ii
It is clear that our new vehicle, the internal combustion engine, will compel us to new roads, just as the vehicular traffic for passengers at the beginning of the seventeenth century compelled the creation of the turnpike. Far-seeing men grasped this the moment that the internal combustion engine appeared in our lives. I have myself heard the details of an idea which very nearly materialized and which was on the point of becoming law—an experimental road to be driven from one great centre to another, to be reserved entirely to the new traffic and to be made specially for these new necessities. Private interest defeated the scheme, and in my opinion that defeat was a very bad thing for the general development of the country. But though the first attempt failed, the very fruitful and sensible idea underlying it is worth describing.
A very few great arterial roads joining up the main centres of population would have far more effect upon our present difficulties than their mere mileage would seem to warrant. There could be no question of stopping the new form of traffic upon the ordinary roads remaining, which in length might be twenty or fifty times those of the new roads. But it would be of such advantage for long-distance travel to use the great arteries that at the expenditure of greater mileage you would find the new traffic seeking them at the nearest point upon one side and clinging to them for as long as possible.
Suppose, for the sake of hypothesis, a simple case. Suppose a great arterial road to be built joining the heart of London and the heart of Birmingham in a straight line: it would pass just by Tring and Buckingham and then on through the gap between Leamington and Warwick. A man living at Windsor and desiring to reach Coventry, and using the new method of fast travel, would seek this main road at its nearest point and leave it again at the nearest point to his terminus. It would be a less picturesque, but a much safer and quicker way of doing his business. It would add a dozen miles to his total trajectory, but it would save a much more than corresponding amount of strain and expense of energy in following the series of narrow and winding roads most nearly connecting the two points. The same would be true of any other trajectory not directly served by the new roads. The advantage of safe and rapid travel on a first-class surface of very broad gauge, free of horses and pedestrians, would make people take a “Z” to include as much as possible of such a road rather than cling to the shorter line.
The final effect would be the relief of congestion upon the typically narrow winding roads which cover the surface of England. They would be relieved, in the case we have quoted, not only of the great mass of urban traffic between London and Birmingham; they would be also relieved of the very considerable local traffic—not entirely relieved, of course, but relieved in a proportion large enough to make a very sensible difference to modern communications.
Though the thing still remains pure theory and though the political and social obstacles to it are very serious indeed (any trajectory you name in this crowded island would destroy much which all our people—let alone the owners—love to preserve), yet it is worth while to analyse the conditions of such roads, because only thus can we establish the main rules which, under whatever modification, must ultimately govern the change that should come.