The seven cross-country rail routes that would revitalise Britain
Sadder news for cross-country rail lovers was the axing of the Aberdeen-Penzance train as of May 16, after more than 100 years of service. At 774 miles, it is the UK's longest service, linking Scotland to Cornwall, passing through a range of landscapes and stopping 35 times at towns and cities.
Britain's rail network likes to give with one hand and take away with the other. There has been recent talk of reviving direct services from Bolton and Rochdale to London, providing the two major Lancashire towns with connections they once enjoyed as a right. Rail services open up business as well as leisure opportunities; vineyards, hotels and local councillors in Kent are still protesting the closure of the Eurostar service sparked by the pandemic.
So what would be the ideal cross-country lines to reboot in order to promote domestic holidays and regional economies? Britain's railways really began with a cross-country line, between Liverpool and Manchester, in 1830. Who decided, for example, the network should be radial, with London as its hub? And why are so many of us deprived of trains to the many wonderful corners of the country?
Here are seven for starters. These physical lines still exist (though Dr Beeching axed many that made cross-country travel faster and more fluid in the 1960s), but to complete the journeys now you have to change trains, waste time, worry about your next reservation and getting a seat.
Modern trains are supposed to be faster, but most cross-country trips are sluggish when you consider the crow-flies distances. We can surely do better than this, so please let us know which lines and services you miss most in the comments section below.
Bradford to Morecambe
The Midland hotel that stands prominently over the UK's largest expanse of tidal mudflats and sand is a striking reminder of a time when Morecambe was served by Midland Railways and known as Bradford-on-sea for the number of visitors it drew from the West Riding of Yorkshire.
The route used, known as the 'Little' North Western Railway, carried mill and factory workers from their smoke-smothered homes via the Yorkshire Dales and Forest of Bowland to the seaside. As well as regular services, there were 'Wakes Weeks' specials when industries closed down and entire towns and cities decamped to the coast.
At the time, the trains ran all over the country, with exotic-sounding services such as Oldham to Swansea and Bury to Heysham for Douglas on the Isle of Man. In Bradford's City of Culture year, and with the North due to get its own Eden Project in Morecambe isn't it time to reopen this grand old sunshine line, especially given the perennial question of how to revive the British seaside?
When direct service ended: 1966
Number of changes required in 2025: 1-2
Shortest duration in 2025: 2h 11m
Distance: 49 miles
Cheapest current cost: £12.70 single
Stirling to Newton Abbot
Green trains for electric cars
I only know that this service existed as recently as the mid-1980s thanks to the avid timetable collectors who post fascinating facts on online rail forums. It was one of many Motorail services that operated between 1955-1995, allowing holidaymakers to deposit their Austin Allegros on to the back of trains and ride in comfort to their destination.
Stirling was a major hub, and was the gateway to the Highlands. Newton Abbot, often bypassed by tourists, is a useful point of departure for Dartmoor, Torbay and both coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Drives such as the NC500 (North Coast 500), Heart 200 and North East 250 in Scotland and South West 660 in England are great, but a relaunched Motorail – with competitive pricing – would allow us to travel greener, safer and without the tedious ordeal of the M4, M5 and M6.
When direct service ended: mid-1980s
Number of changes required in 2025: 1-4
Shortest duration in 2025: 8h 32m
Distance: 387 miles
Cheapest current cost: £161.70
Hull to Holyhead
Ferry ports to fun resorts
Privatisation killed off services linking Newcastle, York, Scarborough and Hull to North Wales – with most trains stopping at Manchester, furthering the uncontrolled metropolitanisation of Britain. The loss is felt at several levels, exacerbating the 'East-West divide', shrinking the once booming tourism of Llandudno and the North Wales coast and, more subtly, making Britons – islanders all, with a rich maritime history – forget our once vital ports.
Boat trains used to connect all corners of the nation to ferry services to Ireland, Isle of Man and the continent. You could travel from Scotland and the north to Harwich Parkeston Quay. Today, the grandly monikered Harwich International is connected to, wait for it, nearby Manningtree. It's time to stop the rebranding and reconnect our ports.
When direct service ended: 1980s
Number of changes required in 2025: 2
Shortest duration in 2025: 5h 8m
Distance: 180 miles
Cheapest current cost: £125
South of England to the Settle & Carlisle
Non-stop scenic splendour
Britain's most scenic railway line, the Settle-Carlisle, is currently served by trains from Leeds, plus a Saturday-only, twice in each direction service from Manchester Piccadilly to Ribblehead, site of the celebrated viaduct. Opened in 1876 by Midland Railways – keen to compete with London & North Western, which dominated operations on what we now call the West Coast Main Line – the Settle-Carlisle follows the natural contours of the Pennines, in order to enable high-speed stream trains to carry passengers to and from Scotland.
London's Science Museum holds a glorious 1903 timetable for the direct service on 'the most interesting route, the only through route embracing the lovely valleys of the Ribble and the Eden, the home and haunts of Sir Walter Scott, and the land of Robbie Burns,' from London St Pancras to Edinburgh, Perth and Inverness. Why deprive southerners of the north's sublime line?
When direct service ended: 1982 (London St Pancras to Carlisle)
Number of changes required in 2025: 1
Shortest duration in 2025: 5h 25m
Distance: 262 miles
Cheapest current cost: £87.20
Stranraer to Newcastle
Straddling the beautiful borderlands
One of the most punished towns in the UK, in transport terms, is Stranraer in south-west Scotland. Only a few decades ago, it was connected to London Euston, Carlisle and Newcastle, and for a spell there was an Edinburgh-Stranraer boat train. Why did all the trains go to this lonely peninsular tip? Mainly for the ultra-short ferry crossing to Larne in Northern Ireland.
But the ferry no longer goes from Stranraer but from Cairnryan (a bus ride away), with Stena ships to Belfast (two hours 15 mins) and P&O ferry crossings to Larne (two hours). As for the station, it has trains to Ayr and Glasgow, and not many of them – every four hours on weekdays and only as far as Ayr on Sundays.
Rail fans agree the Stranraer line ranks just below the likes of the West Highland Line and Dingwall to Kyle for scenic views. Reopening a route via Hadrian's Wall to Newcastle would tick many boxes for history and heritage-lovers, and provide a useful east-west connecting service.
When direct service ended: 1993
Number of changes required in 2025: 3
Shortest duration in 2025: 5h 48m
Distance: 135 miles
Cheapest current cost: £72.70
Penzance to Wick
From Land's End to the Flow Country
The axing of the Aberdeen-Penzance service is precisely the opposite direction of the one CrossCountry should be following. It was only offered once a day (departing Aberdeen 8.20am, arriving Penzance 9.31pm – and only Plymouth-Aberdeen in reverse) but was a symbolic connection to the southwestern tip of the nation for Scotland and all of England.
There used to be Waterloo to Penzance trains too, offering an iron-road version of the A303, ideal for south-west Londoners and stockbroker belt second-homers wanting to enjoy a few bottles of Mumm en-route to Marazion. The UK is missing a trick in not offering a pan-national service.
There's no reason why someone can't offer a Penzance to Thurso/Wick service, using diesel- (or steam-) powered rolling stock. It would be a magnet for European rail fans and, at around 970 miles, would outclass many single-country lines for length. The UK's Trans-Siberian, in short, with Unesco sites at either end and the full gamut of towns, cities, landscapes, accents, cuisines and culture en route. Londoners can do a version of this trip on their handy Caledonian and Night Riviera sleeper trains. Why should everyone else have to drive or change 10 times to cross the nation?
When direct service ended: N/A
Number of changes required in 2025: 2-5
Shortest duration in 2025: 26h 21m
Distance: 583 miles
Cheapest current cost: £320.80
Birkenhead to Paddington
Pleasure and leisure at your own pace
This is not strictly a cross-country line, but it's a parable of how we can break the hegemony of city hubs. As early as 1860, the GWR – yes, you read that correctly – was able to operate trains from London Paddington to Birkenhead Woodside. By 1924, there were six down trains a day, some taking less than five hours.
The early route was via Reading and Oxford, but later took a shorter diagonal through Bicester and High Wycombe. Restaurant cars and sleepers were offered on some timings. Running till 1967, the Birkenhead Flyer and The Zulu stopped at Leamington Spa, Shrewsbury, Wrexham and Chester. As well as providing a connection to the port at Birkenhead – giving that town an identity beyond being 'somewhere you can see from Liverpool' – it opened up the Wirral, with New Brighton and Port Sunlight, as well as Shropshire and the Welsh Marches.
Today, the emphasis is on speed, not stopping and merely connecting A to B ie Liverpool Lime Street with London Euston, without any accounting for pleasure or leisure. These lines exist – why not allow open-access firms to target the holiday traveller on new city-swerving routes to places of extraordinary heritage and beauty?
When direct service ended: 1967
Number of changes required in 2025: 2
Shortest duration in 2025: 3h 12m
Distance: 178 miles
Current cost: £82.70
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'In the last 15 years, we have heard absolutely nothing – it's as if Donald never existed,' she told the Mail. 'That is what I find so difficult. But he did exist and we have to make sure to remind people of that. Keeping his memory alive is made all the harder, because we still don't know what happened. We don't know if anyone is to blame for his disappearance or if it was an accident. We need answers. And if Donald is forgotten, we may never find out what happened to him.' In order to fill the void and revive awareness in Donald's story, the Mackenzies plan to hold a church service this autumn for their missing relative. Meantime, they fall back on their font of stories about a man as tough and complex as Lewisian gneiss. They recall a boyhood full of mischief, a headstrong child drawn to danger who never backed away from confrontation. Yet, they also describe a youngster left bereft by an absent father, who only found a purpose as a born-again Christian. Despite being brought up in the cradle of Free Presbyterianism in the Western Isles, Donald Mackenzie had resisted any real interest in religion until he found God much later in life. Once converted, however, the 47-year-old seized his new faith with alacrity – it drew this newly-evangelised missionary back time and again on his pilgrimage to a politically unstable corner of the Muslim world. It now seems increasingly likely it led him directly to his doom. It was only due to the catastrophic break-up of his mother's marriage to Fleet Street journalist, Ken Mackenzie, that Donald and his three brothers, Ross, Derick and Kenneth, grew up in a council house in Stornoway rather than a large family house in a well-to-do suburb of Glasgow. 'My father had a really good, well-paid job and he got sucked into gambling,' said Kenneth. 'We had a big house in a nice part of Glasgow but my mother told me stories later about people telling her how they saw him put a £25 bet down on the turn of a card and lost. Now £25 in those days was like £1,000 now; it was a ridiculous amount. 'He was so addicted he lost everything; his job, the house, everything. He was even pinching stuff from my mother and selling it for gambling. He never even owned up, he just kind of disappeared.' Mrs Mackenzie, a noted Gaelic singer, returned to her native Stornoway to stay with her mother for two years until they got back on their feet. Single-handedly raising four pre-school age sons was always going to be hard work, but Derick and Donald soon earned a reputation as tearaways. 'They were pretty wild, into drink and women and getting involved in fights and riding motorcycles,' said Kenneth. 'Donald would never back down from a fight. In a way, I think he quite enjoyed the element of danger. He ran to danger when others, like me, run a mile from it.' Often Donald's impulsiveness landed him in serious bother. He was 19 when he was riding pillion on a friend's bike which crashed at 100mph and almost cost him his life. After months in hospital, he studied to be a draughtsman, but drifted between jobs, frequently returning to live with his mother. A dab hand with engines, he joined the Territorial Army, where he proved a crack shot and learned the survival skills he would later rely on during his trips to Ararat. Kenneth, now 59, who works in the pharmaceutical industry in London, believes his brother was particularly affected by the loss of a father figure. 'Donald needed that kind of stability and guidance. I think he would have turned out a more rounded, better person if our father had been around,' he said. 'I wouldn't say he was a bad person – he was what he was – but he might have had a good job, he would have had a stable career, and stable relationships.' Years later, Donald did meet his father, who died in 2003, and Kenneth was surprised how accepting his brother was: 'It just seemed all plastic and false to me because there was only one question at the top of my head, which was: 'Why did you leave? Where did you go?' 'But Donald was happy to make small talk and I thought, 'Really? You miss him that much, you're not going to give him a row? You're just going to accept him back?' But I wasn't happy at all.' Then, in his late twenties, Donald found God. A heavenly father would give his life the purpose and direction which his earthly one could not. Unsurprisingly, it happened when he was badly beaten up in a fight. He took it as a sign and when his Army chaplain brother Derick, another convert, visited him in hospital with a Bible, it marked a shift in outlook. If there was any doubt about his commitment, his Facebook social media page was titled 'Donald Proddy'. Having found God, he embarked on his greatest adventure – a bid to prove the existence of Noah's Ark on Mount Ararat. 'I'm not sure how much he truly believed in the Ark's existence, you know, but it was his excuse to go over there and have some thrills,' said Kenneth. 'I think he pictured himself as a kind of Indiana Jones with two lives – the Turkish life was the exciting life.' Unlike Dr Jones, Donald was also a preacher. Kenneth said that although Donald made many friends in Turkey and even started a business there buying and selling motorbikes, 'he had a thing about Islam being the wrong faith and he was pushing Christianity which did not go down well at all'. Kenneth added: 'And I think that's where he made some real enemies. We used to have conversations about how much danger he was putting himself in. But I think he thought if he changed one person from Islam to Christianity, that's his job done.' At four times the height of Ben Nevis, Mount Ararat's imposing bulk has always been dangerous for visitors. For decades the highly militarised frontline between Nato and the Soviet bloc, it only opened up to tourism again in 2001. Armed militants from the Kurdish Workers Party, or PKK, roamed its 16,854ft peak, drawing support for their fight for an independent Kurdistan from residents of the impoverished hamlets which cling to the inhospitable slopes of this dormant volcano. Donald's 2010 trip, his fifth, was driven by an astonishing claim the Ark had been found. A shadowy organisation called Noah's Ark Ministries International – based in Hong Kong but with links to Turkish officials – insisted it had uncovered a 'wooden construction' on Ararat's northern side. Within months it had been denounced as a hoax, but Donald was determined to see for himself, pressing ahead despite the obvious danger and without sorting the necessary government permits and mandatory local guide required to set foot on Ararat. 'Everyone told him not to go. My mother had a premonition and pleaded with him, but he wouldn't listen and got quite angry with me when I spoke to him about it,' said Kenneth. He loaded up his van and drove to the town of Dogubayazit at the foot of Ararat. His last contact with his family was a call that September to his brother Ross, now 64, an IT analyst living in Luxembourg, as he tried to make food at 12,000ft in a thunderstorm. He said the storm was dying down and he should get some sleep. By October 14, he had been reported overdue by a friend. Since then, nothing. No bank account or mobile phone activity. The family have accused the Turkish authorities of failing to take Donald's case seriously and of delaying their initial search. That has made it harder to fathom the chain of events leading up to his disappearance. When Derick went over with a film crew in 2012, they were intercepted by Turkish authorities at the airport and warned off climbing Ararat. After recovering Donald's van and some of his possessions, they encountered a wall of silence. One thing Kenneth Mackenzie is clear on, however, is that his brother will never be coming home. 'I have no doubt that Donald is dead. I believe the Turkish Army are to blame, because somebody came down the mountain the day he disappeared and said, 'I hope there's nobody else up there because the Army means business up there. Anybody else up there is in trouble.' 'They are hiding something. Why would they say to Derick at the airport, 'Don't you dare come near Mount Ararat' unless they had something to hide?' While he accepts his brother is gone, things are harder for his mother, who struggles with failing health and crippling despair. 'She still clings to the hope that, maybe, he's in jail over there and might come home. Every so often, she just bursts into tears. It is as if time stood still from that moment for her.' The same could be said of her son. Fifteen years on, what befell Donald Mackenzie remains every bit as mysterious as the ancient ark he searched for in vain.
