Yesterday it snowed all morning. Light stuff which settled as a thin, damp layer but enough to keep many people indoors. We hate staying indoors all day whatever the weather, so by early afternoon we were off to Masson Mill.
Sir Richard Arkwright’s Masson Mill was built in the 18th century on the banks of the River Derwent at Matlock Bath, and reflected the grandeur of its river gorge setting.
Masson Mill was the only Arkwright mill to use the Derwent, a power source ten times greater than his first mill at Cromford.
The mill site now houses a shopping village, a restaurant, conference facilities and a textile museum with historic working machinery.
In spite of the weather, driving along the Derwent valley was almost enjoyable. Road conditions were slushy but not too bad on the main roads. Light snow, low grey cloud and a pervasive mist turned familiar hills and woods into stark black and white vista which was not unappealing from inside a warm car. Not a beautiful snowy landscape perhaps, but the chill bleakness of it was certainly atmospheric.
We used to
take Granddaughter to the mill because she enjoyed the soft play area and we had time
for a coffee in the large cafe. Not our favourite place, but it is an easy journey, easy parking and by early afternoon yesterday's weather had reduced our options. When we arrived there were only two
other people in the cafe, the snowy weather having killed off what would usually be a brisk Sunday trade. We sat by the window overlooking the brown turbulent water
of a fast-flowing river Derwent – the reason the mill was built in the first
place.
Although the mill is now a shopping centre selling inexpensive
clothes, household goods and giftware, there is no disguising what it once was.
Overhead metal beams, metal pillars and many odds and ends from a long industrial past
leave the visitor in no doubt about that. In the basement there is a museum
with regular demonstrations of an old power loom. To my mind the loom demonstrate the
noise they made as much as the cloth they wove. Visitors are invited to imagine
hundreds of looms all clattering away together. It isn’t easy – one loom was
loud enough for me.
Working conditions at the mill must have been dire, but yesterday I recalled the bleak, snowy hillsides outside. Life as a farm labourer would
probably have been worse. In winter the mill must have seemed warm, sheltered
and almost comfortable by comparison.
5 comments:
No troobl at' mill then.
Life as a farm labourer would probably have been worse. In winter the mill must have seemed warm, sheltered and almost comfortable by comparison.
…and in that last observation you neatly encapsulate one of the principal thrusts of modern-ish history, from say 1840 or so to the mid/latter 20th century. No time at all, in some ways. And plus, there may even have been the slightest fanciful whisper of an imagining in the back of the field worker’s head that one day, just maybe, his great grandson could be a secure cog in the machine, complete with clipboard, sufficient education, superannuation and most of all respect and relative security! (The women can carry on darning and birthing, there’s a limit to crazy daydreaming, but that’s by the by for present purposes…).
Then along come those pesky Chinkies and their hardy ilk, and if not them, then others and relatively suddenly we are left wondering: What the hell are we actually for? Something of a confidence-sapper, a psychic shock, but, bugger it, we still think we’re sort of worth it, and we are prepared to print or pledge fabulous amounts of ‘money’ (actually the wealth of grandchildren and unborns beyond) to show we are that dead serious!
Echoing your last couple of posts, so long as we are held relatively harmless, we don’t in truth or practical effect care. Some other bugger can pick up the bits, such as they are. Sad fact to recognise, for me at least, in a way. It seems horribly selfish. But truth, like gravity, like impecuniosity, will eventually out, even if we, and much more so our increasingly incredible ‘leaders’, don’t actually personally cop it. To date, of course.
Matlock, Matlock Bath, Chinley, Cheadle Heath, Manchester Central.
Been to Masson Mills many times. Amazing how powerful a small fall of water is.
James - hardly anyone around to cause it.
Clacket - I don't think we do care much in a wider sense. Family and friends but probably not much wider than that. Maybe there is a degree of wider altruism which could extend to national boundaries and even further, but political games screw it up.
Demetrius - we've used the Ambergate to Matlock line a few times.
Sackers - it is amazing - and how they distributed the power among all the machines is amazing too.
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