also details about the cramped 19th and 20th century housing in the area. At last we reached the entrance to the tunnel where there was a long information board giving historical details about the construction. There was a schematic diagram showing the plan of the tunnel and which part was open to the public. Hard hats and torches were handed out and then an air raid siren started whining. Steve waved us all into the tunnel entrance. Once we were all in, the door was shut behind us. We were in the Victorian Tunnel and escaped the air raid.

World War II

The tunnel was built in the 19th century (more of that later), but at the start of the second world war, the authorities thought that the tunnel might be put to use as an air raid shelter. Apart from a small section of the tunnel being used to grow mushrooms, the tunnel had been closed for about 70 years. In 1939, Mr Percy Parr, the City Engineer developed plans to convert the tunnel to an air raid shelter for 9,000 people. Seven new entrances were introduced.  As will be seen later, it must have been a pretty grim affair to spend your nights in the tunnel, but I guess much preferable to trying to get to sleep in a bombing zone. In 1941, a visiting inspector said that he was concerned about the conditions but concluded that ‘...as this is a mining district, the persons who will shelter in this tunnel are possibly better fitted constitutionally to resist underground and damp conditions than those in the south.’ 

The entrance tunnel was adorned with replica war posters. It was only a short distance before we reached the main Victoria Tunnel. On our left was the tunnel heading southwards towards the River Tyne. We turned right and headed northwards. Almost immediately we had to zig-zag our way through some floor to ceiling concrete walls. These were blast barriers and were built to prevent any blast waves from the bombs travelling up the tunnel.  

Underground Waggonway

The Spital Tongues Colliery was opened in 1835 when the industrial revolution was in full steam. Initially the coal was carried by horse and cart from the colliery to the River Tyne for further transportation. The town council and residents weren’t happy with this intrusion across the city. Steve mentioned the complaints from two doctors who owned the building that is now Fenwicks in the city centre. I walked past Fenwicks the next day; they must have been very wealthy doctors. The owners of the colliery came up with a solution to build an underground railway to transport the coal. The route they chose had the good fortune of following a bed of clay which made the tunneling much easier. The process involved digging a series of vertical access tunnels along the route and then creating a horizontal tunnel to connect them. The clay was removed by the ‘clay kicker’ who laid on an inclined board and kicked at the clay with shovels attached to his feet. The clay would then be removed by the ‘clay carrier.’ The extracted clay was then used to make the bricks which would line the tunnel. About 45,000 tons of clay were extracted and 2.2 million bricks created. 200 men worked on the tunnel and its 2.5 miles length was completed in about 2.5 years. Rails were fitted along the tunnel and chaldrons (wagons) used to transport the coal. The chaldrons would roll down the gradual gradient to the river where the coal would be unloaded. They would then be hauled back to the colliery using a rope and a stationary steam engine. The new scheme reduced the cost of transporting the coal from the colliery to the Tyne by 88%. A large board gave an indication of the size of the chaldron compared to the tunnel dimensions. They didn’t seem to leave much leeway on either side or above it. What on earth could possibly go wrong? 

Tarset Street Tragedy

As we walked down the tunnel, every so often we would come across a poster saying that we were now below such-and-such a street. It would also give a bit of historical history about that street. Under Tarset Street we came across one of these posters and also a plaque that commemorated a tragedy that happened above ground during the war. Steve relayed the story to us. 

Irene Page, a 7 year old girl, had been looking for bomb shrapnel (apparently it was a thing kids collected in those days) when she fell into a bomb crater near Tarset Street. 12 year old Ernest Smith was lowered down to try and get her out. Once down he was unable to respond to calls from those above. 30 year old George Wanless (an auxiliary fireman) was then lowered down, but he went silent too. All three of them were killed by gas. The bodies were eventually recovered by Larry Young and George Bruce. All participants, except poor Irene, were commended for medals or awards, 

Bunks, Benches And Bogs

During an air raid the families inevitably had to sleep down in the tunnel. Wooden bunk beds were created and we were shown an example of these. For those that didn’t want to sleep, there were wooden benches to sit on. Steve demonstrated the toilet arrangements, so to speak. Obviously in such a confined space, toilet arrangements had to be carefully managed. People would be heavily fined if they broke the rules. The toilets would be placed in the tunnels near to the entrances with the men’s facilities being separated from the women’s by canvas sheeting. An example of a ‘facility’ was shown to us, which just appeared to be a tin drum that some poor sod would have to remove at some point. There was supposed to be an overwhelming smell of TCP as you passed the toilets. 

Crawhall Entrance

Our tour went as far as the Crawhall Entrance, although that was actually shut as an entry/exit point to the tunnel. We climbed a ramp and then some steps to its terminus. After the war, most of the entrances were filled in. The entrance near the Hancock Museum was left intact and I’d see that when I visited the museum, the next day. On reaching the Crawhall Entrance we turned around and retraced our steps back along the tunnel. 

Tunnel Curiosities

There were plenty of tunnel curiosities that were brought to our attention by Steve. One of these, were children’s fingerprints that had been left in the fresh clay of the brick before they were fired. Some of these fingerprints were still visible today, 180 years later.   

 In the tunnel, below the vicinity of St Dominic’s Church, there was a ‘Roll Of Honour’ list of people and a crucifix formed in mortar. A 1940 date appears too and so these may be something to do with the masons who were involved in the construction of the air raid shelters.    

In a few places we came across small strips of glass that had been stuck across two bricks, no doubt to monitor any movement in the brickwork.  

When it was made into an air raid shelter, the walls were white washed and some walls still retain some of the paint. Steve pointed out a wall that was yellow. This was a special paint that changed colour if gas was present, a visual early warning system for the air raid shelter.

Tunnel Tragedy

Not surprisingly, for the mid 19th century, the communication mechanism between the workers on the river side and those at Spital Tongue Colliery was crude. A wire ran along the tunnel, known as the rapper, which was banged if a signal needed to be sent to the other end. Obviously, this wasn’t the safest communication mechanism. In 1843 two brothers, Ralph and Benjamin Arkless wanted to survey the tunnel with the prospect of a possible purchase. They entered the tunnel from the river end with staithman William Coulson too. Somebody had been sent to the colliery to warn them not to send any chaldron’s down. Inevitably, the message didn’t get there in time and a chaldron was sent down. Thomas Nattrass and Peter Downie were supposed to ‘ride’ this wagon down to the river with Downie on the front and Natrass on the back, operating a brake. Unfortunately, Nattrass tripped up and couldn’t get on to the chaldron. It became a runaway carriage with Downie stuck on the front of it and unable to do anything. Halfway through the tunnel, the inspection party heard the rumble of the approaching chaldron. No escape alcoves had been built into the tunnel. Ralph Arkless threw himself down between the rails and let the chaldron roll over him; he was left unhurt. Benjamin Arkless pressed himself against the tunnel wall, but suffered broken bones; he never worked again because of his injuries. William Coulson tried to outrun the wagon and was killed. Downie, on the front of the carriage, managed to jump off when it reached the tunnel’s exit and survived with minor injuries. 

There were other accidents too. At the colliery end, the steam engine exploded twice, killing three people altogether. 

The tunnel was only actually used to transport coal for 20 years. It was not really clear why it had become so unprofitable. In the late 1870s the riverside was demolished to make way for the new Glass House Bridge and housing was developed on the site of the former Spital Colliery. 

Tunnel Exit

We exited the tunnel at the Ouse Street again. Our tour had taken over 3 hours, but it had seemed much less. Steve had managed to keep our interest throughout with his fascinating tales, historical facts and a few jokes thrown in too. It was a memorable experience and well worth the money.