The Tyne and Wear Metro is a marvel of the British railway network: the only true metro system outside of London and Glasgow1, with fully accessible stations, beautiful typographic design, and only the occasional closure because someone stole all the copper wiring again. But amongst railway nerds, it is also known for one more puzzling detail: it’s a pretzel.
That’s right: you can, if you want, catch a Yellow Line train at Monument, go all the way around the coast, wind up right back where you started, and continue all the way down to South Shields just to rub it in. Put otherwise: there are four platforms and they’re all for the same line.
This is, as far as i know, unique to Newcastle. Bucharest almost gets there, but chickens out just before the line actually crosses over. Sofia nearly pulls it off but, in a shocking display of cowardice, redesignates its Line 4 as “Line 2” halfway through the loop, disqualifying them immediately. The Hague does something even more complicated, but it’s on a tramway and i can’t in good faith count it. And Vancouver used to have the same setup — even using the same colour — but switched to a perhaps more sensible timetabling in 2016 when an extension rendered it unworkable.
So… why? What’s the point? Let’s find out.
Part One: Why was it a pretzel?
As is often the case with urban rail, the constituent parts of the Tyne and Wear Metro were built at different times by different, competing companies, and were only later stitched together into a coherent network.
The first part of the loop to come online was the Newcastle and North Shields Railway, starting in 1839, who ran a service from the centre of town to (where else?) North Shields, later extended a teensy bit further to Tynemouth. The N&NSR’s mighty viaducts still carry our dinky yellow trains over the Ouseburn to this day.
Meanwhile, further north, coal mining in Northumberland was growing rapidly. (This brought great prosperity to the region, which would surely never ever end. Ever. Unless they closed the mines, but come on, why would that ever happen?) The existing main-lines found themselves choked by the influx of traffic, and in 1852, Parliament authorised the incorporation of the newfangled Blyth and Tyne Railway.
The B&T at first linked Bedlington and Blyth only to the staiths at Percy Main, but by the eighteen-sixties it had added branches to the centre of town — encouraging buildup in Newcastle’s northern suburbs — and to the growing seaside holiday destination of… Tynemouth.
Hm.
By the early eighteen-eighties, both the B&T and the N&NSR had been absorbed into the North Eastern Railway, which found itself in the awkward position of having two formerly competing stations right next to each other and no way for trains to transfer between the two. So, in 1882, the two competitors’ lines were linked up with a new alignment running closer to the coast, including the opening of a gorgeous palatial through station at Tynemouth, still in use by Metro trains and Sunday markets to this day.
The earliest timetable i could find, from 1902, shows that trains were indeed running in a loop around the coast, from the city centre to Wallsend to Tynemouth and back, just as is possible today.
At the dawn of the twentieth century, however, the steam services were threatened by a rising competitor: the tram. No longer did you have to put up with noisy, steam-belching locomotives every day — you could get to exactly where you wanted to go, in style! This, of course, wouldn’t do, and so the NER embarked on a rapid programme of electrification. By 1904, the loop had fully switched over, and the network was rechristened the ✨️ Tyneside Electrics! ✨️
By this point, the network clearly resembled what we have today. Now, it didn’t quite loop over itself like today — everything went through Central Station; no perpendicular Monument tomfoolery here — and there was an extra branch snaking along the riverside which was never refurbished for the Metro era. But other than that, the geometry was pretty well set, and there would be no major service changes until the introduction of — what do you mean, you want to know what the big black arrow’s for?
Part 1½: The Kearney Tube
Whenever i show a diagram of the Metro to my non-Geordie friends, the first response is usually something to the effect of, “Why isn’t there a link between North and South Shields?” It’s a fair question, and the canned answer i usually give is that building one would be a lot of expense for little point, since there’s already a well-trafficked, well-loved ferry service between the two. Little did i know that it could well have been otherwise.
Elfric Wells Chalmers Kearney was an eccentric Australian engineer who spent much of his life trying and failing to convince city governments to adopt his all-new danglebahn, the Kearney High-speed Tube™. Here he is in 1910 with a model he made earlier:
The “Kearney Tube”, as it was known, would be powered by the force of gravity, hurtling down a ⅐ gradient from stations just below the surface like a bizarro funicular before climbing gracefully back up, suspended between a monorail below and a guide rail above, which would (in theory) stabilise the train’s side-to-side motion so as to not induce vomiting in everyone who rode it.
Mr Kearney promoted his invention in cities as distant as Sydney, London, Portsmouth, and (if secondary sources are to be believed) Venice and New York, but it came closest to reality between North and South Shields.
Over sixteen thousand Tynemouthicans signed a petition calling for its construction, and in 1925 the government gave a provisional order approving its construction. Alas, when it came time for a parliamentary committee to give Mr Kearney’s dream the final go-ahead, they were rather more sceptical. He had raised nowhere near enough money to actually build the blasted thing, and the members were quite concerned about the impact it might have on the livelihood of the Tyne’s ferrymen.2
Mr Kearney held a grudge for the rest of his life. He made elaborate, typewritten conspiracy diagrams indicating who was paying off who, and gleefully wrote of the death of his opponents on the committee — or even those who were only tangentially connected:
Under pressure from Lord Ashfield, Henry Ford went back on his undertaking to finance the first Kearney Tube between North and South Shields. Not long afterwards Esdell Ford [sic], Henry Ford’s only son, was taken ill and died.
In 1939,
he gave it one more go, partnering with the LNER — only for the outbreak of the second world
war to put an abrupt halt to any civilian infrastructure plans. He would eventually write
a science-fiction novel titled
Erōne, where his his protagonist’s ideas are proven correct by a utopian society on
Uranus, and if only the good people of Earth would listen!
Mr Kearney died in 1966, never having seen his utopia come to fruition. I was unable to find where or how, or even in which continent he is buried — he split his time between Australia and Britain, and he could plausibly have passed on either side of the equator. Still, i hope he’s up there somewhere, smiling down on all the shweebs, hyperloops, monorails, and other gadgetbahns of today.3
Part Two: Why is it a pretzel?
By the nineteen-sixties, the Tyneside Electrics had seen better days. Passenger numbers were falling, the trains of tomorrow were decrepit, and they weren’t even electric — British Rail had deemed it more cost-effective to run slower, dirtier diesel trains. The system had become a kittiwake4 around the North East’s neck. So, in 1971, the local transport executive commissioned a study — and they came back with a plan.
You know how the rest goes. Though the Tyne and Wear Metro would mostly reuse the existing routes mentioned before, they would all be linked up through a newly constructed central core underground — meeting in the middle at Grey’s Monument.
The pretzel shape was completed by proceeding one stop further from Monument to stubby St James’ Park.5 This was just a temporary terminus, of course — the station was built so that, in future, they could easily come back and extend it out to the long-underserved west end of the city. Quoth 1981’s “Tyne and Wear Metro: concept, organization, and operation”:
St James station is at the centre of an area designated for future office development and also serves the football ground; the station has also been designed to allow the system to be extended westwards at some future date.
So, eventually, that happened, right? They turned that little stumpy arm into a full-fledged extension. Right? …Right?
Part Three: Why is it still a pretzel?
In 1981, environment secretary Michael Heseltine vetoed any further extensions to the Metro system. Since then, the only substantive changes have been in 1991 — inking the airport to the rest of Newcastle — and 2002, when, after twenty years, the Tyne and Wear Metro finally reached Wearside. It is around 2002 that things get a little silly.
Shortly after service to Sunderland began, Nexus (the local transport operator) announced Project Orpheus, their grandiose plan to build a transport network fit for the twenty-first century. Bus rapid transit for everyone! A cable car in Gateshead! And, yes, the valiant return of trams to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, connecting the west end up with the city centre.
None of this happened. The plans were watered down and watered down until all that was left was the vague idea of refurbishing the Metro and making buses more frequent. The great recession and austerity presumably killed any hope it had left. You still get calls from local councillors to extend the system to their part of the area, but they seem unlikely to amount to much. So is all hope lost?
Well… remember the Blyth and Tyne Railway?
Passenger services along the B&T north of Backworth were given the chop by Dr Beeching in the nineteen-sixties. Combined with the end of coal, this was a one-two punch in the gut for working-class mining towns like Ashington and Blyth, leaving them some of the most impoverished in the country.
Local campaigners have been calling for its reopening since the nineties, initially to little avail barring a token mention in the ill-fated Project Orpheus plan. In 2013, Northumberland County Council started taking the idea seriously. In 2019, the transport secretary gave the thumbs up. In 2021, shovels hit the dirt. And in 2024, for the first time in half a century, trains carried passengers from Ashington to Newcastle.
It may be like pulling teeth, and it may cost more than we might like, but Britain can still build things — and local politicians seem to have noticed! In 2024, work began on the first serious proposal since Orpheus to extend the Metro; this time, to Washington, along the disused Leamside line.
Curiously, the proposed extension goes in yet another loop. It’s hard to imagine this wouldn’t require some rejigging of how the network runs — a third line, perhaps? New platforms at Pelaw? But however they run it, it looks like, if it goes through — and that’s a big if — the Yellow Line may not be alone in its topological weirdness for long.
