Bellows, hammers, barking dogs, and sweet yeast fog were best kept behind the frontage, where heat and smell could dissipate and water be drawn from wells without blocking shop doors. Backland positioning let masters work efficiently while keeping reputations intact, especially when hazardous sparks or boiling vats complicated everyday street life.
Market towns pulsed on delivery rhythms that did not stop at dusk. Horses, carriers, and itinerant sellers relied on rear stables, coach houses, and side gates to load quietly at first light. These logistics yards stitched regional exchange into local livelihoods, turning hidden spaces into engines of early-morning trade and shared prosperity.
Because risks gathered off-street, bylaws evolved to police hearths, dung, tallow, and smoke in yards rather than at shopfronts. Inspectors paced alleys, counting tubs and chimneys. Regulations, though sometimes resented, protected both customers and workers, reinforcing the spatial compromise that allowed lively commerce to coexist with messy, productive, necessary urban craft.
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