Asquith Bottom Mill: A Sowerby Bridge Survivor

The former Asquith Bottom Mill in Sowerby Bridge stands as a powerful testament to the region's industrial past, a hulking monument of brick and stone that has adapted to the changing times. These images, taken in April 2017, capture the mill complex in its current state as a mixed-use industrial estate, a fascinating blend of old and new.

A Legacy of Industry

Asquith Bottom Mill has a rich history, serving various purposes over the years, from a carpet mill to a wire and woollen mill. It was originally built by the Edlestons family, a name that many locals will recall with fondness. For those who grew up in the area during the 1980s, the sight of a vibrant red neon sign bearing the Edlestons name across the roof is a cherished memory, a beacon of a bygone era that has sadly since been removed. The mill's closure in the late 1980s and early 1990s marked the end of a significant chapter for the area.

The photographs from 2017 reveal the sheer scale and character of the mill. The wide-angle shot shows the full facade of the main building, its rows of large, multi-paned windows a classic feature of mill architecture. The lower buildings in the foreground, with cars parked alongside, indicate the complex's modern function, a bustling hub for various businesses.

A Walk Through Time

Walking through the mill complex is like stepping into a living museum. One of the images captures a narrow ginnel or alleyway that runs between two buildings, with an overhead passageway connecting them. This architectural feature, common in industrial complexes of this size, speaks to a time when goods and people needed to move efficiently between different parts of the mill.

The details are what truly tell the story. A photograph of the building's exterior, shot at an upward angle, highlights the patina of age on the stone and the faded, closed-off windows, some of which still have their original frames. Another striking image, a black and white shot with a splash of red, focuses on a set of external stairs. These "red stairs," a pop of colour against the otherwise monochrome backdrop of the brickwork, lead up the side of one of the buildings, a dramatic and eye-catching feature that evokes a sense of both the mill's grand past and its slow, inevitable decline.

Asquith Bottom Mill, much like the surrounding landscape of Sowerby Bridge, is a symbol of resilience. It is a place that has not been forgotten but has been given a new purpose, a place where the echoes of industrial looms and the footsteps of mill workers still linger, even as new businesses thrive within its walls. These photographs serve as a poignant reminder of its past and a celebration of its enduring legacy.

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A vibrant memory from the mill's past stands in stark contrast to its present-day industrial hustle. Where the cars now sit parked in front of the mill, there once was a lush bowling green, a green oasis across the River Ryburn. The most striking change, however, was the mill's rooftop. For years, the building was crowned with a brilliant red neon sign that proudly displayed the W.M. Edlestons name—a familiar, glowing landmark that lit up the Sowerby Bridge skyline.

Once, goods and materials were hoisted to and from these doorways, but now, a lone hoist support juts out from the old brickwork, a silent reminder of the mill’s industrious past.

This picture was taken from the Norland hillside towards the back of the building. I don't imagine other than for safety checks that fire escape has been used in many years.

 

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Copley: A Walk Along the River Calder

A stroll along the River Calder at Copley offers a fascinating glimpse into a landscape in transition. These images, captured in March 2015, show a stretch of the river that has undergone significant change. The area, once dominated by industrial and natural spaces, has since been redeveloped with new housing and industrial units, connected by a new bridge and roads.

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Echoes of the Past

The riverbanks at Copley once bustled with activity. The Sterne Mills, a site with a history of milling dating back to the 18th century, stood on the north bank. By the turn of the millennium, the site was unoccupied, but its legacy remains. The weir that once powered the mill and a nearby sluice gate are still visible, a quiet tribute to the area's industrial past.

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A Changing Landscape

The river crossing at Copley has also evolved over time. What was once a simple fording point was later a wooden bridge, then a single-track concrete structure from 1914, before being replaced by the current, modern bridge. This evolution mirrors the larger changes in the area, where new developments now sit alongside historic remnants. This blend of old and new makes the Copley Valley a unique place to explore.

The pictures below were taken on the 8th March 2015 with a Polaroid is2132 camera, clicking on any of them should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

The former sluice gate is all that remains of the mills that once occupied the site.

The weir and modern bridge crossing, the 1914 bridge abutment can just be seen before the metal banking, behind the watermarked col.

The river passing Copley Village, the stone wall to the pictures left is all the remains of Edward Akroyd's Copley Mill which was demolished in 1974, the site is now covered by housing.

This picture was taken from the side of Copley Playing fields looking towards the bridge and wier.

Taken from the south bank, this path used to pass Sowerby Bridge Sewage Works, the site is now occupied by industrial units. I was told once that the river used to be navigable past this point until the canal came and weirs were built to power the mills.

The river again pictured here to the west of Sterne Mills Bridge, the north bank pictured across the river is now covered by housing on what was once considered a flood plain. Just about visible through the trees is the Halifax Bank's Copley Data Centre, opened in the mid 1980's the centre is earmarked for complete closure in 2025.

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A Tower of Passion: The Story Behind the Lumbutts Mill Water Tower Artwork

 Every piece of art tells a story, and this one is no different. My artwork of the Lumbutts Mill Water Tower is not just a depiction of a building; it's a conversation with history, a tribute to the passionate struggles that once defined this landscape.

The vibrant sunset colour scheme wasn't chosen at random. It's a deliberate artistic choice, a nod to the area's powerful and often turbulent past. The bold oranges and fiery reds are a direct reference to the 1838 Mankinholes Riots. The passion and fury of those events—fuelled by social and economic hardship—are symbolized in the intense, glowing light that seems to emanate from the tower itself. It's meant to evoke a feeling of simmering unrest and raw emotion.

The piece is a bridge between then and now. The Lumbutts Mill Water Tower, a sturdy structure that has witnessed decades of change, now stands as a quiet monument. By bathing it in the colours of a tumultuous sunset, the artwork gives the impression of a passion that still lingers in the air, a reminder that the history of this place is carved not just in stone, but in the spirit of the people who lived and fought here.

This isn't just a picture of a tower; it’s a representation of a moment in time, a feeling, and a history that deserves to be remembered. It’s a visual reminder that even the most stoic structures can hold within them the echo of human passion.

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Timeless Beauty: The Watermill at Ixworth

There's a certain magic to an old watermill. It speaks of a time when life moved at a different pace, powered by the gentle, tireless flow of a river. The watermill at Ixworth, Suffolk, is one such place, a beautifully preserved piece of history that seems to exist outside of time.

This image, with its painterly, almost impressionistic quality, captures the mill's rustic charm. The weathered timber siding and the solid stone foundation tell a story of centuries of hard work and quiet endurance. You can almost hear the rhythmic groan of the mill wheel and the rush of water as it turns. The soft, muted colors and the textured feel of the photograph give it the quality of an old painting, as if it were a scene plucked from a history book and brought to life.

Surrounded by lush green foliage and golden grasses, the mill blends seamlessly into the Suffolk countryside. The small bridge leading to the main building invites you to cross, to step into a world of simple, rural life. It's a reminder of a time before modern machinery, when communities relied on the power of nature to grind their grain and sustain their lives.

This image is a tranquil escape, a moment of peace and reflection. It reminds us of the importance of preserving these historical treasures, not just as buildings but as living testaments to our past.

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Echoes of Industry and Rebellion: A Walk Through Lumbutts

 Nestled in the rolling hills southeast of Todmorden, West Yorkshire, lies the small community of Lumbutts. On a crisp December day in 2016, captured through the lens of a Nikon D3300, I explored this fascinating area, where the tranquillity of nature intertwines with a rich and sometimes tumultuous industrial past.

Lumbutts might seem unassuming at first glance, but it holds a significant place in the history of cotton spinning and even social unrest. The heart of this community once revolved around a bustling mill, initially a corn mill, that was transformed in the early 19th century by brothers Samuel and Robert Shaw, alongside their partners Abraham Crossley and Thomas Hughes, into a cotton spinning powerhouse.

The most striking remnant of this industrial era is the magnificent Lumbutts Mill Water Tower, a Grade II listed structure that proudly stands against the sky, still bearing the marks of its operational days with its weathered stone and moss-kissed walls. This tower was a marvel of its time, designed to harness the power of water to drive the mill's machinery. It originally housed two waterwheels, with a third eventually added, creating an impressive 50 horsepower from a remarkable 90-foot fall of water.

The lifeblood of this power came from four crucial dams: Mill Dam, Lee Dam, Heeley Dam, and the highest of them all, Gaddings Dam, perched 365 meters above sea level on the moor above Lumbutts. As I wandered, I came across the tranquil waters of Lee Dam and Heeley Dam, their surfaces reflecting the bare winter trees, offering a glimpse into the vital role they played in the mill's operation. The landscape around Lee Dam, with Jeremy Hill rising in the background, paints a picture of the natural beauty that coexisted with the industrial might.

But Lumbutts is not just a tale of industry; it also carries the scars of social rebellion. In 1838, this seemingly peaceful community became the stage for the Mankinholes riots. The catalyst was the implementation of the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, which led to a local board of guardians demanding £50 from the townsfolk – a demand that was met with steadfast refusal. On November 14th, 16th, and 21st of that year, riots erupted, culminating in the deployment of Dragoon Soldiers from Manchester on November 24th to arrest the men from Lumbutts Mill who had participated. It's a sobering reminder of the struggles faced by ordinary people in times of great social change.

The mill continued to be a source of employment for the community until 1926, when its final 62 employees were either transferred or retired, and Lumbutts Mill ceased operations. The mill itself was subsequently demolished, leaving only the stoic water tower as a sentinel of its past. Today, the site where the mill once stood is an activity centre, a testament to the area's ongoing evolution.

Walking through the wooded pathways at Lumbutts, the air was crisp, and the silence was only broken by the rustle of leaves underfoot. Even a slightly rickety bridge crossing a small stream added to the sense of discovery, leading one deeper into the quietude of the landscape. And from Mill Dam, the iconic Stoodley Pike stood proudly on the distant hilltop, a landmark visible for miles around, overseeing the valleys and communities below.

My visit to Lumbutts was a journey through time, revealing layers of history etched into the landscape. From the innovative spirit of early industrialization to the resilience of a community facing hardship, Lumbutts offers a captivating glimpse into the rich tapestry of West Yorkshire's heritage. It's a place where you can almost hear the echoes of the past, whispering tales of industry, rebellion, and the enduring beauty of the Pennine landscape.

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Heeley Dam

Lee Dam

The Grade II Listed water tower built to house the waterwheels that
powered the mill. The chimney features a spiral staircase inside. Listed status
was granted on the 22 February 1984.

This bridge crossed one of the water inlets in to the dams,
I can't remember which dame it was .

Mill Dam and in the distance Stoodley Pike and Monument, The 
monument was built in 1856 to commemorate the end
of the Crimean War.

Jeremy Hill and Lee Dam.

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Unveiling the Secrets of the Hollins Tunnel and Wier: A Glimpse into Sowerby Bridge's Industrial Past

Recently, I ventured out with my camera to capture a couple of short film clips showcasing a fascinating corner of Sowerby Bridge: the weir and the enigmatic Hollins Tunnel. These aren't just any local landmarks; they're tangible links to our industrial heritage, whispering tales of a time when waterways were the lifeblood of commerce. You can now find these glimpses of history on my YouTube channel 

One of the stars of these clips is Hollins Tunnel, or Hollins Mill Tunnel as it's also known. More than just a passage beneath Hollins Mill Lane, this canal tunnel stands as a testament to the ambitious engineering feats of over two centuries ago. Imagine this: back in 1804, this very tunnel played a crucial role in the opening of a vital artery – a canal connecting the bustling Calder & Hebble Navigation right here in Sowerby Bridge with the distant Bridgewater Canal in Manchester. It's a connection that fuelled trade and transformed the landscape.

What strikes me most about Hollins Tunnel is its sheer scale. Stretching out as the longest canal tunnel in Yorkshire, it possesses a certain imposing presence, especially when you step into its cool, damp interior. There's a palpable sense of history within those stone walls, a feeling of countless boats having passed through its darkness, laden with goods and the aspirations of a bygone era.

My filming on the 6th of December 2018 aimed to capture this duality. At either end of the tunnel, you can witness the contrast between the daylight and the encroaching shadows. But it's inside the tunnel where the atmosphere truly shifts. The air grows still and carries a damp chill, the only sounds perhaps the echoing drip of water or the rustle of unseen life. It can feel quite an intimidating place in the dark, a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of the past.

These short clips are more than just visual snapshots; they're an invitation to connect with a piece of Sowerby Bridge's identity. They offer a moment to consider the ingenuity and sheer hard work that went into creating these waterways and the tunnels that facilitated their reach. I hope you'll take a few moments to watch them and perhaps gain a new appreciation for the enduring legacy of Hollins.

Hollins Mill Weir.

Cruising along the tranquil Calder and Hebble Navigation near Sowerby Bridge, a subtle yet persistent murmur often drifts through the still air within the canal tunnel. It's the voice of Hollins Mill Weir, a historic structure lying just beyond the darkness, so close you can almost feel its spray, yet often remaining just out of sight.

For generations, this now-partially submerged cascade wasn't just a sound; it was the lifeblood of the bustling mills that once defined this stretch of the Calder Valley. These mills, now consigned to the annals of history and the leveled earth, hummed with the energy harnessed by the very water that now tumbles over the weir. Imagine the rhythmic thrum of machinery, powered by the relentless force of the river – a stark contrast to the peaceful quietude that envelops the canal today. The weir, in its current silent vigil, stands as a poignant monument to that industrious past, a stone sentinel whispering tales of a vibrant era.

However, the weir's story isn't just one of bygone industry. It's also a testament to the raw power of nature and the resilience of the landscape. The devastating Boxing Day floods of 2015 ripped through the Calder Valley with terrifying force, and Hollins Mill Weir was not spared. A significant section of its structure succumbed to the deluge, a stark reminder of the day the river turned from a source of power to an agent of destruction. While the visual evidence of this damage might be elusive in a fleeting glimpse from the canal, the absence is a palpable part of the weir's current narrative.

On a crisp December 6th, the water flowed over the remaining stones, perhaps carrying echoes of both its industrious past and its more recent battering. To listen to the weir's constant rush is to connect with layers of history – the ingenuity of those who harnessed its power, the destructive force of the floods, and the quiet perseverance of a landmark that continues to shape the soundscape of this waterway. It's a reminder that even in apparent stillness, the past continues to resonate.

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Echoes of Industry: Rust, Cobbles, and the Mystery of Siddal's Brickworks

April 2017. A crisp spring day, and I found myself perched above the village of Siddal, near Halifax, West Yorkshire, exploring the remnants of what I was told was Savile's Brickworks. The place had a haunting beauty, a silent testament to industrial might and the passage of time.

Armed with my trusty Nikon D3300 SLR, I captured the stark, weathered beauty of the brickworks. The textures were incredible – the rough, aged brick, the rusted metal, the tenacious weeds pushing through cracks in the concrete. Each shot seemed to tell a story, whispering of the workers who once toiled there, the roar of machinery, and the fiery kilns that once dominated the landscape.

But there was a mystery to the place. Was it truly abandoned? I'd heard conflicting stories. Some said a recycling centre operated there, breathing new life into the old site. Others insisted it was completely deserted, a ghost of its former self. As an HGV driver myself, I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of navigating a 44-ton lorry up (or down!) the steep, cobbled slope leading to the yard. That alone seemed a daunting task, regardless of whether the place was active or not.

The photos, taken on April 9th, 2017, reveal a landscape of industrial decay, yet there's a strange allure to it. The sheer scale of the site, the echoes of its past, and the uncertainty of its present all contributed to a captivating experience. If you're interested in grabbing a print of these photos, clicking on any of the images will take you to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

There's something deeply fascinating about industrial ruins. They offer a tangible connection to the past, a glimpse into the lives and work of those who came before us. Savile's Brickworks, with its mix of decay and resilience, is a perfect example.

Whether it's a bustling recycling centre or a silent monument, the site continues to hold a certain magic. The cobbles, the bricks, the rust – they all whisper tales of a bygone era, leaving us to wonder about the stories they could tell.

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Canal Wharf Saw Mills: A Story of Industry, Fire, and Redevelopment

Canal Wharf Saw Mills, built in 1851, occupied a prominent location in Hebden Royd, West Yorkshire, nestled between Mytholmroyd and Hebden Bridge. Its position alongside the A646 Burnley Road, the Rochdale Canal, and the River Calder proved both advantageous and detrimental. While the waterways facilitated transportation during its industrial heyday, they also subjected the mill to repeated flooding, ultimately contributing to its decline.

Originally a working sawmill, the site later became home to the renowned Walkley Clogs. Tragedy struck in 1990 when an arson attack caused significant fire damage. The mill was subsequently refurbished and transformed into a popular tourist attraction, featuring a clog-making visitor center and various craft shops. However, the influx of visitors created traffic congestion, and despite several attempts, planning applications for necessary road improvements were repeatedly rejected. This ultimately led to the closure of the tourist attraction in the late 1990s.

The mill then sat vacant, a target for various redevelopment proposals, primarily for apartments. Each application, however, was denied due to concerns about flooding, access, and inadequate parking. The final blow came in 2019 when another devastating fire ravaged the already dilapidated structure, leading to its demolition shortly thereafter.

For nearly two years, the cleared site remained empty. Recently, however, planning permission has been granted for the construction of residential housing, marking a new chapter in the history of this once-bustling industrial location.

These photographs, captured on November 24, 2013, with a Samsung Galaxy Tablet, document the mill in its abandoned state before the final fire and demolition. Clicking any image should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

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 The following 3 pictures belong to a friend of mine who viewed the mill in 2015/16.

Asquith Bottom Mill, Sowerby Bridge November 2013

The sprawling Asquith Bottom Mill, a vibrant mixed-use industrial estate in Sowerby Bridge, West Yorkshire, has a rich and varied past woven into its very fabric. Built around the bones of a former industrial giant, the complex has housed everything from carpet manufacturing to wire drawing and woollen production, depending on which era you're talking about. Originally established by William Edleston, the mill held a prominent place in the town's landscape. I can still vividly recall the striking red neon Edleston sign emblazoned across the roof in the 1980s – a nostalgic beacon that, sadly, is no more. The mill's hum fell silent sometime in the late 80s or early 90s, marking the end of an era for this local landmark

 

The pictures below were taken in November 2013 using a Samsung Galaxy Tablet. Clicking any image should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

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