Hungerdale Farm

A little while ago I decided to head to Hungerdale Farm, a cute little ruin in the Shropshire countryside. 

I've known about this place for well over a decade now but I think back in the day I kinda dismissed it as "just a ruin" while I pranced around locations that I perceived to be "better." And indeed, from an urbex perspective I can see why people dismiss the smaller ruins. I did just climb on top of a rocket over on my travel blog, after all.

But I've been doing this for fifteen years. I have quite literally become an adult in the time that I've been doing this hobby, and in that time I have grown a bit more humble, and learned how to appreciate even the most dilapidated of places. It also helps that I'm better at researching now than I was ten years ago. Places like this come to life when we can talk about the people that they mattered to.

Alas, my earlier attitude of indifference to such ruins has come back to bite me somewhat, because I'm too late! Prior to 2022 Hungerdale Farm had a lot more going on. It was possible to get upstairs and everything. But then there was a fire that the emergency services have simply summarised to be "of doubtful origin." I think they're trying to say they don't know what caused it, but what it really means is that they don't know if the fire started at all. 

Nevertheless, Hungerdale is still intriguing. There's no road leading to it, nor are there any remains of electrical fixtures. It's a true remnant of the old world, and a lifestyle that would be completely alien to people today. 

But thanks to records, it's still possible to look back at the people who lived here. 

The earliest recorded occupant that I can find is John Doorbar, and his wife Prudence. 

John's family can be traced all the way back to "Rombaldus Durbarre" in 1560, which has got to be the best name ever. But unfortunately this story isn't about him. John and Prudence are the stars of the show. 

They married in 1863 and had a whopping fifteen children between then and 1887. There's a gap of one or two years between each child, meaning poor Prudence spent the majority of her adult life pregnant, from the age of nineteen to forty-three. That poor woman. She may as well have just rented out the maternity unit at this point. Just put a revolving door at the entrance to the hospital. 

I guess that was the way of doing things back then. Many families of the era had more children than the families of today. Of course, contraception back in those days ranged from the pull-out method to socks, and on top of that there was a high child mortality rate. I think the attitude of many families was that the more they had, the better the odds of someone making it to adulthood. 

Their legion of children weren't brought up here at Hungerdale Farm though. John and Prudence moved here in their later years, between 1891 and 1901. Their last child, Minnie, was born in 1887 but died in infancy. I guess Hungerdale Farm was more of a place for them to settle down, and have an easy life. And that's fair enough for Prudence. She deserves a break! 

The surviving children did visit and sometimes stay here for a bit. In 1901 their eleventh child, Lucy, was living with them at the age of 22, and also here was "Albert," their teenage grandson, although I'm not sure whose child he was.  

With the stairs stripped away by arson a fire of doubtful origin, this is the only view we can get of the upstairs, by sticking my camera up through the floorboards. There's not a lot to see anymore, but older photos do reveal bedrooms with fireplaces in them. Something we don't really see anymore. 

And here in the largest of the downstairs rooms we can see a diagonal line above the doorway. This is all that remains of the staircase.

The fireplace is quite cute. From what I can tell from earlier images of the place, its actually bigger than it looks. The "floor" is actually a foot of rubble that was once the roof and ceiling. 

Its sad. I know some people might struggle to see it the way I see it, but for me places like this come to life when we can talk about the people who lived here. This may be a ruin, but this is the room where John sat in his armchair and read the paper, and perhaps smoked a pipe. He, Prudence, Lucy and Albert would have sat around a table to eat their dinner and make smalltalk within these walls, never guessing that in a centuries time their home would be a ruin, and would be written about online for the world (well, the ten people who read my blog) to see. 

I think about their conversations and how they may differ today. How many words and terms that we use today weren't around back then? Light switch. Plug socket. Radiator. Fridge. WiFi. Covid. Airport. Speeding ticket. TV license. 

Slang terms and idioms that have their origins in war time like "it's all gone tits up." It raises an interesting question of how much of a modern conversation would turn a Victorian mans brain to jelly, even though the language is the same.

I find it very fascinating. 

This room is surprisingly modern, with breezeblocks for walls. It seems there was an attempt to give the house a modern extension at some point. 

Onto the barn...

The barn is pretty empty but here is the remains of an old workbench. 

And check out that ceiling beam barely holding on. It would be possible to climb up there, if I didn't mind being up there for all of two seconds before the laws of physics brought me crashing back down to the ground floor, along with a chunk of the house. 

By 1911, Lucy Doorbar had moved out and married a man named Ernest who worked in the railway industry. But her brother, William, moved into Hungerdale with his wife and son. John and Prudence were in their seventies at this point, but allegedly still running the farm. William was evidently helping out a bit, but he was soon drafted into the military and sent over to France for the first world war. It seems he was wounded in 1917 and returned to the UK, where he passed away in hospital. He was 35. 

Prudence Doorbar passed away in 1921, and John retired from farming, now 81. It seems as though the farm was still run by his eighth child, Mary Ann and her husband Henry Rowlands. Both of them were 46, and they brought with them their teenage children, Jack and Sydney. 

What irritates me about using old records for research is that while I can chart out the Doorbar's individual life stories, I have nothing that tells us anything about them as people. I'd like to know what it would be like to sit and chat with John Doorbar. What were his dreams? What did he enjoy doing? 

Well, baby-making, according to census data, but I like to think people aren't that two-dimensional. 

There is evidence that Lucy did come to visit with her daughter, Mabel. Mabel is the only member of the family who I've managed to find an image of. 

(Photo of Mabel credit: Mabel's daughter, Jen.)

Mabel was four when John Doorbar passed away, so her memories of Hungerdale were vague to say the least. But it's nice to think of John's grandchildren coming to play here. That makes these ruins somehow a lot more wholesome. Once upon a time these ruins were full of life. 

Evidently John did maintain a relationship with his children, and he opened his doors to their partners and their children too, and they even came to make sure he wasn't alone during the final yeas of his life. 

 

John passed away in this house at the age of 1924, whereupon the farm was inherited by Henry and Mary Ann. Henry Rowlands was said to still be the owner according to records from 1937, but by 1939 he had moved to Atcham. 

According to records from 1939, Hungerdale was lived in by a couple called John and Mary Rowley, who seemingly have no connection to the Doorbar family at all. They were also farmers, and they passed away in 1969 and 1970. 

Hungerdale has seemingly been neglected and rotting ever since. There's no road and there's no electrical fittings, so it was never modernised beyond having a breezeblock extension. 

There seems to have been plans to convert it into a respite home for children with learning disabilities around 2006, but nothing seems to have come from that, and now that it's been gutted by a fire, nothing probably will. 

And that's it for Hungerdale Farm. It's unexciting perhaps for many urbexers, but I love looking at ruins like this and researching who they were "home" to. The people who lived here had hopes and dreams and aspirations. They laughed and cried, and had so many memories within these walls. And with the help of old records, what many dismiss as a ruin, can be a window into the past. 

I only wish records told us more about them. John and Prudence Doorbar were farmers, but who were they beyond that? We are not just our occupation, we are our personalities and hobbies. Our lives are as much about the little things that make us happy than about how we put food on the table. I think an imbalance in that area today is what makes so many people miserable. And when it comes to census records, it's the sort of thing that has been lost forever, and it is sad. Every human has a story, and when they die that story is lost. 

My next blog will be a mansion over on my travel blog. I'm quite looking forward to digging up the history on that! 

In the meantime, I do regularly post my new blogs to my social media. Whether the algorithm will actually show you my posts if you follow me is anyone's guess. But if we don't try, our chances of failure will always be zero. So if you like my blogs, follow me on the shitholes that are Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. But also follow me on the newer independent social medias. Vero, Cara and Bluesky are all perfectly adequate replacements for Instagram and Twitter, and unlike their predecessors, they're not about feeding on misery. Cara and Vero are definitely more for photographers and other artists. They're quite cool. Find me and add me.

Thanks for reading!

Alice in Drains

 

Sometimes I do something a little different, and try to persuade the world that I'm an actual photographer, not just a maniac with a camera. And to do that, I usually find a real human, with a pulse and everything, to be a subject. But I keep it urbex-related just because that's where I'm at my happiest. 

This is my second time working with Alice in this capacity. Alice is a photographer and accomplished urbexer in her own right. She taught me how to actually use a camera, and I in turn didn't get her killed when we used an air vent to access an abandoned tower with a six-story drop. Alice does an entire photographic series of portraits with a creepy rabbit head, so we decided to combine our themes. We've done it on the rooftops before, admittedly to a more superior quality than I have done with this. But the rooftops are easy. This is my first time photographing someone underground, with no natural light. 

Well, except here. But this is the tunnel entrance. 

To be clear, this is not a sewer. Many, many years ago it was an actual river, and the powers-that-be decided they wanted Shrewsbury to be there instead, and quietly shunted it underground. It's possible to access this tunnel from both openings, one upstream and one downstream, and sometimes it's possible to see frogs and fish living down here, completely unaware that sunlight even exists. 

But of the risks involved here, we can probably rule out the likes of campylobacter, giardiasis, or methaemoglobinaemia, which is terrific. I don't want anything entering my body unless I can pronounce it. 

It's a good thing I can pronounce penis.

Truthfully this whole photoshoot thing is a little bit silly, but then when something like this is right on your doorstep, you've exhausted the exploration of it and documented it to completion, what's left to do but have fun with it? Because first and foremost a hobby should be fun. You remember what fun is, right? I know this is the era of Facebook, where we're just expected to stand around lugubriously and complain about vegan sausage rolls, other peoples genitalia, and a bunch of other shit that doesn't really matter, but out here in the real world the whole point of life is to have fun. 

To be honest, despite having no natural light in this subterranean playground wrought with hazards and possible death, these came out alright. It's almost like I know what I'm doing.

I don't. It's *like* I know. 

As a quick disclaimer or cautionary warning, exploring structures like this is very dangerous. It's a passage of flowing water, with numerous drains joining on, and if there was any sudden heavy rainfall this place can quickly become a literal death trap. There are real cases of urban explorers dying in storm drains. The water can get pretty fast, the floor can be pretty slippery, and there may be debris flowing along and other hard things to whack your head on. I don't go underground unless it's been a dry day. There's no phone signal and no natural light, so if something goes wrong, it can go VERY wrong. 

 

I can't speak for Alice, although we are on the same page about a lot of stuff, but I sort of envision her rabbit character as a type of cryptid, or slenderman-ish entity that is glimpsed but never actually interacted with. People may see it, but if they turn their head or blink, the rabbit will be gone, vanished in a puff of someone else's problem. 

 

Naturally I will conclude with one of Alice's photos of me wearing the rabbit head.

 

It's pretty cool. Obviously Alice is a superior camera person to me, but the entire shot in contrast the opening shot also shows what difference a wide angle lens can do. I was very jealous. 

And that's about it. It's just a small one before I start focusing on my travel blog again. I have something kinda big coming up, which is great because my recent posts here have all been kinda small.

If you like my blogs and want to stay updated, then unfortunately social media is the best way. Because the big ones (Facebook and Twitter) are all algorithmic hellscapes with more bots than fleshbag humans, that seem to serve only to bait us into arguments. I'm trying to focus my energy more on the likes of Bluesky, Vero and Cara. Social media does need to change. The internet was never intended to be the misery factory that it has devolved into. It needs to be about sharing creativity and hobbies, whether that's photography, art, writing, or even showcasing a collection of something. That's the internet I want. So definitely give those last three a chance if you fancy taking social media in that direction.

Thanks for reading!

Wrekin Rifle Range

Doesn't this look deliciously ominous? Am I about to be shot to death? 

Nope! Sorry to ruin your dreams and leave you blue balled. 

This firing range hasn't been used since, allegedly, the 1980s, although there are conflicting stories there. The sign, which had curiously had the word "military" censored, is just a remnant of an era that feels very far away but actually makes up the last century of the Wrekin's history.  

This is the remains of the target trench, where operators would raise the targets for the shooters using some old mechanisms that are still in the firing trench, and still in reasonably good condition. 

So obviously I came up here on two separate days. I know this is the UK but the weather still doesn't change this rapidly. 

 

The rifle range can actually be seen on old maps as far back as the 1880s, which is pretty cool. Prior to that it was allegedly a horse race track, but the ground doesn't really seem suitable for it.

While these mechanisms are pretty much the most interesting remnant of the firing range, the range itself went all the way down the field, with some firing spots being on the other side of the road. Needless to say, when the firing range was active the road was closed, as were the public footpaths. There were red flags warning people, as well as friendly sentries who had the pleasure of standing around in all manner of weather turning people away, while their mates blasted plywood targets to bits. 

Today the area is pretty calm. The area really doesn't look like a firing range at all, at least not as they're portrayed by modern media. For starters, there's no school full of children.

But if it wasn't for these contraptions, we'd never guess that a century ago this area would have been a hive of military activity. Bullets would be whizzing by, and people would be down among the mechanisms, raising the targets. People hundreds of yards away would be opening fire, and the gunshots could be heard for miles. Often the chaps operating these mechanisms would use a stick to indicate on the target where the shot had hit, so that the shooters could make improvements, and it was a common sport to then try to shoot the stick from the operators hand as a bit of a joke. They sound like fun times.

 

The firing range was originally used by the Kings Shropshire Light Infantry, a regiment who apparently marched here all the way from their barracks in Shrewsbury. The three best shooters were then allowed to ride home on a truck.

The regiment was formed in 1881 and they were active in the Anglo-Egyptian War in 1882, Sudan in 1885, the Ashanti War in what is now Ghana in 1895 and the more famous Boer War from 1899 to 1902. It's pretty cool to think that people who were active in these conflicts actually trained on this firing range, although I doubt the target mechanisms were the same. They will have been upgraded over the years.

Here's a photo of the Kings Shropshire Light Infantry in 1898!

(Photo not mine, obviously)

So every man in this image has been here. Each man pictured has probably stood several hundred yards down the field, and pointed a gun at where I'm taking my photos. It's pretty cool. 

One notable member of this regiment is Private Arthur Nick Carter, who served with it from 1901 to 1951, serving in both the Boer War and the First World War. When he retired he was the oldest serving member of the British Army. He also holds the record for the most stripes for good conduct, awarded more than any other member of the British Army ever. They're visible in this image of him. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

The Kings Shropshire Light Infantry fought in the first world war, and some went to Ireland for their war of independence in 1919. They also occupied Germany for a bit in 1924. And this was where they trained, and blasted the shit out of targets, bantered, and had a jolly old time.

Down here in the target trench, there are some steps leading down to a corrugated iron shed that looks like one fart could bring it toppling down. This was apparently where the targets were stored when the range wasn't in use. 

The firing range was apparently extended in 1928, and at some point it started also being used by the Shropshire Yeomanry. This was a volunteer regiment, usually consisting of regular workmen who took up a number of days training each year to learn how to act in concert with regular military forces. They weren't really meant for foreign service, being more of a home guard, but in 1900 a royal warrant was issued to get them serving in Africa during the Boer War. 

Here's a photo of the Shropshire Yeomanry in 1916!

(Photo not mine, obviously)

So in all likelihood, everyone in this photo has used this target range, and that just blows my mind. There's nearly twenty years between this lot and the photo of the Kings Shropshire Light Infantry. This lot could be that lots children. That's not to be taken literally, but to say that there is a generations difference here. 

The firing range opened itself up to the wider military community too. The Territorial Army were using it by 1937. I'm not a military nerd expert. I don't know the difference between the Yeomanry and the TA, although I'm sure someone will tell me at great length if I get it wrong. The TA is what we now refer to as the Army Reserve. 

The Home Guard also used the firing range between 1940 and 1944. These guys did vary from the Territorial Army, in that the TA were volunteers who supported the British Army whereas the Home Guard was a citizen militia consisting of people too old or too young to serve in the regular army. 

The firing range was also used by any units who were tasked with defending the various local RAF bases. And as my blogs have shown us, Shropshire has plenty of them! 

 

After the second world war, the firing range opened itself up to local cadet forces as well as the local "Wrekin Rifle Club." The territorial army continued to use it and so did military folks from the nearby Donnington base. The site remained popular with numerous groups from the 1950s right up to the 1980s. If I listed all of the acronyms that have used this firing range, this blog would just look like letter salad. It would look like I'd collapsed and faceplanted the keyboard. The military love their acronyms. 

 

Interestingly, I did manage to find the old 1966 byelaws relating to this firing range. It had some fairly interesting points, basically outlining that people should not pass through the "danger area" when the red flag was flying, or "cause or permit or suffer any vehicle, animal, aircraft or thing to enter into the danger area."

I kinda love their use of the word "Thing" in there. It's like they were trying to list everything possible that could be caused to pass through the firing range, and then just settled for "thing." The byelaws do go on to specify that any aircraft must stay above 1,700 feet. 

It also mentions that the road that passes between the 300 and 400 yard mark was closed to the public when the range was active, and that anyone caught on the firing range while shooting was in process could be removed, taken into custody or fined up a whopping five pounds, according to the Military Lands Act 1892.

In their defence, £5 went a bit further in 1892, and even in 1966, but it does look rather farcical by today's standards. 

 

Despite the threat of detainment and losing their pocket money, pretty much everyone who has ever shot here will have a story of having to stop shooting because a cyclist, dog walker, or idiot teenager ventured onto the range. It seems a good chunk of Telford's population believe themselves to be bulletproof. 

But the firing range was not without incidents either. According to rumour, a sentry lost his life in the 1950s when a bullet ricocheted off a tree and hit him, although I've not been able to verify that. Add it to the list of Wrekin-related legends, along with giants and big cats. How tragic, though. The perpetrator must have felt awful. 

A short walk away is another shed, completely collapsed and being engulfed by nature. 

And from the target trench, that seems to be it. But I missed a bit, so I returned with my partner on a foggier day.

As a quick tangent, one thing I've found amusingly weird is how many people on Facebook get offended by the word "partner." And it's always the so-called tougher generation, the same ones who are also offended by black mermaids, vegan sausage rolls and English grammar while accusing everyone else of being easily offended. Is "partner" woke now? Have I missed something? So much anger and hatred has been thrown at me for it, I can't help but be mildly amused and slightly horrified by the state of humanity. This is what too much social media will do to you, folks. 

But I digress! 

Towards the bottom of the firing range is this shack. It might not look like much, but it has an old sign on the front, almost completely swallowed by ivy. 

 

It's very difficult to get a good shot of it from down here, so I had to boost my partner up to it in order to get a good angle. Let's see if we can figure out what it says. 

 

Along the top, it clearly says "Wrekin Range," and at the bottom there's the acronym "RLC" for Royal Logistics Corps. The RLC support army operations with supplying, storage, maintenance, and in this case I guess they are the ones who ran the firing range. It is curious that the sign has been censored though. This hasn't just been obstructed by ivy. Someone has also painted over the text, in much the same way the word "military" was removed from the sign in the woods.

But given that this is situated right next to the road, I figured it would be relatively easy to go onto historic streetview and see the sign from a decade or so ago. 

(Image credit: Google Streetview)

Well the shed is in better condition but the sign is still obstructed. So I decided to ask a local Facebook group to see if anyone remembered what it said. 

Someone claims that from memory it says "Warning. When red flags are flying shooting is taking place. Paths are closed."

And straight away, I gave up trying to get any answers out of people. Just looking at that sign, it's fairly obvious that it doesn't say that. There's clearly just five words here, followed by the RLC acronym. And looking at my partners shot, it's fairly obvious that there's another acronym in there too. It's BOD or BOC, or something. Each one has a variety of military meaning, but I think it says "BOC," because that can stand for "Basic Officer Course." That seems like a good possibility. 

I can honestly confirm that foggy weather is the best time to see the Wrekin. It's deliciously eerie, and definitely gave me Slender Man vibes. But it's time to slip inside the shack. 

 

It is just a hollowed out shell now, but I presume back in the day this was where all the shooters could pick up their guns, load up, maybe have some refreshments, and natter before heading across the field to open fire on the target range. It's certainly seen better days.

 

Despite some claims that the rifle range closed in the 1980s, there are former TA members who claim that they were shooting here as late as 1994. I was told that the firing range closed due to the collapse of the soviet union, but since that had happened some years prior, I took it with a pinch of salt. But someone else has told me that in the mid 1990s, shooting was once again interrupted by people strolling onto the firing range, and this time someone contacted the MOD who realised that this was always going to be an issue and closed the range for safety reasons. A "feasibility study" was carried out by an independent rifle club, but the crown indemnity that enabled the MOD to close the footpaths and roads could not be granted to civilian clubs.

So it's the civilians fault, really. They had red flags and everything but people just can't help being idiots. What is it about Telford people and just wandering into the sound of gunfire?

But it must have been odd for the locals when the range closed. By all accounts, people were accustomed to the military presence here. People could hear the gunfire for miles around. When it stopped, the entire vibe of the area must have changed. But it did bring about a new hobby for the local kids, who would scour the now lifeless fields looking for old bullet casings and other remnants, which is kinda funny because the byelaws from 1966 explicitly forbade this. But hey-ho. 

The target mechanisms became a Grade II listed structure as of 2017, which is pretty cool. This shed? It kinda has crack den vibes now, but I do love how the ivy is slowly taking it back. 

That's all I've got for this. The Wrekin Rifle Range is an effortless explore. Anyone can stroll up here to see these remnants of the past military presence, although it does help to know where you're going. I've heard some people say that they had no idea these things were even here, despite living in the area. 

It makes for a good little adventure, and the area absolutely deserves more love and appreciation.

I'll be back in Telford in about eight blogs time, after I do some more European urbex over on the travel blog. 

In the meantime, the best way to stay updated on my blogs is to follow my social medias. I actually hate what social media is becoming, so I'm definitely going to use this opportunity to mention Bluesky, Vero, and Cara, which are all trying to be what the main platforms used to be back when social media was fun. I am on Facebook, and Twitter, but I do hope that the emergence of new social media heralds the gradual decline of these algorithmic cesspits. And I'm not just saying that because Zuckerberg is sucking Trumps cock now. I don't care about that. Zuck's a businessman and Trump's just banned Tiktok, so Zuck is doing what he needs to do from a business perspective. Everyone is saying that Facebook will become a cesspit now. Look, I was once banned for "cyber crime" for posting photos of a church. My reach hasn't been the same since I got banned for my blog on the 1936 olympics. Meanwhile pedophiles and bigots are proudly proclaiming what they are, and people are getting banned for standing up to them, and it's always been that way. Can we stop pretending Facebook is a hub of integrity that needs to be protected? It's the toilet cubicle wall of the modern life, and it always was and always will be. Find me there, but please also find me anywhere else. The more reasons I have to post elsewhere, the less time I'm spending there. We all win.

Thanks for reading!