3 August 2016 - Burrs Country Park Caravan Club site, Bury, Greater Manchester

Fuelled with local knowledge gleaned from yesterday’s expedition into Manchester, we set off this morning, completely adopting public transport. 

Punctuality one of our golden rules of life, we set off twenty minutes before the bus was due to swing by the bus stop just beyond the Country Park entrance, finding our estimated ten minutes to walk spot on, allowing us a further ten minutes up our sleeve. And then we waited, and waited, and waited …. neither of us game to suggest surrender although we would have eventually returned to camp  and driven into Bury. Fortunately the bus did turn up, twenty minutes late and the reason at once evident; the driver was in training and his trainer was the most delightfully chatty person you could ever meet, neither attributes for timely schedules. However once we did arrive in Bury, our arrival coincided with the imminent departure of the tram for Manchester, and then once we arrived at Piccadilly, we found the X50 bus ready to receive us and head off to Salford Quays. This leg of the trip turned out far longer than we had imagined and we were glad we had not chosen to walk instead.

Our first destination was The Lowry, which for most of the population is probably known as a performance centre. In one corner is the gallery full of work by the artist for which it is named. The complex was opened in 2000, and is part of the redevelopment of the derelict Manchester dock area. The building is a complete artwork in itself, designed by Michael Wilford, and built on a triangular site with many levels of sloping floors.  

We thought the building quite wonderful and it certainly fits with the immediate surroundings. Personally I was not taken with the interior colour scheme, or at least that part in the foyer and facilities area; orange, yellow, purple, all clashing and not appealing to my conservatism.

We loved the gallery, arriving just in time for a half hour lecture on the artist himself, learning that Lowry was so much more than a depicter of industrial scenes and the crowds that inhabited them. He was a very sad and complex character, full of contradictions and mysteries, many of which he created for himself to hide his true character from the voyeuristic art appreciators. It was a shame that the lecturer was rather breathless and his diction not entirely intelligible to those a little deaf.

Just opposite The Lowry is the Lowry Outlets which I understood to be a centre of outlet stores;  surely there would have been something there that needed to move into our caravan. Alas, we did not have enough time to spend there and still take in the other must-see, the Imperial War Museum North, otherwise known as the IWM North, accessed from the Lowry and the immediate area by a footbridge across the ship canal, a lift bridge with a clear span of 100 metres which lifts vertically to provide a 26 metre clearance for shipping use of the canal.

The Lowry

The museum building was opened in 2002 and received 470,000 visitors in its first year of opening. The main exhibition area includes a series of six separate areas, the “silos”, whose fame had preceded our visit. I had an entirely different expectation of these, however the museum and its layout is well curated and deserves the reputation it has gained since opening.  But both Chris and I agreed that it was not a patch on the War Memorial in Canberra. Here in Manchester, this museum concentrates more on the people caught up in the wars of this last century rather than the military aspects which are better explained in Australia. Much of what we saw today was “old hat” if one dares to express such sentiment without offending the seriousness and sacredness of the subject.  It is a museum for the citizens of today, those who have not grown up with the World Wars being just yesterday, something our parents and grandparents were touched by. And really, is it not more important that our children and grandchildren are educated about the horrors their near ancestors experienced?

One of the rather bizarre exhibits in the museum was a large steel window section from the ruins of the World Trade Centre, that destroyed in the 9/11 terrorist attack on New York.

We left soon after 4pm, emerging in time to catch the return bus to Piccadilly after walking along the canal basin past the many media centres, crossing a second opening bridge, past the new Grenada Coronation Street Studio , with two minutes space to catch the tram, and then a further five to catch the bus back to the Country Park, arriving near 5.30pm, late for us who like to have dinner preparation on the go by then.

Manchester is exceeding our expectations. As a tourist destination, Manchester does not immediately come to mind, although it is the home to several world famous soccer teams which in itself draws the visitors. We had made a point of including the city on our touring destinations because of its history, and to visit The Lowry and the IWM North; we have achieved the latter two today. 

The Media Centre

Manchester was the world’s first industrial city and grew rich on cotton from slave plantations in the Americas. It was also the centre of uprisings as documented in my earlier post after visiting the People’s Museum, a centre of social reforms, not least the slum clearing through the last century as the face of the industrial activity so changed. 

Manchester underwent massive devastation during the German Luftwaffe bombings of 1940 and 1941; hundreds of high explosive and incendiary bombs killed seven hundred people and left thousands homeless. Then again in 1996, the city centre was damaged following the Irish Republican Army (IRA) bombing, a 3,000 lb bomb injuring more than 200 people, something I do not recall at all.

While these events were horrendous for those involved, they did act as a catalyst for redevelopment and since 1996, Manchester has been rejuvenated and this is still going on today as evidenced by the stretches of tramways currently out of operation and the Squares under redevelopment. It is this new city we are in the throes of exploring although we have still to finish with the older history. Another day tomorrow!

2 August 2016 Burrs Country Park Caravan Club site, Bury, Greater Manchester

In contrast to yesterday’s minor frustrations, today ran smoothly and pretty much according to plan. We drove into Bury, found an all-day park for £5, purchased day tram tickets at a further £5 each, and boarded the tram for Manchester. 

Half an hour later we stepped out onto the Piccadilly Gardens station and straight into the city Information Centre. There we were served by one of the very best “officers” we have encountered, one who very soon gauged what did and did not turn us on as far as sightseeing, and helped us select the attractions for the day and those ahead, and advise the best way to get to each. The order of the day was to set out on foot to see today’s scheduled spots, which suited us well today because our ticket was for tram only, not a “multi-pass”.

Our first stop was the Manchester Art Gallery, which has a marvellous collection of 18^th and 19^th century works, including a wonderful group of works by the Pre-Raphaelites. But the first work to catch our attention was that of Laurence Stephen Lowry (1887 – 1976), and his teacher / mentor, Adolphe Valette (1876 – 1942), who recorded the urban landscapes of this city during the early to mid-twentieth century. One of the big draw cards to Manchester was The Lowry. Both Chris and I are big fans of his work, and the gallery of joint work here in the city’s own gallery was a real bonus.

We spent at least two hours exploring the three floors of the gallery, arranged by theme rather than date or artists, which does make for some adjustment of appreciation. However the only fault I could find with the gallery was the interactive section, positioned slap bang in the middle of the second floor, which is a draw card for mothers and uninhibited little children. The noise or exuberance was most distracting!

It was almost 1pm by the time we emerged out onto St Peter’s Square, little of which is available for al fresco sandwich eating; there is massive construction work going on in the middle of the city. Drizzly rain was falling so our dining experience was less than ideal, however once fed and watered, we headed over to the Town Hall, which we could only poke our nose into as security was tight and the public were not welcome.

This massive civic structure in neo-Gothic style was completed in 1877, and our guide book suggested we should check out the first floor Great Hall, which boasts iron candelabras, stained glass windows and wall paintings by Ford Madox Brown, another artist we are fans of.  Alas, we had to be satisfied with a quick glance at the stone-vaulted corridors.

The Town Hall

Next on the list was the John Rylands Library, truly an enigma. This impressive Victorian Gothic building was built as a library by Enriqueta Tennant in memory of her husband who died in 1875. Wandering through the various floors and into the warren of rooms, it seemed more like a church than a library, however any confusion is quickly dispelled when one sees the shelves and cabinets of rare and old books and manuscripts, many ancient sacred texts in a special exhibition. Mr Tennant had been an extremely wealthy textile merchant, and the excessive nature of this memorial probably did not dent the bank account much, however it has provided the city with an amazing treasure chest. The library opened in 1900 as Enriqueta’s gift to the people of Manchester.

On we went, through the rain, through the streets of the city, busy with folk all going about their business, further west toward the River Irwell, that which passes through the country park where we are camped. The People’s History Museum was also busy, parents using it to fill the wet day in an instructive manner for their families. This, like the John Ryland’s Library, has free entry which is always welcome to us who seek such places. 

The museum is housed in a former pump house and explores the social history of industrialisation, and even more specifically, the political movements that arose from this new society. It is very interesting, although I had thought I would glean a more in depth understanding of the Peterloo Massacre that took place here in Manchester in 1819. This formed the catalyst for the agitation that led to the 1832 Reform Act. Protest movements right up to modern gay rights are touched on here, and there is an excellent exhibition of banners. Again it was the distraction of noisy children that tainted my own experience, but then if one chooses to travel during school holidays, it is simply a fact of life. Personally I found the museum to be very left leaning, however I was not surprised with this; Manchester has a long working class history and a strong history of ties with socialist figures.

From here we found our way back to the same station we had disembarked from, immediately catching a tram and soon back to Bury, and to camp. The rain has cleared a little and tomorrow should be a better. We already have our tour schedule planned; we may well need our estimated four-days-in-Manchester, however we do have a whole week should we need it. 

1 August 2016 - Burrs Country Park Caravan Club site, Bury, Greater Manchester

What a day or ups and downs, and few of them related to the elevations of the countryside we have travelled through. Packing up camp this morning was relatively routine, but the troubles began when we hit the road. We had discussed our route through Buxton yesterday, given that the town centre is currently an absolute mess of road works. All roads converge in the central hollow of the town, problematic for anything bigger than a Smart car at any time, without this added obstacle. So we decided to head through the edge of town on the southern slopes, all the way through to Morrisons, then turn back toward the town along the river, turning onto the A6 and travelling through to Manchester’s outer ring road, before the last leg northward to Bury. Well that was the plan anyway.

Tomtom was intent on turning us up through the hills on the A5004 that we took through to Lyme several days ago, and we were fooled until it was almost too late. Managing to turn back, we found ourselves caught up in the long delays of diverted traffic despite our good intentions. The Chauffeur was not happy to say the least.

Once on the right road, Tomtom decided we would be better to travel to our next camp via Glossop on the north west edge of the Peak District, along a red road, one of those we try to avoid where possible when towing. A battle of wills took place and words were exchanged all round. As the dust settled, we found ourselves again caught up in more road works, this on the A6 beyond Disley, and we realised then that Tomtom had known more than we did all the time; we should have taken heed.

And so we finally came down from the Peaks, and entered a mess of roads that move heavy traffic from the A6 onto the M60. It was during this stage we found ourselves running a red light, realising only after the event. We were closely following a big truck and as we turned in its wake, traffic from the other direction was suddenly upon us. The only explanation was that the truck which was shielding the traffic lights from our view, had been slow in moving off, and the lights had turned again even as we set off, or worse still, before we did so. That little episode shook us both somewhat.

Once onto the wide and busy M60, matters became straight forward, and we turned north onto the M66 then left the motorway system a few miles on, following the direction through to our camp, passing through the town of Bury. We arrived right on midday but not until we had had to back up for an exit-ing rig, the driver of which exclaimed that she had never had to deal with inward traffic on previous trips. I felt like suggesting that the 12 o’clock departure time does not mean one should wait until the last moment to leave. Our manoeuvring to accommodate this silly woman did not improve The Chauffeur’s humour.

Setting up camp was not as uneventful as the reverse earlier in the day; we discovered a leak in the hot water tank, and had problems with the electrical connection. A trip to the office to receive instructions on the intricacies of the connection box soon fixed the second problem, but the leak was another matter. It seemed that the lime build up from the dodgy water supplies we find ourselves subjected to, had blocked the pump. After discussing possible repairs over lunch, Chris flushed the tank several times, and finally it seemed to sort itself out.  

This was after Chris hitting his head on the side of an overhead cupboard I had been slow in closing. The last thing to frustrate my ever suffering husband was the fact that the entrance gate to the camp requires the scanning of a pass card on not one entry pad, but two. And the first of these is on the passenger side, the second on the driver’s, which begs the question of what kind of womble designed that!

We headed back into Bury, to get the lay of the land and to get some answers from the Information Centre. Our Tomtom took us up a dead end street at the rear of the Asda Superstore, populated by be-robed Muslims. After stopping and asking assistance we found our way around to the correct entrance. We parked and walked across to the Markets, most not open today but promising much for later in the week, eventually finding the Information Centre at the entrance to a museum. There was little to offer here about Manchester, and even that about Bury was scant. We were disappointed, but better informed when we arrived at the railway station. We left there with a handful of maps and brochures explaining the public transport options, and headed back to camp to sort out some sort of touring schedule for our week here.

Our camp is right in the middle of the country park, around the River Irwell and the remains of two cotton mills; Higher Woodhill Mill and Burrs Mill. Extensive development of the mill sites has left interesting archaeological remains and water courses through the park, all of which we have yet to discover for ourselves.

The forecasted rain has not arrived, the meat pie purchased at Asda was delicious and the accompanying Chilean wine was very drinkable; harmony is restored.

31 July 2016 - Buxton Caravan Club Site, Derbyshire

Again with the question of weather first and foremost to mind, we were pleased to open the blinds to another fine day, although occasional showers were forecasted. We headed away from camp at about 10am, travelling south west on the A54 which followed the steep contour of the land up away from Buxton, up past Shutlingsloe which rises to 506 metres ASL  close to the road, then descended into Cheshire from the Peak District on equally steep roads five kilometres east of Congleton.  The road was surprisingly busy with sports cyclists, mad masochists undertaking such tortuous roads.

Our destination was Little Moreton Hall, about three miles south of Congleton; we realised we would be a little early for opening time so pulled into the Astbury Mere Country Park, the sign  appearing in an opportunistic manner. Here we parked and set off around a section of the lake, in the company of dozens of locals and their canine charges. 

Little Moreton Hall

The entry to the walkways is watched over by a rather incongruous plaster bear, painted with a landscape scene rather than the clothes you would expect, of course. He is “Sandy Bear” so named in memory of earlier bears of Congleton. Congleton’s nick name is “Bear Town” which originated in the Middle Ages when the cruel sport of bear baiting was popular and Congleton sold its precious Town Bible to buy a bear to replace one that had died. Sandy Bear was one of sixty five displayed in the “Bear Mania” event in Congleton in 2011. On the front it depicts what this site was like in the 1960s when it was a sand quarry.

After watching this great collection of exercising dogs and their potty owners, begrudgingly acknowledging that they were a well behaved lot, we continued on to Little Moreton Hall, recommended to us at another National Trust property and not on our original “to-do” list.

The Hall is one of the best examples of Tudor timber framed houses in the country and the least tampered with, which in itself is a small miracle. It is set within a small garden, surrounded by a moat, survived the Civil War, spent 250 years tenanted and remained in the ownership of the one family since it was built in the first decade of the 1500s by William Moreton through to being handed over to the National Trust in 1938. 

William’s son and grandson of the same name altered the house marginally, then it was leased out in the mid-1650s. The Moretons retained ownership but as landlords only. Then in the 1890s, Elizabeth Moreton, who had taken religious orders, but still a wealthy woman, the family through the centuries having made canny business decisions, side stepped the worst of the political upheavals and made some lucrative marriages, undertook major conservation work on the house. Dying childless, she left it to a cousin, whose son when his turn came about, was not prepared to take on the burden of such a heritage treasure. Public subscription was undertaken and a lot of juggling of legality and funds and the Trust ended up with this amazing property. They in turn built a new farm house, installed a tenant farmer and hopefully have been able to maintain the property without too much drain on the central slush fund.

We enjoyed the fifty minute introductory history talk then retreated to the car to have lunch, and dealt with emails, enjoying the internet reception of the lowlands. Back on site, we spent a further hour or so exploring the property, and although it is far far smaller than houses recently visited, it is still a fascinating place.

We headed back to Congleton and shopped at the Morrison’s Superstore, anxious that we do this before the Sunday 4pm curfew. I had plotted a route for the day, a loose schedule depending on the ability to find certain points of interest. I had hoped we might find the Macclesfield Canal somewhere between Congleton and Macclesfield, and we did after stopping an elderly gentleman for directions. 

Unfortunately the canal is immediately adjacent to the A523 which we were obliged to turn north onto, there was no parking spot within miles and as we arrived, a narrowboat was motoring through the narrow bridged section of the canal. We waited in a queue of traffic but then had no option but to continue on.

We followed the A523 onto Macclesfield, topped up with diesel and then started on our route home, the second more northern A537 back up through the Peak District. As we crossed a bridge on leaving the town we noticed the elusive Macclesfield Canal, pulled up and made our way down onto the towpath on foot. We had happened upon the “visitors’ marina” area, a rather utilitarian area below what seemed to be an old factory mill.

Macclesfield is a market town, with a population of over 52,000 back in 2011. It was once the world’s biggest producer of finished silk; there were seventy one silk mills operating in 1832. Macclesfield was also the original home of “Hovis” bread makers, a brand we frequently buy.

Between 1826 and 1831 the Macclesfield Canal was constructed, linking the town to Marple in the north and Kidsgrove to the south. It was the narrowest canal to be completed and had only limited success because within ten years much of the coal and other potential cargo was increasingly transported by rail. Macclesfield is said to be the only mill town left unbombed in World War II.

We passed a few words with canal folk, took a few obligatory photos then returned to the car, soon back on the road up through the peaks. 

A less pretty view of canal living at Macclesfield

Here, as the landscapes travelled earlier in the day, we found the high moors impressive, the roads winding, and we climbed slowly back toward Buxton, which we came down to after passing the seemingly isolated inn quaintly named the Cat & Fiddle at 515 metres. Buxton, the highest market town in England, sits at 300 metres ASL and our camp is above that height. Our trusty Kia had certainly done some climbing and descending today!

We will leave tomorrow morning for our next camp just to the north of Manchester. The distance is not great but the web of roads looks challenging on the map; I am sure that between Tomtom and I, we will be able to direct The Chauffeur without too much trouble. 

Buxton town itself remains an unknown to us, as do so many other places that were on our original list to visit. We had also imagined that we would spend days out walking through the “mountains”; none of this has eventuated. Sounds like a good reason to return, don’t you think?