Behind the Arndale and past the big wheel is Manchester Cathedral. Its bell tower is edged by tall turrets. From my elevated viewpoint they look like looming figures. Knights perhaps. Surrounding Saint George's flag which hangs proudly in the centre. They are confident as they gaze outward. Eagle-eyed as they guard the bustling metropolis.
They alone truly know how the area has changed throughout the ages. Their long lives are marked by cobwebs and weathered stone. New glass buildings change the horizon. They remember the victorian warehouses, the revolutionary dirty chimneys, the black and white tudor-fronted houses, the shacks. And before that they remember green fields and trees. The people remain the same. There have been scallies since the beginning of time.
As the afternoon mist rolls in the figures disappear. The knights are hidden from view in the damp July haze.
Manchester is a very wet city. Even in summer.
Kate
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