Undiscovered Barcelona: the textile town of Sants

Barcelona, Catalonia

Plot the story of my life through the places I’ve lived, and you can see a  theme.  Textile towns.

I went to university in Manchester, sometimes known as Cottonopolis because of the cotton industry that thrived there throughout the 19th century.

One of the  cities at the forefront of the cloth-making industrial revolution – wool and flax in this case – was Leeds.  I’ve lived there too.

Then in France, we lived in Laroque d’Olmes, a town whose prosperity depended on the woollen textile trade, snatched from it in the twentieth century as wool lost out to more modern fibres which were in any case increasingly manufactured in Asia.

And last week, in Barcelona, we stayed in Sants.  In the 19th century this area, like so many others in Catalonia, turned out the cotton-printed calicoes so popular in Paris at the time.  It was a busy industrial town that only became part of Barcelona towards the end of the 19th century.  Now much of its industrial past has been re-purposed or flattened.  Here’s the Parc de l’España Industrial – once an enormous textile mill.

We loved being here.  Though so near one of Barcelona’s main stations it’s assertively non-touristy.  People live, work, shop and enjoy themselves without having to tussle for space with a whole lot of trippers rubbernecking their way along the crowded thoroughfares.

We don’t want tourist apartments here!

Our street had everything from a fish restaurant (choose your own fish from the marble slab), an alternative book shop, a handy mini-mart, a design studio to – inevitably – several bars.

Every morning we did as the Catalans do before they set off for office, market or shop and had breakfast in one of them.  I developed a passion for wholewheat croissants, which are light, flaky and utterly delicious.

Breakfast in our bakery of choice, appropriately called CroisSants.

Neighbourhood restaurants made few concessions to Spaniards, let alone foreigners, displaying their menus in Catalan: this is a separatist area.

We shopped in the independent shops (the only surrender to globalisation that we could find in the entire area was a solitary Burger King: it was refreshingly under-populated) and sauntered round its two thriving markets.  We’ll be back.


Click on any image to see it full size.

The Apprentice: 19th century style.

National Trust

The twins have had it tough these last few days.  It was the week of the infamous and widely criticised SATS, the final year tests for all British primary school children.

We thought we knew a place where they could see that compared with some, their lives weren’t too bad.

Quarry Bank Mill seen from the gardens.

Quarry Bank Mill seen from the gardens.

Quarry Bank Mill in Cheshire  is one of the best preserved textile mills of the Industrial Revolution in its day, a beacon of progress and enlightenment in 19th century Britain.  It’s in a glorious wooded setting, just as its original owner and developer, Samuel Gregg, intended.  There’s running water to drive the water wheels, and it was well-connected by road, and by the Bridgewater Canal, to have its products transported to the busy port of Liverpool.

Samuel Greg, and then his son Robert, were careful, paternalistic owners.  They looked after their employees – very well, according to the standards of the time.

We went to the Apprentice House there to see what it was like to live there as one of his child apprentices.  The house was in use from about 1790 to 1847, and children would be taken from the age of nine . They had often come straight from the harsh and bleak conditions of the workhouse – institutions that only the truly destitute would go to.  Tough as life at Quarry Bank was, it must have seemed rather wonderful to anyone who’d come from this punishing regime.

We were taken round by the ‘housekeeper’, and we obeyed her every word, and were sure to remember to call her ‘ma’am’.

This chap's being punished because his daughter's left-handed.

This chap’s being punished because his daughter’s left-handed.

She met us in the schoolroom.  The young apprentices received  an elementary education, though only on Sundays.  All children learnt to read.  The boys learned arithmetic too, and how to write – it was only necessary for girls to learn to sign their names.  They had more important skills to learn: cooking, cleaning, making clothes for the inmates.

Here’s how their week went:

Monday to Saturday:

  • Rise at 5.30.
  • Go to the factory to be at work by 6.00 a.m.
  • At 8 o’clock, in the factory, they got a handful of stiff, solid porridge (it had to be solid, so the children could eat the stuff directly from their hands).
  • Work till midday – more porridge, but this time with maybe a few carrots or potatoes stirred through it.  Unlike Oliver Twist, any child could always ask for more.
  • After the midday meal, the children would work again till 6.00 p.m.
  • Then they’d come back to the Apprentice House.  And then there would be an hour of chores – perhaps for the boys, working in the garden tending the vegetables that were part of their diet, or scouring out chamber pots.  Girls would be doing household chores, cooking or mending.
  • Their meal, served after 7 o’clock,  would be substantial, plain fare – maybe boiled bacon and potatoes.  No puddings.  Sugar was expensive.
  • Then they were free … probably to fall asleep.

Sundays, there was no work at all.  Just church, morning and early evening.  But the church was two and a half miles away, and they walked there and back – twice.  In the afternoon, they had their lessons.  However, unusually for the time, they were never struck.  Instead, as a punishment, they’d face the wall, holding small dumb-bell like weights in their out-stretched arms.  This was good for muscle tone. You’d certainly be punished like this if you tried to write using your left hand. Until recently, left handedness has been frowned on

In their dormitories, they were two to a bed, sleeping on mattresses stuffed with straw, changed every year.  They even had blankets.  They had medical care when they needed it too.

Alex says this bed's not at all bad. This was just before he was chosen to empty the chamber pots.

Alex says this bed’s not at all bad. This was just before he was chosen to empty the chamber pots.

Work was hard.  When we visited on Sunday, the huge, cavernous factory rooms were filled from floor to ceiling with machinery.  There were machines for carding, machines for spinning, machines for weaving.  Each room, in its heyday, might have had up to 60 machines.  On Sunday, each room had no more than one machine working.  The noise was deafening.  We were urged to spend only a limited time there, and the volunteer machine operators all had effective ear-defenders. Imagine 60 machines, clattering and clanking away 12 hours a day.  Men and women would have charge of small groups of machines, constantly refilling , re-threading, checking, checking.  The children’s jobs included working as ‘scavengers’, crouched between the constantly moving machinery, clearing fluff and other obstructions: or running to re-stack piles of bobbins from a central point.  Like everyone else, they’d constantly be inhaling cotton waste, and were prone to the risk of repiratory disease, and an early death.

Here's pre-industrial weaving. These looms were a big investment for a family, but offered year-round employment.

Here’s pre-industrial weaving. These looms were a big investment for a family, but offered year-round employment.

These days, Quarry Bank is a wonderful place to spend the day.  We quite simply didn’t see it all.  But we’ll be back.  And if you get the chance, I suggest you go there too.