Sunday At The Cenotaph - Lest We forget

Sunday At The Cenotaph

Lest We Forget

It's always a delight to wake up early on an Autumn Sunday morning with sunshine streaming in through the bedroom window. This particular Sunday morning it was extra special. There was no lie in bed with a cup of tea, it was up, shower and something to eat before donning our best Sunday apparel and securing the red poppies to our coat lapels. Then it was off on our day out to Manchester to help the city, country and continent remember the brave service personnel of wars gone by who paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

This year is especially poignant as it is also the year we commemorate the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of World war One, which was supposed to be the war to end all wars. How wrong they were.

Sunday mornings are such a civilised time to use the Metrolink when you can walk straight through the doors and pick a vacant seat, not have to listen to the irritating hiss of someone's excessively loud earphones or swearing coming from the mouths of youngsters as they ride the rails for free, openly dodging fares and proud of it. Our journey was peaceful as the sunshine flooded the tram. There were several people just like us, dressed for the occasion, proudly displaying the symbol of remembrance.

Walking down Mosley Street towards St Peters Square gave me time to reflect on the positive and not so positive changes that have occurred to our city in my life time, such as the revamp after the 1996 IRA bombing, which has been an absolute triumph. Then there's the (Berlin) wall in Piccadilly Gardens and the fountain that has ceased to be, which should have made that area a magnet for families but instead has become a magnet for drug dealers and vagrants openly flouting the law and in the process making the area a disaster of town planning. Oh well it was remembrance Sunday after all so the bad Manchester memories had just as much prominence as the good, although thankfully not outweighing them.

Once we arrived at the newly refurbished and repositioned Cenotaph it was clear that this year was going to be a very well turned out occasion. There were hundreds of people jostling (in the nicest possible way) for position. We stood with a view of the magnificent Central Library and Town Hall as a backdrop to the Cenotaph. A young lady with her baby girl stood in front, an old soldier proudly wearing his regimental berry and shiny medals stood bolt upright next to me.  I couldn't help wonder what was going through his mind at such a solemn time, he was staring straight ahead with a sadness reflected in his eyes. The things he had seen, the comrades he had lost must have been playing over and over in his mind as we watched the dignitaries, soldiers and representatives gather around the splendid Cenotaph. Occasionally the band would strike up with a rousing war time tune to help the crowd warm up on such a cold crisp day. 

As 11am approached the crowds gradually grew and St Peters Square fell eerily quiet as the Metrolink service was suspended. Captain Warwick Davenport began the service with The Exhortation. As he spoke the words "They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them" my eyes were full of tears as were the majority of those around me including the old soldier still stood bolt upright next to me. One person was oblivious to the significance of those words and she was looking at me with a cheeky smile on her face wondering why my eyes were watering. No I am not referring to my Wife, it was the little baby girl, who was draped over her mothers shoulder being bounced up and down, kept occupied looking and smiling at all these strange people with tears in their eyes.

The Last Post sounded by a lone bugler stood by the cenotaph then an almighty bang shook the square as the 105mm gun brought everyone's minds to the matter at hand and 2 minutes silence was observed. You could have heard a pin drop during those two minutes, except for the occasional shout and shriek for the various babies and toddlers fascinated by the echo generated by their tiny voices reverberating around the square. Then another almighty bang and the silence was broken by the band sounding the familiar Reveille.  After a short service in which representatives from different faiths spoke of the futility of war the wreaths were laid, the band sprang into life once again and the march past began. A spontaneous and heartfelt applause rippled through the crowd as various regiments, associations and bands marched by the cenotaph all given the command of eyes right. Onwards around Central Library and Albert Square they proudly marched before being dismissed on Princess Street. We hung around the area chatting to a few friends we had encountered and a few veterans until the cenotaph was cleared and we could go and spend a moment or two with our own thoughts and reading some of the many messages left on wreathes.

I hold my hands up and admit to being one of the many people dismayed by the decision to move the cenotaph to its new home but I was wrong to feel this way. The view along LLoyd  Street between the old and new town hall buildings has been greatly enhanced, except for the tree, which definitely needs repositioning and the whole area around the cenotaph and central library is beautiful and will be even more when the cross city metrolink work is complete.

To the lady stood in front of us with the delightfully cheeky little girl I would like to say thanks for bringing her along. Her smiling and kept us entertained and I hope she and her generation will carry on the tradition of this day. To the old soldier stood next to me I would have liked to have sat down with you over a pint or two and listen to your stories but you looked so engrossed in your own thoughts and memories I didn't have the guts to try and break those thoughts.

Cenotaph ceremonies up and down the country and continent will have had many such people stood there proudly reflecting on what has occurred in our distant and not so distant past, which fills me with a sense of further pride and hope for the future. 

Long may they last

Cenotaph Through The Arches

Lest We Forget Our Fallen

Our Italian Comrades Of The Great War

Michael J Ashcroft At Rosso

Michael J Ashcroft At Rosso

Manchester Confidential and the Nordoff-Robbins music charity came together on Thursday evening to host an arty event at Rosso Restaurant showcasing the fine art of Michael J Ashcroft. 

Rosso was packed to the rafters with people interested in celebrating the work of this local artist,  who loves nothing better than spending time in Manchester observing the beauty of the city and transforming a blank canvas into an oil painting of beauty. Recognisable Manchester landmarks such as Rosso, The Printworks, Beetham Tower, Old Trafford, The National Football Museum and several of the local iconic drinking establishments are given his interpretation. Standing some yards away from the pictures all framed beautifully and perfectly situated in Rosso's raised dining area you could be forgiven for thinking that they were photographs taken with an atmospheric filter attachment. It's when you get up close that the brush strokes become apparent. The dark blues mingling into one another become brooding evening skies above the Beetham tower.  Rain on the road and pathways of Corporation Street take on shimmering reflections of buildings and people as they scurry home from work and shopping. The back streets of Manchester are given a spooky atmosphere as lone cars and taxis go about their business in quiet splendour. To say that I was impressed with his work as I studied every detail of the streets I love would be an understatement of the highest degree. Thankfully the painting (Dukes 92) my Wife and I fell in love with when we previewed them on the Manchester Confidential website wasn't showing any little red dot sticker on the label as many of the others were so after a swift inspection to ascertain it was even better in the flesh it was swiftly snapped up by us and given it's very own red sticker. 

Michael was amongst the crowd of people running through his inspiration and answering questions,  the bar was full of people nibbling the delicious food being passed out by the as always attentive waiting staff,  complimentary Prosecco and Peroni was on hand to keep the party atmosphere going and a two piece band was giving us all a musical treat. Rosso laid on a five course meal for those choosing to dine,  which was just as you would expect from Rosso's chefs, a culinary delight. Many of Manchester 's  restaurants such as Rosso, Artisan, Restaurant Bar And Grill and All Star Lanes donated raffle prizes to help Nordoff Robbins bring music to as many young people as possible,  which was adjudicated by Manchester Confidential's very own food loving critic Gordo (Mark garner) with his usual aplomb. 

As the evening drew on and the free booze emptied bottle after bottle there was much laughter, opening of wallets and purses in aid of such a worthy cause. The door staff were so focused on the event being a closed one that they even turned away Ricky (Hitman) Hatton OBE from the door,  much to the astonishment of myself and bewilderment of bar staff who ran outside to try and bring him back in but he had disappeared as fast as one of his right hooks. 

The event was a great success for the profile of Michael Ashcroft,  who has had to deal with a brain tumour, which cut his engineering career short but thankfully directed him toward his passion of painting the beauty of Manchester. The Colourfield Art Gallery in Poynton, which specialises in northern art put on a great show and set the scene perfectly for us to view the paintings at their best. The gallery is showing Michaels remaining paintings for another week, so if you are as inspired as we were last night I would highly recommend a visit to Poynton in the next few days to snap one up.