Where have all the chimneys gone? (by Luan Blake)
But It was really the poetry of the landscape that got me, carved out of valley and moor, factories and mills with their tall smoking stacks. Cobbled streets, viaducts and lines of working class houses with back alleys. It was this Industrial landscape in all its smokey glory that I loved, so different from Devon where I grew up.
So here we were travelling back to Oswaldtwistle to visit my Nana who worked in the Cotton Industry as a weaver, as well as working in munitions and other factories during her life. She would be my first port of call.
Forward wind to today, and there are no chimneys left, no mills, no industry. The only remaining mill building is the old Moscow Mill, now turned into a miserable shopping complex called ‘Ossie Mills’ The town appears somewhat
redundant now, like the mining towns of Wales, or the steel making towns of the North and the ship building areas of the North East. It seems to have been abandoned, it has lost its purpose, it is out of work.
I loved Barm cakes, I loved the dialect, I loved the fact my northern accent would come back, I loved the way my Aunty would call me ‘Cock’.
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