Knitting an Industrial Heritage

This afternoon I visited the Framework Knitters Museum in Wigston, a few miles south of Leicester. This collection of beautifully cared for buildings houses a remarkable assemblage of 19^th and 20^th century English working class domestic interiors and an astonishing collection of frame knitting machines in their original settings. More remarkable is the fact that the temptation to over-restore has been resisted and in parts gives a real sense of what this industry (which was widespread in the East Midlands of England in the 18^th and 19^th centuries) was like in its final years. The reality of the working conditions was forcibly brought to life by one of the volunteers of many years standing who demonstrated some of the machines in action. The noise was astounding, even from a single hand powered machine and one could only imagine what one of the workshops would have been like with four or five of them operating at full belt in space not much larger than a single garage, and with more machines on the floor upstairs.  This is an example of industry in England before factories became the norm, and it began as so many industries did in a small domestic dwelling (in this case a farmhouse) which was added to both vertically and horizontally to accommodate more workers and their machines while still retaining family accommodation for the owners. Further workshops sprang up to the rear of the now expanded house along with privvy’s, kitchen and chicken sheds. Some time spent inspecting the building both inside and out reveals the phases of expansion and the changes clearly marked in differences of brickwork, rooflines and floor levels. There could not be a better example of the phased expansion of a small industrial building and in this sense it is a challenge to represent it digitally. It is sometimes tempting to give only one view of how a historic building looked during its life but the reality is that buildings like the Wigston Framework Knitter’s museum have had many distinct phases, each inviting questions about their configurations and motivation for their eventual change. Capturing this in digital representation poses real ethical questions. Which specific years to represent and why, how to show the change from one phase to the next and how to explain why some parts of the complex of buildings are there at all. The social fabric of buildings like this is inseparable from the built fabric. Faint graffitio incised upon the red bricks near the door jambs of one workshop are tangible evidence not just of individuals but their religious beliefs and should invite questions about the lives and motivations of those who worked in these buildings as do the many wooden benches and stair treads worn smooth by years of human use. If it is to be successful this is where digital building heritage has to overlap with social history, it is not just about buildings, it is about the people who built them, lived and worked in them. The faint traces of real people still adhere to the fabric of the building and one leaves the museum with a overwhelming sense of having had a tantalizing glimpse of an intimate setting of 18^th and 19^th century working life. One is also left with the lingering desire for a clearer and more comprehensive view this vanished life, while at the same time not detracting from the authenticity and patina accumulated by the buildings and their contents.