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The crisp air of a May morning in 1917 carried the echoing clang of shipyard work as Barrow-in-Furness, then part of Lancashire, awaited a momentous occasion. King George V and Queen Mary were arriving on a visit – not a leisurely one, but a wartime endeavour to bolster the spirits of those toiling tirelessly at

Standing at the bar in The Duke of Edinburgh Hotel, I couldn’t help but imagine the conversations that echoed through these halls over a century ago. Back in 1871, when this grand building was first constructed, Barrow-in-Furness was a hive of maritime activity. The town boasted the largest steelworks in the world and was a

In the roaring year of 1870, Barrow-in-Furness was booming. The clang of hammers on steel echoed across the bustling docks, and the air, thick with coal smoke and the cries of gulls, vibrated with the energy of a town on the rise. Fuelled by the mighty docks and hungry shipyards, the town craved a reliable

Fairfield Lane, Barrow-in-Furness, 27th October 1915 #BarrowHero #VC #WW1 NeverForget A crisp autumn air hangs over Fairfield Lane, the smell of coal smoke mingling with the sweet scent of fallen leaves. Barrow-in-Furness is abuzz with excitement today! Cheers erupt from the throngs of people lining the street, their faces beaming with pride. We gather here

Cumbria in the mid-1700s wasn’t exactly crawling with fancy art studios. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, and the sounds of sheep bleating on the distant fells carried on the wind. But for young George Romney, Romney Cottage (back then known as the slightly less glamorous “High Cocken”) became

Imagine a time, the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when Barrow-in-Furness wasn’t just a town, it was a living, breathing postcard! The air, thick with the scent of coal smoke and sea salt, vibrated with the rhythmic clang of hammers from the shipyards. Gulls screeched overhead, their cries mingling with the shouts of workers

The Low Road in Barrow-in-Furness wasn’t always just a flat stretch of asphalt, grey and unremarkable under the often-leaden sky. In its prime, it was a proud railway bridge, a towering iron giant striding across the landscape, carrying the lifeblood of industry with a rhythmic clang and clatter of wheels on tracks. The air would