Stretford: Twinned With Nowhere
or Psychotopographers of the World Unite
by Spencer Tomson
Begin on the top floor of the Arndale Shopping Centre car park. Stretford is 150 feet above sea level, but this position elevates that to almost 185. The impressive aspect doesn’t quite reveal the curvature of the earth, but the view into the glass foyer of the adjacent budget supermarket has its own merits, many and varied.
To think yourself an island when you can’t even see the sea.
From this wide open platform, the perspective North is astounding; the hills of Rochdale pull tightly on intermittent carpets of green which span the plain. Striding seams and coal-powered jewels twinkle on distant plateaus. Inside pylonic wires, silent currents push and pull. Inside telegraphic cords, messages race across the land. Start here to calibrate a compass; in the centre is Betham Tower, the maypole around which everything revolves. Like submariners navigating by star or the volume of approaching gulls, its orientation keeps things locked.
Retreat into stairwells and head to the heart of the mall. The corridors are narrow and the lighting is avant-garde - a feeling parallel to that which is experienced in disused municipal underpasses. This is enhanced by the urine to tile ratio. Emerge always by fluke into the old market hall. A stopped clock shows the correct time twice a day, and this clock stopped in 1971. It is an excellent piece of analogue-futurism – it is broken. The goods here are cash and carry - the decor is Carry on At Your Convenience. Muhammad Ali caused a minor riot when he visited as part of a promotion for a brand of calming, malt-based drinks.
To the East is the Longford and Essoldo. From street level it is the helmet of a Mancunian giant, half buried under pavement and covering the beast itself. But from the elevated position on the creeping road bridge, a gargantuan wall of brick reveals the true size. One day it will rise from this slumber, smear pink and blue across the adjacent masonry and trample over the nearby Spiritualist Scouthut.
The Scouthut takes the worst elements of post-war pre-fab and combines them with the best elements of mid-eighties Tom Hanks vehicle, The Money Pit. The ground here can be damp and mossy, goldfinches often peck about beneath several small Alder trees. Alders produce false cones, and are a good supply for birds in late Spring. Engage in an argument about the cost of an item on the car-boot stall. A gentleman will emerge from behind a brace of grandmothers and stride over to the wallpaper table. He will pick up a lamp and, without looking at it, tilt it towards the light as though it is a counterfeit note. Brandishing it with one hand he will dangle the thumb of another hand from the greedy pocket of a green gilet. He may be a member of the Stretford Private Boaters.
The Clubhouse of Stretford Private Boaters boasts a warm welcome in excess of two days a week (staff levels permitting). With an impressive collection of oars and inflammatory literature/toilet facilities, visitors can relax horizontal into views of the waterfront. Reveries wash up on to the bank, sealed inside plastic bottles, tangled amidst shredded jazz mags. Disorientated walkers lurch fuzzily through nettle and bramble, hugging the contour like unseen fingers upon a spine. The Boaters Club is the second most mysterious feature of Stretford.
The most mysterious feature of Stretford is the Great Stone. Located in the South, its heritage is uncertain, having possibly served as a way-marker or plague cure. It now casts healing properties over several purveyors of takeaway food and a public house. Local legend decrees that when the boulder finally completes its slow return into the ground, the end of the world will occur. This will, at least, be the case for the takeaways – the combination of subsiding foundations and destruction of its protective spell will render the local business climate practically unworkable.
To the East, and raised up beside the tram tracks is a giant monolith of commerce. Suspended at eye-level as viewed from sloganned overpasses, new products glow technicolour in the hope of needling their way from monorail to penthouse. A small door at the base allows engineers to enter this capitalist brick. It is Marty McFly being violently bitten by the shark from Jaws 8. It is stepping into the franchise. It is complicity with the very future itself. Consumer, consumed. Swallowed.
End the journey at the (unfortunately now closed) hardware superstore on Great Stone Road. Having previously existed as the semi-famous Hardrock venue, the building echoes as much of Bowie as it does of tungsten tipped rawl plugs and 25 year guaranteed garden decking.
The decking outlived the store.
The decking outlived Bowie.
A Great Stone Tape theory.
This piece was originally written by Spencer Tomson to accompany the tenth anniversary of Front & Follow in 2017, and featured in the insert of their compilation LESSONS. Since then, a joint initiative by Bruntwood and Trafford Council has invested significantly in Stretford, including the mall – maybe the future is no longer what it was.
