Some come for urinals, others bid for menu boards. Others, more ambitious, wanted nothing less than the dancefloor. Richard Hector-Jones attends the auction of The Haçienda and watches, teary-eyed, as every nut and bolt is sold…

‍

“Welcome to an event which, without fear of contradiction, is totally unique,” announces a besuited gentleman representing Crosby Homes, purchaser of The Haçienda building from a makeshift stage.

There then follows the plans developers have to convert the old Haç site into flats, a speech that concludes thus: “When we re-open the site as apartments next year, once again you will be able to dance to your favourite music, only this time in the luxury of your own flat.”

Boos of disdain shake the cluttered warehouse in Manchester’s city centre, whereupon it becomes apparent to all present that when it comes to The Haçienda and Factory’s legacy, even at the end of 2000, emotions still run deep.

Everyone from the building’s past is in attendance. Tony Wilson, New Order’s Peter Hook, Mike Pickering, Graeme Park, Dave Haslam. No wonder: for sale today at the (charity­ funding) Haçienda auction are basically the nuts and bolts of the building. There’s dancefloor, urinals, bricks, radiators, balcony railings, menu boards, a piece of concrete with ‘Hooky Salford ‘94’ etched onto it, chimney pots (!?), the cash register, even the bleeding DJ booth.

“I’d like to add The Haçienda mirror ball to the event if I may,” announces Peter Hook into the auctioneer’s mic midway through his guest appearance announcing lots. “It’s clogging up my garage and the mirrors are so small it’s impossible to do a line off them.”

To the action. A set of five Victorian radiators goes for £30. Antique radiators go for a packet. But really, there are only a few items of key interest here. The dancefloor, the DJ booth itself and perhaps the steel dancefloor girders. Rumour is that Cream is bidding for the DJ booth. Peter Hook mutters something about scousers, over, and his dead body.

Jockey Slut steps in to bid for some dancefloor. A beautifully mounted piece of history, four foot by four foot. It’d make the perfect coffee table, we think guiltily, though with the amount of dropped Es ground into it you could probably do ‘twenty to life’ for possession alone. The bids start at £30. Bargain. Then suddenly it’s at £175. At £200 it’s gone in a flash. Who got it? Oops, we did. 

Later a security guard brings lot 21 out to our car. ‘You twat’ is written all over his face.

Finally the warehouse doors are opened to reveal, over the far side of the road, the whole Haç DJ booth now residing on the back of a lorry. The crowd gathers round, the bidding starts at £500, and then nothing

Perhaps the world’s not that bothered. More likely, everyone has seen the booth standing there 30ft high off the ground and thought: ‘Nice idea, but where the fuck am I supposed to put it?’ Who knows? But one thing’s for sure, no one’s biting except the Mancs. Then Peter Hook notes a bid for £600 towards the back. The bid, it turns out, is fictitious, but Manchester is back with £700. Eventually Hook reveals he made up the other bidder, but by this time some muppet by the name of Bobby Langley (a Haç resident himself) has shelled out £1,100. No one seems to mind Hook’s underhand tactics. It is, after all, a charity event.

The whole event has an air of melancholy. But by the same token, it’s rather touching because, for all the attendant mourners here today, this is the final send-off for perhaps Manchester’s finest contribution to music. Tony Wilson, Mike Pickering and Hooky are spinning with requests for signed stuff. Bricks and floor are popular with those who’ve brought marker pens. I bet that never crossed their minds when Madonna, New Order, Lee Perry, The Smiths, Sasha, Joy Division, Primal Scream, Happy Mondays, Mantronix, Funkadelic, Blur, David Morales, The Stone Roses and Paul Oakenfold were out the back waiting to get paid for their epoch-defining performances.

“The Haçienda must be built,” Tony Wilson once said famously. And so by the same token must it be destroyed. Now it’s well and truly in bits. That seems like a pretty good way to leave it.

‍