The New World of Lonnie Mandigo

Buildings outlast their original purposes, getting repurposed as economics and technology change. The Flax and Malting Mill—the first steel-framed structure ever created—spent ninety years processing flax before becoming a malting facility. The steel frame that prevented flax fires worked just as well for malting grain. Even the rat control evolved: overfed cats failed, so they brought in Jack Russells instead. Industrial infrastructure adapts, transforming while the bones remain.

Victorian industrial society was interconnected in ways more complex than what came before or after. Blists Hill's recreation showed dozens of trades—ceramics, photography, woodworking, pharmacy, banking, more—each depending on several others. The overlapping techniques revealed how metalworking skills applied across different crafts, how similar principles showed up everywhere. Transportation systems connected it all: rail, canals, shipping, horse-drawn carts creating a functioning economy. Not just the big innovations, but all the supporting trades that made the system work.

Stone endures longer than the ambitions that shaped it. Today moved through layers of history—Roman Wroxeter fading into fields, abbeys destroyed during the Dissolution, church headstones from the 1600s. Between them, Cantlop Bridge: the first iron bridge designed for iron's properties rather than mimicking wood. Standing among these remnants makes quests for power seem pointless. Major urban centers vanish completely. Affluence simply disappears. A reminder of impermanence.

The Industrial Revolution created incredible wealth and innovation, but standing in recreated workshops watching demonstrations makes one thing clear: the human cost was factored into the economics from the beginning. Girls as young as six hauling clay from mines, women paid one-third of men's wages tossing twenty-pound lumps into brick forms, nine-year-old boys left behind to light gunpowder fuses in limestone caverns. Losing one miner per week was considered normal. The efficiency came from treating people as expendable components in a larger system. This wasn't considered to be an unfortunate side effect—it was how the system worked.

Both require mastery of fire and materials, but iron is about strength and function while china is about delicacy and beauty. Today moved from Coalbrookdale's Museum of Iron through the first iron bridge to Coalport China Works, where the revelation came. The process of making china—specific materials, precise workmanship, multiple firings—is as complex as any ironworks but aimed at creating something genuinely beautiful. Between these stops, Bedlam Forge: substantial ruins filling a wide spot on a narrow road, evidence of how much industrial activity scattered through this landscape.

Geography shapes commerce in ways that become obvious once you see the terrain. Stourport sits where the Severn stops being navigable to regular boats—a natural transfer point. The Tontine building there funded construction through an unusual lottery: investors bought shares, last survivor takes all. Bridgnorth's upper and lower sections connect via funicular railway, the obvious solution when standing at the cliff between them. Each town engineered its way around geographic constraints, creating the connected market systems along Britain's longest river that made industrialization possible.

Sometimes the best travel days are the ones where nothing much happens. Bank Holiday Monday meant closed shops and crowded attractions, so we stayed around the house—wine in the garden, conversation, letting jet lag work itself out at its own pace. A morning supply run to Tesco, an afternoon walk through Thornbury photographing flowers and berries, getting the cameras adjusted to the light here. The Pale Blue Eye in the evening, intense and gothic, perfect for someone still disoriented from travel. Tomorrow we head north toward Ironbridge and the real work begins. But today was exactly what I needed: the slow start before diving into the main event.

Jet lag has a way of reshaping plans. The Forest of Dean parking situation sent us toward Tintern Abbey instead, where we accidentally stumbled into a group of actors recreating medieval abbey life in period costume among the ancient stones. Sometimes the best discoveries come from failed plans. Emma wasted no time getting me out of the house after my arrival—Sunday roast at a riverside pub, then into the Wye Valley where I dozed through beautiful countryside before walking among ruins that dwarf anything we build today. History turned out to be messier than the simplified versions, and the scale of these medieval operations is something you have to experience in person. Good start.

Travel rarely goes according to plan. Denver's thunderstorms turned a simple connection into an overnight delay, a reroute through San Francisco, and a 2:30 AM wake-up call. But sometimes the complications work out—first class upgrade, excellent lounge time at SFO, and that peculiar satisfaction of watching your miles accumulate on Strava as you hike 2.2 miles through Heathrow's terminals. The journey from Portland to Bristol Parkway took longer than expected, but small victories accumulate: a £15 train upgrade instead of £200, a Diet Coke refund, and Emma waiting at the platform. Finally made it.