Not motoring
A view from the bridge
Gavin Stamp
The Eiffel Tower was begun in 1887 and opened to commemorate the cente- nary of the French Revolution. Gustave Eiffel's lattice girder structure is almost 1,000 feet high and consists of 7,300 tons of iron; it has no real purpose other than being there and affording elevated views of the city of Paris.
The Forth Bridge was begun four years earlier in 1883 and opened in 1890 when the Prince of Wales drove in a gilded rivet — the last of some 8 million used in the structure. The whole thing is some one and a half miles in length— that is, over eight times longer than the height of the Eiffel's tower — and used up some 50,000 tons of steel. Although they are comparable struc- tures, the Forth Bridge is rather more use- ful than its famous contemporary in Paris as its twin railway tracks continue to carry trains from Edinburgh into Fife and on to Aberdeen at a height of 150 feet above the water. Before, passengers had to negotiate those great tidal barriers, the Firths of Forth and Tay, by ferry or take a circuitous route some 30 miles longer from Edin- burgh to Dundee.
Designed by the engineers Benjamin Baker and John Fowler, the Forth Railway Bridge was, and surely still is, one of the wonders of the world. Three colossal can- tilevered towers of steel girders and tubes allowed trains to cross two of what were then, at 1,710 feet, the largest bridge spans in the world. The Forth Road Bridge, opened in 1964 a little upstream, seems to cross the Firth rather more effortlessly In its single suspended span, but the rail bridge remains deeply impressive. It may seem a little over-engineered, but, of course, just a few years earlier the Tay Bridge engineered by the wretched Thomas Bouch had blown down in a terri- ble storm, taking a train and 80 passengers with it.
Two weeks ago, I took the sculptor, Michael Sandie, to see the Forth Bridge. He had never been to Edinburgh before and, very properly, wanted to see the bridge before anything else.
We took a little train from Waverley to North Queensferry. Although its three great humps are visible from miles around, you do not see the bridge until the train curves round from a cutting and is rum- bling on to the long approach viaduct: steel trusses raised on tall stone piers. Then through an arch into the long, long passage on the great cantilevers, with girders and tubes flashing past the window. Those who — to their shame — have never crossed it will probably know it from the scene in that 1930s film of The Thirty Nine Steps when Robert Donat foolishly jumps out of the train half way across.
We got off at North Queensferry, admired the bridge from the north, took a train back across to Dalmeny, then walked down a path through the woods to the shore by the Hawes Inn, the pub that fig- ures in Stephenson's Kidnapped. From here, the whole structure looks spectacular: the tall, tapering stone piers rising high above and then beyond, the great towers with their openwork sides sloping dramati- cally inwards. In the sharp sunlight, the stone glowed against the blue sky while the metal work shone a deep red — the colour of red lead paint, mixed with rust.
Rust! That is really why we were there. Michael Sandle had been outraged to read that Railtrack had ceased the constant pro- tective repainting of the bridge to save money, that the structure was now being damaged by corrosion. This is naturally denied by both Railtrack and the Govern- ment, but the sculptor wanted to see for himself. And the rust is hard to miss: on some of the tubes the dark reddish brown has overwhelmed the purply-red of the pro- tective paint. But who, apart from the admirable Tam Dalyell, MP, cares? Per- haps it would suit Railtrack if this expen- sive piece of infrastructure disappeared. Would it matter if Fife lost its railways and passengers to Dundee had to travel 30 miles farther? The road bridge is still there, after all.
With this Government and the railways, It is hard not to fall in with such conspiracy theories. What is beyond dispute is that the grey mediocrities in Britain can seriously contemplate the risk of corrosion perma- nently and expensively damaging one of the great engineering monuments of the world and a structure crucial to Scotland's well- being. Yet, while this is happening, the Scottish Office can seriously consider building a second road bridge across the Firth of Forth — adding to Edinburgh's Congestion — although the twin tracks of Fowler & Baker's triumph remain under- used. Such is the lunacy and mendacity of the Government's transport policy; such is the degradation to which Britain has sunk. Can you imagine Paris abandoning the maintenance of the Eiffel Tower just to save money?
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