Altrincham

Altrincham’s quiet lanes recall
A market town where histories entwine,
Old brick facades in gentle pastel call,
And weekend stalls display their wares divine.

The trams glide soft along the line,
Their humming blend with laughter from the Green,
Where children chase a football’s rhyme,
And joggers trace the paths serene.

A pint awaits at the local hostelry,
Real ale poured with a nod to tradition,
While theatres whisper of tragedy,
And cinemas spin modern ambition.

From Bowdon’s leafy, stately bow
To the industrial hum of Trafford’s edge,
Altrincham wears a modest brow,
Yet bears a heart that won’t relent.

So here’s to streets where past and present meet,
To tea rooms warm and bridges old,
To rain‑kissed pavements beneath grey‑blue skies,
A town of charm, dignified and bold.