HULME PARK 6.34AM
Hulme Park exists adjacent to the Mancunian Way, its grass and trees entirely overlooked by the phalanx of huge glass towers that have now formed up on the opposite side of the inner ring road, one of the many tarmac moats that encircle the city centre. Ahead of the following morning, I was out in the late evening scouting the landscape. In this semi-darkness, the sharp sheen of the block’s regimented elevation panels were criss-crossed with bands of reflected red light, like bullet belts slung across a bandit’s chest.
The warmth had gone from the day and, as I swore in disbelief at what was suddenly before me, clouds of steam ballooned from my mouth. A large squad of young men appeared, running, all dressed in white shirts, lederhosen and braces. Some even wore those strange little hats seen on strangely coloured photographs from the 1930s. As they lapped the park, those at the front loudly urged the stragglers to keep up, filling the air with male urgency.
This encounter was still with me when I arrived the next day. The only person jogging now was a dishevelled man in a baggy tracksuit. I was unsure as to whether he was exercising or escaping. The traffic on the Mancunian Way issued a ceaseless moan, and there was no dawn chorus, except for the chattering of gold hunter magpies as they flew from tree to tree. Perhaps their marauding presence had quietened the smaller birds.
I lived in Hulme in the 1980s, but the district has been transformed since then, a regeneration considered successful after the old concrete tower blocks and crescents were demolished, and replaced with dense neighbourhoods of red brick houses and low level flats, from which a community has emerged. On the land occupied across the park, on the city side of the tarmac moat, the cloud busting skyscrapers seemed from a different world.
I felt a degree of panic as I noticed the first globs of blue sky, indicating the arrival of first light. Attempting to make sense of these vast structures on the edge of the park was almost too much for me to cope with, and I scuttled from mound to mound across open ground, trying to gain some equalising height. I kept being forced to retreat until I found a viewpoint in the grounds of a church, where a stained glass window glowed the same yellow as the lit panels in the towers. At least they had something in common.
An elderly couple, walking their dog, flinched slightly when they encountered me lurking in the half light of the old building. The man instinctively said “good morning” to me, possibly to establish a sense of safety for him and his wife, more than out of any politeness. But I welcomed the humanity of the moment and returned his greeting. He smiled. The dog stopped to consider me. The earth continued its tilt towards the sun. Soon the towers began to shimmer in the early light, an El Dorado so tantalisingly close, whilst around me, beyond the autumn trees, the streets of Hulme remained in shadow.
