Literally just a guide to all of the different types of train on the London Underground

Look! Trains! Specifically the Central line 1992 stock trains! Look at them go! Wow! Image: 4999603 via Pixabay

For the train lovers of London, last month was an emotional time. On 21 April, the tube said goodbye to one of its most faithful servants – the D stock.

In layman’s terms, the D stock were the trains that ran on the District line from 1980 to 2017. They carried millions of passengers over 37 years until the final journey from Upminster to Ealing Broadway last month.

But despite its recent bereavement, the District line trundles on – as do all the lines, with their own distinct trains. So how well do you know those trains? Whether by the colour of the poles you grab onto, the pattern on the seats, or the fact you have to duck your head as the doors close at rush hour, can you tell the different stock apart?

Here, to help you out, is CityMetric’s comprehensive guide to the tube’s rolling stock (read, trains). We’ll go line by line, rather than chronologically, to help the rolling stock novices in the room.

Bakerloo line

A Bakerloo line train at Kilburn High Road – don't ask why. Image: Oxyman.

Bakerloo line trains are called the London Underground 1972 stock, because they’re on the London Underground, and are from 1972, pretty much.

This is the oldest stock still in use on the tube. The design was based on the 1967 stock, which used to run on the Victoria line until 2011. They’re the last deep-level tube line trains – that is, those the narrow tube-shaped trains as opposed to the big box-shaped ‘sub-surface’ lines – which still have facing seats in little pods, as opposed to just having seating along the sides of the carriage.

There’s seven carriages to each train, which adds up to a total of 268 seats for passengers, though realistically everyone knows that the facing seats were built for midgets and you definitely can’t fit four people on them.

They were refurbished in a big way from 1991 to 1995. But they’re still pretty horrible, and it’ll be a blessing to see the Bakerloo line as one of the lines set to benefit from the ‘New Tube for London’, a massive batch of new rolling stock coming by 2033.

Which is a long time to be stuck with hot, loud, saggy, socially awkward trains, but we’ll just pretend they’re charming.

Central and Waterloo & City lines

The interior of a Central line train. Image: Peter Skuce.

We now jump ahead to the nineties (yay!) to the 1992 stock. This name is ironic, because the trains didn’t actually come into service until 1993. But details are for losers.

The 1992 stock has four carriages on the Waterloo & City line, but does most of its work on the Central, where its trains have eight carriages.

These trains also have two clever things called ATO and ATP, which more or less means the trains can drive themselves (just don’t tell the unions). ATO is Automatic Train Operation, which operates the train, and ATP is Automatic Train Protection, which gets data from the track and sends it to the drivers’ cab.


This makes for three modes of operation: automatic, where both are in use and the driver only has to open and close doors and press ‘start’ when the train is ready to go; ‘coded manual’ where ATO is off but ATP still gets data from the track to tell the driver how fast the train is going and how fast it should be going; and ‘restricted manual’ where both ATO and ATP are off and the driver drives by sight and the signals alone.

When driving on ‘restricted manual’, the trains can only run below 11mph. This is only really used in depots and when there’s a signal failure or a problem with the train’s systems.

Mercifully, the 1992 stock had a big refresher in 2011, with new seat patterns and better lights. The refresh is also one of the key differences between the Central and Waterloo & City line trains (the other is the different colour poles) as the Central line trains got new window frames and different panelling on the front of the train that the Waterloo & City line didn’t get. Sad!

New trains are also coming here, by 2033. So that’s nice.

Circle, District, Hammersmith & City lines

The inside of a shiny new S7 stock train. Image: Peter Skuce

Three birds with one stone, because they all use the nice new shiny ‘S7 stock’.

These came in a big bulk order built between 2009 and 2017 alongside new trains for the Metropolitan line – more on that later.

It was reportedly the biggest single order of trains in Britain (don’t get too hot under the collar there, lads), with an estimated cost of £1.5bn. That’s some serious train cash.

But the perk is that they’re beautiful, there’s loads of them – 192 trains, or 1,403 carriages – and they do a lot of good work.

The S7 trains are light, bright, air-conditioned, with seating along both sides of the carriages and fancy bendy bits that mean you can walk from one end of the train to the other.

They have regenerative brakes which means they can give the energy they use in stopping back to the network – about 20 per cent of it – which obviously is good for efficiency.

Fun fact! The colours on the seats reflect the colours of the lines that the S7 and S8 run on, which is why the colour coordination on them is so hideous. Turns out that throwing together yellow, green, pink and purple together isn’t really a good look.

Jubilee line

A 1996 stock train at Stratford. Image: Joshua Brown.

Back on the deeper lines, and an introduction to the 1996 stock. Again, confusingly, these trains actually came into service a year after their name, in 1997, and each train is seven carriages long.

They have a pretty similar design to the Northern line trains, which are numbered a year earlier but came into service a year later; but they do have some differences, such as the kind of suspension systems they use. Fun!

Most of the differences are because the Jubilee line trains were done on the cheap, whereas the Northern line trains were designed to live forever, but as a proud Jubilee line resident I’ll brush over that part.

The trains were originally operated manually, with a good old-fashioned ‘dead man’s handle’ – in other words, if the driver takes their hand off it because they’re dead, the train stops running – but a 2011 upgrade means the trains are now operated automatically.

The driver is responsible for opening and closing doors, and getting the thing started, and the transition allowed for an increase in peak services – up to 27 trains per hour in 2011 and then to 30 trains per hour in 2014.

Even as we speak, the Jubilee line trains are being refurbished. They’re getting new flooring, repainted hand rails – in actual Jubilee line colours – and new open/close buttons. I’m thrilled.

Metropolitan line

An S8 stock train at Amersham, of all places. Image: Matt Buck.

These are the aforementioned S8. Basically they’re the same as the S7, except they’re about 15 metres longer, and they have opposite-facing seats as well as seats down the side of the trains.

Since you asked, ‘S’ stands for ‘sub-surface’.

Northern line

The interior of a Northern line train. Image: Joshua Brown.

These are the ones that are like the Jubilee line but not. They’re called the 1995 stock, but they didn’t come into service until 1998. I swear I'm not making this up.

They’re the only deep tube trains that can choose to only open some doors, to cope with shorter platforms at Clapham Common, Euston, Camden Town, Charing Cross, and Hampstead.

Theres a cool thing that I don’t really understand, but basically: the way the Northern line trains get electricity from the lines is more efficient than the Jubilee line trains, and they can switch very large currents very quickly without damaging the systems of the trains. This is why the Northern line doesn’t make that weird whooping screaming noise when it starts, which the Jubilee line does. Fancy.

Like the Jubilee, it used to have a dead man’s handle, but now the trains are driven with ‘TBTC’, meaning transmissions-based train control. I don’t understand this, so don’t ask me, but it basically means it mostly drives itself.

Piccadilly line

Looks like a Northern line, but isn't. A Piccadilly line train. Image: Chris McKenna.

You’re still reading this. Why?

Anyway. The Piccadilly line trains – the 1973 stock – are really old, but surprisingly less horrible than the Bakerloo line.

Cleverly, the trains were specifically designed with larger door space, to cope with all those annoying people who use the tube to lug three thousand kilograms back from Heathrow, and each train has six carriages.

The main reason why these trains are less awful than the Bakerloo is that they were totally refurbished between 1996 and 2001.

The facing seats were ripped out and replaced entirely by seats along the sides of the carriage, and the original wooden (wooden!) floor was replaced. Evil awful straphangers – those dangly things that let you truly feel how recently the previous passenger scratched an unwashed part of their body – were replaced with slightly less heinous rails, and brighter lighting was put in.

They also added those fun perch seats on the ends of the carriages that you can sit on and let your legs dangle if you’re a child like me.

Enjoyably, the driver can choose to run the train in ‘commuter’ or ‘tourist’ mode. In ‘tourist’ mode, the train tells you helpful things, like ‘alight here for the museums and Royal Albert Hall’, whereas in commuter mode it just has morning breath and tries to pretend it wasn’t the one who just let off that woofter. Only one of those is true.

New trains are coming here very early, in 2025. Get excited.

Victoria line

A majestic 2009 stock train. Author definitely not biased. Image: Alex Nevin Tylee.

If you’re still here, you’re in for a treat – and you probably also need to seek help. Get a hobby. I hear golf is cool.

The 2009 stock is the most beautiful of all the tube’s offerings. Light, bright, spacious, fast, and with surprisingly competent air-conditioning, the new trains came with an 8 per cent reduction in journey times between stations, leading to a 16 per cent overall drop in journey times.

The 2009 stock has a higher top speed than the 1967 trains it replaced, a faster maximum acceleration, and is just generally amazing and good in every way.

Two fun things: part of the reason the Victoria line trains feel more spacious than other deep lines is they have a thinner casing, and – I got this one direct from the horse’s mouth, one of the stock’s designers – the handrails are laid out in such a way that they subconsciously lead you further into the carriage as soon as you step on board.

The Victoria line also has commuter and tourist modes, and its trains mostly operated automatically.

Sadly, however, two trains broke down in July 2010 due to failures in the system’s software, and very sensitive door sensors, which was bad. The line’s engineers are now working to build a new door edge, which should be installed across the network when it’s finished at an estimated cost of £3m.

Or you could all just actually stand clear of the doors and not try and leap on trains that clearly don’t have space for you. But whatever.

Don’t even ask me about the DLR and the Overground, this is already far too long.

But yeah. Trains, right? Cool. 

Jack May is a regular contributor to CityMetric and tweets as @JackO_May.

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Park Life: on John Claudius Loudon, the father of the modern park

Arboretum et fruticetum Britannicum: an engraving from one of Loudon’s books. Image: Wikimedia Commons/public domain.

Where did parks begin? Where was the first park? Who created it?

These questions aren’t actually as unanswerable as they might first appear. If you’re talking about purpose-built public parks as opposed to private gardens or common land, there’s an at least plausible answer in Derby, which at the very least is home to what might be the oldest extant example in Britain.

The Arboretum was created in 1840 by Joseph Strutt, a public-minded (ish) industrialist. His intricately landscaped park was designed to give the workers (e.g. the ones in his own cotton mills) somewhere for recreation and exercise on the two half-days off he generously gave them.

Loudon. Image: Royal Horticultural Society/Wikimedia Commons.

Strutt may have paid for it, but the real credit should perhaps go to its designer, John Claudius Loudon: he even provided the name, having been the first person to apply the word arboretum to curated botanical gardens. You thought you were having fun in a park: Loudon was trying to trick you into learning about trees.

Loudon is a now slightly obscure figure, having been eclipsed by those he influenced. A pseudo-self-made Scot (his father was a farmer who was at least successful enough to ensure his kid got an education), by the time he was 30 he’d made a fortune introducing new farming and gardening methods to southern England.

At this point, not dissuaded by – for example – the Napoleonic Wars, he sent himself on a Grand Tour of Europe. This was to, in his own words, cast off “confining coil of insular thought”, but he was especially seeking to increase his botanical knowledge. Along the way he picked up a strain of social liberalism, particularly focussed on the importance of public, ideally green, spaces.


Practical efforts in this area were hindered by discovering on his return from Europe that a dodgy investment meant he was broke, and later through health problems that highly excellent 19th-century medicine eventually attempted to cure by cutting off one of his arms. But he wrote extensively, contributing to the Encyclopedia Britannica and publishing Encyclopedias, magazines and various other works of his own, primarily on the subject of landscape gardening, but also tackling the design of everything from pubs to cemeteries.

The preservation and development of green space within the city was something Loudon thought about throughout his life. In fact, his first published writing was a letter about the importance of public squares in London as “breathing zones”.

One of his most intriguing ideas in this arena was sadly never developed, or at least never documented, beyond an initial thought: a proposal to surround London with a ‘promenade’, a circular route around the city that would link, to his mind, its most important features. It would run from Hyde Park, south over Vauxhall Bridge to the (now vanished) Vauxhall Gardens, then through south London to Greenwich Park. At that point, Loudon got really ambitious, with a proposed Thames crossing consisting of an iron bridge big enough for ships to sail under. On the other side the route would run in some unspecified way to meet what’s now the City Road, run up to Marylebone and back down to Hyde Park.

This proposal, which he charmingly noted would be inexpensive “with the exception of the bridge” (no, really?), would provide a day’s tour (presumably horse-propelled if you actually wanted enough time to stop and see anything) of the most interesting gardens, scenery and objects close to London. He was clearly on to something: not only the importance of urban green spaces in themselves, but the fact that within a city they could act almost in concert. Today London has several orbital walking routes which link its parks – although massive garden-based bridges, not so much.

Loudon’s green belt plan. Image: BuldingCentre.co.uk.

In 1829 “Hints on Breathing Places for the Metropolis, and for Country Towns and Villages, on fixed Principles”, Loudon would go on to make an even bolder proposal: not just for what we’d now call the green belt, but green belts plural, alternating rings of city and countryside/garden which as a city expanded could keep going until they hit the sea. Although he accepted the grandiosity of such a plan perhaps made it unlikely (the fact that the following year he married a science fiction novelist feels contextually notable here), he emphasises that the important thing is the basic principle: that towns and cities should be planned in such a way that no-one has to live more than a quarter mile from some kind of park, garden or piece of countryside.

Loudon may have seen his legacy as his writings: three years after completing the Arboretum in Derby, he died having spent almost every penny to his name on publishing various expansive and expensive tomes to share his knowledge and promote his ideas, which might seem to have been a bit of fool’s errand given no-one much reads them now. But it’s at least highly probable that Ebenezer Howard, father of the garden city movement, had read Loudon’s ideas.

And while that Derby park may not be world famous itself, it was highly influential on the parks that came after it – including something called Central Park in somewhere called New York, for which the Arboretum was a direct inspiration. Loudon lives on.