It wasn't my first visit to Sheffield. I even worked there, part-time, for a few months back at the beginning of the 1990s. But it's not a place I know well, so of course I got lost and had to ask for directions numerous times. Few people in the city centre seemed to know where Kelham Island is, which is a shame as the museum is fine and informative. It also has an excellent pub next door.
I'm not an expert on technology or industrial history. My first impression, on faced with a static steam engine or a complex piece of equipment, is very often an unspoken "Wow! That's beautiful." And I have to admit that in some cases the rust adds to the beauty I see. But there's more to it than that.
I admire the intelligence, the intricacy and the high level of skill shown both by the inventor and all the people who used this equipment. My parents and many of their ancestors worked with their hands and brains, making things and maintaining them. My dad worked in Sheffield for a few months after the Second World War. I'm not sure what he did there but my son thinks it may have been something to do with building or maintaining trams.
So I looked with admiration at the jobs people had done, back when England was a place where things were made. A lot of the machinery on display was connected with steel, from tool-making to the powerful River Don steam engine. But there were also examples of trades I'd never considered, such as snuff-grinding or operating a device to flatten Ordnance Survey maps. Snuff was ground in Sheffield but the flattening machine, made in Sheffield, was used in the Tower of London.
Looking at the machinery makes me want to know more about the people who worked machinery. While Victorian ladies were expected to stay at home, working-class Victorian women expected to work for a living. The memories recorded in the gallery suggested that they had been a lively lot with strong trades unions defending their rights and interests. There were anecdotes about the women dancing between the machines when production was paused as well as stories of their fight for equal pay for equal work.
I didn't really learn about my family's past, and nor did I expect to. Working-class lives were hugely varied and all a visit to a museum provides is glimpses. But they are glimpses to treasure.
So, on my 60th birthday, equipped with my brand-new Old Lady's railcard, I travelled to Sheffield and looked back on an industrial past. I also drank real ale and, later, some rather fine whisky. And that was a very happy birthday.
I like being 60.
