Vous êtes sur la page 1sur 18



XXVI: 1, 2004

Monasteries of Manufacture: Questioning the Origins of English Industrial Architecture


Studies of industrial sites have tended to focus on purely functional understandings of their origins, layout, design and meaning. Industrial buildings have often been seen as an entity apart from other forms of post-medieval architectural expression. This is symptomatic of the isolation of industrial archaeology, not only from the broader spectrum of archaeological thought but also from other disciplines which strive towards a deeper understanding of the development of consumer society. This paper explores the origin of the typical industrial complex, arguing that elements of medieval cognition were retained into the 19th century.

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology


The industrialised society which emerged during the post-medieval period was based on the manufacture of identity through the production and consumption of goods. Almost 40 years ago it was pointed out that the study of industrial archaeology should be 'concerned with people rather than things', 1 a thought more recently echoed by Kenneth Hudson, who emphasised that things 'whether they are steam engines [or] cotton mills ... are valuable only in so far as they provide evidence about the people who used them'. 2 Yet much more work has been done on the minutiae of things, specifically buildings, than on the broader social landscapes within which these things developed. Moreover, industrial society is often perceived as a distinct entity from earlier societies as a result of the so-called 'industrial revolution'. However, it is evident that industrialisation only occurred as a response to the gradual emergence of consumerism in earlier periods. Roger Leech has suggested that in looking at consumerism we must look back well into the 16th century.3 That century saw notable religious and philosophical fluctuations, and concomitant changes in social, political and economic landscapes. Ideological questioning continued into the 17th century - probably the most exciting period in English history, and a century which saw for the first time the emergence of overtly capitalist economic theory.4 Overseas English imperial expansion was the catalyst for a commercial revolution and subsequent industrialisation, leading to what Christopher Hill has described as a 'world safe for business men to make profits in' .5 Changes in the nature and structure of trade and production ultimately developed into the capitalist system which is still with us today.6 Aside from portable artefacts, the only remains of earlier phases of consumer society are buildings. As with other artefact types,

buildings were items that were both manufactured and consumed; moreover, buildings that were used for industrial purposes had a uniquely additional dimension - they were places within which both production and consumption took place. Hitherto such buildings have been explored from a largely functional perspective. However, it is clear that 'factories [and] workshops [are] ... physical expressions of human behaviour';7 the space within and around them both structures and is structured by social relations and identities.8 Consequently an understanding of the design and use of space within the industrial complex is essential in understanding later post-medieval industrial society. Just as the period of industrialisation represents a development based on earlier periods, so too the physical spaces within which industrial activities took place were borne out of older experiences in the design, construction and use of non-domestic buildings.

In 1760 John Love and Thomas Manson of Sheffield established a partnership in the newly emerging crucible steel industry, in which neither of them had any prior experience. The document confirming this partnership says that the two partners 'shall and will be and continue co-partners and joint dealers in the Art, Trade, Mystery and Business of Running and Casting Steel'.9 This style of wording was common, and the description sums up well the origins of many industrial processes, a combination of hard-nosed 'trade and business', with the 'art' of manufacture and its associated 'mysteries'. In order to retain the mysteries of production, the designers and builders of industrial premises deliberately turned to an earlier architectural form which had been designed to protect secrets. This was the courtyard. As Oscar Newman has noted in the domestic context,

The Association for Industrial Archaeology



Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

the fundamental ethos of the yard is its defensiveness, providing security for its inhabitants or occupiers.lO By using the enclosed courtyard as defensible space, isolating the interior from the outside world, industrial concerns such as Love and Manson were able to create the required air of mystery about the processes and lives going on inside. As Bernardo Secchi has remarked, 'the factory was a citadel, an enclosure provided with an inner courtyard and protected by high walls whose gates acted as doors ... [they were] ... real production fortresses' .11 The concept of the factory as citadel is one which clearly appealed to industrial concerns of the later post-medieval period. A glance at any 19th-century Ordnance Survey map of an industrial town reveals the ubiquity of the courtyard plan-form for industrial buildings of all types and sizes. There are a number of clear functional advantages to the use of the courtyard plan in an industrial context. As well as the defensive characteristic of enclosure, there is an interconnectedness between the various parts which could not be achieved in a linear building. Each of the four sides of the quadrangle is readily accessible from the other. Thus physical power can be transmitted more easily over shorter distances, moreover there is greater scope for admitting natural light. 12 There is also potential for separating different elements of the manufacturing process, dividing 'clean' from 'dirty' areas.13 However, such functional analyses of the courtyard plan do not provide the whole answer as to why the plan was so widely adopted. In order to explore what, if any, other motivations led to this development, it is first necessary to examine the evolution of the courtyard form in a wider context.
Workshops of worship: the medieval monastery

The defensive role of the courtyard is derived from actual military functions. The medieval castle is a typical form - the division of the castle into increasingly smaller and more strictly controlled worlds from the outer bailey to the keep was a deliberate use of architecture to make a statement. The use of gatehouses created points of entry and exit that were strongly controlled by those in command of the complex of buildings, a feature also of the walled city. Originally, of course, this design had an explicit military rationale, however as time went on (and gunpowder rendered useless the original function of large masonry structures), making a statement became more important than military function. The classic example of this is, of course, Bodiham Castle in Sussex, which Matthew Johnson has described as an 'old soldier's dream house' .14

Symbolic defensiveness is also apparent in the plan-form of the medieval monastery. Here the workshops of worship, the cloisters, were hidden from public view and arranged in squares or quadrangles, an arrangement devised in the 9th century at the monastery of St Gall. The history of monasticism and monasteries is full of great variation; nevertheless certain general points can be made by looking at the Cistercians. The Cistercian monastic model was arguably one of the most influential during the later Middle Ages, and, significantly in terms of later industrial architecture, probably the most enthusiastically observed during the development of antiquarianism, archaeology and historical enquiry in the 18th and 19th centuries. It is important to acknowledge not just the actual facts of medieval monasticism (whatever they may be), but also their perception by those who chose to appropriate monastic symbolism in the later industrial period. Communal monastic enclosure was inscribed by metaphors of containment. The physical space of the monastery represented a spiritual space within which the inmate could acquire varying degrees of communality with God, from individual cell to the cloister to the complex as a whole.15 Consequently the regulation of space and confinement of movement within the monastery was essential for the spiritual growth of its inhabitants. The aesthetics of monastic architecture reflected the Cistercian ideal - devoid of unnecessary ornament and sculptural excess, they used simple plan-forms and materials to reflect the puritanical and focused nature of this reforming order.16 Their monastic sites were deliberately located in isolated, uncultivated landscapes. Although initially reje~ting traditional monastic economics, the Cistercians very quickly followed other orders in using lay brothers as labour on the estate.17 The ensuing social divisions were reflected in the monastic layout; typically the western side of the cloister was adapted to house the lay brothers, who frequently outnumbered the monks proper.18 The architecture of the cloister was designed to 'preserve social apartheid' between the two groups of monks.19 At the other end of the social system, the Abbot became increasingly divorced from the rest of the community, eventually living in his own house outwith the cloister and effectively acting as a member of the landed gentry, often going on long excursions to further the business interests of the monastery, and receiving important political guests.20 The monastic complex therefore contains all of the elements of the 19th-century industrial complex (Figure 1). At its heart is the cloister, an open or semi-open space regulating movement between buildings and


XXVI: 1,2004


different groups within the community. Of course, the main function of the monastery was worship of God, and so arguably the most important building was the church. Of course the church was never a strictly functional building; it was adorned with various symbolic sculptures and adornments which were intended to impress visitors as much as honouring God.21 Moreover, the church was contained within (and constrained by) the courtyard plan, and was only accessible to different groups of users via different entrances and pathways through the monastic complex. The tower of the church would rise above the surrounding buildings, giving a focus to the complex as a whole, and also proclaiming its existence within the broader rural or urban landscape. The whole monastery was enclosed by a perimeter boundary, usually more of a symbolic deterrent than a physical one.22 There was a strong motivation to keep the laity outside the walls; not least in a visual sense, so that the spiritual work of those within could go undisturbed and unobserved by potentially disruptive elements without.23 The gateway was the place where the perimeter was breached; the monastic portal ensured that such a breach was strictly regulated. The portal had two principal roles. The first was functional. Ingress and egress was regulated by a porter, and some monasteries had separate passages for vehicular and pedestrian traffic.24 To emphasise the regulatory function, the gateway could also be embellished with military features such as loopholes and portcullis. The second role was symbolic, the aim being to 'impress on all visitors and travellers an awareness of the power and authority of the monastery'.25 To this end, the gateway was positioned at the most prominent location, it was built projecting from the surrounding buildings both horizontally and vertically, and was adorned with sculptures and coats of arms emphasising the wealth and virtue of the monastery and its benefactors. Other roles included the provision of accommodation, usually for the porter or gatekeeper. Thus emerged the monastic gate-tower (Figure 2).
From gothic to Gothick: post-medieval appropriation

Croxden Abbey

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Church Chapter House Darter Warming House Kitchen Frater West Range Abbot's LOdging

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology



Figure 1. Croxden Abbey, Staffordshire. A Cistercian foundation of the 12th century, extended and adapted to cope with increasingly complex social arrangements. In the 14th century the Abbot constructed a new lodging outside the main complex (redrawn after Lynam, ref 86). Figure 2. Edgar Tower, Worcester. This early-14th-century gate-tower was the entrance to both the cathedral priory and the castle. It is typical of urban monastic gate-tower forms, with defensive attributes but largely symbolic in function (Paul Belford).

It has been ably demonstrated elsewhere that refashioning the identities of medieval buildings such as castles and guildhalls was part of the transition into the modern world between the 15th and 17th centuries.26 Equally, new forms of building which developed to meet the needs of post-medieval society drew heavily on the form and appearance of earlier precursors in order to establish an authority

and presence in the new world. Indeed industrial complexes depended more than other building types on their perception as solid institutions; as an entirely new form of architecture devoted to the production of consumer goods, they were deeply dependent on imagery from a pre-capitalist world. Such imagery had already been appropriated by those institutions which were direct descendants of the monastic tradition, institutions indeed which had already been established as offshoots of monasticism but which survived the subsequent dissolution.



Figure 3. All Souls' College, Oxford. The frontage and gate-tower on High Street, 15th century in origin. Compare with its monastic antecedent ( Figure 2) and its industrial descendant (Figure 10). Note also the level of the ground-jloor window sills (Paul Belford).

The courtyard layout was ubiquitous among post-medieval hospitals and almshouses. Although derived from monastic practice, the hospital has its own chronology of development, evolving from a cruciform plan into a single quadrangle, both for reasons of economy (it used up less ground space) and for easier control and observation of the inhabitants. The courtyard-based almshouse became the standard by the 16th century, and essentially continued the monastic cloister tradition into the 19th century.27 Arguably the most impressive 17th-century hospital complex, with no less than 17 enclosed courtyards, is Les Invalides in Paris. The architecture of Les Invalides served to separate the various classes of residents; something which the later and related architectures of the workhouse and prison also achieved.28 Its example was widely copied, for example at the London Charterhouse. Here the hospital of 1613 actually incorporated physical elements of the 14th-century monastery, although it was more immediately descended from the postdissolution mansion.29 Scale notwithstanding, almshouse complexes retained the principal components of the monastery - gatehouse, courtyard, chapel and various divisions of accommodation. Another post-medieval building form which emerged from the medieval monastic tradition was the Oxbridge college. In many cases these foundations literally took over monastic institutions. In both cities the 13thcentury Hospitals of 8t John the Baptist formed the basis for subsequent colleges Magdalen College in Oxford in 1458, and 8t John's College in Cambridge half a century later. At Magdalen the famous late-15thcentury cloisters spring directly from monastic origins. Elsewhere in Oxford, Worcester and Trinity Colleges took over the sites of Benedictine foundations of 1283 and 1286 respectively; similarly in Cambridge, Jesus

College was founded on the site of a 12thcentury Benedictine nunnery.3D Magdalene College in Cambridge started life as a seat of Benedictine theological learning sponsored by regional abbeys.3! These colleges all took over established quadrangular building complexes (or, in the case of Magdelene, a planned courtyard which was not completed until the early 17th century), and this form was thus established as the precedent for postdissolution foundations and their buildings. Colleges had also been established before the dissolution outwith monastic control which adopted a quadrangular arrangement of buildings - such as Merton College (1264), New College (1360) and Brasenose College (1509) in Oxford.32 Post-dissolution foundations, and later remodelling of earlier establishments, perpetuated the' courtyard tradition. These buildings form the most obvious bridge between the medieval quadrangle and the industrial courtyard; a case of fashioning a post-medieval identity from the real and imagined medieval past. As with their monastic forebears and industrial descendants, the Oxbridge colleges use the courtyard plan-form for largely symbolic reasons. Again there is the sense ofmystery and exclusivity, a partially hidden and enclosed world concealed behind gateways and doorways. Buildings along the street frontage have their ground floor window sills at or above head-height, preventing views into the academic world within. The monastic gate-tower survives in a secular context as one of the more characteristic features of Oxbridge college architecture (Figure 3). Admission to the interior is carefully controlled by the gatehouse, wherein sits a porter acting as a guard (Figure 4). The heart of the college is the quadrangle, literally derived from the monastic cloister and performing many of the same functions, with demarcation between different functions and classes of inhabitants (Figure 5). Internal divisions are provided by an elaborate system of narrow staircases; indeed at Oxford the 'staircase' becomes more than a means of moving between floors, it provides identity for those who live and work in its vicinity. The collegiate Hall operates as both refectory and monastic church. It is arranged so that academics sit at high table and students below them; a strict hierarchy of service and refreshment is maintained throughout. As church it contains iconic portraits of founders and distinguished alumni; it cannot fail to impress and awe the visitor. There is a close relationship between the hierarchy of the modern college and that of the medieval monastery; the different roles of non-academic staff such as the porters (the lay brothers), the academic staff (monks) and the students themselves (novices) are expressed in the architecture.

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology


XXVI: 1,2004


Familiar courtyards: domestic-industrial urban spaces

Of course, the enclosed courtyard also had the virtue of being a familiar space at a much humbler level. The process of enclosure had been long established in urban landscapes, and the courtyard was a common feature of building complexes in later medieval towns and cities. One of the most familiar types was the inn, a form which survived well into the post-medieval period and was itself adapted into other functions, such as the theatre. In the domestic arena, courtyards were adopted at all points on the social scale. Although typically associated with back-to-backs, the concept of the court - as a space behind or around the main row or block of houses, within which sundry outbuildings could be located - was also applied to through-house types in a variety of locations. 33Birmingham, for example, had a long-established and multi-faceted tradition of the use of 'courts' in all types of working-class housing. It was quite possible for Birmingham people to move between houses, or indeed groups of houses, without reference to the street.34This enabled such movement to occur away from observation by the authorities. In this context the defensive qualities of the courtyard, and the regulatory role of the passageway, are key elements. The courtyard was itself a semi-private space, in which private (domestic) activities such as going to the toilet and doing laundry could be undertaken alongside more public activities such as children's play and neighbourly discussion. The defensive qualities of the courtyard were essential; the yard was overlooked by all of its residents, so any intruder could be detected at once and treated appropriately.35 It is perhaps no surprise that courtyard housing was often occupied by immigrant communities. The substantial 18th-century Irish communities in places such as Sims Croft in Sheffield and Greens Village in Birmingham would have been subject to varying degrees of racism and harassment, and a defensible courtyard was in many ways the perfect architectural solution to their problems.36 Equally, the motivation for later slum clearance, although described (by its instigators) as a means of improving health, sanitation and overcrowding, is likely to have been a product of the desire to do away with spaces beyond official control. Interestingly, the domestic yard has been fossilised in later through houses in parts of the north and west midlands, where well into the 20th century an open back yard common to groups of housing was accessed via a passageway from the street.37 There is a long tradition of domestic courtyards associated with industrial activity.

Figure 4. University College, Oxford. A view through the entrance to the lnysteries of the quadrangle (Paul Belford).

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 5. Brasenose College, Oxford. Interior view of the 'old quad', with the gate-tower of 1520 leading to/from the street. This is the best 16th-century Oxbridge quadrangle, and is the archetype of the form. It has suffered little subsequent modification. The Hall is in the range of buildings to the right (Paul Belford).

Industrial use of ostensibly domestic courtyard buildings has been recorded by archaeological excavations in the 17th-century suburbs of London, for example.38 Likewise, the yard-based plan incorporating domestic and industrial functions was noted in the Staffordshire Potteries at an early date. The Churchyard Works at Burslem was depicted in 1659 as comprising a two-storey dwelling house on the street frontage, 'with the works, including the pot ovens, in the yard behind'. 39 Indeed, in the Potteries several early works were converted from domestic properties, and many later factories had houses attached to, or indeed designed as part of, the potworks complex.40 This form was evident elsewhere in the ceramic industries, as at Oyster Street (Portsmouth), where three 17th-century clay tobacco pipe kilns were located within a cobbled yard behind domestic properties, and accessed from the street via a narrow



Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 6. Birmingham. Detail from the Ordnance Survey map of 1887. This depicts very clearly the characteristic linear yards of the Jewellery Quarter along Great Hampton Street and Barr Street. Note also the domestic courtyards to the

north, and mixed

domestic-industrial yards along the Harford Street.

passage.41 Later developments continued this theme, such as the courtyard-based pipeworks of the early 19th century at Broseley in Shropshire, converted from domestic and agricultural buildings. In other industries, too, there is an historically close association between domestic and industrial use of space. Many trades continued 'proto-industrial' production well into the 19th century, and in such contexts (handloom weaving and nailmaking, for example) the retention of intermixed domestic/ workshop accommodation had an economic (and possibly socio-po1itica1) rationale.42 The Birmingham Jewellery Quarter provides a number of examples of the mixed use of courtyards, with workshops constructed as

addenda to earlier purely domestic buildings and 'shopping' incorporated into the design of new housing. In both cases, a characteristic feature was the creation of a linear range running back from the rear elevation of the street range. This left a long, narrow yard space (Figure 6). On two-bay properties workshop ranges were constructed down both perimeter walls, leaving a central yard.43 In the traditionally paranoid ferrous industries a similar plan-form appears to have evolved quite early, even in smaller works. Thus the mid18th-century Stuckton Ironworks at Ringwood (Hampshire) comprised workshops around 'three sides of a square yard, the fourth side being the house of the ironmaster'. 44 Similarly Benjamin Huntsman's steelworks




XXVI: 1,2004


of the 1740s at Attercliffe (Yorkshire) was arranged around a yard separated from the street by the dwelling house; his later Sheffield rival John Walker also had his house and gardens within the works boundary, and this form seems to have been adopted by other steelmaking concerns.45 As urban landscapes expanded, earlier suburban detached villas were gradually absorbed into industrial complexes, and in many cases these houses continued to perform domestic or administrative functions.46

The concept of an enclosed space was a particularly fitting one for the nascent industrial society beginning to emerge in the 17th century. This was an age devoted to the enclosure of all types of spaces. Matthew Johnson has used the term 'closure' to describe changes which took place in domestic architecture as a result of the development of capitalism changes which reflected the increased importance of moveable consumer items and the need for privacy.47Such changes were evident in the wider English landscape; what W. G. Hoskins described as the 'revolutionary pace' of rural enclosure in England was motivated by the same desire for privatisation of space, for efficient production and for the end of social relations based on concepts of community.48 Moreover, the agenda of enclosure were also applied to the world at large; agenda which were explicitly set out in the 17th century, when figures such as Harrington, Locke and Winstanley debated the nature of freedom and equality. Thus emerged the concept of labour as a virtuous and godly activity, and specifically labour in the form of 'enclosure of the wastes' .49The wastes in this context included the supposedly empty worlds of Ireland and America, and so was expounded an intellectual justification for colonial expansion which was itself bound together with industrialisation. A substantial part of the motivation for colonial expansion was to bring 'civility to the wilderness'; the landscape was not merely 'a physical space, but a social order and theatre of virtue ... settled agriculture encouraged honest labour and distinguished humans from brute beasts'. 50In practice this protestant philosophy was not so very different from monastic ideals of a thousand years earlier. For Benedictine brethren could only be 'truly monks when they live by the labour of their hands'. 51 Monastic enclosure of the wastes, and the making fertile of barren ground, was an essential act of worship which enhanced the glory of God's creation. In this light, it is not surprising that the architecture of monasticism was appropriated for use in a

colonial context. Indeed it has recently been suggested that the monastic estate, with its enclosed spaces and perimeter walls, served as a model for early colonial plantations in the Caribbean. 52 With many of the same motives - labour as civilising influence, profit, efficiency, social order - the later use of these architectural forms by industrialists seems a very natural progression. Some of the earliest applications of the defensive courtyard to industrial buildings appear, appropriately enough, in state-owned military-industrial complexes. One of the earliest structures at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich, for example, was the Great Pile (1717-1720), which contained turning, washing and engraving workshops and stores associated with the Royal Brass foundry. 53 The Great Pile is attributed to Hawksmoor, who of course was also responsible for much collegiate redevelopment, as at All Souls', Queen's and Worcester Colleges in Oxford. 54 The Great Pile had a quadrangular arrangement, with an impressive arched entrance in the centre of the south elevation, the piers of which are surmounted by cannon balls. This was followed by developments such as those at Devonport, where storehouses were built in the 1760s in the form of a pair of enclosed courtyards linked by carriageways.55 The multi-courtyard form was adopted for planned commercial works on greenfield sites in the 18th century. Perhaps the most famous of these was Matthew Boulton's Soho Manufactory, built on the outskirts of Birmingham in the 1760s (Figure 7). In plan it comprised a series of courtyards arranged behind an imposing Palladian range, including offices, workers housing, workshops, rolling mill, foundry, fitting shops, warehousing and so on; moreover, it was placed within a wider landscape setting which included bodies of water, trees, workers' gardens and indeed Boulton's own house. 56 At Soho the water features actually functioned as reservoirs for the works, in much the same way that watercourses on monastic estates served both decorative and functional roles. Much of the architectural work was done by Samuel and James Wyatt, who were also responsible for improvements to quadrangular complexes in Oxford and Cambridge, most notably at Magdalen College.57 Fellow Lunar Society member Josiah Wedgwood was almost certainly influenced by Boulton's Soho Manufactory when he came to design his Etruria works for pottery manufacture. 58The Etruria works was originally devised as a linear series of five yard spaces, with the central yards having kilns on each corner.59 When actually constructed the works retained its multiquadrangular plan, albeit with the kilns located more conventionally within the yards. As at Soho, Etruria was also contained within

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology



Soho Manufactory

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 7. Soho Manufactory, Birmingham. Plan of the main works complex as it would have appeared at the turn of the 19th century (redrawn after George Demidowicz, pers. comm.).

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Principal Building (warehousing, display rooms counting house, plating shops) Drawing Office Foundry Forging Shops Rolling Miis Houses Engine Works Fitting Shops Forge

not to scale

an emergent polite landscape, with gardens, woodland, a canal and a large house for Wedgwood himself. The Etruria and Soho complexes were two of the great pioneering factories of the 18th century, and represent the formalisation of the quadrangular industrial plan. Conventionally interpreted in purely functional terms, it is clear that there were a number of non-functional ideas at work in their design, planning and execution. Notwithstanding their emergence from strong vernacular regional and industry-specific traditions of courtyard properties, in both cases their design was strongly influenced by their learned proprietors and the architects whom they employed. And even if the details of architectural treatment were inspired by Palladio, this was not at odds with Cistercian architectural ideals, for such neo-classicism represented 'ideas of order and harmony ... derived from nature, God and the Universe'.60 Moreover, the subdivision of these factories into functionally-defined quadrangles can be seen to reflect the ordered spaces within the monastic complex. Within their wider landscape setting, factories such as Soho and Etruria appear as small monastic estates, with the cloistered workshops and workers housing at their centre and the owners house apart from, but connected with the complex. Indeed the Etruria landscape was literally carved from the 'wastes' of the Potteries landscape, another echo of monastic idealism. Neither the Soho Manufactory nor the Etruria Works are still extant, although the equally iconic complex developed by Richard Arkwright at Cromford does survive. The form of this mill reflected Arkwright's desire

to protect the secrets of his machinery; he built an essentially defensive plan-form, and eschewed the use of ground floor windows on the elevations along the main road.61 It is notable that theoretical developments in French industrial architecture follow chronologically the erection of the Boulton, Wedgwood and Arkwright complexes. These developments have often been perceived as expressions of enlightenment rationalism, such as Claud-Nicolas Ledoux's famous unfinished Royal Salt Works at Arc-etSenans. Interestingly, Ledoux also designed another theoretical factory - a cannon foundry on the courtyard plan, with a 'cross inscribed in the square' and 'pyramidal furnaces' at each corner.62 Not only is this strongly reminiscent of Wedgwood's original plans for Etruria, but the cruciform structure also provides an ecclesiastical echo; a cross in a square as metaphor for the enclosed space of monastic life. A generation later, the quadrangle was again the central plank of Jean Nicolas Louis Durand's abstract mathematical grid; courtyards feature prominently among his designs.63 The idea of the multi-quadrangular yard space physically adopted at Soho and Etruria, and virtually conceived by Ledoux, was widely adopted in the 19th century. Thus the Grand Store at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich (1806-1813) comprised three separate but linked courtyards.64 Le Grand Hornu in Belgium was a multi-courtyard form, designed c. 1820 by Bruno Renard, who was responsible for the restoration of the cathedral and associated cloisters at Tournai.65 Two notable planned cutlery factories were erected in Sheffield from 1823, the Sheaf Works and the Globe Works. Here were


XXVI: 1,2004


Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 8. Sheffield. Detail from the Ordnance Survey map of 1903. Yard-based premises along the south side of the River Don. From right, the Green Lane Works (iron foundry, 1795), between it and Ball Street the multi-yard Brooklyn Works (saw and file works, 1839), Cornish Place ( cutlery and silverware, 1822), to the west of Cornish Street the extensive multi-yard Globe Works ( cutlery and edge tools, 1823).

Figure 9. Elkington's Works, Birmingham. A complex developed incrementally, with six courtyards shown in this view of 1863 (from Measom, G.,

Official Illustrated Guide to the Great Western Railway,

283; courtesy


complete factories, the Sheaf Works containing 'all the various processes through which iron must pass' to become a finished product. 66 The Globe Works (see Figure 8) was subdivided into five separate courtyards, each containing different elements of production - from the imposing towers of the cementation steel furnaces at the far end, through a variety of workshops containing 'craftsmen' built in a quasi-vernacular style,

to offices and warehousing in a grand neoPalladian mansion on the street frontage.67 The 19th century saw further elaboration on the courtyard theme, and concerns on existing single-courtyard sites chose to expand in a multi-quadrangular format. Thus in Birmingham, the Victoria Works on Graham Street was enlarged between 1840-1860 to encompass three courtyards; likewise Elkington's works on Newhall Street (Figure 9) eventually



Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 10. President Works, Sheffield. This substantial steelworks was built. in the early 1850s, and demolished in the mid-1990s. The gate-tower is Italianate in detail, but strongly reminiscent in form of the monastic and collegiate gate-towers shown in Figures 2, 3 and 4 (PaulBelford).

comprised 'a succession of courtyards' and also enclosed the canal. 68


By the mid-19th century the courtyard-based industrial complex had evolved to become a building form in its own right. Indeed, industrial architecture itself was developing as one expression of modernity, at the same time as interest in medieval and earlier pasts and indeed archaeology - were emerging as another. The fact that these two strands came together in the 19th century should not therefore come as a surprise. It is evident that the plan-form of the medieval monastery is directly related to the plan-form of the industrial manufactory. It has already been demonstrated that this is a direct genetic

descendancy; however, it is also a deliberate genetic throwback, a case of 19th-century genetically-modified architecture. Let us consider the different elements of the monastic plan-form - the perimeter boundary, the gateway, the cloister and the church - and observe their application in the architecture of industry. The perimeter describes the interface between the inside and the outside. Of course the perimeter wall only acts on the level of the visible, spatial landscape. Other, invisible, landscapes could subvert the perimeter; landscapes 'apparent to the ears and nose [would have] slashed through the boundaries established by bricks and mortar'. 69 In the street, there would have been a chaotic convergence of different smells, sounds and vibrations; another reason for factory owners to increase the enclosed-ness of their own space. The model of enclosure was the collegiate one; ground-floor windows are invariably above head-height (or, as at Cromford, do not exist at all) just as in Oxford and Cambridge. This prevented the outsider seeing in, although not always the reverse. The motive for this was probably two-fold. On the one hand were the 'mysteries' of the 'arts' of manufacture, and there was clearly a desire to keep such secrets out of view.70 On the other, there was a need to define a line between the chaotic urban landscape - in which industrial workers were perceived as a disordered and amoral underclass - and the interior of the factory, where those same people were needed as valuable pieces of equipment, as the property of the manufacturing process. Authorised transgression of the perimeter was only possible through the gateway. Here

Figure 11. Toledo Works, Birmingham. This mid-19th-century factory made guns and 'implements of war', and included its own cementation steel furnace at the rear of the site. Note the different treatment of entrances (from M easom, G., Official

Illustrated Guide to the Great Western Railway (1863), 325;

courtesy IGMT).



XXVI: 1,2004



:L\I.I::EXEI, ~








The Home


Specialities for
North and

Trade and Shippers

should send


America, Oolonial,
and Foreign

for Sarnples

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

~nd .Prices.

. Markets.



~ome, North and South American, Colonial, and Continental Markets.

Samples and Prices on application.

Figure 12. Green Gates Pottery, Tunstall. Typical courtyard-based potworks of the late 18th century, with pedimented bays containing the archway entrances (from an advertisement of 1885, in The

Pottery Gazette Diary, 170).

Figure 13. Griffiths and Browett, Birmingham. By the time of its depiction in 1863 this factory had developed into the classic later 19th-century multi-yard form; however, its domestic origins are evident in the late-18th-century houses which form the street frontage (from M easom, G., Official

Illustrated Guide to the Great Western Railway, 301;

courtesy IGMT).

again the collegiate form of the monastic gate-tower was the primary antecedent to the ornate entrance of many 18th- and 19thcentury industrial complexes (Figure 10). The role of porter was essential in the industrial complex. Not only was the regulation of the workforce through time increasingly important through the 19th century, but in some industries - such as the jewellery trades of Birmingham - so was security from theft and pilfering. Indeed in Birmingham in the later 19th century many premises would have a live-in caretaker; their flat being situated

in the street frontage near the main entrance in a manner reminiscent of the accommodatory function of the monastic gate-tower.7! In many later 19th-century complexes there were often several entrances for different purposes and different social groups. There was usually separation between office and works entrances, and in many larger premises there were frequently four or five entrancesfor different classes of workers, for visitors or customers, and a vehicular arch. Even in very small works, some sort of class distinction would be made (Figure 11).



Figure 14. Scotland Street, Sheffield Typical small-scale yardbased premises of the midlands metalworking trades, in this case a cutlery and silversmithing factory primarily occupied by James Lodge and Company, but with parts sub-let to other tenants. Note the variety of entrances off the yard space (Paul Belford).

The high-status entrances would be architecturally embellished, and usually the opportunity was taken to make a feature of the vehicular arch. Where possible the whole bay containing the entrance in question would be projected both out into the street and up above the main roofline in order to distinguish it from the remainder of the elevation (Figure 12). Instead of coats of arms and effigies there would be the company name, and possibly images associated with the nature of work inside. Older relationships between domestic and industrial properties could also be expressed. The Palladian mansion style of street frontage was popular throughout the 19th century, but on a humbler level many of these non-workshop elements adopted quasidomestic forms of architectural expression.72 In Birmingham, many of the later planned jewellery factories had a street frontage range 'analagous to the house', which included offices and warehousing73 (Figure 13). Whatever mode was adopted, there was always an architectural contrast between front and back. Ironically, in many metalworking trades, the elevational treatment of the workshop ranges became increasingly 'vernacular' as the processes within them were made more mechanical; the image of the worker as artisan was vigorously promoted as the work itself became more removed from artisanship. The yard space was the principal defining characteristic of these later industrial sites (Figure 14). On one level these yards were retained in order to provide 'an open area for the movement of raw materials and goods'~74 Indeed, in the ceramic industries 'external space was as important ... as internal', for weathering, blunging and drying.75 However, it is clear that the yard also performed non-practical functions. The displacement of buildings around the yard enabled the owner separate the internal and external worlds, controlling the movement of people and goods into and out of the yard. It also permitted the segregation of different functions within the complex, and some control over the degree of mobility of people between

different functional zones. It is always interesting to look at the location of the owner's or manager's office in relation to the yard; more often than not it is quite close to the entrance, usually with a projecting bay window. Of course, there was 'no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment You had to live ... in the assumption that every movement [was] scrutinised' .76 The division of multi-yard sites into different zones was a fairly straightforward architectural exercise. Much more subtle, but just as effective, was the subdivision of single-yard sites; the often-overlooked majority of industrial premises which Victoria Beauchamp has described as those 'small and more mundane workshops'.77 Even these sites could be effectively compartmentalised, if not by the creation of courtyards, then by strict rationing of doorways and windows in contiguous structures. In many cases small urban workshops were rented out to several different firms, each needing separate access. Consequently a series of walkways were devised, as at Nos 30-31 Tenby Street in Birmingham, where a central passageway from the street permitted separate access to four different yard spaces. Alternatively such premises might be divided horizontally, with separate access to different floors using either internal or external stairways and walkways.78 At the Brooklyn Works in Sheffield, another multi-occupation site, similar arrangements were evident for separation of different working areas.79 Comparable arrangements existed on sites in single occupation, and many courtyard-based sites both large and small, evolved a series of ladders, walkways and corridors to enable progress around the site without disruption to individual process areas. In the monastic setting the church was designed to be the visually most dominant architectural component. It did not compete with the cloister, which was the most important part of the plan, because its emphasis was vertical, rather than horizontal. In the 19th-century industrial building the equivalent structure usually contained the dominant industrial manufacturing process. Likewise, verticality was the key motif, so as not to detract from the importance of the yard space. In the ceramic industries the kiln formed an obvious dominating feature, and the architecture of the kiln (or rather the surmounting hovel) was developed in order to emphasise that dominance. Hence Wedgwood's intended displacement of hovels around his planned Etruria; hence also Ledoux's theoretical iron foundry. In Sheffield and Birmingham, cementation steel furnaces were used the same way. These were substantial conical structures, 15 to 20 metres tall, which dominated the surrounding urban

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology


XXVI: 1,2004


Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

landscape. Study of over 100 yard-based cementation and crucible steelmaking sites in Sheffield found that the most common plan-form located the steel furnaces to the rear of the yard, directly opposite the main archway entrance from the street. This occurred on sites of all shapes, sizes and degrees of complexity. 80Their nature enabled them to dominate the site; not only were they an expression of the character of the firm, but they were also a symbol of status and power which impressed itself immediately on the visitor. Where an industry did not naturally have an architecturally spectacular processing feature, an appropriate aspect of the site would be given a locational and architectural treatment which corresponded to its symbolic role as a vertically dominant element. In many cases this was the power source, particularly for those manufactures which had developed the factory system, for which a central source of power was the key to the operation of the whole complex. The textile industry, for example, developed a whole vocabulary of ostentatious chimneys for steam-powered mills, of which the neoVenetian example at Manningham Mills in Bradford is perhaps the most famous. Other industries also used chimneys to provide vertical emphasis, even in relatively small works, such as Mander Brothers' paint factory in Wolverhampton (Figure 15). Even a simple chimney could, by virtue of its height, act as a visual spire (Figure 16). Significantly there are also examples where the chimney survived without any functional rationale, as at Armfield's ironworks in Hampshire, where the substantial chimney of the Cornish engine which had powered the forges, pattern shops and works was retained even after the engine was removed in 1902.81

We now move to the perhaps unlikely setting of Shropshire in 1871. On the south bank of the River Severn, at Jackfield, pottery, brick and tile manufacture had been long established. The tile industry was given a new impetus in the 19th century by the Gothic revival, and an increasing demand for encaustic tiles inspired by medieval ecclesiastical originals. A partnership was established in the 1860s to manufacture medieval-style tiles, operating from an old potworks which appears to have been built on the courtyard plan.82 In 1871 this partnership became Craven Dunnill Limited, and the new firm commissioned an architect to design a new factory. In order to maintain production the new factory was built around the 01d.83The architect of the new premises was Charles Lynam, who had recently designed a tile

works for Minton Hollins in Stoke. Analysis of Lynam's factory designs has hitherto tended to be purely functional. It has been said that as 'increased mechanisation demanded a logical and systematic approach' so his factories 'incorporated the principle of linear production'.84 Consequently the Jackfie1d works was supposedly designed purely 'to facilitate the speed and efficiency with which clays moved around the site' .85 Certainly there was a production sequence which began with raw materials at the east end, and ended in the showroom at the west end. The various processes were grouped around a yard (Figure 17). This, however, is only part of the story, for the Craven Dunnill factory was not only a place which mass-produced items for the medieval aesthetic of the developed industrial society, but it was also itself a product of that aesthetic. Indeed the church-like spire, gothic windows and yard-based ground plan of the Jackfield works reflect the physical form,

Figure 15. Mander Brothers, Wo verhamp ton. Paint manufacture was a process with no intrinsic vertical features, so a virtue has been made of the chimney by transforming it into a kind of sub-gothic minaret. Note also the number of entrances and their various treatlnents (from Measom, G.,

Official Illustrated Guide to the Great Western Railway (1863), 506; courtesy IGMT).



Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Figure 16. Edward Davies' Crown Galvanising Works, Wo lverhamp ton. As well as the substantial central chimney (for the steam engine) note the church-like office building to the right of the main entrance, and the absence of groundfloor windows in the workshop building to the left (from an advertisement of 1873, in Griffiths'

Guide to the Iron Trade of Great Britain, xlvii).

appearance and function of the medieval monastery. Such a reflection is no accident; it is not merely a result of functional displacement of processes. Indeed, purely processoriented interpretations of this site ignore one crucial element of its design, namely the brain of its designer. For Charles Lynam had a lifelong obsession with the archaeology of medieval monasteries. Unlike Pugin, who converted to Catholicism and used continentalliving monasteries as models for ecclesiastical architecture, Lynam turned to the demolished plan-forms of the Cistercian order. During the period in which he designed the factory at Jackfield, Lynam - as a founder member of the archaeology section of the North Staffordshire Field Club - was busy excavating and analysing the Cistercian Abbey at Croxden, Staffordshire (Figure 1).86 He later excavated nearby Hulton Abbey, and was elected a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries in 1895. It would appear, then, that the relationship between monastic and industrial yard-based complexes had come full circle. The Jackfield factory simultaneously combines subconscious and conscious echoes of medieval and earlier post-medieval pasts. Subconsciously it is influenced by the courtyard plan of the potworks that immediately preceded it on site; consciously it is an informed interpretation of medieval monasticism as perceived in the second half of the 19th century. Moreover, the example of Jackfield clearly proves that functional analyses do not fully explain the origins or development of the yard-based

industrial complex. Indeed of all industrial building types, those of the ceramic industries have been most prone to purely functional interpretations. Yet it is clear from our documentary knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Jackfield's origin that there was much more than purely pragmatic considerations going through its architect's brain. He was not alone; a hundred years earlier Wedgwood himself had been experimenting with the exterior form of kiln hovels, and at one stage expressed enthusiasm for adorning the hovels at Etruria with 'Gothick Battlements'.87

One or two examples of conscious pastiche do not explain the very widespread phenomenon of the defensive industrial yard in most manufacturing contexts from the 17th century through to the present day. Instead we must turn to the unconscious, and a much more subtle, awareness of medieval enclosed spatial forms within the industrial world. James Deetz famously postulated a distinction between 'medieval' and 'Georgian' mindsets.88Yet it is evident that many threads of medieval cognition are weft in the cloth of industrial society. Perhaps the most striking of all of the apparent differences between medieval and post-medieval society is the supposed post-Enlightenment 'rationality' of the latter. Medieval thought was not, however, irrational; it simply appears so in contrast because of the shifting over time of




XXVI: 1,2004


Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

what Pierre Bordieu terms 'habitus'. 89 The yard-based plan was also a rational structure in the context of the social world of the monastery. Post-medieval or enlightenment rationalism was evidently not at odds with this. As protestant ideology became the dominant ethos in post-medieval society by drawing on aspects of monasticism, so industrial society expressed this element of its structure in quasi-monastic architectural forms. Rational productivity was (and remains) part of the god-fearing protestant ethos.90 This raises a number of interesting questions which archaeologists studying the industrial period should attempt to answer. Are such architectural forms intended to send messages; messages to workers about the worthiness (and godliness?) of labour, or about the value of an abstemious lifestyle; messages to potential customers about the integrity and solidity of the business? Is the cloaking of modern industrial premises in the garb of medievalism intended to alleviate what Michael Watts has called 'the shock of modernity'?91 To what extent are references also being made to the intervening forms (the almshouse or the college), as means of expressing charity, a desire for education or the need to retain mysteries? In attempting to deal with issues such as these, industrial archaeologists need also to bear in mind

the concepts of 'world-as-lived' and 'worldas-thought' articulated by Anne Yentsch; these plan-forms 'incorporate both real space and imaginary space expressing social order'.92 There is also the dialogue between owner and occupiers of these spaces, which of the intended messages are actually receivedand by whom? Archaeologists of the industrial period, as a community within the broader church of historical archaeology, have a special duty to engage with all the meanings of industrial architecture. For the development of industrialisation was the crucial process in the development of global consumerism, and industrialisation cannot be fully understood without examining the multiple mind-sets of the consumer society which gave rise to it. Many years ago Leone and P6tter noted that our own social context is that of 'advanced industrial capitalism', we can either try to understand our contextual development or 'be prisoners of it'. 93 Purely functional interpretations of buildings, places, landscapes and artefacts can no longer be valid; there is no more room for what Barbara Little has called 'antiquarianism' in industrial archaeology.94 By pulling back slightly from the minutiae of things, it is possible to see industrialisation in its wider cultural setting. Architectural evidence suggests that elements of medieval cognition were infused through the

Figure 17. Craven Dunnill, lackfield, Shropshire. The factory designed by Charles Lynam, with neo-gothic entrance at the front and several motifs of verticality, including a spire, the tile kilns and the chimney for the steam engine in the mill building. A covered wagon emerges from the vehicular entrance; behind this range was the site of the original potworks (from 1ewitt, L., The

Ceramic Art of Great Britain (1878), 181;

courtesy IGMT).



post-medieval process of industrialisation. This means questioning the very concept of the 'industrial revolution', for it is evident that the economic and social changes which took place in the mid-18th century were part of a much broader cultural evolution which began two or three hundred years before, and continues today unabated.

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

I am indebted to many people, not least to David Gwyn for accepting this paper for publication and discussing it at various stages of its evolution. I am very grateful to John Powell for his support and assistance. The development of ideas has only been possible through conversation with various people, particularly Joanne Mincher, Ron Ross and Annsofie Witkin. Thanks also to George Demidowicz, Tony Herbert and Michael Vanns for information. 'Paws for thought' by Boris. All photographs (Figures 2, 3, 4, 5, 10 and 14) and line drawings (Figures 1 and 7) by the author; other illustrations are courtesy of the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust.
1 Smith, D.M., The Industrial Archaeology of the East Midlands: Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire and the adjoining parts of Derbyshire (Dawlish: David and Charles, 1965), 191. 2 Hudson, K., 'Has Industrial Archaeology lost its way?', Industrial Archaeology Review, 23: 2 (2001), 6-9. 3 Leech, R., 'The Processional City: some issues for historical archaeology', in Tarlow, S. and S. West (eds), The Familiar Past? Archaeologies of later historical Britain (London: Routledge, 1999), 19-34. 4 Appleby, J.O., Economic Thought and Ideology in Seventeenth Century England (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978), 17-21. 5 Hill, C., Some Intellectual Consequences of the English Revolution (London: Phoenix Giant, 1980 [1997 edition]), 34. 6 Leone, M.P. and P.B. Potter, 'Historical Archaeology of Capitalism', Bulletin of the Society for American Archaeology, 12: 4 (1994), 14-15; Johnson, M., An Archaeology of Capitalism (Oxford: Berg, 1996). 7 Smith, ref. 1, 191. 8 This concept of 'structuration' was made explicit by Anthony Giddens, drawing on Pierre Bordieu's notions of 'cultural field' and 'cultural capital'; see Bordieu, P., Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); and Giddens, A., The Constitution of Society: Outline of a Theory of Structuration (London: Polity Press, 1984). 9 Sheffield Archives, Tibbitts Collection, TC200 (4 December 1760). 10 Newman, 0., Defensible Space: people and design in the violent city (London: Architectural Press, 1973), 3-66. 11 Secchi, B., 'Prato', Casabella, 58: 612 (1994), 29-35. 12 Cattell, J., S. Ely and B. Jones, The Birmingham Jewellery Quarter - an architectural survey of the manufactories (Swindon: English Heritage, 2002), 66-7.

13 Hayman, R., 'The Archaeologist as Witness: Matthew Harvey's Glebeland Works, Walsall', Industrial Archaeology Review, 19 (1997), 61-74. 14 Johnson, M., 'Reconstructing castles and refashioning identities in Renaissance England', in Tarlow, S. and S. West (eds), The Familiar Past? Archaeologies of later historical Britain (London: Routledge, 1999), 69-86,73. 15 Caldwell, E.M., 'An Architecture of the Self: New Metaphors for Monastic Enclosure', in Holberg, T. (ed.), Essays in Medieval Studies - Volume 8, Proceedings of the Illinois Medieval Association (University of West Virginia Press, 1991), 16-22. 16 Fergusson, P., The Architecture of Solitude (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). 17 Lawrence, C.H., Medieval Monasticism: forms of religious life in western Europe in the middle ages, 3rd edn (Harlow: Longmans, 2001), 179. 18 For example, at Riveaulx in the late 12th century there were 500 lay brothers and 140 monks; Lawrence, ref. 17, 177. 19 Lawrence, ref. 17, 176. 20 Thompson, M., Cloister, Abbot and Precinct in Medieval Monasteries (Stroud: Tempus, 2001), 95-101. 21 Lawrence, ref. 17, 188. 22 Morant, R.W., The Monastic Gatehouse (Lewes: The Book Guild Limited, 1995), 11. 23 Foreman, M., Further Excavations at the Dominican Priory, Beverley, 1986-1989 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 233; Lawrence, ref. 17, 198-204. 24 For example Battle, St Albans and Chester; Morant, ref. 22, 98-104. 25 Morant, ref. 22, 12-13. 26 See Johnson, ref. 14; Giles, K.F., 'The familiar fraternity: the appropriation and consumption of medieval guildhalls in early modern York', in Tarlow, S. and S. West (eds), The Familiar Past? Archaeologies of later historical Britain (London: Routledge, 1999). 27 Howson, B., Houses of Noble Poverty: A History of the English Almshouse (Sunbury-on- Thames, Bellevue Books/The Almshouse Association, 1993), 53-5, 58-64. 28 Brodie, A., J. Croom and J.O. Davies, English Prisons: an architectural history (London: English Heritage, 2002); Lucas, G., 'The Archaeology of the Workhouse: the changing uses of the workhouse buildings at St. Mary's, Southampton', in Tarlow, S. and S. West (eds), The Familiar Past? Archaeologies of later historical Britain (Routledge, 1999), 125-39; Morrison, K., The Workhouse: a study of poor-law buildings in England (English Heritage, 1999). 29 Barber, B. and C. Thomas, The London Charterhouse, MoLAS Monograph No. 10 (Museum of London Archaeology Service, 2002). 30 Jebb, M., The Colleges of Oxford (Constable, 1992), 12-18; Clark, J.W. (ed.), The Architectural History of the University of Cambridge and of the Colleges of Cambridge and Eton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1886 [1988 facsimile reprint], 3 vols), Vol. 2, 106-63. 31 Cunich, P., D. Hoyle, E. Duffy and R. Hyam, A History of Magdelene College, Cambridge (Cambridge: Magdelene College Publications, 1994), 5-8. 32 Evans, R.J.W. and B.A. Richards, Brasenose College: a short guide (Oxford: Brasenose College, 1977), 2-3; Jebb, ref. 28, 43-87. 33 Muthesius, S., The English Terraced House (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1982), 108-9. 34 Hopkins, E., Birmingham: The Making of the Second City 1850-1939 (Stroud: Tempus, 2001), 92-4. 35 Belford, P., 'Work, Space and Power in an English industrial slum: 'The Crofts', Sheffield 1700-1850', in Mayne, A. and T. Murray (eds), The Archaeology of Urban Landscapes: Explorations in Slumland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 106-17.


36 Belford, ref. 35, 111; Chinn, C., Homes for the People: Council Housing and Urban Renewal in Birmingham 1849-1999 (Studeley: Brewin Books, 1999),4. 37 Belford, P., 'Urban Industrial Landscapes: Problems of Perception and Protection', in Barker, D. and D. Cranstone (eds), The Archaeology of Industrialisation, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph No. 2 (2003), 1-15; Belford, forthcoming, 'The World of the Workshop: archaeologies of urban industrialisation', in Green, A. and R. Leech (eds), Cities in the World, Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology Monograph NO.3 (forthcoming). 38 Thompson, A., F. Grew and J. Schofield, 'Excavations at Aldgate 1974', Post-Medieval Archaeology, 18 (1984), 1-149, 18-33. 39 Baker, D., Potworks: the industrial architecture of the Staffordshire Potteries (Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments of England, 1991), 8. 40 Baker, ref. 39, 10,31,39-42. 41 Fox, R. and K.J. Barton, 'Excavations at Oyster Street, Portsmouth, Hampshire', Post-Medieval Archaeology, 20 (1986),31-256. 42 Palmer, M. and P. Neaverson, 'Handloom Weaving in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire in the nineteenth century: the building evidence', Post-Medieval Archaeology, 37: 1 (2003), 126-58; Kings, B. and M. Cooper, Glory Gone: The story of nailing in Bromsgrove (Worcester: Halfshire Books, 1999), 42-57. 43 Cattell, J., S. Ely and B. Jones, The Birmingham Jewellery Quarter: an architectural survey of the Manufactories (Swindon: English Heritage, 2002), 55-6. 44 Cross, D.A.E., 'Armfield's of Ringwood', Industrial Archaeology, 4: 2 (1967), 161-4. 45 These two South Yorkshire steelmaking concerns are depicted on maps in the Sheffield Archives Huntsman's works on the Attercliffe Enclosure Map (SheS37L, 1812), and Walker's on several maps in the Fairbank Collection, in particular SheS1365S (1791); for information on the Fairbank Collection see Crossley, D., 'The Fairbanks of Sheffield: surveyor's records as a source for the study of regional economic development in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries', Industrial Archaeology Review, 19 (1997), 5-20; for discussion of the layout and organisation of early steelworks, see Belford, P., 'Converters and Refiners: urban steelmaking sites in Sheffield 1700-1850', South Yorkshire Industrial History Society Journal, 1 (1998), 7-19. 46 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 14-15, 269. 47 Johnson, M., Housing Culture: traditional architecture in an English landscape, Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 106-28 48 Hoskins, W.G., The Making of the English Landscape (Hodder and Stoughton, 1955), 139. 49 Hill, C., A Nation of Change and Novelty: Radical politics, religion and literature in seventeenth-century England (London and New York: Routledge, 1990), 120-32. 50 Braddick, M.J., 'Civility and Authority', in Armitage, D. and M.J. Braddick (eds), The British Atlantic World 1500-1800 (New York and Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 93-112. 51 The Rule of St. Benedict cA8, cited in Lawrence, ref. 16, 27. 52 Mark Horton, pers. comm. 53 RCHME, The Royal Arsenal, Woolwich: Historic Buildings Report, 2 vols (Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments of England, 1994), Vol. 1 (Rapid Survey), n.p. 54 Jebb, ref. 30, 10-11. 55 Coad, J.G., The Royei/ Dockyards 1690-1850: Architecture and Engineering Works of the Sailing Navy (Aldershot: Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments of England, 1989), 121-38.

XXVI: 1,2004


George Demidowicz, pers. comm. Uglow, J., The Lunar Men: the Friends who made the Future 1730-1810 (Faber and Faber, 2002), 60-5, 91; Jebb, ref. 30, 17. 58 Baker, ref. 39,22-4; Uglow, ref. 57, 68. 59 Meteyard, E., The Life of Josiah Wedgwood (Hurst and Blackett, 1895-6; 1970 reprint, Barlaston: Josiah Wedgwood and Sons Ltd), Vol. 1, Fig. 95. 60 Dixon, R. and S. Muthesius, Victorian Architecture (Thames and Hudson, 1993), 17. 61 Menuge, A., 'The Cotton Mills of the Derbyshire Derwent and its Tributaries', Industrial Archaeology Review, 16: 1 (1993), 38-62. 62 Pevsner, N., A History of Building Types (Thames and Hudson, 1976), 327, f. 94. 63 Hernandez, A., 'J-N-L. Durand's Architectural Theory: A study in the history of rational building design', Perspecta, 12 (1983), 153-9. 64 RCHME, ref. 53, Vol. 2, 'Buildings 36, 37,46 and 49',2-6. 65 Pevsner, ref. 62, 284. 66 Tweedale, G., The Sheffield Knife Book: A History and Col/ector's Guide (Sheffield: The Hallamshire Press, 1996), 193. 67 Beauchamp, V.A., 'The Workshops of the Cutlery Industry in Hallamshire 1750-1900' (University of Sheffield, unpublished PhD. thesis, 1996); a detailed annotated plan of the Globe Works is in the Fairbank Collection at the Sheffield Archives: MB 396 (1836-7). 68 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 67. 69 Upton, D., 'The City as Material Culture', in Yentsch, A.E. and M.C. Beaudry (eds), The Art and Mystery of Historical Archaeology (Boca Raton: CRC Press, 1992),51-74, 56. 70 Explicitly articulated both by Arkwright and Wedgwood; see Baker, ref. 39, 24 and Menuge, ref. 61,56. 71 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 133. 72 Belford (forthcoming), ref. 37; Cattell et al., ref. 43, 267, 253; Beauchamp, ref. 67, 130-89. 73 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 68. 74 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 57. 75 Baker, ref. 39, 9. 76 Orwell, G., Nineteen Eighty-Four (Penguin Books, 1948-1964 edition), 6. 77 Beauchamp, ref. 67, 130. 78 Cattell et al., ref. 43, 112-14. 79 RCHME, Brooklyn Works, Green Lane, Sheffield, South Yorkshire (Royal Commission on the Historical Monuments of England, 1997), 6-9. 80 Belford, P., 'Converters and Refiners: the archaeology of steelmaking in Sheffield 1700-1850' (University of Sheffield, unpublished MA dissertation, 1997); see also Belford, ref. 45. 81 Cross, ref. 44, 161-3. 82 Clark, C. and J. Alfrey, Jackfield and Broseley: Nuffield Survey Interim Report NO.4 (Coalbrookdale: Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust, 1988), 65. 83 Ironbridge Archaeology, 'Jackfield Tile Museum: Archaeological Excavation and Recording 20022004' (Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust unpublished report, forthcoming). 84 Kay, G., 'Charles Lynam - an architect of tile factories', Journal of the Tiles and Architectural Ceramics Society, 4 (1992), 21-8, 25. 85 Clark and Alfrey, ref. 82, 66. 86 Lynam, C., The Abbey of St. Mary, Croxden, Staffordshire - a monograph (Sprague and Co., 1911); Tomkinson, J.L., A History of Hulton Abbey, Staffordshire Archaeological Studies No. 10 (Stoke: City Museum and Art Gallery, 1997). 87 Letter from Wedgwood to Thomas Bentley (1768), cited in Baker, ref. 39, 20. 88 Deetz, J., In Small Things Forgotten (Garden City, New York: Anchor Books, 1977). 89 See Bordieu, ref. 8.
56 57

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology



90 Biggs, L., The Rational Factory: Architecture, Technology and Work in America's Age of Mass Production (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996); Misa, T.J., P. Brey and A. Feenberg (eds), Modernity and Technology (Boston: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 2003). 91 Watts, M., 'The Shock of Modernity: Petroleum, Protest and Fast Capitalism in an Industrialising Society', in Pred, A. and M. Watts (eds), Reworking Modernity: Capitalisms and Symbolic Discontent (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992), 21-64,26-8. 92 Yentsch, A.E., 'Legends, houses, families and myths: relationships between material culture and

American ideology', in Beaudry, M.C., Documentary Archaeology in the New World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 5-19. 93 Leone, M.P. and P.B. Potter, 'Introduction: Issues in Historical Archaeology', in Leone, M.P. and P.B. Potter (eds), The Recovery of Meaning in Historical Archaeology in the Eastern United States (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988), 1-22, 19. 94 Little, B.J., 'People with History: An Update on Historical Archaeology in the United States', in Orser, C.E. (ed.), Images of the Recent Past: Readings in Historical Archaeology (Walnut Creek: Altimira Press, 1996),42-78, 55.

Published by Maney Publishing (c) Association for Industrial Archaeology

Paul Belford is Senior Archaeologist of the Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust, and director of Ironbridge Archaeology. He is a Council member of both the Society for Post-Medieval Archaeology and the Historical Metallurgy Society, and would describe himself as an 'historical archaeologist of industrialisation'. His principal research interests include the ferrous industries, urban landscapes and early colonialism. Address for correspondence: Ironbridge Gorge Museum Trust, Coalbrookdale, Telford TF8 7DQ.