Just back from a few days house- and cat-sitting for my elder son Tom, who is honeymooning with Harriet somewhere far from the Atlantic storms we’ve just endured.
It was a chance to explore Stockport, the former Cheshire borough now part of Greater Manchester. There’s no port here, nor has there ever been, but it is the birthplace of the River Mersey, where the Rivers Goyt and Tame come together to form a new waterway that meanders west towards the Irish Sea.
Many will know Stockport for its huge viaduct, constructed with 11 million red bricks and carrying the railway across the river valley. Red brick is ubiquitous in the town from the terraced houses to the original Robinson’s Brewery, built on the site of the Unicorn Inn. Production of the firm’s beer moved to nearby Bredbury a couple of years ago.
One of the most fascinating museums is the Air Raid Shelters, a labyrinth of mile-long tunnels hewn from the local red sandstone to afford protection to locals during the Second World War. You’d be potty to miss experiencing conditions in the air raid shelters.
Hat making was a major industry, and the town has a museum, Hat Works, dedicated to telling the history of this particular trade.
The ornate Winter’s Clock on Little Underbank, with Old Father Time flanked by a soldier and a sailor.
Little Underbank, which follows the course of a former brook below the town’s Market Place, now hosts trendy bars and record shops, while the market hall above it features the restored, distinctive iron and glass roof.
Word is that Stockport is the upcoming place to be. And I quite liked being there during my short stay.
