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E-book Family and Business during the Industrial Revolution
A visit to a town in the north-west of England 200 years ago would have been anassault on the senses. Though some parts of Liverpool, in particular, experiencedwidespread‘improving’measures from the mid-eighteenth century onwards, in themajority of other places (and indeed throughout significant parts of Liverpool too)it was not until the extensive street-widening schemes of the nineteenth centurythat most central thoroughfares were anything other than narrow and dark, withbuildings tightly packed together and their upper levels often jutting out over thestreets below.1Those wishing to navigate their way around would often have foundmud and waste underfoot where pavements had yet to appear, streets bustling witha population hurrying about their business, and the airfilled with both the shoutsof market and itinerant sellers, and the types of odours one might expect toencounter in the days before municipal sanitation schemes and systematic curbson air pollution. These sorts of urban experiences—exacerbated in many towns inthe north-west, which were growing at unprecedented speed—drew mixed reac-tions from visitors and residents alike, so that, while one commentator describedManchester as‘a dog hole’in 1792, another noted excitedly in 1811 that hethought it‘a busy place’that offered‘a good deal to be seen and learnt’.2Then—as now—shops offering both daily necessities and more exotic luxuriespacked town-centre streets. Ralston’s view of Manchester’s Market Street in 1821,for example (Figure I.1), shows the distinctive timber-framed, jettied, and gabledstructure of William Hyde’s grocery shop: at the centre of the picture on the left-hand side of the street, with its porch leaning at a rather drunken angle. Next toHyde’s shop (moving towards the foreground) were the premises of the cheese-monger and provision dealer Charles Pollitt, in another timbered building. In themore modern four-storey brick building adjacent to that operated John Hemingway,silversmith and watchmaker, with Clough and Hill, ironmongers, next to itand closest to the viewer. On the other side of Hyde’s shop was Mary Walker’sironmongers, and, next to her, Catherine Crossley’s toy warehouse, then an‘exhibition of ancient and modern paintings’, the premises of John Wickstead,umbrella maker, and the Red Lion public house. Across the street were shops andworkshops variously run by a druggist, a boot- and shoemaker, a hosier, a linen draper, another cheesemonger, a straw-hat maker, a cutler and surgeon’s instru-ment maker, a milliner, and a tea dealer.3This eclectic mix of small manufacturers,shopkeepers, and service providers was replicated both in other Manchester streets,and in other towns, across the north-west, and, though certain thoroughfares mightboast more‘exclusive’shops than others, as a rule—and in contrast to the capital—there was no retail specialization by street.4Today shopworkers usually commuteinto town centres to sell goods produced elsewhere, while the buildings in whichthey work tend to house offices above the ground andfirst-floor levels. But, in thelate eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, these buildings were generallyinhabited day and night by individuals who both lived and worked in them, andwho constituted anything from 20 to 60 per cent of the urban population.
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