As time goes by and memories fade, there is a tendency to romanticise life in the mills of West Yorkshire (and I'm probably as guilty as the next old fool when it comes to this). When they were turning out cloth - or yarn or carpets - by the mile and black smoke was belching from their chimneys, they were dirty, noisy and dangerous places. I worked in this mill back in the 60s for what, I'm glad to say, was a very short period of time.
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