As word spread to me of a city held high from the fruit of its industry. I found myself finally there, left searching and pondering as to what remained of the foundation which enabled its growth, wealth and worldly renowned. The stories of city dwellers who sought out their own enterprise, through the use of their hands, crafting, forging, producing what became the foundation for the city we see today. Their efforts a pedestal for the industrious growth thereafter. Wandering through the city and along its very heart. Where once there were vessels in a state of constant birth. Now only solemn, forgotten bodies of water are seen, where this once fluorescing industry existed. There are still visible, even celebrated ‘monuments’ of this once prevalent production city. However, they are merely hollow mysteries, with the real mystery being the very people who crafted the growth of the city.

Who were they? Now they are only understood through what remains or is told. These visible, now sentimental, physical objects, which to those founders of industrial growth were mere tools, not monuments. I observe these physical reminders of their creations, wondering more of their perspective.

What was this city to them? For at that time at its pinnacle, the city itself was the catalyst for invention and manufacturing. My journeys each day seeing the steam from distillery stacks, attempting to hearken back to a long seemingly forgotten time. The senses we have so fickle and fragile, faint aromas of hops, enough to turn my nose. Yet for the city’s industrial dwellers, hardened through graft and need.

What would they think of the city which followed them? Would they feel forgotten or honoured by the few ‘monuments’ which remain? Reminding us of a time which for this city was its very making. They were and still are the creators of the foundations which enabled this city to be held historically in such high regard and seen as equal to any other.