Women pausing from their work at one of Dundee's jute mills, the first of which came into existence in the 1820s.
A few months back, I listened to a BBC program about the Scottish town of Dundee - "known for jute, jam and journalism"- the economy of which relied for decades on the importation of jute to be woven into mats, rope and sandbags. (They did big business on the latter during World War One). One generation followed another into the mills - about sixty of them at the peak of the industry - making these factories the focal point for individuals, as well as familial and community life. The last generation to remember life as it was then, before the jute industry collapsed, are retirees now and they spoke about the central role these factories played in their everyday lives. When the factories began to close, community traditions once seemingly set in stone changed, as friends, family and neighbours were forced to move elsewhere to seek work. Today, many of the remaining factories lie in disrepair, while others have been renovated for use as housing in ways that respect the historical beauty of the buildings.
I often see old buildings here in Montreal that, while not typically beautiful, are beautiful in ways that set my mind to wondering about them. In many cases it’s a towering structure that lies empty; the flour mill that once featured hundreds, if not thousands of workers and floor upon floor of deafening machinery. Other times it’s a low, red brick former knitting mill that’s now apartments, a faded hat and scarf set adorning the facade beneath a resident's window sill. And lastly, sometimes it’s just an artistic flourish spotted on a cracked facade that hints of former beauty, of a time when someone was proud to live there. I wonder about these buildings, about what roles they played in peoples' lives and on the landscapes of the neighbourhood. What stories can they tell me?
(More on local buildings later...)
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