The neighbourhood of Iļģuciems on the west bank of the Daugava River in Riga was an important industrial centre as the 20th century got underway. Thousands of peasants picked up their lives on the farm and headed into the city to find jobs, wealth and a new modern way of life. This was certainly the case for both the Zekants family and the Rozentals/Rozenvalds family of my story. By 1904, both Kristaps Rozenvalds and his sister, Lavize had made the transition from field to factory.
By the late 19th century, the serene farmlands of the local manor had been replaced with a skyline of smokestacks and towering factory buildings. As the 20th century began, the pace of development kept increasing. Paper mills, wool factories, dying and weaving companies, breweries and glassworks were just some of the many industries taking advantage of proximity to the river and open space to build large factory complexes, as well as new buildings to house the workers who were pouring in.
One of these factories was the huge “Tekstil” factory on Baltā Street. This was once the biggest textile factory in Riga and employed almost a thousand workers, most likely including members of Kristaps’s family. We know his daughters all were trained in the textile industry and it is possible Kristaps or his wife also worked there. The “Tekstil” factory, several of whose old brick buildings still stand today, was only a few blocks from the Rozenvalds household at 1 Grodnas Street. Just across the narrow street from the factory, at 1 Nordeķu Street, was a pub run by Andrejs Zekants and his wife Lizette. Many of the pub’s customers must have been tired and thirsty factory workers coming and going from shift work. I imagine this is how the Zekants family and the Rozenvalds family originally began their lifelong connection.
Life here at the turn of the 20th century was full of opportunity and potential wealth, but there was also a darker side. The streets were dirty, the air dark and smokey, the competition for work and housing was fierce and there was desperation around every corner. There could be something to gain for all of these people from the countryside, but there was also a price to pay. Feelings of dislocation, fear and emptiness were felt by many. This can be perfectly illustrated by the sad story of Andrejs Zekants and his pub. Andrejs had found much success in this neighbourhood. He had become a businessman, was respected in his community and his path to the future seemed bright and clear. On a cold winter’s night in 1912, a known drunk came in demanding free beer. This man was a typical factory worker from the countryside and was a known character in the area. Andrejs refused him. The altercation spilled out into the street where the man pulled out a small shot gun and shot Andrejs in the stomach. Andrejs’s wife Lizette came running out and was also shot. Although Lizette survived, Andrejs died that night – leaving behind a 5-year-old daughter and many broken dreams. This sad story illustrates the highs and lows of the new urban life found in Iļģuciems.
Iļģuciems continued to grow and prosper until the outbreak of WWI. By the middle of 1915, the Riga government was ordering the complete evacuation of the Riga industrial machine. This meant machinery, goods, buildings, transportation and even workers. This was all to be moved to inner Russia to ensure it did not end up in the hands of the German enemy. Kristaps’s daughter, Olga, most likely evacuated at this time too. Maybe she accompanied the textile factory to Moscow or St. Peterburg.
By the middle of 1917, almost everyone had abandoned the west bank of the Daugava River, including Iļģuciems, as German troops had advanced to Riga’s doorstep. Kristaps and his family had moved to the other side of the river for safety like all the others. It would take years for Iļģuciems to find its place again. Today many of the old wooden buildings have been demolished to be replaced by Soviet-era housing blocks and modern industry. But some small pockets of narrow quaint little streets lined with traditional wooden houses still exist.
This fascinating part of Riga served as a gateway from the rural life of the past to the modern urban landscape of the future. Our family, and I am sure many others, wouldn’t be here today without the decision of their ancestors to walk through that gate.