Learning from Dawlish

The UK Environment Agency has been taking a lot of stick in the last few days, and apparently deservedly so, given its evident role in the causation of the disastrous floods in Somerset. The only dealings I have had with this body, over a trivial matter a few years ago, revealed an astonishing level of incompetence and bureaucratic absurdity (and that was in dealing with just one person – so think what an entire organisation can achieve !). I had written to point out that an information board provided by the Environment Agency not far from where I live contained several gross factual errors. The initial response I received thanked me for my Freedom of Information request, and supplied details of how to proceed. So I wrote again, trying to explain my purpose – which was to help the Agency improve its educative service to the public, by providing correct information. The reply came back that the board was nothing to do with them, so I then supplied photographs which showed the words “Environment Agency” plastered all over it. The next reply was that the matter would be forwarded to the appropriate person, but was immediately followed up by a letter from the same person, telling me that the board was not their responsibility – and seemingly unaware of our previous correspondence. At this point, deciding that sarcasm, anger or even humour would be lost on this witless minion, I gave up. I would like to think that today she’s up to her eyes in it in Somerset, but I’m very confident that she’s somewhere far more comfortable.

If you’re going to provide information as a public service, it’s important to get it right. If you can’t believe the Environment Agency when they’re dealing with establishable, uncontroversial, and fairly trivial facts, why should you believe their stories about climate change, or follow their advice when you have reason to believe you are  threatened with flooding? Oh no, you mustn’t object; they’re the experts you see, they understand these matters. The Environment must at all costs be protected, even if submerged by water or forested with wind turbines. No, not the countryside; The Environment. Sorry, you’re not getting it, are you. Not the land, not that place where some people live and work and find beauty, as they have done for many generations, no, not that, that isn’t important, but The Environment. That’s what matters. Being green, being sustainable, being carbon-footprint-guilt-free, protecting the rights of newts, rodents, and unusually brass-necked tits.

But enough of Lord Whatsisname. One of the most memorable images from this disastrous week in the West Country has been of the wrecked main line railway at Dawlish. This has resulted in the loss of rail services from Plymouth and Cornwall to and from the rest of the country, a situation which is likely to pertain for some time. Inevitably suggestions have arisen concerning the resurrection of lines long closed – in particular the direct inland cut-off between Exeter and Newton Abbot – while other comments have questioned the relevance of current discussions about HS2 when parts of the existing network are so in need of attention. I hope these suggestions and arguments will bear fruit, inevitably after the present crisis has subsided.

One thing we appear not to have is a national railway strategy (or indeed any kind of national strategy as far as I can see, other than for self-destruction), although doubtless there are think tanks, working parties (another fancy cake, dear ?), focus groups and quangos all expensively beavering (or, indeed, quangoing) away at such things, well insulated from reality and from each other, as well as local groups and rail professionals who know their history and are cognisant of the issues. I’ve recently been reading books on railway art and architecture, and on closed branch lines and stations, and the thing that struck me was that – even until well into the 1960s – there was so much stuff – so many tracks, alternative routes, stations, locos, carriages, personnel. There was a sense of safety in numbers; if something went wrong, there was always something you could do about it, someone nearby who would help, something else available  – well short of having to call in what’s left of the military or disturbing some fatuous slob in Westminster. Go to some other countries today – Belgium is a good example – and you’ll see how it used to be here, plenty of spare stuff, extra tracks, other routes, alternatives. Call them old fashioned? I wouldn’t. Here, however, ruthless efficiency (oh yes ?) has been achieved so completely that when disaster strikes there is no alternative, no resilience, no built-in redundancy to call upon.

Cornwall may have been cut off by exceptional weather conditions, but if you look at a railway map of Britain you will see that there are only two routes across the Anglo-Scottish border (so, then, only two sets of customs posts, minefields and guard dogs needed after 18th September), and only two major routes between England and Wales. Post-Beeching the network is so skeletal that major incidents – floods, other types of weather damage, accidents, terrorism – can have a paralysing effect across large areas. There are many pinch points in the network that are highly vulnerable to these sort of events; a glance at a map will readily identify them.

One of the precursors of the internet, the US Darpanet, was built with the idea that if any part of it got knocked out, e.g. by a nuclear strike, information could easily be re-routed. When planning HS2, or other improvements to the network, it will be as well to bear this kind of strategic thinking in mind. Sadly, it takes a meteorological  calamity to make the point.