Some abandoned house

 

I think almost everyone who has ever done urbex has made the joke at some point that they are the perfect person to ask for help hiding a body. 

I actually said it to my partner back in June. But the facetious remark really fell flat when my brother came over and the first thing out of his mouth was "did you hear about that body found in an abandoned house?" 

And it turned out that the house in question was this one. I had already explored it but hadn't yet written about it. I'd thought it bland at the time, and just chucked it onto my to-do list to research later. 

I really won't go too deep into recent news. I know some urbex kids like to call houses "the murder mansion" and use it for all their clickbait, but I'm not about that. This only happened a few months ago. It's all very flesh.

I went here some time before a body was found there (and hopefully before the body was put there) and I freely admit my visit was for the silliest of reasons. You see, some guy showed up in the comments of a past blog post, telling people to go follow his Facebook page because he allegedly had better urbex spots than me. But then he showed up in my inbox asking for locations, and I thought this was all a bit cheeky. So rather than hand him any urbex spots, I decided to just find his. One of us knows how to use Google. It's only existed for a quarter of a century. 

It turned out that the only place he'd been that I hadn't was this place. I was going to call it something silly like "Petty Revenge Manor" but that name probably isn't appropriate if someone has been murdered here. I had hoped that a better name would emerge through the narrative, but there isn't anything. It's just some abandoned house. 

The house is all boarded up, obviously unloved, and completely hidden from the street. Just getting here seems to take more effort than it's worth. And yet someone had ripped the boards off one of the doors and broken in. 

The house is just a big and empty. It feels like someone was in the process of renovating it but then stopped for some reason. The one thing I did like about it was its fireplaces. They're all really cute. 

I'd say the adorable fireplaces are a defining feature of this house, although that's not saying much. The only direction is up, really. 

As far as urbex goes, this place has Rightmove vibes. I know some urbexers do use Rightmove to find vacant properties, and they're almost always just empty houses. They get mocked by Urbexers who aren't motivated solely by the need to keep the youtube ball rolling. I'll probably get mocked too, and it's okay. This time I deserve it. 

The house first shows up on maps in the 1930s, when it was lived in by a dairy farmer named William. William had been born in Bridgnorth in 1900. He married his wife Hilda in 1928 and they moved here together, being the first occupants of the house. Presumably it was a farm at the time, given his occupation, although the town has grown and the surroundings are considerably less rural now. 

William and Hilda had two daughters here, named Margaret and Barbara, and records show that they were living here together in 1939. 

But details about them are vague, and given that Margaret and Barbara have children and grandchildren who still live in the area, I haven't really dug that deep. But what I find really interesting is that even though the family eventually moved out, later documents would keep referring back to the fact that they used to live here.  

For example, Hilda died in 1975, and her obituary says exactly where she lived when she died, but then casually adds that she used to live here, as if that's significant in some way. It's as if people were going to read it and say "Oh, they mean that Hilda." 

I suppose it could just be that she'd only recently moved out, but then they did the exact same thing with William for his obituary in 1991, and he was living in Berkshire by then. 

So there is something intriguing here. Their obituaries put emphasis on the two of them once living in this house, but I have absolutely no idea why. Perhaps they were just really well-known dairy farmers. 

There's a tiny room just next to the stairs, and it seems that someone has used it as a bit of a dumping ground for all their renovation clutter and whatever former belongings happened to be lying around. 

Once again, the fireplace is cute. 

There are these old Christmas coasters up on the mantlepiece. 

There's an old graphics tablet here. 

And then next to that room is a slightly larger one that has some very adorable wallpaper that really gives the house that grandma vibe. I can totally see a pensioner chilling out in this place. 

And that brings us to our next occupant for this house, a chap called Thomas.

 

Thomas was born in 1908, and he must have moved in with his wife Hilda shortly after William and the other Hilda moved out.

It sure is a fun coincidence that two women called Hilda have occupied this house. I don't think I've ever even met one Hilda. 

But I digress. Thomas and Hilda did have two children, Beryl and Bob, I really doubt they came here with them. This would have been a place that they retired to.

I have no idea what happened to Hilda, but Thomas died in Shrewsbury Hospital in 1991, and suddenly this house was vacant. 

Regardless of how exciting a place is or isn't, I do enjoy looking at abandoned places and imagining how they would have looked when they were furnished and loved.

But I can't really do that with this house, because in 1998 it underwent a dramatic renovation. According to the article in question, the house had an extension to give it a lounge, a play room, three additional bedrooms and an ensuite. 

That's like the majority of the house. What did it look like before???

I assume these changes were made by the final occupants of the house, a couple from Sheffield who I shall not name. They're still alive, and researching the living is a bit creepy. I'm a renegade historian, not a stalker. I'm not sure when the house became vacant, but streetview shows the driveway become gradually more dishevelled between 2009 and 2017. Given the inclusion of a "play room," I assume the occupants had children, and quite a bit of dosh to throw into this place, all of which makes its current state rather mysterious. I mean, why invest in such a project if it's just going to be allowed to fall into ruin? Presumably they sold it, and it's the current owners who have it in developmental limbo.

The kitchen is quite nice. It's very spacious. I could totally lie on the ground and make dust angels if I really wanted to, and if I fancied getting tetanus, and that's more than I can say for my kitchen. 

And now onto the best part of any abandoned house, the teeny downstairs toilet: 

Still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs. 

In the airing cupboard there's this teeny football. 

Moving on upstairs!

I cant really talk about the history of the house without mentioning the very recent discovery of a body here, but I also want to keep it brief because this only happened in June. The investigation is still ongoing. All I know is what the media has currently said, and that is that a 26-year-old homeless man has been arrested, along with a 21-year-old who is possibly an accomplice. The police came here and found the body of a man who was identified as 45-year-old Alexis De Naray, a local chef. 

The names are freely available on the internet, including the names of those arrested, but as the investigation is still ongoing, I don't think it's appropriate to point fingers until the verdict is absolute. And besides, it's always better to focus on the victim and remember them. From what I've heard, Alexis was one hell of a chef. One post on Facebook said that the culinary world will never be the same again.

I do have questions, like how the police knew to come here, but this is not the time or place to speculate on a criminal case that is still ongoing. An arrest has been made and a trial is commencing as I write this, and that's about as much as we can hope for when a dead body shows up. I feel like any expression of my own opinions at this stage is a little disrespectful. I offer my condolences to the family and loved ones of Alexis. 

There's a very cute bathroom up here. 

But what's really odd is that it has a fireplace. I have seen fireplaces in the bathrooms of abandoned houses before, but usually those houses are ancient. This one feels a little too modern to have such eccentricities. Perhaps this room was something else until the 1998 renovation. 

Moving onto the bedrooms, this one has an ensuite. I guess this is the one that was added to the house in 1998. 

But really, the rooms are just featureless and bland. I can 100% see why the urbexer who first came here then came to me for additional locations for their weird youtube channel (of which I would not be getting a cut of the ad revenue) and this brings me to my rant of the day. 

People who beg for locations and whine when I'm not forthcoming boil my piss a bit. They aren't really into urbex are they? They're into the fact that people on the internet are into urbex. If they themselves were truly into it, they'd put in the effort. Researching the history of this place was harder than finding it. In fact it was an infuriating challenge trying to find even a slither of information about it. But I did it, because I love what I do. I love the challenge, and  I love urbex. I visit places that I find by using my own initiative and effort, and you know what? Its not that hard. 

These people are all like "I don't know how to find my own places, stop gatekeeping" as if they're entitled to the rewards of other people's efforts. 

Urbex isn't hard. I've done it for fifteen years, and I've done it with a developmental disorder that seriously impacts my physical co-ordination, balance, depth perception, my motor functions, and my organisational abilities. And these fifteen years of urbex have still been easier than the year I spent working in a call centre. Get these urbex kids real jobs. 

The bedrooms are actually labelled with numbered signs, which is curious. I assume they were labelled for some kind of renovation that never took place. 

But I've seen some council plans, and much to my surprise they actually want to put a roundabout right where this house is. Do we really need another one? 

I guess there must have been a spike in sales of red paint in the area. 

This last bedroom has some rather pleasant wallpaper and another fireplace, but I guess these two things are the main things to see here. If you like fireplaces and wallpaper, this house is for you. Otherwise, it's pretty low-level urbex. 

I'll finish on a ray of sunshine, because that's exactly what this house isn't.

That's all I've got! If my next adventure is even half as exciting as this one then... well I'll be pissed because that won't be exciting enough.

As far as urbex goes, this really isn't that exciting. I felt like a Rightmove employee going around a house photographing empty rooms. There's barely anything to see. This isn't an urbex spot that has flaws so much as it is a flaw that can occasionally be urbexed. 

It is obvious that the house was cute once though. A lot of effort and love did once go into it. Someone paid a heap of money to have it extended quite considerably, and there are people still alive today who once called it home. Even if the house doesn't appeal to me, someone else will have memories of it, and be glad that photos were taken before it became a roundabout. Everywhere matters to someone. Even years after the roundabout is made, someone will love that the house that once stood there was photographed before it was lost. 

If you're here for more exciting adventures, over on my travel blog I'm currently exploring Poland. That's pretty cool. I have a few other bits and bobs to cover too, so my next blog will be there. But that's not to say I've over-grazed the local pasture. I know posts like this feel very much like barrel scrapes, but I assure you, the best is yet to be. 

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But there are places on the internet where social media is what it was originally built to be: Fun. Follow me on Bluesky, Vero and Cara. They have a lower user base, but are much less toxic.

Thanks for reading! 

Titterstone Clee Hill

Seeing as I've been doing urbex in Shropshire since 2010, it's probably more shocking to hear what I haven't done. My friend Lee definitely thought so. Upon learning that I hadn't ever been to see the ruins on Clee Hill, he pretty much held me at gunpoint and insisted that I take a look. 

And I do see his point. They're probably among Shropshire's most well-known ruins, so I am a little bit ashamed of myself. 

Alas, my camera has been buggy and sometimes refusing to focus, and is likely going to die at the most inconvenient moment, so while the internet is littered with fantastic shots of Clee Hill, you won't see any from me. Sorry. 

But Clee Hill is still pretty cool. Despite being a popular place for people to visit, it remains free of visitor centres, admission fees, gift shops and the like. It's just here to be appreciated, and that's that. Even the parking is free. How unprecedented.

Clee Hill has been shaped by centuries of human activity. There's the remains of a Bronze Age fort somewhere up here as well as a 4000-year-old cairn. 

But for centuries, Clee Hills significance has been its minerals. Sale of its coal has been recorded as far back as the 1200s, and even the word "Clee" is believed by some to derive from Clay, although some have speculated it might derive from the old english word "Clifu."

The Mappa Mundi in Hereford Cathedral, dated to the early 1300s, depicts the British Isles with 26 towns, but the only hills labelled in the entirety of the UK are the Clee Hills, demonstrating their significance even then. 

The ruins are a sad remnant of an era of industrial glory.

The most prominent ruins are the giant crushing blocks, which are historically significant as early examples of the use of reinforced concrete. Carts would go underneath, and have all the crushed rock dropped into them from the vats above. 

What we see now is just the bare bones of it, but in its heyday there would have been wooden and metal structures on top, and crushing machinery. There would have also been rails along the top to enable the carts to tip the rocks into the crusher. 

Detailed images of the stone crushers in their heyday are sparse, but I did manage to find a painting.

(Artist not known, unfortunately)

It really does demonstrate how the concrete is just the bare minimum of what was once here. 

Big crushing blocks aside, there are plenty of other photos of Clee Hill back in the day that show the workers and their machinery, including this one of a cart about to tip its rocks into the crusher. Notice that the brake mechanism is just a piece of wood jammed into the wheels. 

(Photo credit: Titterstone Clee Hills Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect by A.E Jenkins)

The concrete structures were built between 1900 and 1910, but Clee Hill was thriving with industrial activity long before then. Iron, coal, clay and limestone have all been mined here, but these crushers were built for the "Dhu Stone", a dolerite named after the Welsh word for Black. 

Demand for Dhu Stone dropped in the 1960s, and the quarry dwindled, but back in 1900 more than two thousand people were employed here. That's pretty incredible. Think how many of those workers had families to provide for. That's a whole lot of people being fed by the profits of Clee Hill. How many people in South Shropshire are descended from someone who worked here? 

Here we have the area where the wagons would have parked to receive their loads, although the vats seem to have been blocked off. 

But up above, we can still see into these wonderful death vats. There's no handrail, nor is there any exit. If someone snuck up behind me and shoved me in, I'd be trapped. 

And probably injured or dead. 

Workers came to Clee Hill from Ludlow and Bridgnorth, but there's an entire cluster of little villages in the area that were built especially for quarry workers. Among them is the actual village of Clee Hill, and a few others with some pretty curious names, like Dhustone and Bedlam. 

Dhustone's name has obvious origins, but Bedlam is a little more mysterious and intriguing. The word "Bedlam" started out as a nickname for the St Mary of Bethlehem Psychiatric Hospital in London. It's since become synonymous with lunatic asylums in general, and in the 1920s, the headmaster of Bittersley Grammar School claimed that a specific ruin on Clee Hill was the remains of an asylum, and this is allegedly where the village of Bedlam gets its name. 

But there is no proof of an asylum ever standing there. Alternative theories have been suggested, like the village being quite noisy and chaotic due to being situated right next to the railway incline up to these stone crushers.

I guess we may never know the truth. 

But also on the topic of weird names, Clee Hill village had a pub named The Kremlin. This pub was built in the 1860s and was originally called The Craven Arms, after Earl Craven who owned Stokesay Castle. Similarly, the South Shropshire town called Craven Arms was actually called Newton until the Craven Arms hotel was built there, but that's another story. 

Apparently there is no higher point between Clee Hill and the Ural mountains of Russia, and allegedly the pub was renamed the Kremlin because it could pick up Russian radio. That's pretty cool. 

This particular stone crusher is directly in front of where the railway incline used to be, and I've been able to find one image online that shows how it used to look. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

As you can see, there's a little more on top of it, made out of either metal or wood, but this is long gone.

In the 1910s, the employees worked here from 6am until 5:30pm, although on Saturdays they were allowed to stop at 4pm. After 1918 the days were reduced to eight hours, and Saturday shift ended at 2pm. 

Because of the nature of carving up a mountain and leaving big vertical cliffs, some of the men working here were designated "rock spotters." Before the days of PPE, the workers had their heads exposed, and if there was any movement on the steep cliff walls, the rock spotter would alert the others, and they'd scatter. Rocks could sometimes splinter if they hit other rocks on the way down, with shards flying everywhere, so people would generally run as far as possible. 

According to locals, in 1914 a huge crack appeared in the quarry face along the top of the hill. Everyone knew it was a matter of time before there was a huge rock fall. They decided that rather than wait for the inevitable, they should break it away themselves, but after weeks of effort nothing happened. 

The rocks eventually did fall in a massive roar while everyone was eating in the breakfast cabins. Their machinery and tools were buried but miraculously nobody was hurt. 

But of course, this was just one lucky occasion. Plenty of people have fallen foul of workplace hazards here. A chap called Ted Garbett had his head split open by one such incident, and another chap named Israel Breakwell, grandfather of comedian Dennis Crowther, was killed by a rockfall shortly after coming home from the first world war. 

Some deaths were just silly mishaps. A man named Jack Turner lived at Horseditch, a settlement on the hill that appears on old maps but doesn't seem to exist anymore. 

He walked home from a pub in Doddington, taking a route over the hill. It was a rainy night, and he came across an engine heated by coal for operating a winding gear. He took shelter under it and fell asleep. But then hot ash fell from it and he burned to death, only to be found the next day. This was sometime between 1916 and 1920. 

The saving grace for these unfortunate events was the community spirit. The villages around Clee Hill were so isolated from the rest of the world, but they all knew each other. It made the funerals a lot more personal, because the person leading the service was also grieving the person who had died, and that actually makes a huge difference compared to someone just talking because it's their job to do so. Of course, that's not to disparage the funeral service profession, but it does make a difference. 

After centuries of industrial bloodshed, I was expecting to dig up a few ghost stories about Clee Hill. And I did, but none of them are the ghosts of dead quarry workers. I guess in a small community that sort of thing might be considered bad taste.

 Instead, among stories of medieval dragons and witch covens, Clee Hill is most commonly said to be haunted by a giant black demon dog. How intriguing. I was instantly reminded of the big cat that is said to live on the Wrekin. What is it with Shropshire and legendary mountain beasts? What is this, a Pokémon region?

Here's the top of the second crusher, ready for anyone to casually tumble into and be trapped forever. 

In this shot we can see the one rock crusher in the centre, and to the left of the image is a dip in the ground right next to another ruin. That's the old railway incline. I've not been able to match my shot exactly, but I have found an old image that comes close. 

(Photo credit: Titterstone Clee Hills Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect by A.E Jenkins)

This image is from 1910, and I'm pretty sure the roof on the right is situated above, or obstructing the stone crusher. The top of the rail incline is still visible with some carts on it. What I really love is that this picture, faded as it is, gives us an idea of how busy this entire area once was. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Here's an old shot looking down the railway incline, which opened in 1860. The rails would have gone through Bedlam and then on to Bitterley. From Bitterley, trains could take the loads on to Ludlow and then to the rest of the country. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

I also found this old photo of a train with a couple of workmen. Based on the trains model, I think this photo would have been taken in the 1920s. 

This high up in the hills, mist and clouds were actually more dangerous for the workers than frost, because they could descend so quickly, and unpredictably, and bring work to a halt. Sometimes the men working here would take to waiting out weather conditions by playing cards and having a drink. One man allegedly got so drunk he fell asleep, and his colleagues actually dug him a grave, complete with headstone, and lay him in it as a joke until he woke up.

Drinking on the job was frowned upon but still quite commonplace. The more persistent workers were occasionally threatened with dismissal, but given the abhorrent work conditions and low pay, these threats were met with a fairly apathetic attitude. 

In the winter they'd actually swirl a red hot fire poker around the cider to warm it up. It sounds like the winters were bleak, but it also sounds like these men had some sense of comradery. They were in it together, providing for their families and their community. 

Some of the graffiti among the ruins is pretty cool. 

No idea what this little area would have been, but it's got some steps leading into it. I imagine this would have once been a little indoor section, maybe housing a generator or something. 

As well as being used to create the docks at Cardiff, demand for Clee Hills Dhu Stone increased dramatically in the early 20th Century when automobiles started to become pretty common, and the roads were found to be woefully inadequate for this new technology. 

Broad Street in Leominster was one of the earliest roads to benefit from Dhu Stone, being laid in 1909. Bromfield Road in Ludlow was laid in 1911 and a whole heap of other roads followed after that. Church Street in Tenbury Wells was laid in 1923. Some streets in Hay-on-Wye were also laid in the 1920s.

In 1922, Dhustone was used to make the pipes that supplied Birmingham with water from Rhayader. The brummies no longer had an excuse to not shower, but somehow a hundred years later they still smelled the same. 

A few of the local churches were also constructed using Dhustone, including the Churches in Knowbury, Doddington and Hope Bagot.  

During the 1940s, US soldiers came to Clee Hill to take Dhustone for their runways. But perhaps they didn't think the labour involved was very flattering because they were soon replaced by black military personnel instead. For some residents of the isolated little village of Clee Hill, this was their first time seeing black people. The so-called "coloured contingent" didn't stay for long, and most perished in the war, but from what I can gather, they were treated well during their time here, which must have been a nice refreshing change from their lives back home in the "land of the free."

But on the subject of the war, it would be a bit remiss of me to not mention Clee Hill's radar base. This was established during the war and had between forty and fifty staff living on site. It's still there today, run by the civil aviation authority, and is arguably better known to modern folks than the quarrying, because it dominates the skyline with a giant golf ball, very reminiscent of Teufelsberg in Berlin.

At the time of writing, I've just heard that the golf balls days are numbered. It is to be taken down, and the skyline will lose a rather iconic landmark. That's a shame. 

Quarrying did decline in the 1950s. Better methods of road surfacing were developed and younger people weren't really learning the Clee Hill craft. In 1958, only six men worked here, and they were between the ages of fifty and seventy, each one having worked here since they were thirteen. They were experts at what they did, but there wasn't any passing of the torch. 

With the growing prevalence of road traffic, the rail incline also gradually fell out of use. But an accident in the 1950s was one of the final nails in the coffin.

Someone did take photos of the rail accident. 

(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday life, industrial history and dialect," by A E Jenkins.")

(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday life, industrial history and dialect," by A E Jenkins.")

But what I really love is that there are photos online from the 1960s, after the railway had closed, that show it in a derelict state. This is vintage urbex!

And really doesn't this just exemplify the importance of urbex? The railway and all of its buildings are now gone forever, but someone in the 1960s took the time to have a mooch and preserve the history. That's what urbex is about. 

(Photo credit: D J Norton)

(Photo credit: D J Norton)

(Photo credit: D J Norton)

Who says urbex came about in the social media generation? People have always done it. Even before cameras existed, people did it. 

I'm very jealous because this looks amazing but was sadly before my time. 

I have absolutely no idea what this structure was, but it has a nice little doorway leading into a tiny room. 

In the early 20th Century and earlier, Clee Hill was very isolated socially. It's said that even the nearby towns of Ludlow and Cleobury Mortimer felt like foreign lands. The nearest hospital was Kidderminster, and it was said that people who were ill would rather shoot themselves than go there. 

 Some workers had huge stomachs from ruptures caused by heavy lifting, and they just tolerated it. If people did relent and go to hospital, it was only once their illness had progressed to the point that they probably weren't coming back.

But what's really intriguing is that Clee Hill was so isolated it developed its own dialect. It's said that people in Ludlow couldn't understand them, and it was sort-of bullied out of them whenever they ventured into the rest of the world, so they became almost bi-lingual, having their at-home lingo while poshening up in jolly good old fashioned Queen's English whenever they were down among the rest of humanity.

If you were to time travel back to Clee Hill in the 1800s, how much you would be able to understand would depend entirely on whether the locals wanted to include you, and I think that's great.

Cleehillnese has since been watered down and extinguished as technological advancements and a changing culture has connected these isolated communities to the rest of the world. Perhaps there's a few pensioners who know a few words, but it's absolutely not what it once was. In the 1970s, the BBC allegedly took an interest and came here to film a family conversing in the local dialect, but by then they were unable to find a family that still spoke it properly. 

Here we can see both of the crushers from another angle, and I've been able to find a pretty close comparison shot from 1923. 

(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect," by A E Jenkins)

Here we can totally see the crusher, still with its roof attached, and all of the other buildings surrounding it. 

But in addition to the Dhustone works, Clee Hill was also home to more than forty coal pits in 1790.

The earliest record of coal mining is actually in 1235 when Wigmore Abbey sold some Clee Hill Coal for five shillings. And generally from what I've heard, the mining that took place in the 1800s and 1900s was not a fun job. There was inadequate lighting and minimal airflow, but these mines were also prone to flooding. An entire night crew was employed just to pump water out to prepare the mines for the day crew. And even then, if the mines were just waist deep, that was a good day. 

Men worked then mines from 6am til 6pm, meaning that in Winter they didn't even see sunlight until the weekend. 

Younger boys had it a bit easier, working 8am until 2pm. But even then, that's a long time to be standing in freezing cold water in the dark. 

Quite predictably, pneumonia wasn't uncommon. 

Around 1900 the coal mines began to run at a loss, and many were closed due to flooding. 

The last men underground were two chaps called George and Tim Broome, who were probably related. They descended a shaft in a cage only for it to jam due to the shaft having earlier suffered a rock fall that narrowed it somewhat. They scrambled out of the cage only to find that it was actually a few feet from the bottom anyway, but the cage was jammed sufficiently that there was no way it was lifting back up. The two men were trapped, and needed to travel two hundred yards underground to another shaft in order to be rescued. The only problem was that the tunnels connecting the shafts were flooded and they needed to swim through freezing cold water in the dark. 

It sounds rather terrifying. I mean, I've explored a few mines now, and even with my near-complete lack of a survival instinct I have a pretty healthy respect for how bad things can go. 

While the Broome's were the last "official" people down the mines here, people did explore them after their closure, but I'm pretty sure they're all blocked off now. I'm a little sad about that. 

Despite the fact that this portion of the Clee Hill Quarry has fallen into ruins, quarrying does still take place nearby. It resumed in the 1980s, and it looks pretty chunky on Google Maps, although I've heard it's just a fraction of the activity that used to be here. 

But generally I totally recommend Clee Hill as a place to check out. These ruins are just big, ugly and fun to be around (to quote my tinder bio). If you're into urbex and ruins, it's a great spot for beginners. If you're into history, its a great insight into our industrial past. If you're into dog walking and pleasant views, it's perfect. 

And if you'd rather stay in and read, then fear not. Clee Hill is featured in the book "The Virgin in the Ice" by Ellis Peters, where it is the location of some kind of Brigand fort in the 1100s. 

And if video games are more your thing, then it features in Assassins Creed Valhalla too.

It's almost like there's no escaping Clee Hill. It will find a way to worm itself into your life.

But it's a lovely place and well worth a mooch.

I'll finish up with a group shot of some of the men who worked here in the 1930s. They're now long gone, and their workplace may be ruins that the casual observer easily overlooks, but their effort and hard work contributed to the history of Shropshire and Wales. I wish I could name them all and track their ancestry and tell each ones individual story. I think remembering them, talking about them, and honouring them does more to preserve our heritage and cultural integrity than, I dunno, vandalising a roundabout or something. 

(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday Life, Industrial History, and Dialect.")

So that's all I've got! My photos were terrible but believe it or not, I am a published photographer and my coffee table photo book "Rooftops of Shrewsbury" is on sale now, and can be purchased here. 

My next blog will be an abandoned house. If you like my blogs and want regular updates, then social media is begrudgingly the way forward. I am on Boomer 4chan! Sorry, I mean Facebook. I'm also on Twitter, and Instagram for the time being, at least until I inevitably have enough and rip out my eyeballs. 

And of course, I'm on the smaller independent ones, the ones that aren't run by twats, Bluesky, Vero and Cara. 

Everyone should jump ship and join me there so that the internet can be fun again. 

Thanks for reading!