Inside Manchester Town Hall

Our civic cathedral is about to be mothballed for restoration until 2024. Built in 1877, when Alfred Waterhouse won the design competition, it was state of the art High Victorian Gothic Revival. Take a tour of its splendours here while you still can - from the courtyard, through the corridors, state room grandeurs and the bees, staircases and statues, see the Lord Mayor's ceremonial silver display, and come back out by the Venetian style link bridge to the later Town Hall Extension, finishing with a look up at the grand facade in Albert Square. There are no saints in its ecclesiastical seeming niches, but scientists, politicians, thinkers, nobles and benefactors populate its history within. It has been the scene of many meetings on many projects and many celebrations of many triumphs, but overall, it has always been a place for its people.

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And my own ted must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds,

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.