MONUMENTS

Listen to the square. Can you hear it?

The beginning. Change. Revolution. It all happened here.

Centuries of history colliding together at once.

I am cobbles.

I am red brick and stone.

I am cotton mills.

I am the water racing through the canals, connecting Manchester to the

rest of the world.

I am communities that care. Looking for a connection.

I am stadiums, growing out of the ground, bringing people together.

I am cold air rushing through streets, the wet slap of rain, the brief and

joyous Manchester Sun.

There….can you hear it?

A beat. A rhythm. The heartbeat of this place.

This is our beginning. Look up at Hallé St Peters. Both old and new.

Brick and rust.

That tower climbing up to the sky, calling out to be noticed.

Like a great big pin on a google map demanding you to know that this is

where it all happened. This is where it happens.

Take it in. We’ll be back. This is the beginning of our journey and our

destination.

Let’s begin.

…

Look to your left. At the end of the row of the bars and restaurants there’s a

building dwarfed by the rest. Deepest red brick, fortress like, with a

smooth curved arch for a doorway and terracotta and black tiles

underfoot. Have you got it? Go to it. And walk down the road to its left.

Cotton Street.

Mismatched cobbles under your feet.

New glass reflecting back at you.

Everything around you is huge, bricks upon bricks.

Imagine this all rewound. Slate roofs untiled. Buildings descending brick

by brick to the ground. Foundations dissolved.

The very cobbles under your feet faded to earth.

Ancoats. Ana Cots. Lonely Cottages. That’s what it means. Ironic right?

When you look at it now.

But when this place was first recorded those

lonely cottages must been the only ones for miles and miles.

… Cross the road and keep going.

Linda Carver: To an indigenous person of this area it was "R Ancuts" where as I say our Ancoats which must sound a bit posh to them, it's not but... (laughter).

Turn right. Head through the concrete bollards.

Anita Street. Breathe it in.

Many a Mancunians favourite two rows of terraced housing.

This street was built to save this area.

And there in front of you.

“The residents & staff welcome you to Victoria Square,

Manchester’s first purpose built housing.”

A monument of a radical council thinking differently.

The buildings before these, the back to back’s, set in dark, filthy networks

of poorly constructed housing, with their walls “one brick thick” that would

fall down after 40 years. A symbol of this area’s dark history.

Not these beauties. They’re solid. Standing proud for over 120 years.

The name’s changed mind. Sanitary street. A few letters dropped off either

side and Anita was born, and forever she’ll be an icon.

I am the matching black doors.

I am bricks in every shade of red.

I am symmetry.

I am the best street I ever lived on, why did I ever move.

I am Ancoats people past and present, salt of the earth that look after one

another.

I am some of the first social housing in this country.

Go right to the end, through the bollards and turn right.

Stop.

There on the corner of the road.

A monumental stone. With a rusted hook.

There’s space around the front to sit on it like a throne.

Go to it if you can.

It’s a popular spot to take in the sights.

New and old clashing together.

But this stone. This is for the Italian community.

Who brought life and character and colour to this grim part of Manchester.

Food, Music and tradition spilling out onto these streets.

Home sick Italians singing ‘O Sole Mio’.

Street entertainers wheeling barrel organs through the streets

That were manufactured here, two streets away.

Ice cream, families setting up businesses that still to this day provide

Ice Cream to Manchester and beyond.

But this stone is Serafino’s ,

A man who inherited the family tradition of helping others.

Serafino de Felice.

A man who said he inherited Ancoats, and the people.

That fought for his community, tirelessly.

When St Michael’s was shut down he lead the people.

He said…

“We are worried that this area will all become apartments and there will

be nothing left of the Italians.

We have a memory and we are going to fight for it”

To save the history of a community.

To keep the building serving communities.

He’s a monument.

And the weight of this stone is our reminder.

…

The tower of St Peter’s, the centre of our journey calls out.

Turn to it. Fitting perfectly between the buildings either side.

The perfect picture. Keep it in your mind.

But not yet, we’re not going back yet.

Turn left and walk on.

Look there ahead, in the distance. A great chimney climbing up the sky.

A monument of industry. A giant brick tower, the legacy of a Cotton mill.

Keep going, walk forward.

…

My growing up was kids playing in every street, swinging on lampposts,

skipping, football or bike riding , what’s happened to the children ?

Forward, that’s it, there’s something up ahead.

Turn right...

Wait can you hear that.

On the corner. A red brick castle.

An office block with 151 in shining silver digits.

This was once a school.

Look up at the bars on the roof. It’s coming from there, that sound.

Children on the roof?

A playground on the roof?

And open space above when everything down below was so cramped.

Bean bags to throw and wooden hoops to jump through.

Skipping ropes and Hopscotch.

Happening high up in the air.

Down below the ground, bath-showers for the children to

wash once a week when conditions at home didn’t allow.

Children in small classrooms, with stern looking teachers.

Jan I live right near Ashbury Meadow Primary School, which once was two schools and they amalgamated to a different site. So it was Bank Meadow where all my children went and then there was Ashbury's School. And we've got two other primary schools, The School of the Resurection, the Church of England, School, it's a really good school and there's a church as well which is just round the corner. And then there's Saint Bridget's which has a church attached to it, which is a catholic school. Twinkle Stars Pre School attached to the Grange Community Centre. There's loads of different clubs that go on.

Memories of school are enough to make us walk on.

Straight down Bengal Street.

Paving stones, tarmac, cobbles, yellow paint.

Deliveroo cyclists speeding past on a mission… on the road, the curb

wherever they like.

Sausage dogs on leads with trendy owners.

A man on a bike with a tinny stereo strapped to the back playing his

favourite tunes.

And on the right, the call of St Peters.

That tower, the centre of it all, our own little citadel.

Don’t turn, keep going, we’re not going back yet.

*I moved into Jersey Street with my partner in 2015, when 'new' Ancoats was half finished and it was tipped to be the next coolest place. Surreally, it felt at least as though the gays were the first colonisers of this new world. You couldn't leave the house without seeing another gay couple, which was great for me as a newly uncloseted guy; we shopped at what I heard someone dub 'gay Aldi'; and the residents group for our block had a high LGBTQ+ representation. The stats may not back it up, I don't know - maybe it never was - or maybe I just got a bit older and saw things differently - but as Ancoats was gradually 'finished' I had the sense that our little unwitting clan was overtaken by another tribe - younger, straighter, and uniform in their individuality, with baggy everything’s and home cut fringes. I get the impression that the gays have started colonising somewhere else, someone said Prestwich, but maybe New Brunswick.”*

Across the road on the corner, a doorway to old Ancoats.

With Jersey house painted above the door.

Go to it.

Reach out and place your hand on the chipped blue paint.

Feel the vibrations of the old mill within.

The energy, the heat, the noise.

There’s something down the road.

Something newer, but just as loud.

If you’re facing the door, turn left and head down Jersey Street.

Towards the distant trees.

Find that sound.

...

What’s that sound?

A heavy bass underfoot.

A feeling of anticipation, excitement, possibility.

Along the left side of the road a queue of people snaking their way down the road.

Hedonistic 90’s and noughties revellers waiting for the best

clubbing experience in Manchester. Sankeys Soap.

Jim Spalding It was you know, a bit of beacon. For the nightlife as well as the cultural scene back then.

Dodgy backstreets you had to walk down to get here.

The Cross Keys Pub, which was so run down, but the place to go for

Pre-drinks before the night ahead.

I am kisses on the dance floor.

I am mean faced bouncers, the gateway keepers to the friendliest club.

I am neon tubes in the ceiling and the day glow faces below.

I am perspiration, the sweat dripping off the ceilings.

A sea of arms in the air, bodies close together.

I am the room where people lost themselves in the music.

I am fresh faced clubbers moving to house and techno.

Is that Bjork? Is that one of the Spice Girls?

Daft Punk, The Chemical Brothers, New order.

I am the disused Soap Factory that became one of Britain’s greatest clubs.

Ears ringing let's stumble down to the cross roads.

Stop. There it is, on the corner. In mourning. With its details outlined in

black paint. The Cross Keys Pub. A neon blue coloured sign with the

promise of a Dance Bar above the door.

Missing its signage. It’s Shingle. Missing the footsteps through its lobby,

Bar-parlour, vault, smoke room, kitchen, scullery , clubroom, four bed

rooms and three cellars.

I am the 200 years of history attached to this name,

I am not the original, I moved 50 yards along the road.

I am every Ancoats pub. All with a piano. A sing song.

Mothers playing piano and children listening from outside the window.

I am all the things being sold in the bar, leather jackets, sheep, a

motorbike.

I am a Tetley’s Bitter…. You can’t beat it.

I am the thwarted plans to demolish. You won’t take me down like that.

I won’t become another Lost pub.

Tun right on Radium street. Walk on.

Cross over to the other side of the road.

New cobbles, old cobbles.

Red brick

The smell of bread wafts out of the bakery.

Stop here.

There to your left, climbing high above the old mills in the distance.

12 Masts pointing up to the sky – as high as 70 metres.

A gladiatorial arena.

A new icon.

The home of the commonwealth and now the home of Man City.

A home for music and sport.

There used to be people sitting on the walls around the outside of the

stadium, listening in.

They’ve put a big fence up now so you can’t do it.

But you can hear the concerts from your gardens.

The crowd roaring during the matches.

A stadium of people together.

Jan: Taylor Swifts concert was amazing and I wasn't even like a big fan. I just went because my partner got tickets and it was just brilliant. The football people would send over/ because my kids, my younger kids went to the School of the Resurrection which is just across the way from there, they used to give out tickets to the schools for the kids to go to the junior matches. They have been there, but it's dead expensive int it but I heard it in my garden.You can sit in the garden and listen to them. I can't wait to go and see Coldplay, they're supposed to be touring in 2022, they better had.

Cross the road and head down the smooth tarmacked ramp.

The one with the chipped black railings.

Slabs of old stone piled on top of each other,

Bursting with green life.

Moss.

Dandelions.

Turn left walk through the Marina.

I remember this area way back – it’s changed significantly.

None of this was here.

Sometimes, it’s a cultural thing, it’s got a bit snooty.

That wasn’t an original.

That wasn’t there.

That’s new.

All of this was just brown earth for years.

It was very working class, a poor environment.

Manchester’s ghettos.

There’s a lot of unity in having nothing. You’re all in the same boat.

You’ve got nout. I’ve got nout.

Up ahead ever-changing house boats in all colours.

Spot the green one, orange yellow, red.

The resident swans.

A small floating house with pink and white stripes.

Cats and dogs, geese and mallards.

One boat has got a resident skeleton steering it from behind, find it.

Head all the way to the end of the marina.

Cross all the bridges on the left-hand side.

Jim Spalding: The Marina itself has just changed so dramatically. When I moved there it was just, you know, a brown field site. It's arguable that it was more enjoyable back then (laugh). Those three great big towers of Mordor didn't exist, the grey houses along the arm didn't exist. The School wasn't there. I mean it was a bit crap living on a building site for three and half years on both sides of my boat. But it's interesting how the whole of Ancoats has become a bit of a social experiment. You know on one side you've got people who have lived there their whole lives, you know people who have grown up there, some real poverty in places. Contrasted against you know all of these mill conversions and trendy young people with their little dogs. It's an interesting contrast that's for sure.

Turn left.

Walk the road along the rusted lampposts.

Linda Carver: Can I first of all just quote from John Ruskin, I know that might sound high blown, what he says in one of his essays in the seven lamps of architecture.This is what he says and it's one of our sort of notes that we've made. "The greatest glory of a building is not in it's stones, nor in its good. Its glory is in its age. It has been a lasting witness through seasons and times and connects forgotten and following ages which each other." Now I think that says everything about the building that you're talking about. Venetian gothic revival design with polychromatic brick work, a saddle-back roof, and a distinctive central tower, at the time it had a clock face and when you see photographs of it in the past in that time it did have a clock face.

Stop. Across the road a Red-brick gothic temple.

A crumbling landmark, supported from ruin by scaffolding.

And the might of a community.

“Sit up straight the matron is coming round”.

When this was a deprived area, full of poverty. This was our hospital.

Iron beds. Victorian brick walls.

Our beacon of hope in those dark days.

Births and deaths

It was there, there for us

Is this the way to treat a listed building?

Thousands of names on paper to save it from being demolished.

Saved. By the community. For the community.

The first industrial injury clinic in the world.

Stitching the boisterous youth in record time.

The place where they found the link between pollen and hay fever.

The beating heart of Ancoats.

Linda Carver: So the history of Ancoats and in particular Ancoats Dispensary, not only belongs to Manchester, but it belongs as a global heritage treasure. It belongs to the world. So the saving of it and the restoration of it not only gives the area a historical context, but adds a depth and richness to the newer communities arriving in the neighbourhood.

If you want to know the reason why a group of people spent the last nine years of their life trying to save this building from demolition then... one of the reasons I became involved is not only had I gone to Ancoats Hospital as a small child, I think I gashed my leg on some barbed wire and I was taken there to have stitches in my leg. No anaesthetic by the way the nurses just gripped you by your arms and legs so you couldn't move and the surgeon did his job. And then of course when I was about 18 my life was saved by the staff of Ancoats Dispensary. It wasn't somewhere that you wanted to be, to be honest, but you knew that when you went there and you had to be treated, you were treated well.

Purely by chance I went to a what was then and Ancoats residents forum meeting and this was an organisation that had been formed by the people who had become, if you like, committee members of the people that had come to live in the apartment blocks, they felt so cut off from each other that they appointed people to attend a regular monthly forum.

And then at one meeting and this is the meeting you could say was profoundly important to me personally at the time because I went to a meeting and Urban Splash, a developer were giving a demonstration on what the future of the area was going to be like. I looked at it and there was nowhere I could see Ancoats Hospital and so I asked a question: what about Ancoats Hospital? And there was a hush in the room and then somebody whispered: I think it's going to be demolished. And on hearing that word Jonnie, I thought to myself, I didn't say it out loud, but I thought to myself...I don't think so, I don't think so, because something happened to me then and I realised that the building was of such importance, you've got to remember that this is a grade two listed building.

And a campaign was started then in 2012 that was to last until late 2017

Head down the road to the side of the building.

Cross the road if you need to.

As you walk by take in the back of the building.

The criss-cross of scaffolding holding the shell of the building from

crumbling.

Stop.

Linda Carver: People turned up who were concerned about the dispensary for many different reasons. Other people turned up because they were absolutely appalled at the fact that this was going to happen in the first place, to a part of there heritage, part of their working class history was about to be wiped away.

So there were a mixture of people from all walks of life really, from all different age groups. We didn't have any money, we didn't have a place to work from, so basically an office was set up in my kitchen and that went on for years. I got a phone call from the MP at the time who had been at the public meeting saying that "I'm sorry Linda, but it's gone further than I thought, it's due to be demolished within three weeks." Well as soon as we heard that we set up an emergency meeting and we called the group then FIGHT TO SAVE THE DISPENSARY.

But that Dispensary, the vigil became the space on the edge of contested territory, visitors from all over the world came to the vigil. It became a powerful symbol really of community action. It started in the summer of 2012 and it lasted until late 2017 and every single day, including the weekends, that vigil was set up, there was rota established and people stood there. We got about 5000 signatures within about a month. We were all volunteers and some people working full time. Everybody, everybody devoted all those years, I can't believe it really, to the saving of this building, that's how much it meant to people. I don't think people realise just how much hard work it was, because we were if you like, we weren't encouraged to save this building, obstacles were put in our way, so it was hard solid graft, not to be undertaken by the faint hearted believe you me.

I think it took us about two years to recover from the enormous emotional and physical input that everyone had worked so hard on over the years. At least that building, as sad as it looks, hasn't been demolished. So I think in some ways although we were devastated by what happened we're kind of not as devastated as we would have been waking up one morning nine years ago to a rubble, just rubble on the land where the dispensary now stands.

Keep Walking.

Take the path on the right, along the canal.

A lonely hire car. Concrete rings of grass.

At the Water’s edge hearts and diamonds will guide you along the way.

Find them, follow them. Follow as it curves ahead to the left.

When I was a youngster my Auntie Nelly, Uncle Jim and family lived on

the house on the bridge over the canal at the back of Ancoats Hospital.

You could see it from upstairs on the bus travelling along Pollard St.

When I used to visit from Clayton it was like going to another world. There

was loads of grass areas and animals as well as a fenced off vegetable

patch. I think the bridge is still there, but the house is long gone.

Brilliant memories.

Turn right and cross over the bridge.

Follow the path towards the lock keepers cottage.

...

When we were kids, we played on these canals and there, in that cottage,

that’s where Mrs Green teeth lived.

That’s what us kids were told.

We were told she was in there, or that she might be beneath the water,

waiting. Granny Green teeth would get you if you went too close to the

water. She’d pull you under the duckweed in the summer, when green

sheets would grow on top of the water.

Green skin, sharp teeth, long hair.

She was a canal elf.

She was the weeds themselves that turned the canals green.

She was a monster, No a grindylow. No she was an old crone

..Careful Ginny Green teeth will get you.

Keep walking.

Paul: I mean I was a child, so my memories are very different. The canals, as a kid we played on the canals, the Manchester Ship Canal, and there was always rumours as a child that there were leeches in the river and they'd suck your blood.

Down the cobbled Slope/bridge.

Frightened us to death. But that’s what they wanted I suppose,

the ones that told us these legends, to keep us safe.

Didn’t stop up playing on the canals.

...

Bear right, come off the canal and head towards the sound of the busy

road ahead.

Turn right onto Great Ancoats street.

An artery for the city. People coming and going any which way.

I got run over by an old man in a car, he was turning the corner in his car

so I walked at the back of the car to cross the road safely, but for some

reason the car went in reverse and knocked me over, it wasn’t going fast

so no harm was done, the old man got out of the car, shaking and

trembling, I put my hands on his shoulders trying to calm him down,

saying I’m ok, everything’s fine, after about 5 minutes he calmed down

and was able to drive away, I proceeded home and phoned my Mother to

tell her the story of what had just happened to me… the first words out of

her mouth was

"Did you take him for a drink, you should have got him a brandy"

I had to stop my Mam in her tracks, I said "It didn’t cross my mind to take

him for a drink, he'd just run over me", but that just sums up caring

Mothers, but I never let her forget it....

Keep going.

Past the great concrete wasteland.

A space yet to be built upon, yet to be claimed.

And take in that view.

A view that won’t always be visible. Not when this space is built upon and

given new purpose.

The red brick mills.

The chimney, sky high.

Copper-aged and green on top of the buildings.

Count the windows… it’s impossible

It looks like an infinity of panes.

This monument of industry.

The centre of it.

The catalyst for all of this…

The canal flows underneath.

Cottonopolis.

You’ve just entered the worlds first industrial suburb.

Famous throughout the world when cotton goods were called Manchester

goods. Hundreds of factories, towering stories upon stories high.

Chimneys erupting black coal vapours, the hot breath of the

steam-powered engines, that could be seen for miles.

Staining the cramped network of buildings surrounding them black.

Not a scrap of space left to waste.

Turn right.

The dark Satanic Mills,

Powered by the rushing waters of Manchester rivers.

Cotton fibres strengthened by the damp northern air.

That’s why Manchester was the best at it.

Along with The people, powering an industry.

With poor pay, poor working conditions and long hours.

Salt of the earth. Hard working.

Men and women.

The cotton boom making women wage earners.

From 5am to 6pm.

Linda Carver From the countryside and surrounding areas, they were attracted by the prospect of work. So people flocked to the city. And the population of Ancoats increased by, well it was only 11,000 in 1831 but by 1861 it had been increased to 56,000 people so they say, it's true this, Ancoats was built in a hurry, it was built in a hurry and it was a zig zag of mean streets. I mean houses were thrown up to house these thousands of workers and their families.

I am Loom sweepers,

I am Bobbin carriers,

I am weavers,

I am slave grown cotton, that built the city, that paid for the bricks,

I am the campaigners made up of clergy and cotton merchants fighting to put a

stop to that injustice, to sever ties to the slave trade.

I am flint glass

I am barrel pianos and biplanes

I am thick air. The blackened bricks.

I am coal

I am steam

I am power

I am industry.

...

Turn left

Stop. There on your right.

Go to the spiked black fence.

You are miniature against this monument.

A brick giant.

Bricks upon bricks.

A legacy.

At the top, time shows signs of reclaiming the chimney.

Knotweed taking hold of one of Manchester’s most historic buildings.

The world’s oldest steam powered cotton mill.

Still standing.

I remember a Saturday as a young girl, being brought into Ancoats by my father, to see the great towers being brought down. I must have been 6 or 7. It was brilliant. I’d never seen anything like that. But people turned out to watch, to see the area raised to the ground. As a little girl it was a thrill watching as those chimneys came crashing to the ground.

A skyline forever changed.

Monuments erased.

The area changed again, as it always does.

Jan: We went, I think it was on a Saturday morning with my Dad, and my Gran and Grandad. We went to watch the big tower chimneys bring knocked down, it was brilliant. I must have been about, probably six or seven.

Keep walking.

The call of St Peters calling you back to where we started.

Go to it.

You can see the back end of St Peters, the curved wall of the chapel.

It’s louder now.

Turn left.

With every step you leave your mark on this place.

You add your story to the earth below.

I am the chimneys pointing towards the sky.

The Salt of the earth people down below.

I am communities, churches, cobbles and canals.

I am schools and hospitals.

The people that fought to keep them here.

Stamp hard on the ground, leave your mark.

Don’t forget how special this place is, you mustn’t.

Not just the buildings and histories.

The communities that care. That give back.

You can give back.

You can step up.

Make change.

Build a community that is stronger than ever.

I am stadiums.

I am factories.

I am brick and stone.

I am rust.

I am the beating heart of this place.

I am the people.

I am the place where it all happened. Where it all - happens.

I am here.

I am a monument.

(Sounds build, the communities voices build.....silence).