Tamar Road Bridge at 60

60 years of the Tamar Road Bridge

In 1961, the counties of Cornwall and Devon saw a new and improved connection opened to the public. The existing ferry service had struggled to keep up with the growing popularity and accessibility of the motor car, leading to the commission of the Tamar Road Bridge. Following its unofficial launch on October 24 – the Queen Mother would preside over the official ceremony in April 1962 - 4,000 cars used the crossing each day.

Six decades on, that figure exceeds 45,000 daily – 16 million annually - showing just how much we have come to depend on our vehicles for commuting, shopping and holidays. The vast majority of drivers pass through its toll booths more concerned with whether their TamarTag is topped up than with the stunning feat of engineering the bridge represents.

Not so engineering manager Richard Cole, who has spent the past 17 years working on the structure. “That’s a significant chunk of my engineering career,” he muses. “It’s more than just a job, as anyone who works here will tell you. That we’re all a bit long in the tooth is testament to the fact that we’re passionate about it. We care about the bridge and how it operates. We want to look after it and do a good job.”

The Tamar Road Bridge was just the latest development in the history of the river crossing. Flashback to the early 1800s, and the railway only reached as far as Exeter, leaving the rest of Devon and especially Cornwall isolated. Businesses faced a long and time-consuming route by road or around the coast by ship to get their goods into the hands of customers nationwide.

In 1846, the Cornwall Railway Act received Royal Assent on condition that a bridge be built at Saltash. Isambard Kingdom Brunel was the man for the job, but cost restricted his Royal Albert Bridge to a single line; to this day, around 28,000 trains per annum slow down to cross at 15mph, while inspections and maintenance take place overnight to avoid disruption.

Road travellers, meanwhile, faced a ferry crossing from either Torpoint or Saltash - frequent but often with lengthy queues. The alternative was a long diversion to the single-lane bridge at Gunnislake, built for packhorses rather than 20th century horsepower. The new road bridge would cut journey times drastically, and transform Saltash into the gateway to Cornwall and the perfect commuter town for Plymouth, on the right side of the Tamar.

“Without a doubt, the bridge is very important to the local economy,” says Richard. “It’s the major crossing point over the Tamar at its southern end, and joins a trunk road network on either side. Without the bridge, the A38 wouldn’t exist in this form today, and I’m sure Saltash wouldn’t be the size it is.”

The Tamar Road Bridge was a landmark of its day, the first major suspension bridge to be constructed in the UK after the Second World War, and the longest single-span suspension bridge in the country at the time. It was built to a design by Mott Hay and Anderson at a cost of £1.5 million, and learned lessons from the catastrophic fate of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, better known as Galloping Gertie: built in 1940, it collapsed the same year in windy conditions (mercifully, the only casualty was a dog). In contrast, the Tamar Road Bridge was “over-engineered” to ensure the safety of its users, and purposely built in the shelter of the Royal Albert Bridge to escape the full force of the south-westerlies. Its cabling was given extra protection against water ingress, and that it remains in impeccable condition today bears testament to the engineering skill of its creators.

Millions are spent keeping it in tip-top condition so it is operational and safe at all times. Richard estimates that £80 million has been spent on improvements in the last 20 years alone, including major works in 2001 to be widened from three to five lanes using cantilevers - the world's first suspension bridge to do so. The south cantilever is used by pedestrians, cyclists and mobility scooters, the north by Saltash and local traffic.

The original concrete deck was replaced by an orthotropic steel deck; to prevent corrosion, this needs to be resurfaced every 20 to 25 years, during which time it will have carried around 300 million vehicles. This work was completed in October, a mammoth task involving the removal of 949 tonnes of existing surface material using a road planer, followed by the application of 1,920kg of paint ‘primer’, two layers of waterproofing and two more of a specialist, super-thin asphalt surfacing material, not only to the three lanes and

It’s worth visiting Tamar Crossings’ headquarters on the Plymouth side of the bridge. Not only can you enjoy superb views of the bridges from here, but the visitor centre has a fascinating display following the history of the crossings. You can also explore the bridge on Shanks’s pony from here; look out for QR codes linked to stories and creative work contributed by members of the public to the Bridging the Tamar archive. Some offer colourful illustrations of what life was like on a construction site 60 years ago. Terry Parker recalls how, at 17, “I sat on two scaffold planks, 250ft over the Tamar, drilling holes into a cast steel structure! My first week’s wages at 17 was £1 17s 4d - about £1.70 - plus £1 a week danger money! A motor boat cruised up and down the river continuously in case anybody fell in.” Terry recounts how up to 200 men were working on site 200ft up, with no toilet facilities; one unfortunate labourer had the job of emptying the buckets. Mike Pascoe, meanwhile, was paid £100 a week to paint the cables; complaints from Unigate Dairy revealed that specks of lead-based paint had made their way into their milk. Sadly, not all construction workers were lucky enough to tell the tale 60 years later. Seven men died during construction: five were lost when a boat capsized, and a painter and a metalworker fell to their deaths. All were commemorated with a wreath on the anniversary of the unofficial opening, with some family members in attendance. “Remembering them, and the work they did on this engineering masterpiece to reduce journey times and make travel easier for all - it’s the right thing to do,” said Councillor Jonathan Drean, joint chair of the Tamar Bridge and Torpoint Ferry Joint Committee.

Saltash singer-songwriter Florence Hope, 25, responded to a social media call-out for creatives to contribute work to the archive. Her song Connections was written and recorded in her bedroom during lockdown. “I never feel alone with you, you always do what you’re supposed to do, and that’s protect me and connect me – we have so much history.” The video – shot by Fotonow CIC and available to view on YouTube - combines film of Flo on site with archive footage of the bridge in its early days. “The song could be about the connections between indivduals and communities, but I also wanted to personify the connection and relationship between Devon and Cornwall, and the two counties coming together,” says Flo.

both cantilevers but also to the toll plaza area and the bridge approaches.

Richard is the first to admit this all sounds “nerdy”, but he’s extremely proud of the bridge's standing in the industry. “All the major UK crossings were interested in our resurfacing, as there aren’t that many solutions available to big bridges,” he says in the manner of a proud parent. “And when the bridge was widened by cantilever, engineers from Japan – which has the longest single-span suspension bridge in the world – came to see how we were doing it.”

Quite apart from the big jobs, around £1 million is spent annually on what Richard calls “the cleaning, dusting and tidying” - basic but crucial maintenance and checks. He points to another example of lessons learned: the Morandi bridge in Genoa, which collapsed in 2018 with the loss of 43 lives.

“A lot of people may wonder why we spend money like this, but it’s simply that without maintenance and investment, the bridge would fall into disrepair,” says Richard. “That’s what happened in Genoa. If it happened here, there wouldn’t be a link between Devon and Cornwall.” Doing small jobs and regular inspections enables the team to identify the issues that need to be closely monitored and schedule the work into a tight budget before it becomes critical (and expensive). “That’s where engineering judgement comes in.” The bridge is rarely closed when work takes place. “If we’d closed the bridge, the recent resurfacing work could have been finished in two months rather than the six it took, but it would have caused unacceptable levels of disruption,” says Richard, pointing out that the sheer volume of HGVs today would suit neither Gunnislake’s ancient bridge nor the Torpoint ferry’s weight limit.

However, even closing one lane can cause tailbacks. “A key point that we need members of the public to understand is the balance between time, cost and potential disruption that we have to consider each time. It’s often worth doing a job early to coincide with other work, so you only have to disrupt the traffic once.” When the road was resurfaced this year, the six crucial expansion joints that enable movement in suspension bridges were replaced a few years earlier than necessary. Miraculously, the work was completed two weeks ahead of schedule, in time for all lanes to be open for half-term traffic.

The technology underneath the bridge is no less fascinating. Volunteer guide Simon Jones points out the “million-pound cut” made during the switchover from the concrete deck to its orthotropic steel replacement, one that required extreme precision – the hefty price tag being the cost of a mistake. And as the Tamar is a Marine Protected Area (MPA), home to some of Europe’s most threatened marine species and habitats, rainwater is funnelled into interceptor tanks for contaminants to settle and be removed for disposal before clean water is discharged into the river.

Owned and operated jointly by Cornwall Council and Plymouth City Council, the bridge is one half of Tamar Crossings with its counterpart, the Torpoint Ferry. The railway bridge falls under the management of Network Rail, while the Saltash Tunnel is overseen by Highways England; although separate entities, the different parties remain in close contact with each other, as you can guarantee that if there’s a problem with one, the impact will be felt by the others – and by the local population.

“We have a different demographic to most UK crossings, very local,” says Richard. “While the Humber Bridge doesn’t carry much commuter traffic, our users are travelling to work or school, or to access health care. They have no choice."

“So just because it’s not as big as other crossings in terms of size or volume of traffic, or as iconic as the Forth Road Bridge, doesn’t mean the Tamar Road Bridge is any less important, or less challenging to look after. It’s hard to put an emphasis on how important it is.” l

Words by Kirstie Newton, photographs by Charles Francis

For more information search for @bridgingthetamar on Facebook and Instagram or visit www.bridgingthetamar.org.uk

THE EDITOR’S EXPERIENCE

Imagine climbing a bridge, and your mind might flit back to those blokes eating their packed lunches on a girder, high above the streets of New York, with nary a hi-vis jacket in sight. Those days are long gone, and when I was offered the chance to explore the Tamar Road Bridge by scaling one of the towers and exploring the gantries directly beneath the busy A38, it was hard hats and harnesses all the way.

The event was in celebration of the crossing’s 60th anniversary, and when the email popped into my inbox, I knew it was an offer I couldn’t refuse. The bridge isn’t a tourist attraction in that way, and members of the public are rarely admitted beyond the main carriageway (the limited number of tours scheduled to coincide with the birthday weekend were fully booked).

Call it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a journalist’s privilege or a perk of the job. What I wouldn’t necessarily call it is “enjoyable”. While heights never bothered me as a kid - I’d happily climb church towers and take in the sweeping views from the parapets without a care in the world - these days, I hate them, probably because I’m more aware of the perceived risks.

To get to the top, we climbed five vertical ladders inside the tower (apparently few bridges have lifts) and 143 steps. Pity the poor chaps with cumbersome (and expensive) cameras; I left my phone and notepad at the bottom, the better to cling on white-knuckled. Incredibly, the professionals prefer to climb up the cables: “It’s quicker, and the views are better,” says engineering manager Richard Cole, who kindly held my hand in my wobbliest moments.

I got as far as the lower of the two walkways at the top of the tower on the Plymouth side, 240ft up – the views were superb, but my God, it was a long way down. Photographer Charles Francis climbed up the small ladder to the crow’s nest, and assured me (along with the staff) that it was safe as houses. Well, of course it was – losing a journalist would be dreadful PR.

But self-preservation had kicked in and no amount of rational thinking could convince me they weren’t lying. I tearfully imagined falling from a great height, or at the very least being stuck, rigid with fear, at the very top of a local landmark. Then I patted myself on the back for achieving what I had, later posting photographic evidence on social media to the universal admiration of friends and colleagues. “How brave – I could never do that,” they said with one voice.

The under-deck seemed like a doddle in comparison, until we stopped for a “chat” and I became aware of the sheer drop to the water below. A sympathetic member of staff escorted me back, and showed me some super-strong cabling to take my mind off my unnatural surroundings. I made it back to the visitor centre, knees knocking but proud to have been shown a part of the bridge few get to see. l