Wednesday 21st May 2025

It's grim up north.

I thought being retired meant a life of Leisure? But on Wednesday I was on my travels again, this time up north to Bury near Manchester to meet up with Jen at Sylv's, and travel back in her car on Thursday.

I threw a change of clothes into a rucksack, and was ready for Jools to take me to the station for the quarter to eight train, but going outside we found there was more water falling from the sky, and was cool.

Into town, Jools dropped me off at Priory station, I already had my ticket, so went onto the platform to wait, then take a seat when the train came in.

Being a peak service, it was full, but not too bad, maybe some extended holidays were already being taken for Whitsun next week.

In London it was raining harder, so instead of walking, I went to the Tube to get a train the one stop to Euston, but due to the layout under St Pancras, I'm sure I walked as far to get tot eh Underground as it would have been to walk in the first place.

Just dryer.

As I emerged onto the concourse, the platform was announced, so hundreds of us made our way to platform 5, then me to coach F seat 59(f) right in the middle of a picture window, perfect for watching the world go by as we sped north.

I put on headphones, and listened to podcasts too.

Lovely.

The run up to Manchester was disrupted by a bridge strike in the Crewe area, so north of Stafford we went from one signal to the next.

Over and over again.

Meaning the train, as did all the others in the area, get later and later.

All the while, the lady in the seat next to me was designing knickers. I guess they don't design themselves.

We arrived in Manchester 58 minutes late, two minutes shy of me being able to claim the whole cost of the ticket back.

Manchester was in party mood: Utd were playing Spurs in the Europa Conference Final that night, and Utd always wins. Except when they don't.

I went down to catch a tram to Bury, £4.60 well spent. And a minute later the tram pulled in, and then began to meander through the city centre to Victoria, after which it rattled along former railways, so got a good speed up.

I love riding trams when they go through cities, along streets, screeching round corners and people scattering out of the way, and all the while the tram passing close to shop doors.

After forty minutes the tram arrived in Bury, underneath the bus station, and I emerged into bright warm sunshine, and the town looking magnificent.

Bury and the Manchester area were once the heart of the industry of the Empire, cotton weaving especially, and must have been hard places to live and work in.

Industry has gone, the town cleaned up, and its civic and other buildings are grand and sparkle in the sunshine.

Up the main street, past the vape and pound shops to the main square, where the Parish church of St Mary dominates, and opposite not one, not two, not three, but four pubs stand side by side, but only the Robert Peel offers food.

I go in and order a burger, and then a pint of vanilla porter which costs all of £2.80, so when the barmaid told me the cost, I thought she had mis-spoken.

The beer was good, the burger too.

Sadly the hour's delay caused by the bridge strike meant I had an hour less to look round, and anyway, it was time to meet with Jen and Sylv to ride the steam train.

Yes, a steam train.

Though due to fire risk, the stream locomotive had been replaced by a class 45 whistling Peak.

The main reason for wanting to visit, for me, was the preserved town centre station. I had seen videos and pictures, and thought it worth a visit, and Wednesday was the first mid-week opening of the line, perfect for a visit then.

I walked out of the pub, and was walking the corner towards the ELR when I was called by two glamourous ladies: Jen and Sylv.

I went over, and we hugged and kissed, then ambled down to Bury Station, and with the ticket office closed, we walked down the steps to the platform.

Trains left from the island platform, and normally this would require going back up the steps and across, but for us they opened the barrow crossing, so we crossed on foot over the tracks.

With twenty minutes to kill before the train left, we had an ice cream, then sat in the rear carriage, I thought, and waited for traction to arrive.

It arrived, but coupled up to our carriage, so all the way to Rawtenstall we could hear the Peak's engines growling and rumbling.

Out of Bury, through tunnels and crossing the Irwell many times on the 35 minutes amble. It was excellent.

Being a hot afternoon, and they having a "Buffers" bar, we went in and I had a fine lemon meringue IPA which I supped on the way back to Bury.

Back in Bury we retire to the local 'Spoons, where Happy hour had fifteen minutes to run, so we had a main course and a pint for under a tenner. I had a pint of Leffe, which for 80p a pint, was a gold certified bargain.

Man Utd supporters were gathering for the game, but for us we caught a bus back to Kearsely, and having missed the direct bus, we had to take the "round the houses" one.

50 minutes alternating between former industrial towns and open farmland and fells, we were dropped off a 30 second walk from Sylv's flat beside the river.

I tried to find a way of watching the game. I could have gone to a pub, but I had drink enough and another pint would have caused me to go pop. I listen to the radio in the bedroom, and sleep though some of the first half, but were awake when Spurs scored.

Could Utd find an equaliser in the 2nd half?

No.

Huge cheers at the end of the game. I switch off the radio and go to sit with Jen and Sylv, who were watching a derivative TV crime drama.

We had a cuppa, then said good night, and a very long day drew to an end.