by “You’re going to Macclesfield? Amazing! So jealous!” said absolutely no one. When I told my friends where I was headed, all I knew was questioning eyebrows: “Macclesfield? Why?”
Perhaps that was to be expected. It is, after all, a post-industrial town once branded the “least cultured” place in Britain by the Local Futures Group. The group’s 2004 report found that in terms of facilities such as theaters and cinemas, the Cheshire borough had only 4 per cent of the national average.
But that was 20 years ago. Times have changed. “Before I moved back, I thought Macclesfield was a bit s—,” locally-born Thomas Broadhead admitted when we met for a beer. “But it’s in the middle of a renaissance.”
To begin with, he said, people have left nature on their doorstep – the town is on the edge of the Peak District, a long walk over rolling hills of sheep pastures, dense forest and wild Ardmontagh.
“But also the mindset has changed, it’s more peripheral,” Broadhead said. “Macclesfield still has problems, but there is a lot of creativity.”
Broadhead is at the creative forefront. His company, Tourism Board Unofficiale, makes merchandise that celebrates the stories of the town, such as baseball caps embroidered with pictures of floor chairs (the original was patented here) or Shutlingsloe, the “Cheshire Matterhorn”. “It’s tongue in cheek,” he explains, “but I thought if people wear them, we’ll raise the town together.”
So, wearing my Macclesfield Sheepdog Trials hat, I set out to explore this “cultural wasteland” myself.
It seemed only right to begin with the creative backstory, so I begin with the Silk Museum. In the 16th century, Macclesfield was famous for making buttons. When it was fashionable to cover them with silk, Macc was very innovative in that industry as well. The first silk mill was established in 1743; at its peak, there were 70 mills in the town. Today, only one remains, along with the recently restored Paradise Mill.
I embark on a journey with guide Tim Lightfoot, who leads us over the clattering winds of Paradise to the impressive array of Jacquard handlooms. These ingenious machines use cards with punched holes to automate the process of weaving the patterns (“the beginning of the computer age!” said Lightfoot); after extensive repairs, one is back in working order. On it was a beautiful new piece of silk, inspired by patterns in the museum’s archive, woven by Manchester University students – the first fabric created here for at least 20 years.
For more contemporary culture, I stroll across town to meet cartoonist Marc Jackson. He runs Room for Comics, a shop and art studio – above the excellent artisan bakery Flour, Water, Salt – which offers drawing classes for all age groups. The space is joyous: flooded with light robots, strangely scribbled all over the walls. “My classes are like The Muppet Show with felt pens,” he says.
Jackson is on a mission to make Macclesfield a hub for comedy, including organizing the long-established Macc Pow! festival (June 20-23). “We’re filling the town more and more every year, connecting creators with local businesses,” he explains. As well as workshops and film screenings, there will be artists drawing portraits in cafes and “path features” in pet shops, as well as Beanothe library’s first female benefactor, giving free demonstrations.
It sounds brilliant; I was sad that I missed it. But at least my visit coincided with the monthly Treacle Market. Established in 2010, partly as two fingers up to the “less cultured” judgment, the market is thriving, with nearly 150 stalls selling everything from Cheshire cheese to cigar box guitars; there’s always music too, which starts with the house jazz band – all in their 80s but still killing it.
I wander around, between handmade jewelery and potted plants, gourmet mushrooms and Nepali mums. I buy a fiery hot sauce, made by a man who used to DJ at the Haçienda. And I would have bought a bottle of Forest Whiskey if I hadn’t already done it: the day before I enjoyed a tour of the distillery, at the old Cat and Fiddle (previously the second highest pub in England); The Forest Blend 29 was smooth as caramel, delicious.
“We’re keen for the market to bring footfall to the whole town,” explains organizer Becky Thompson when I meet her at the 19th-century Old Butter Market, a long-disused space given over to the Treacle Market. back alive. “Stalls are not placed in front of shops that are open. We want everyone to have a good day.”
And it seems everyone is. The cafes are doing a healthy trade (and there are many good ones). Live music flows from the Button Warehouse, a smart new bar in an old button factory. Stalls fill the courtyard at the Picturedrome, a long-abandoned cinema turned hip dining hall. And a singer struts outside the Proper Sound bar-cum-music store.
Proper Sound is a love letter to the local music scene – especially the Ian Curtis mural in its courtyard. Curtis, born Macc, was the frontman of the post-punk band Joy Division, who had a brief but bright success in the late 1970s, before Curtis took his own life in 1980. His dark lyrics are still heard today. today, and fans of all ages and nations do. Pilgrimage Macc.
“I had people from Italy, Hungary, Chile,” said Trevor Stokes, who I met that evening. A passionate Maxonian and Joy Division devotee, Trevor began running tours focused on the band in 2023. “The selling point is that they’re led by someone who knows the town and a little bit of Ian,” says Trevor; his grandfather lived around the corner from Curtis – “our paths crossed a few times”.
We begin at the site of Curtis’ first home in Macclesfield, an “ugly, smelly” block, since demolished. Directed by Trevor, personal stories visit Curtis’ old schools, his memorial grave, the Barton Street house where he died. “Ian didn’t become a superstar,” explains Trevor, reflecting on the man’s long-term appeal. “He lived in a terraced house. So it’s like us.”
I am no Joy Division aficionado. But traveling with Trevor confirms Macc’s right to be considered a cultural player, and shows a global side of the town. It is a journey of music and social history.
Afterwards, Trevor drops me back at the train station. We pick up his son, Harry, on the way, so I ask him what he thinks about living in Macclesfield. “He’s in heaven!” Harry answers.
Who’s jealous now?
