Bigger isn't always necessarily better, but this rule doesn't apply at Sheffield Industrial Museums Trust where the most impressive items in the collection are the largest.
The huge Bessemer Converter dominates the entrance to the museum. Its homely sounding name belies the girth and grandeur of the object. And, like the rest of the collection, it is integral to the story of industry in the city.
The Sheffield Industrial Museums Trust's main site is Kelham Island, an area that is at the heart of the story of industrialisation. The island was created by the diversion of the River Don to form a millstream (known locally as a goit). The stream initially powered a corn mill, but in 1674 a second wheel was established to drive a grinding mill for the town's armourer Kelham Homer, which is where the island gets its name.
The museum has been transformed in the 12 years since it became a trust in 1994. Back then it was suffering from declining visitor figures, and was about to be mothballed by the city council, when the idea of a charitable trust was formed. Since then it has successfully put together a patchwork of funding from the Heritage Lottery fund, Yorkshire Forward, the Esmée Fairbairn Foundation and others to develop the site.
The trust's plan puts emphasis on audiences and the collection, which shows in the new visitor facilities, interpretation, collections management and storage spaces that have been developed. And the attention to the collection shows.
The Bessemer Converter, which was invented in the 1860s, was the first machine that enabled the bulk production of steel. It could produce seven tonnes in half an hour - perfect for the production of railway lines and girders for the industrial revolution.
The converter towers above visitors, who can walk under the bulbous spacecraft-like structure. The supporting girders on either side create the strange impression that it could up-sticks and lumber off to a new location at any time.
But the best of the biggies is the River Don Engine. This was the key founding piece of the collection when the engine was rescued from destruction in the 1970s. The sheer scale of the object, which is in a gallery of its own, is enough to make visitors pause. And if you're lucky enough to be around to see it in action (normally twice a day), it is a showstopper.
The room is warm, and as the temperature rises the engine hums, chugs and squeaks into action. I have never fully understood the attraction of bits of big kit and why boys (mainly) can get so excited about steam engines, but being in the same room as this beast, I think I get it now.
The sheer size and noisiness of the River Don Engine, which was built in 1905 to roll amour plate, is awesome. The walloping piston arms slamming back and forth send vibrations flooding through the space. The clanking din is enough to make a group of visiting schoolchildren collectively leap backwards in awe.
Of course, not all of Sheffield's industrial production has been on this scale and Kelham Island's collection also covers the Little Mesters.
These were the hundreds of self-employed craftspeople who carried out parts of the metalworking process - grinding, finishing - or made specialised products in small rented workshops. They flourished in the 19th century and operated alongside the master manufacturers.
A few of these type of craftspeople were still around in the 1960s, including Tom Parkin, whose workshop has been recreated at the museum using his original machinery. This story is carried on in the re-creation of the Little Mesters street where contemporary craftspeople ply their trade in front of visitors, giving a sense of local skill that has survived against the odds. Unfortunately, they are a dying breed and now only one works part-time at the museum, hand-making specialist surgical instruments.
This highlights the dilemma for industrial museums, especially where the industry has died out or old methods have been replaced by less labour-intensive modern technology. Kelham cannot continue to collect big pieces of machinery - it has neither the space nor the budget to do so. So it is turning to the urban environment that first shaped the local industrial scene.
The area around the museum is undergoing a transformation from mainly derelict industrial space to loft-style urban living. Whatever you may think of this change, for the museum it means it will have passing trade to entice visitors in (a riverside walk and connecting Brooklyn-style bridge are planned). It would be nice to think that students, young urbanites and others will become a new generation seduced by the wheels of industry.
The huge Bessemer Converter dominates the entrance to the museum. Its homely sounding name belies the girth and grandeur of the object. And, like the rest of the collection, it is integral to the story of industry in the city.
The Sheffield Industrial Museums Trust's main site is Kelham Island, an area that is at the heart of the story of industrialisation. The island was created by the diversion of the River Don to form a millstream (known locally as a goit). The stream initially powered a corn mill, but in 1674 a second wheel was established to drive a grinding mill for the town's armourer Kelham Homer, which is where the island gets its name.
The museum has been transformed in the 12 years since it became a trust in 1994. Back then it was suffering from declining visitor figures, and was about to be mothballed by the city council, when the idea of a charitable trust was formed. Since then it has successfully put together a patchwork of funding from the Heritage Lottery fund, Yorkshire Forward, the Esmée Fairbairn Foundation and others to develop the site.
The trust's plan puts emphasis on audiences and the collection, which shows in the new visitor facilities, interpretation, collections management and storage spaces that have been developed. And the attention to the collection shows.
The Bessemer Converter, which was invented in the 1860s, was the first machine that enabled the bulk production of steel. It could produce seven tonnes in half an hour - perfect for the production of railway lines and girders for the industrial revolution.
The converter towers above visitors, who can walk under the bulbous spacecraft-like structure. The supporting girders on either side create the strange impression that it could up-sticks and lumber off to a new location at any time.
But the best of the biggies is the River Don Engine. This was the key founding piece of the collection when the engine was rescued from destruction in the 1970s. The sheer scale of the object, which is in a gallery of its own, is enough to make visitors pause. And if you're lucky enough to be around to see it in action (normally twice a day), it is a showstopper.
The room is warm, and as the temperature rises the engine hums, chugs and squeaks into action. I have never fully understood the attraction of bits of big kit and why boys (mainly) can get so excited about steam engines, but being in the same room as this beast, I think I get it now.
The sheer size and noisiness of the River Don Engine, which was built in 1905 to roll amour plate, is awesome. The walloping piston arms slamming back and forth send vibrations flooding through the space. The clanking din is enough to make a group of visiting schoolchildren collectively leap backwards in awe.
Of course, not all of Sheffield's industrial production has been on this scale and Kelham Island's collection also covers the Little Mesters.
These were the hundreds of self-employed craftspeople who carried out parts of the metalworking process - grinding, finishing - or made specialised products in small rented workshops. They flourished in the 19th century and operated alongside the master manufacturers.
A few of these type of craftspeople were still around in the 1960s, including Tom Parkin, whose workshop has been recreated at the museum using his original machinery. This story is carried on in the re-creation of the Little Mesters street where contemporary craftspeople ply their trade in front of visitors, giving a sense of local skill that has survived against the odds. Unfortunately, they are a dying breed and now only one works part-time at the museum, hand-making specialist surgical instruments.
This highlights the dilemma for industrial museums, especially where the industry has died out or old methods have been replaced by less labour-intensive modern technology. Kelham cannot continue to collect big pieces of machinery - it has neither the space nor the budget to do so. So it is turning to the urban environment that first shaped the local industrial scene.
The area around the museum is undergoing a transformation from mainly derelict industrial space to loft-style urban living. Whatever you may think of this change, for the museum it means it will have passing trade to entice visitors in (a riverside walk and connecting Brooklyn-style bridge are planned). It would be nice to think that students, young urbanites and others will become a new generation seduced by the wheels of industry.
