Fire was always a hazard, sometimes killing hundreds of workers. Since a single spark could turn the fiber-filled air of a textiles mill into a bomb, open flames were limited. The buildings were bitterly cold in winter and oppressively hot in summer.
The Chicken Farmer knows about funky and making do out in the hollows just beyond places like yrUBbury. There’s nothing ostentatious in this landscape, town or country. The Farmer might even work regular shifts in one of the factories simply to make ends meet. After all, chickens can’t do it all alone.
As for Bill, both he and the Chicken Farmer are about finding love and loving, when it’s right.
The air in the textiles mills was filled with floating fibers. Cotton lung disease took its toll. The hours were long, tedious, and often hazardous. In itself, that created job openings for wave after wave of immigrants.