Not running a marathon

10 April 2016

Marathon morning dawned and it wasn’t quite the day either of us had expected. We were both awake early but Commando didn’t want to go down to breakfast until he was sure all the other marathon runners had left the hotel so we sat in our room watching rubbish on TV. Still it was better than watching excited runners getting ready. That would have been more than Commando could bear.

It was never going to be an easy morning but, after a lateish breakfast, Commando said he thought a walk would do him good, as long as we kept well away from the marathon route. It was a beautiful day outside and I think he felt guilty at keeping me indoors. It certainly wasn’t because his ankle was better. Even with the ankle support we’d bought it was painful. Rather than the walk I’d planned, we slowly made our way into the centre of town. It wasn’t a scenic canal but I was too worried about my hobbling husband to be disappointed. He was disappointed enough for both of us.

Outside the Midland Hotel he needed to sit and rest his ankle so I took the opportunity to take a photo of an interesting sculpture. Later I found out this was Adrift by John Cassidy. The beautiful bronze depicts a family clinging to a raft on a stormy sea, the father, standing calling for help. We felt fairly adrift ourselves at that point. The hotel itself was a pretty interesting building and, had I been alone, I’d probably have taken lots of photos of the sculptures around the walls. As it was, Commando was soon rested and we were on our way again so all I got was a quick snap of the front entrance and the tubs of spring flowers in front of it.

On Market street a top class busker, a young man singing Adele songs, had us fishing in our pockets for change. We spent a while wandering around in the Arndale Centre but soon became bored by shops much the same as the ones at home. Outside again I spotted the first graffiti I’d seen. So far Manchester seemed to be strangely devoid of the stuff. This was a tile, high on a wall. The slogan was rather unkind to the women of the city but it made me smile and I took a photo.

Aimless wandering landed us in Shambles Square outside the Old Wellington Inn, a three story timbered building with elegantly latticed gables. It seemed out of place in front of the fancy shops like Selfriedges and Harvey Nichols.
“Do you think that’s a real medieval building?” Commando asked.
“It certainly looks like it,” I said. “Those timbers look pretty ancient and that’s not something you can easily fake. I’m not sure about the building next to it though.”

It turns out we’d stumbled upon the oldest building of its kind in the city although it hadn’t always been where we saw it. It was actually built in Market Street in 1552 and was used by the Byrom family as a draper’s shop. The poet and inventor of New Universal Shorthand, John Byrom, best remembered for his hymn Christians Awake, salute the happy morn, was born there in 1692.  A third floor was added in the seventeenth century around the time the Sinclair’s Oyster Bar was built next door and it became the Vintners Arms and then Kenyon Vaults. In 1865, the name changed to the Wellington Inn and the upstairs rooms were used to make mathematical and optical instruments and then as Ye Olde Fyshing Tackle Shoppe.

Having survived the changes going on all around it for the best part of four hundred years, the coming of the Arndale Centre in the 1970’s was almost the finish of it. In the end it and the oyster bar were moved around the corner to the Shambles and raised almost a metre and a half. This wasn’t their last move though. In 1996 the IRA detonated a bomb in the centre of Manchester. Thankfully when the van on Corporation street exploded no one was killed, although hundreds were injured and the surrounding buildings decimated, including these two. During the rebuilding both buildings were moved again, just three hundred metres this time, and, so far, this is where they have stayed.

The pub wasn’t open, which was a shame because Commando needed another sit down about then.  Luckily, around the back, we discovered some benches and a low wall. The wall belonged to Manchester Cathedral so, while Commando rested, I went to have a look at it. There were large white storage containers piled up in the grounds so it wasn’t the best photo opportunity in the world but I did manage an uncluttered photo of the south door and the tower.

Apparently there are renovations going on inside, hence all the containers, so, even if I’d had time, I probably couldn’t have gone in. As it was I walked around to the west side where I discovered a small wooden church, complete with stained glass windows. This was a wooden ‘pop up’ cathedral, built in 2013 when underfloor heating was being installed inside the real cathedral. Obviously, the renovations have been going on for some time.

The cathedral was formerly the Church of St Mary, St Denys and St George and the mother church of the city, built on the site of a Saxon church dated around 700 AD. A scroll discovered in the wall is on display inside, what a pity I couldn’t go and have a look. The main, gothic style, cathedral, was built of brown sandstone with limestone floors by James Stanley between 1485 and 1506 but restoration works are not a new thing, it was refaced and extended in the 1840’s, repaired after World War II bomb damage and again after the IRA bomb in 1996.

Much as I’d have liked to stand and stare at the ornate pinacles, the tracery and the wonderful gargoyles, I didn’t like leaving poor Commando on his own too long. Reluctantly, I made my way back towards the Shambles where I found him sitting on the low cathedral wall. Before we left I sneaked in a picture of a sundial surrounded by primulas and the ornate gate posts.

By this time we were feeling a little peckish so we wandered past the east side of the building in search of somewhere to eat. Here we found the Manchester Madonna, Sir Charles Wheeler’s 1958 gilded statue, set into the wall. The Virgin Mary is dressed in a mill worker’s shawl and seems quite unperturbed that her baby is standing in her cupped hands.

Nearby we spotted the National Football Museum. Surprisingly it was free, although they asked for a small donation. We dithered a little about whether to go inside but, in the end, we decided against it. Walking around a museum was probably the last thing Commando needed, besides, we had the feeling it would have had a slight Manchester slant.

In the end we decided to find somewhere to eat and rest up for a bit and then go back to the hotel where Commando could put his foot up. All in all, it had been a disappointing kind of morning but, with the help of some interesting buildings, we’d made the most of a bad job.

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