Passing Through

As hungry travellers, we stopped in the liminal town of Congleton where, it seemed to us, the spreading affluence and energy of Manchester is in the midst of an encounter with a proud, provincial town. Its past prosperity, built on silk manufacturing, is evident in some fine historic buildings and a disproportionately large town hall, built in the height of Victorian hubris. More recent hard times are evident in some dereliction, decay and empty windows

We are not the first to use Congleton as a staging post. This is a former coaching inn, where horses were exchanged on the route from Manchester to London, and travelers could be accommodated. Its timber work has faint echoes of nearby Little Moreton Hall, where black-and-white half-timbering is pushed to its most extreme

The Lion and Swan are an unusual combination in the name of an inn; so much so that it may be that there were two different premises that combined both their businesses and their names. Some of the timbers look so true that we were suspicious of their authenticity, but as far as I can discover, it is genuine 17th century construction, when an existing inn was greatly expanded

I can never see the term 'coaching inn' without being reminded of a verse in the comic song about pub gentrification...

It's a sixteenth century coaching inn
Says the sign on its winding approaches
But the last sign of all
That confuses us all
Is the sign that says "Sorry, No Coaches"