Macclesfield

The down platform was heaving with young people intent on a good Saturday night out in Manchester. It was only three in the afternoon. It seemed like they must have been issued with an alcoholic beverage of their choice when they bought their tickets. They were clearly starting as they meant to continue. Being a guard on the last train home to Macclesfield must be a fun shift.  

Macclesfield station is uninspiring. Though train services are relatively frequent on the electrified Piccadilly to Stoke route, the buildings are very much from the Modernist and Brutalist sixties era. There is no trace of the original station of 1873, built jointly by the North Staffordshire Railway and the Manchester, Sheffield and Lincolnshire Railway.

Macclesfield itself was a pleasant surprise. The imposing town hall is perched on the top of a ridge next to the parish church and overlooking a tight-knit pattern of cobbled streets. We had no trouble finding cafes of individuality, that were clearly making an effort to please. Café ambience is so important, when you are using such places as a base for catching up with friends, and the first impressions created by the staff always seems to set the tone for what follows.

Back at the station, the delayed Manchester-bound train would have emptied the platform well before we’d finished our own afternoon refreshments of tea and cake. The party goers would have no doubt been hoping for a Pendolino from Euston equipped with a buffet to whisk them to the Northern Powerhouse. The alternative local Northern Class 331 unit from Stoke would probably have been totally dry.