Lancaster the Lake District
Lancaster was the county town, and even if it were not doing so well just at that moment, surely business would boom again in a year or two. So the decision was made. On a wild day in the late autumn of 1835, the Storey family flitted from Bardsea to Lancaster. Isaac, in the chivalrous fashion of that day, gave his seat inside the stage coach to a woman passenger. Hot tub hotels in Windermere and Bowness
The crossing was both wild and wet, and the soaking he got on the exposed journey over the sands, left him with what was probably a pulmonary condition which claimed him six years later, at the age of 42. He died, leaving his wife Phoebe with nine of a family, the two girls, late arrivals, being less than I and 4 years old, re spectively.
Exploring their new town must have given great delight to the Storey lads. They lived in Damside Street, not far from the Quay, that great expanse of excitement. The industrial revolution was going full blast, but its dark, satanic mills had not seized hold of the Lakeland countryside, and few of the large clan of Storeys had succumbed to its allure. Those belching cotton mills, blackening the towns and holding their people in thrall, could not operate without a plentiful supply of human fodder, a fact that proved the salvation of rural England and its populace.
Lancaster at this time, like other towns of the northwest, had its share of cotton mills in which men, women and children slaved for more than twelve hours a day, six days a week. From all accounts however, the town escaped the gloom and dirt of the urban areas of the Midlands. After all, it was a small town, standing alone amidst fields and hills with the clean seaway of the River Lune to carry off some of the grime of industry, and to bring in with the tide a tang of fresh salt air.
The town it covered only 1,200 acres and had a population of under 12,0001 was a busy port early in the century, and ships were built, and continued to be built, within the borough walls for many years. Seaborne trade, by 1835, was languishing as Liverpool grabbed its chance to cater for larger ships requiring deeper water. But the Quay still held a fascination for onlookers, as does every shore throughout the world, drawing the eyes and mesmerizing the mind of curious man and boy since sea and land were made.
With all its bustle and activity, the Quay side would not be hard to find. The boys would stand, roundeyed in amazement, silent in wonder. Ships unloading, ships arriving, from what far country? Sailmakers' lofts to peep into; rope walks to see and wonder at. Strange cargoes coming ashore before their very eyes rum and sugar and cotton, wine and tallow and timber; and the many queer names that came with them: Trinidad and the Barbadoes, Bordeaux and Oporto, Riga and Danzig.
The crossing was both wild and wet, and the soaking he got on the exposed journey over the sands, left him with what was probably a pulmonary condition which claimed him six years later, at the age of 42. He died, leaving his wife Phoebe with nine of a family, the two girls, late arrivals, being less than I and 4 years old, re spectively.
Exploring their new town must have given great delight to the Storey lads. They lived in Damside Street, not far from the Quay, that great expanse of excitement. The industrial revolution was going full blast, but its dark, satanic mills had not seized hold of the Lakeland countryside, and few of the large clan of Storeys had succumbed to its allure. Those belching cotton mills, blackening the towns and holding their people in thrall, could not operate without a plentiful supply of human fodder, a fact that proved the salvation of rural England and its populace.
Lancaster at this time, like other towns of the northwest, had its share of cotton mills in which men, women and children slaved for more than twelve hours a day, six days a week. From all accounts however, the town escaped the gloom and dirt of the urban areas of the Midlands. After all, it was a small town, standing alone amidst fields and hills with the clean seaway of the River Lune to carry off some of the grime of industry, and to bring in with the tide a tang of fresh salt air.
The town it covered only 1,200 acres and had a population of under 12,0001 was a busy port early in the century, and ships were built, and continued to be built, within the borough walls for many years. Seaborne trade, by 1835, was languishing as Liverpool grabbed its chance to cater for larger ships requiring deeper water. But the Quay still held a fascination for onlookers, as does every shore throughout the world, drawing the eyes and mesmerizing the mind of curious man and boy since sea and land were made.
With all its bustle and activity, the Quay side would not be hard to find. The boys would stand, roundeyed in amazement, silent in wonder. Ships unloading, ships arriving, from what far country? Sailmakers' lofts to peep into; rope walks to see and wonder at. Strange cargoes coming ashore before their very eyes rum and sugar and cotton, wine and tallow and timber; and the many queer names that came with them: Trinidad and the Barbadoes, Bordeaux and Oporto, Riga and Danzig.
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