Abandoned Pottery, Lancashire.

I wanted a quick look at this since I saw some other photos on an Urbex site. Unfortunately on this trip I got busted. I asked a farmer if the building I could see from the road was an old pottery. He said it was and also told me how to get to it. He said an old lady owned it, but she seldom left her house these days. Having done so, he then wandered off to phone the real owner. What a nice man. Note to self: do NOT go urbexing in a sign written van with my name and phone number up the sides! I was in there for around 40 minutes before a very upset owner called my mobile. He asked me to leave as he was fed up with having to drag photographers and thieves out of the building all the time. The building is dangerous and he is afraid of being sued when someone gets hurt whilst trespassing. Seemed like a nice chap, and I'm sorry to have contributed to his stress. I wouldn't encourage others to visit. Anyway, here are a few of the pics...

Pottery lurking in the trees by the roadside.

Mmm. Tasty.

The attic. Very creaky.

Galebrook House, Bolton

I broke my own rules on this visit. Firstly, don't go into dangerous old buildings alone. Secondly, don't reveal the location. First one was stupid, second one doesn't really matter, the house was pulled down a week after I took the photos. So by all means visit the approach road to Dunscar Golf Club in Bolton. It is very nice, but the house is no longer there.

This house was built in 1885 for Thomas Slater a local businessman who owned owned the Dunscar Bleaching Co, down in the nearby valley. The earth mound with trees, down the lane from the house was built and planted by Mr Slater, so that his hideous satanic mill didn't spoil the views from his drawing room!

Galebrook was last used as a care home. The building was littered with the tools of the trade.

Rotten as a pair since the lead thieves had been in.

A room with a view.

Trying not to disappear through the floor. Lots of which was missing.

You can spray that again.

Death's waiting room. Waiting to die.

Mr Slater's mound!

The Asylum

A bit of a sacred cow this one. We had wanted to crack it for a while, but the place is well fenced off and has security guards on patrol. A couple of early attempts came to nothing. Most memorably one time where Fragglehunter spent the afternoon playing can and mouse with a local farmer in the fields of Lancashire. As it turns out, access was a simply matter of spending long enough strolling around. The clues eventually appear and from there it was just a case of climbing through some bushes, over a fence, through a field, over another fence, waiting for security to move on, then a third fence and we were in the compound. From there is was a case of remaining out of sight and looking for a way in. We know of two. There will undoubtedly be more. Most importantly, we gained access without  breaking in or doing any damage. We take it seriously. We aren't pikeys!

Lots has been written about this place, but a few interesting facts might be that at its full capacity the asylum housed 3500 patients and had a staff of 600. Within the boundaries were a 500 acre working farm, its own water tower, a cinema / theatre, its own brewery and butchers. It also had its own railway station. It was the largest hospital in the UK and the second largest in Europe.

Fenced off and overgrown. It is absolutely jumping with wildlife.

Not in such good shape once inside. I went through the floor at one point. Theives have been at the lead and slates so the buildings are crumpling and rotten.

The sort of ward one might expect to meet Kenneth Williams or Hattie Jacques in.

One of the inter linked corridors, seen from above.

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The theatre. Note the two projector windows at the back.

One of dozens of day rooms.

Another inevitable chair shot.

Fragglehunter doing his thing.

The main entrance.

We probably only saw 10% of the site. It really is huge. As usual I have hundreds of photos. I will post more when time allows. Thanks for looking.

Heartbreak Hotel

Fragglehunter checking out the stairs.

Here is the first page. A visit to an Hotel in deepest
darkest Lancashire. The place closed down several years
ago and has been slowly deteriorating since then.
Fortunately it has escaped the attention of the larger
Urbex community, some of whom on balance are little
better than the pikeys who steal from and smash up
places like this. It still has glass in most windows and
nice features remain. For this reason, I am not revealing
the location.

Gently crumbling away. Somebody must have loved this place.

This was once a rather nice bedroom. Shot with wide angle lens.

Lantern roof above landing. A lesson in the art of fibrous plasterwork.

This place just oozes colour.

Fragglehunter checking the menu.

Wake up to a goblin teasmade!

A tired refugee from Thatcher's Britain. And a Jaguar.

Daimler 4.2, slowly fades away.