The least used station in... Gloucestershire PILNING (Annual passenger usage: 230)
Thus far I've visited the least used stations in Berkshire, Hertfordshire, Greater London, Essex, Bedfordshire, Surrey, Buckinghamshire, Kent and Norfolk, each with fewer passengers than the station before. But Pilning is a real bottomscraper, Britain's third least used station... or at least it was until last year when it suddenly shot up to 20th.
Poor Pilning, the only station in Britain with only two trains a week. What's more they're both on Saturday. What's more, because National Rail demolished the footbridge to platform 2 at the end of 2016, both trains run in the same direction. This is not a great way to boost passenger numbers.
to Bristol
from Bristol
Monday - Friday
no trains
no trains
Saturday
0834 1534
no trains
Sunday
no trains
no trains
Pilning is a village of a thousand or so people, with the luck (or ill-fortune) to be located just inland from the lowest crossing point on the River Severn. It's hemmed in to the north by the M4, on its way to the Second Severn Crossing, and to the south by the South Wales Main Line, descending in cutting towards the mouth of the Severn Tunnel. To the west is a motorway junction called the Pilning Interchange, but residents of the village would have to drive for ten miles to reach it. And the station is essentially no use to anyone, save those who enjoy an awkwardly-timetabled Saturday jaunt.
It's not Pilning's first station. That opened a short distance away in 1863 on a new line built to connect with the ferry to Wales. Pilning was the last stop before New Passage, where trains ran out onto a wooden jetty to transfer passengers to the boat, and a large hotel was built close by to cater for those arriving when tides were inappropriate.
This bustling departure point no longer exists, but remnants can be found on the shoreline about half a mile north of the Second Severn Crossing, which is where I left you yesterday. Again there's a Heritage Trail to follow, which is expertly done, so you can track down the remains of the pier, where the tea gardens were, and which cottages in the existing hamlet used to be where the railwaymen lived.
In 1886 the Severn Tunnel opened, and the line to New Passage immediately closed. A new Pilning station was opened on the new alignment, not in the village itself but some distance outside, just before the 1 in 90 downward gradient set in. The tunnel was an engineering marvel, bedevilled by flooding during the construction phase, and is still kept dry only thanks to perpetual pumping. Trains could now carry passengers all the way to Wales without stopping, so few stopped, and the seeds of Pilning's later malaise were sown.
I visited on a weekday, not a Saturday, which made visiting the station something of a challenge. I had two hours between trains at Severn Beach, and my phone told me Pilning station was 1.8 miles away, so I thought it'd be fine to walk. But I didn't take the direct route, the allure of the road bridge was too strong, so eventually I walked inland from New Passage instead, and that was 1.8 miles away too. A steady routemarch was required. The country lane I was following reared up after a while to pass over the M4 motorway, providing an excellent view down to the Pilning Interchange and the towers of the bridge beyond.
The next few houses form the hamlet of Redwick, then there's a dual carriageway to cross, and only after that does Pilning proper begin.
At the heart of the village are the war memorial and the post office, plus a large half-timbered building which used to be a pub and then an Indian restaurant but since last summer has been neither. Just down the road is a garage whose pumps still have Attendant Service, and then St Peter's church, in Gothic style with a very high-pitched roof. What there isn't is a station, or any nudge towards the station, other than a notice in the post office window encouraging residents to make best use of the week's two available trains.
Annoyingly the station is still a mile's walk away, down the country lane on the other side of the churchyard. It's OK so long as the pavement holds out, which it does as far as the old primary school (recently metamorphosed into an Indian Orthodox church). But beyond that there's no choice but to walk in the road, minding the blind bends and occasional dollops of horse manure, acknowledging oncoming vehicles when they graciously slow down. I strode on, aware that time was ticking away, and keeping an eye out for any evidence of the original railway line behind the hedge.
When what I assumed was Pilning station finally came into sight, up on the embankment, there was alas no direct access. Instead I had to continue to the end of the road (noting one house, one pub and one postbox), turn right, then manoeuvre one last blind bend, before finally locating the main entrance. Pilning doesn't merit a proper double-arrow sign, only a GWR sign saying welcome, and bearing a strong hint that there is only one platform. A couple of bus stops lurk somewhere down the road, but they're only served by one school service (on weekdays) which is a fat lot of good when trains run Saturdays only. Basically it seems you need to get here by car or by bike, otherwise it's all a bit ropey.
I was looking forward to exploring the station on one of its days off, but was surprised to find it was a hive of activity. A host of electrification engineers in yellow helmets were busy inside a compound beside the tracks, and the 10-space car park was full of vans and a noisy unattended truck. Damn, I thought, I've not come all this way only to be thwarted, so walked up the long ramp in the hope of looking around anyway. I got as far as the phonebox where the footbridge used to be, behind a big green skip, but alas the entrance to the single platform was temporarily barriered off so my hopes of nosing around within were dashed.
I rationed myself a 15 second look-around. The shelter looked solid, but seatless. The help point was solar-powered, and for most of the week useless. Someone had painted Mind the Step on the edge of the platform for the benefit of passengers arriving from Wales. A sign informed passengers that they'd be expected to use rail replacement taxis last October. What used to be the footprint of the footbridge was clearly visible on the opposite platform, but with no way to reach it. I hoped a fast train to or from Cardiff would rush through, but I wasn't around long enough for that.
A short distance down the tracks one electrification gantry was up and ready, with another to one side constructed but not yet in place. This is the reason for the footbridge's removal - it wasn't tall enough to cope with overhead wires, and Network Rail weren't keen on wasting money on a replacement at such a lightly used station. Stuff it, they thought, we'll run our parliamentary services in one direction only, and save a bit more money by never having to maintain the westbound platform. Given the opportunity I'm sure they'd love to close the station for good, but that'd involve contorted legal approval and expense, so much easier to timetable two pointless trains a week and leave the place be.
Local residents are gallantly fighting back. They've formed the Pilning Station Group to campaign for better services and are actively trying to drum up more passengers. There is a quirky joy to making a rail journey from a certified backwater station, so it's not just residents who've been drawn in. Last year (in the PilningGrand Slam) they challenged visitors to depart on one train and arrive back on the other via as many other rail companies as possible, and this year's version (the Pilning Scramble) is Scrabble-related instead. If this scratches your itch, or you like following inventive social media feeds, add your support. [video]
My abortive visit complete, I then had to get back to Severn Beach. Only 40 minutes of the two hour gap between trains remained, and I absolutely had to get back for that or face transportmageddon. 1.8 miles should be doable, I thought, then remembered the route wasn't a straight line, and exiting the station involved heading in completely the wrong direction. You would have enjoyed watching me sort-of running up the lane back to Pilning, then stopping out of embarrassment when I reached the throng of parents parked outside the front of the new primary school.
I decided not to wait for the hourly bus, because I'd seen it arrive too late for the previous train. I cursed that there wasn't time to divert 200 metres down the A403 for a good view of the railway line vanishing into the Severn Tunnel. I had to skip the really interesting-looking public footpath passing over the top of the portal because it was even curvier than the road. I lolloped across the bridge over the M49 without even daring to stop for a panoramic photo, so scared was I of missing my connection. I reached the wrong side of Severn Beach with barely any time to spare, and strode through the new housing estate sensing resignation. And joy, the train was four minutes late, and all was well.
If you live somewhere with decent public transport connections, remember those who don't. The villagers of Pilning have a train they can only catch twice a week, an hourly bus that doesn't take them all the way into Bristol and a 'nearby' station with trains every two hours which goes the long way round. A bit of investment could see them have rather more, perhaps even a new parkway station with regular services, but at least they're making the best of the miserly pittance they've still got.
The Severn Beach line is a railway oddity. It's named after a terminus most of its trains don't reach. It's narrowly escaped closure on more than one occasion and is now mostly single track. It runs alongside both the River Avon and the River Severn. It was also once described by a tour company as one of the world's most scenic railway lines, which I must say piqued my interest but turned out to be an entirely ridiculous claim. Unless you like rooftops, tunnels, mud, dockyards and estuarine bleakness, that is, in which case it might be perfectly up your street.
Bristol Temple Meads is the station to begin at, if you're interested, with services departing every 40 minutes. Trains head north into the suburbs of the city, offering extensive views across a dense residential roofscape, before eventually bearing off from the mainline. A steady climb pauses at several suburbs fortunate to have their own station, many brightened with top class street art, by which point the panorama is mostly the interior of a cutting.
Clifton Down is the busiest station along the line, conveniently located for the zoo if not the posh bit and suspension bridge. And then a mile long tunnel descends back to river level, hewn through the rock at enormous expense in the 1870s to connect with the Port of Bristol beyond. No politician would ever agree to such a plan today.
The railway emerges at the end of the Avon Gorge, beside a brimming river or a muddy channel with a less thrilling trickle, depending on the tides. The railway follows the meanders of the river, generally too well screened by trees for a good look, perhaps overtaking traffic queueing on the parallel Portway. There are intermediate stops at Sea Mills and Shirehampton, with plans for a third just beyond, although as yet no visible signs to make a 2019 opening date look credible. Here the M5 whooshes overhead on stilts (this the final bridge over the Avon), and then the industry begins, screening the remainder of the river from view.
I got out at Avonmouth for an unscenic jolt. This is the town which grew up alongside the Port of Bristol, hence was where many of the dockers and their families lived, hence has seen better days. Some semblance of the town's former importance is hinted at by the fact that the A4 trunk road terminates here, at an HGV-friendly roundabout on Crowley Way. The docks are hidden over the backs of fences and walls, with the occasional crane rising above, plus four enormous undemolished grainsilos.
Gloucester Road runs briefly down to the gates, on one side lined by grand Victorian lodgings downgraded to Homes in Multiple Occupation, then a Grade II listed hotel whose rooms start at £25 a night. Avonmouth's main thoroughfare offers a pub, a Co-op and a tattoo bar, each well frequented, while the former Bus Depot is currently up for auction. The town reminded me a little of North Woolwich or Silvertown, as was, but without much hope of major redevelopment.
Most trains on the Severn Beach line terminate at Avonmouth, but one in three continues north, veering now to shadow the banks of the Severn. This is where any claims of a scenic journey completely break down, with the docks to one side and a succession of warehouses, factories and chemical works on the other. Before long the next station is reached, a single platform halt in the shadow of a cement terminal, just past a conveyor belt used to raise coal from the sidings.
This is St Andrews Road - no longer a request stop, whatever the sign on the platform says. Unsurprisingly this is (by some distance) Bristol's least used station, its ridership totals not helped by the adjacent smelting works having closed in 2011. In its place is now a huge Asda distribution depot, which is why two green-jacketed employees hopped off my train, helping to keep the station vaguely alive.
For those still on board, the final few miles showcase further industrial treasures, including an oil refinery, a power station and an abandoned chemical works. The main freight line veers off just after the refinery, which had it been laid first would have obviated the need for that now-oh-so-useful tunnel down from Clifton. The River Severn eventually becomes visible across a marshy fringe, plus an occasional pipe bulging up above sea level, and there's the first glimpse of an international bridge in the distance. And finally, 37 minutes out from Bristol, here we are.
Severn Beach station has apparently been spruced up, so I hate to think what this lone platform looked like before. Local people dash off to one of a dozen roads, or Shirley's Cafe, whereas those of us here for pleasure have a Heritage Trail to enjoy. In the 1920s a local entrepreneur used the opening of the new station to develop a riverfront resort, and crowds came to enjoy a deckchair on the shingle, then refreshment huts and donkey rides, and eventually a funfair and chalets. Severn Beach's centrepiece was the Blue Lagoon, an open air swimming pool, whose Water Carnivals helped contribute to the resort being nicknamed The Blackpool of the West.
Today there's almost nothing left to see, bar the plaques explaining that this point on the sea wall used to be the paddling pool and this caravan park used to be the boating lake. Perhaps the deckchairs come out again in the summer, but in February the grass behind the promenade is mainly somewhere to exercise dogs, meet other people with dogs and hurry home from afterwards. [video]
What's unmissable is the M4 soaring across the estuary on the Second Severn Crossing, which lifts off from the English side a few hundred yards to the north. I love a good major civil engineering project, especially one you can walk right underneath. This cable-stayed bridge was added in 1996 to supplement capacity on the original Severn Bridge, and is now the major motorway connection. It strides out on a sequence of piers across mudflats and a fortuitously located rocky outcrop, with the central pylon-supported span crossing the navigable part of the channel.
The bridge's footprint has a gentle S-shape, providing an ever-changing silhouette as you walk along the foreshore. I paused ever-so-often, repeatedly thinking "oh that looks nice too" and snappingseveralmorephotographs. Drivers get the better elevated view, of course, but I've seen the full wiggle and the maintenance depot underneath. And all of this was for the utterly knockdown fare of £3 return from Bristol - truly one of the UK rail network's greatest bargains.
Weston, as the locals have it, is a seaside resort in North Somerset at the mouth of the River Severn. The Super-Mare bit is a posh way of saying On-Sea, which for a significant proportion of the day is really On-Mud thanks to the Bristol Channel's massive tidal range. To get your bearings, the sea is to the west, the M5 is to the east, and a high ridge of land called Worlebury Hill blocks development immediately to the north. As usual, the town's Victorian growth spurt was entirely thanks to the railways. About 75000 people live here, and an ABCD of people who grew up in the town would include Jeffrey Archer, Richie Blackmore, John Cleese and Jill Dando. The best time to visit Weston-Super-Mare is never a grey weekday morning in February.
Weston has three piers, the most significant of which is the Grand Pier. Originally Edwardian, it's burned down twice, most recently in 2008 (after the fire alarm company failed to ring the fire brigade). The pier's private owners took advantage of £30m compensation to rebuild the pavilion, thereby restoring the town's main attraction. The initial funnel of chips'n'candyfloss merchants is freely accessible, but to get any further requires £1 in a turnstile (or an annual pass). The boardwalk spans a couple of hundred metres of sea, or more likely beach, and has a central covered tunnel in case the weather's foul. I obviously preferred the exterior view, along with helpful labels on the railings pointing out what I might be able to see. Four churches in town, yes. Cardiff's Millennium Stadium, unsurprisingly no.
I hoped to walk right down to the far end, but this was blocked, I suspect for seasonal maintenance. Scores of empty tables, each labelled 'This furniture is provided for our food and beverage customers only', awaited summer's beers'n'burgers crowd. Instead the only sensible option was to enter the main pavilion, essentially a two-storey amusement arcade - a giant palace of paid-for fun. All the usual soft-toy grabs and slots proliferate, plus sit-on rides, an indoor go-kart track and Britain's smallest (track-free) rollercoaster. Top marks for over-excitable branding goes to The Crystal Maze, in reality one of those swingdoor mirrored labyrinths, and not a full-on four-zone challenge. Two Weston families were enjoying the low season's entertainment options, and I walked swiftly round.
Weston's first pier is now a crumbling wreck at the top of the bay, and the only pier in Britain to link to an offshore island. Birnbeck Pier was built to entertain Victorians arriving by ferry, but hasn't seen a daytripper since 1994, nor a lifeboat launch since 2015, and English Heritage aren't the only people worried about it. The third pier seems barely worthy of the name (although I didn't see it when the tide was fully in), and links to the Seaquarium (all the usual marine stuff in a lot of big tanks). Meanwhile KnightstoneIsland is linked to the shore by a short causeway, and now houses a compact luxury housing development, at prices which in any part of London would count as "genuinely affordable".
Other than distant Wales, the most intriguing sight on the horizon is Steep Holm, one of the larger islands in the Bristol Channel. This limestone lump rises from the waves like the top of an enormous head, and trebles in area between low and high tides. Historically considered part of Somerset, and once home to naval defences, today only birds make their home here (although it's possible to take a day trip in the summer). The other geological peculiarity is Brean Down, a long ridged promontory on the southern shoreline, nicely balancing Worlebury Hill to the north. Although it looks easy to reach, in reality it lies on the far side of the estuary of the River Axe via a considerable marshy detour.
Weston-super-Mare hit the headlines in 2015 when Bansky turned up with his Dismalandthemepark. His chosen site was the Tropicana, a former lido gone to seed, whose outdoor pool made a suitably downbeat backdrop for disturbing art. Since then the venue has sprung back to life in a variety of forms - a funfair in the summer and ice skating in the winter, which I watched through the glass being switched over to a half-term skatepark. In February the site feels somewhat out on a limb, its beachfront cafe and tourist information centre generally unbothered, and the neighbouring beachfront shelter packed out with sleeping bags and the bagged possessions of a few of the town's rough sleepers.
The town centre is the usual mix of tiny streets, pedestrianised shopping precincts and one grand manicured boulevard. At the top of the latter is Weston's floral clock, which alas no longer tells the time, but is still planted up every year to celebrate whichever anniversary the Lions Club selects. This flowerbed marks the site of the town's first station, a terminus inserted by Brunel in 1841, but later replaced by a more convenient loop slightly further out. The Town Hall adds gravitas by the mini-roundabout, but a large area between here and the seafront has been reimagined in questionable 21st century format, and a further zone will follow if anyone ever manages to fund more than bleak demolition.
Weston is blessed with several museums, one focusing on Lambrettas (alas "currently in the process of shutting down") and another on helicopters (the world's largest, apparently, with 80 specimens on view almost daily). I only had time for Weston Museum, the official culture repository, inside the former Gaslight Company Workshops. Most weekday visitors come for the cafe, it seems, but I enjoyed the permanent display round the upper floor and a splendid temporary exhibition downstairs - The Art Of Self Expression; Facial Hair and Tattoos Through The Ages. This proved an excellent excuse to pair whiskery Victorian portraits with specially commissioned 2017 photography, and if any Shoreditch gallery were to attempt a similar exposition of hirsute history I'm sure they'd have a hit on their hands.
