Sawmill

When you've been doing urbex this long, and specifically a blog about local places, it's always a nice treat to be reminded that there's still cool things to find. 

There's an old sawmill and timber yard that once served a nearby estate, and it's surprisingly easy to miss to the casual traveller. My opulent entourage and I were not the first people to sneak in and snap photos of it, but when comparing my shots to other urbex shots from as far back as 2013, surprisingly little has changed. The local kids haven't even been in to scrawl a penis on the wall. The decay here is entirely natural, and it is refreshing to see. 

With not a lot of information online, research involved more creative methods than Google, but it was worth the effort because I've been able to find vintage images of it. 

Here it is in the 1950s, just after closing its doors for the last time. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

There's another photo of this sawmill from across the water, from 1924. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Allegedly there have been a few deaths in the water here, including suicide. And even though I've got the names of the people involved, I've not been able to verify it with any news sources.

That's not to say it's not true. It just means I can't say for certain that it definitely is. 

There are other ruins scattered around, but a lot of it is overgrown.

And in the timber yard itself we can see where the tracks used to be. Timber was taken via a narrow-gauge wagon into the saw mill. 

The tracks lead directly to the saw mill doors, with the natural decay taking over, lining the tracks with grass like a Delorean powered by veganism. Let's slip inside!

Isn't it awesome?

As always, to tell the story of a place we really need to focus on the people that this place mattered to, and using the census data I've managed to trace back the workers here to 1861, to the Vaughan-Jenkins family, in particular William Vaughan-Jenkins. Infuriatingly for my research, the family lists their names differently on various different documents. It's only on Williams marriage documents to Elizabeth Roberts in 1851 that the full name is given. Otherwise William typically referred to himself as either "William V Jenkins," or just dropping the V entirely. 

The marriage records refer to William's father, Richard, as also having the occupation as a sawyer, so he might also have worked here.

Worth noting, I had no idea until researching this blog that the term "Sawyer" was the job title of someone who operates a sawmill. I guess it makes sense. A lawyer is someone who works with the law, and a sawyer is someone who works with a saw. I guess this is probably where the surname "Sawyer" comes from too. 

I don't think Richard Vaughan Jenkins worked here, because the census data lists him as living more towards Wrexham. But William absolutely did. In fact he actually moved into a house right next to this sawmill by the 1890s. 

Unfortunately I don't have any photos of William, but I do have one of his wife, Elizabeth. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Articles from 1865 list William as a timber merchant, alongside a man named George Haines. The two got in trouble with the law for misusing a traction engine. Smoke-abatement laws at the time called for traction engines to be able to consume their own smoke, apparently. I don't know anything about traction engines, but there are numerous news articles from the era about people getting into trouble for not enabling their traction engines to do it. 

On the 1861 census, William was listed as a sawyer, and he lived with his wife Elizabeth and three young children, Sarah, Mary Ann and Thomas. Unfortunately Mary Ann died at the age of six, but by the 1871 census they had an additional pack of crotchfruit, Arthur, Charles, Alfred and David. 

The sawmill is amazing. I love the way the ivy hangs in. There's leftover machinery everywhere. There are still wheels on the tracks, although why they're disembodied from actual carts escapes me. But with a bit of a nudge, they still rolled along.

There's a giant hook hanging from the ceiling, once used to lift timber. But the real eyecatcher is the giant circular saw next to the tracks. 

Curiously, absolutely none of William's children followed him into the family business. Being the oldest, Sarah was the first to break with tradition, becoming a dressmaker. I have found a photo of her too. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Thomas emigrated to Australia at some point in the early 1880s, and died in 1927. There are photos of him out there too. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Arthur, at the age of 20, was boarding at a blacksmiths house with a few other men, and ended up working as a postman. Charles became a grocers assistant in Oswestry before becoming a sewing machine salesman. Clement also moved to Australia. 

I have a photo of him too. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

By the 1890s, William and Elizabeth lived right next to this sawmill. Their neighbours, the Paddocks and the Davies, were all farm labourers on the estate. William operated this sawmill.

By 1901 their dressmaker daughter Sarah came back to live with them as they grew old. She never married. 

I can't help but feel that there's a bit of sadness to this family. Something is lurking beneath the surface that hasn't been conveyed in official documents. I do find it curious that all of the sons fucked off as soon as they could, and not one of them stuck around to carry on the family trade. I think it may have something to do with the death of Mary Ann. Tragedy and trauma can sometimes drive a wedge in a family, particularly in how they treat their surviving children, maybe overprotective or the opposite, emotionally distant. It's not unusual for children raised in negative households to flee the nest and get as far away as possible. 

Sarah stuck around, but she was the only child older than Mary Ann, being nine when she died. Sarah is the only child who would actually remember their lost sibling, so she might have sympathised with the parents grief a bit more. The other kids may have suffered more for it, and grown resentful. 

But that's just a theory, and it is almost completely baseless. I just find it weird that the siblings all scattered. 

Completely unrelated, while researching the children, I came across another tragedy from 1938, that of a different Thomas Jenkins who lived in the same area, working on a different estate. As a groundsman he carried a bottle of cyanide, which was a historic method of fumigating wasp nests. He also carried a bottle of water. One day his wife came to see him at work, with their infant child. He said he was thirsty, offered some drink to his child, who luckily declined. Thomas took a swig and then realised the horrible truth, saying "Oh dear, I have drunk from the wrong bottle." His wife ran for help while he tried in vain to make himself vomit, even to the point of shoving soil down his throat to make himself gag. But alas, when his wife returned with help, he was dead.

What an awful story.

It must seem a bit distasteful to regurgitate such a horrible story and immediately following it up with my elation at the sight of this old sawmill wagon and circular saw. I assure you, I took a moment to let the story sink in, and even though the story had nothing to do with this sawmill, once I discovered it, I felt it was more disrespectful to leave it to be forgotten. 

Nevertheless it can't be understated how happy I am at this sawmill. Just look at it! 

The wagon still rolls on the tracks, even after all these decades. The saw likely still spins too, although I wasn't about to try it. A little TLC might actually bring this place back to full working order. 

Let's see where this door leads.

There's a tiny room which must have been the sawyers office. It's cluttered but still delightfully preserved.

If you look closely, that's a calendar hanging on the wall, and it gives the date of December 191X. The last digit has fallen away, but we can still see that the 3rd of December fell on a Wednesday, which means this is either from 1913 or 1919. 

That's incredible. William Vaughan Jenkins died in 1910 so this must have been hung up by his successor, and it's never been taken down.  

It's a little odd seeing as the sawmill operated until the 1950s, but I'm not complaining. 

And check this out! There's still tools hanging on the walls. This is a true time capsule. The last sawyer put these here for the last time in the 1950s and they're still here. 

1930s documentation lists George Lancaster as the sawyer here, although he more commonly went by his middle name, Bob. He was actually a sawyer from Lincolnshire. He married a woman named Florence Hindley in 1924 and they came to Shropshire for some reason. 

Out of curiosity I did a rudimentary search to see if Florence is related at all to Myra Hindley, but I found nothing. But rather amusingly, George Lancaster does have a sister called Myra. 

Alas, I can't find photos of George Lancaster! I've found his parents, his brother, his sister and his grandparents, but none of George himself. And his family had nothing to do with this place. They would have stayed up in Lincolnshire. It's quite infuriating.

What I do know is that Mr Lancaster wasn't alone here. He had two colleagues, named Harold and Jack Clarke, who were brothers. The Clarke brothers were previously farm labourers, although Harold spent some time as a watchman at a military camp too. 

The sawmill closed in the 1950s and has been dormant ever since. 

There's a couple of rooms at the back of the sawmill.

There's a couple of spare sawblades over there. 

And this cool sawmill next to the window. In another few years this could be entirely encased in ivy. 

However, I do believe the estate are looking to bring the place back to life. There has been activity on the site since our visit, and it's genuinely got me hopeful. All too often places like this fall victim to the magical fire fairies when developers fail to get planning permission to turn them into houses. If a place can be renovated and brought back to life, that is always good news.

Meanwhile, we headed downstairs to the cellar...

The cellar is pretty awesome. 

No doubt this part is directly beneath the large chimney.

Check it out! Here we're directly under the giant circular saw next to the wagon. Good thing I spotted that. At six foot two, one mis-step, and this sort of thing could easily give my brain some air conditioning. 

And that's all I've got. 

The sawmill is awesome. It offers a glimpse into the history of the area, and it is remarkably well preserved. In the urbex world, we seldom find places that aren't ruined by vandals and looters. This place is exactly as it was left in the 1950s, and that's pretty cool. It's a real time capsule.

And best of all, it won't be left to fall into ruin. There are plans to fix it up, and they are also compiling the history of it. Maybe someday I'll come back here in a more traditional tourist capacity. Maybe I'll finally get to see a photo of George Lancaster.

In the meantime, if you like my blogs then give my social media platforms a follow. Obviously I'm on Facebook and Instagram, even though being on these sites is basically a form of self harm. I'm also on Bluesky, Vero and Cara, which are basically what Twitter and Instagram should be but aren't because they're run by cunts. The userbase is smaller but there's no algorithm to worry about. It's awesome. Join me there maybe.

Thanks for reading!

Peat Works

If you’re anything like me (an overgrown child forced to live as an adult) you’ll look at this and see one huge climbing frame. It is actually an old peat works, and a monument to a once-thriving industry that has since dried up. 

Some say this is the last of its kind in mainland Britain but I don't know for sure. Some urban explorers have said that there's not much history to be found on the place at all, which basically means ChatGPT doesn't know. As always, I'm here to save the day. 

Here's what this place looked like in the 1970s. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

At the time this image was taken, the building was freshly abandoned, as the overlords at LS Beckett had relocated. For an urban explorer in the 1970s this would have been great. There would no doubt be more to see than there is today. 

Today the machines are just rusting away, and the bogs have been transformed into a nature reserve and a site of scientific interest. It is allegedly Britain's third largest lowland raised bog, with some areas supposedly being 26 feet deep. There's a few interesting bits of folklore and legend surrounding the bogland. A publication from the 1930s told that an entire town was submerged beneath the bog, like a smelly Shropshire Atlantis. I'm not about to jump in to find out. 

Peat is basically formed out of decomposing biological matter that gets deprived of oxygen by a crust of sphagnum moss. Water can still permeate the moss, and gets retained beneath it. The lack of oxygen beneath the moss prevents the usual decaying process, and that apparently forms peat. 

Humans at some point realised that peat could be used to make compost, among other things, so they took to harvesting it. 

Here's the exterior from the other side, which I can again juxtapose with a photo of it from back in the day. 

(Photo not mine obviously)

Curiously it seems that while a lot of the metal walls and ceiling have been removed entirely, it's actually been replaced at the end there. 

There was also a building just south of here, which served as an office and staff accommodation. This was demolished in 1993, but there are photos that show it in its final years. There's also an apple tree nearby that was once in the cottages garden. 

(Photo not mine, unfortunately. I'd be straight in that if it was still standing)

In a testament to either technology or human stubbornness, people decided to find ways to traverse the bogland. The canal was built through it in the early 1800s, and then the Oswestry, Ellesmere and Whitchurch Railway decided to figure out how to cross it with a train line, getting them much ridicule from the GWR who didn't understand why they didn't just go around. Nevertheless the line opened in 1862 and no train ever sank into the bog. 

The technological achievement was so celebrated that even Ellesmere workhouse inmates were invited to feast on roast beef and plum pudding. The newspaper said "Our ears are assailed with tidings of the maddest of all mad acts on the part of the maddest of madmen." Did they mean crossing the bogland or treating the workhouse folks with dignity? In 1862, who can be sure?

Peat was exploited in 1851, and at least six peat works have been built over the years, as company's came and went. There is evidence of much earlier activity on the bogs though. In particular three bodies have been found in it. 

The first was a young man discovered by peat cutters in 1867, along with a stool. He was wearing a leather apron and dated to the iron age. A woman was found in 1877, dating from the same period, by a peat cutter named George Heath. I don't have a photo of George, but I do have a photo of his son, Thomas Heath, which I will include to break up the text.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Believe it or not, this is the best photo I could find of Thomas Heath, and he is the head sticking up in the centre foreground. Immortalised forever as just a head. Poor guy. 

Regarding the bog bodies, the lack of oxygen in the bog preserved their skin and hair, and totally baffled law enforcement at the time, who mistook them for recent deaths. A much older body from the bronze age was found in 1889, and was genuinely believed to be a murder victim due to the fact that he was naked. The circumstances of their deaths are a mystery but sinking into the bogland must be a terrifying way to go, so I do prefer to think that they were used to hide bodies rather than be the method of someone's death. But history is brutal and doesn't care about my feelings, so who knows?

Given the size of the bog, there's no telling what else or who else is down there. In 1927 a peat cutter named Mr Saywell found a bronze age tool in it. It's entirely possible that there's still more to be found. 

Records of peat cutting actually date back to 1572 but it doesn't appear to be a common practice. The landowner apparently licensed people to cut the peat, and fined people for doing it without permission. But the fines were so small that it's generally believed to be more of a source of income rather than to discourage.

Commercial peat extraction officially started in 1851 and various businesses came and went. But with the first world war, the bogland was appropriated by the military to use as a rifle range. They continued peat extraction for soldier bedding though, and so many peat cutters found themselves conscripted into the military only to be put back to work cutting peat. The foreman at the time, a man named Tom Allmark, was one such peat cutter, now doing it for his military overlords. 

The only Tom Allmark I could find was born in 1901 so probably wasn't a military peat foreman in 1914. But then I found that his uncle George often went by Tom, so they're probably referring to him. 

Even so, it's George's brother Joseph who is listed as the foreman on the 1911 census, whereas George is just a peat labourer. Maybe he was a foreman for a bit. 

I've found plenty of photos of George Allmark with his wife. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

I like photos where you can tell they love each other. Look at the way she's looking at him. Married in 1908 in their twenties, and still happy as oldies. 

He died in 1968. She died in 1979. Imagine being born in the Victorian era, and living to see the moon landing, but your loved one wasn't there to see it with you.

I mean sometimes it randomly hits me that my father doesn't know what Covid is. It's times like that where you do feel a pang of grief. Perhaps Mary sat watching the moon landing, thinking "George would never believe this."

After the first world war, it seems two peat companies were sharing the area. One was harvesting the deep peat, and another started harvesting surface-level peat for cattle feed and animal bedding. It seemed that they co-existed for a bit. Both started in 1923 but stopped in 1925. At that point, the Midland Moss Litter Company decided to fill their shoes, and built a peat works here. It's not this one, but it is on the same plot. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Unfortunately, sparks from the nearby railway actually caused this old peat works to burn down and it was replaced in 1938 by the one that stands today. It's said that peat cutting didn't stop, even while the new works was under construction. They just piled it all up and waited for the works to be complete. 

Let's slip inside. 

Check out the way the door is barricaded. Someone doesn't want us going in. Whoopsie. 

The Allmarks continued working for the Midland Moss Litter Company, with Joseph becoming the manager in 1926. His brother William began working for them in 1923, as one of their first employees, quitting a water mains job in Prees to jump on board the family trade.

I've found a photo of him too. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

There's not much to be found on William. He was questioned by the police in 1936 when he purchased some stolen food, but that's about it. The 1939 records list him as a press operator at this peat works, which means he's set foot in the building. That's so cool. 

Another Allmark brother, Harry, was also a peat cutter here but he seems to fly under the radar while the likes of Joseph Allmark very loudly protested their shitty wages. 

But perhaps the weirdest thing about Joseph Allmark was his obituary in 1940. It claimed that he had actually left home on the day of his death to go to his employment of "Government work" "somewhere in Wales." Apparently despite being in his usual health, he collapsed and died on arrival.

As far as obituaries go, this one sure is intriguing, and definitely seems designed to make us suspect foul play. But documentation also proves that he worked in the peat business his whole life. Perhaps his obituary was a practical joke. Perhaps he wanted to have a bit of a laugh on his way out.

Perhaps he actually was a shady government employee who knew too much...

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Here's Joseph with his second wife. 

During the second world war, the bogland was actually used as a decoy site. Boxes of peat were set on fire across the bogland to give a nighttime aerial impression of civilisation, in an attempt to trick the Germans into wasting their payload. It's said that unexploded bombs may still be lost in the bog somewhere. 

Peat was still used by the military for packing munitions, so many peat cutters were drafted only to be sent back to peat cutting as part of their military duties. But it seems to have not always been logically managed. Some Irishmen were deployed here to cut peat, while some more experienced peat cutters from the area were sent elsewhere. Two men were actually arrested for refusing to move, saying that if they were going to be sent to cut peat, it would make more sense if they did it in the area that they knew. 

Of all the companies operating here, the Midlands Moss Litter Company lasted the longest, continuing until 1962, when the peat trade started to decline. A company called LS Beckett purchased the peat works. This company was named after Leonard Samuel Beckett, but he actually wasn't around long enough to see this place. 

Unfortunately I don't have a photo of Leonard Beckett but I do have a photo of his mother, Evelyn. The interesting thing about this photo is that she was ten, and it was at her own father's funeral in 1902. She looks like being photographed is the absolute last thing she wants, and fair enough!

(Photo not mine, obviously)

But I can't help but love this photo. So many photos of the era were posed and slightly awkward. This one captures her emotion. It's a real slice of history.

Here's a photo of her and her husband Herbert on their wedding day in 1910. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Herbert had purchased a manor house in 1933 which he planned on using as a market garden. It ended up earning enough money for Leonard to set up his own business in the peat industry, which is the LS Beckett that would eventually take over this peat works. Despite this success he was actually listed as "incapacitated" in a lot of census records, due to catching polio as a child and suffering from the after effects throughout adulthood. 

Curiously, Joseph Allmark's obituary mentioned that he was succeeded as foreman at the peat works by his uncle, W Beckett. This is especially curious because his son Thomas actually married Leonard's sister (named Evelyn after her mother) in 1929. Evidently the families were linked already, prior to that union. 

Likewise a 1940 article mentions the death of another peat cutter, George Heath, with the obituary mentioning a long family history of peat cutting. In fact it was his grandfather and namesake who discovered the bog body in 1877. This younger George was the uncle of a man named Joseph Heath who married Elsie Beckett, Leonard Becketts cousin.

And then there are the Evansons. The papers report a peat cutter named Joseph Evanson dying after a long illness in 1934. I don't know where exactly he fits on the Beckett family tree, but I do know that Evelyn Beckett's maiden name was Evanson, so there probably is a connection. 

So you see, the peat industry comprises of a myriad of different families all woven together at varying points, too numerous to count, because they've all spent centuries living and working in the same place together. What we have here isn't so much a family tree as a family bush. It's probably the most North Shropshire thing I have ever seen. 

A 1941 article mentions the death of George Saywell, at the age of 52. It makes mention of him also being a member of a family connected to the peat industry for generations. And it was his niece Vera who married Leonard Beckett in 1949. 

I have a photo of George too, with one of his daughters.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Rather curiously, his obituary made mention of him being an odd fellow. 

If we look at the Saywell family, most of them were peat cutters. Vera's father was, as was her grandfather, and her uncle. It's entirely possible that Leonard Beckett met Vera because he established himself in the peat industry and became acquainted with the workers. 

Leonard died in 1951. His son, Timothy, was only two, so the company was legally in the hands of Vera. Joseph Allmark's son, Tom Allmark, had married Leonard Beckett's sister Evelyn, so he knew the family. He offered to buy the company from Vera, and she agreed. She actually remarried in 1953, to a chap called Edgar Oliver. I managed to find a photo of him. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

For me, I think two years is too soon to move on after losing a partner. But I can't really judge her based on the circumstances. Being a single mother in the 1950s must have been tough.

The company of LS Beckett was now in the hands of Tom Allmark. He purchased 205 acres of bogland in 1956, and then purchased Leonards former house in 1957. 

I don't have a photo of Tom Allmark, but I do have a photo of his wife Evelyn at her sister Brenda's wedding in 1949. 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

Brenda Beckett is the bride, marrying a chap named Norman Millington. Evelyn is the other woman. The man in between the women is their brother Herbert Beckett. I don't know if Leonard attended, but seeing as he only had two years left on the planet, it would be a shame if he didn't. 

So to give some context about what we're looking at, I think this is an engine. Admittedly I don't know anything about this sort of thing. I am just regurgitating words with blind faith that my source knows what they are talking about. 

Apparently this engine was connected by a leather belt to a drive shaft that ran the length of the building and operated all of the machinery in the peat works. 

A smaller engine apparently supplied lighting to the complex, and also pumped water from a well beneath the building to a water tank to provide coolant. 

The leather drive belt would have gone over this wheel. It was also connected to a clutch that enabled the drive shaft to be disengaged while the engine was still running. 

The well beneath the complex has a nice warning sign, which is great for me because I very much want to climb on this death trap without actually dying. 

Here we can see a metal beam, and on top of that is a roller attached to a diagonal metal beam connecting to the peat baler. The roller moves towards the baler, pushing the diagonal thingie upwards, and also raising a platform in the baler that crushes the peat inside. 

As you can see, today the peat conveyance escalators make for a handy means to climb the contraption.

It's said that the Midlands Peat Litter Company harvested 3000 tons of peat in 1954, which sounds like a lot, but apparently was something of a decline in output. LS Beckett, however, was going from strength to strength. Tom Allmark's son, Herb, took over the company in 1960 and then purchased the Midlands Peat Litter Company in 1962, obtaining this peat works. 

Herb was quite forward-thinking. He'd seen some mechanical peat cutters in Glastonbury in 1965 and was determined to have some at his own workplace. He brought one here in 1968. It seems that all of the old fashioned peat cutters were a bit apprehensive about this new machine revolutionising their jobs, but Herb gave the job of operating it to a chap named Cliff Bellingham. Cliff told Herb that he didn't want to do it, and preferred cutting peat by hand. Herb told him to just try it for a week or two. Cliff ended up doing it for twenty years. 

As well as peat cutting, it seems that some pine seedlings made their way onto the bog in the 1960s, and Herb made some additional income selling Christmas trees. 

So here we can see the peat escalators. Peat was cut, stacked, and left to dry. Then it was transported here, and fed up these escalators into rollers and sieved by rotary screens to separate any unwanted bits that may have come up with the peat. The remaining material was then compressed into bales. 

The building itself is really just a skeleton. There's no wreckage which means the walls and roof have been physically removed and taken away. 

Here we can see one of the balers where the peat would have been compressed. 

And by climbing up the contraptions we can see the rotary screens. 

These rotary screens would have spun the peat around rapidly, and sieved out any finer material, leaving things like stones and insects behind. 

The Beckett family seem to have been wracked by a series of car accidents in quite quick succession. 

Leonard's son, Timothy Beckett died in a car accident in 1968 at the age of nineteen. Two years later, Herbert Beckett was driving with his mother, and his sister Evelyn. They also had a car accident, and while they survived with a few injuries, their seventy-year-old mother died. The other vehicle was driven by a man named James Blake, who the newspapers described as being "Fairly comfortable" at Shrewsbury hospital.

And instantly my heart goes out to Herbert Beckett. Imagine being the driver of the vehicle that took your own mothers life. Even if it was the other guys fault, you would live with that guilt forever.

Also in 1970, two teenagers, David Beckett and Peter Allmark, were involved in a car accident. I don't know where these two fit on the family tree. Quite frankly, I'm not going to dig because if they were teenagers in 1970 they might still be alive today, and I'm a renegade historian, not a stalker. 

But I do think their surnames, Allmark and Beckett, are a little too coincidental for them to be unrelated to the families I've been talking about. They're absolutely descendants of these families of peat cutters. 

Quite interestingly, Herb Allmark decided to abandon this building in the 1970s, moving operations to another peat works elsewhere. Herb took whatever he needed for the new peat works, and even took one of the water tanks from here to be fuel container at his house. This abandonment is ironically probably what saved it from destruction when the peat industry went completely down the pan. 

The landowners quadrupled the rent in 1989, so Herb decided to just sell the entire business. 

And it seemed well-timed because in 1990 there began a lot of anti-peat debate. As well as the bogs providing natural habitats that were being destroyed, the peat also stored carbon and methane that was released into the atmosphere when it was harvested. More carbon is stored, acre for acre, than an equal area of woodland. So the peat industry did have a detrimental effect on our atmosphere too. 

The bogs had been regarded as a site of scientific interest since 1953, and attempts had been made to buy the land for nature conservation. In 1990 the leases were finally bought by the Nature Conservancy Council, and this brought an end to commercial peat cutting. 

The demise of the industry was met with a lot of sadness, mainly for the loss of jobs, but also for the loss of an entire way of life. The Allmarks and other families had made a living off this land for centuries. 

72-year-old Albert Allmark, the son of William Allmark, wrote to the papers and said that it came down to a choice between providing jobs, or putting the insects first. The insects had won. 

Someone responded that if a company purchased Shrewsbury abbey and knocked it down to sell the stone to people for their garden walls, would they be allowed to do it just because it provided employment? Of course not. Wildlife sites were just as much part of our heritage than the abbey and should be preserved. 

Really I can see both points. Nature conservation is important, and humans do need to do more. But at the same time, it does suck when your entire livelihood is taken away.

But, seeing as I like animals more than people, seeing as I lack an alternative world to live on if this one dies, I have to side with my planet. Soz. Science is science, even if Bob on Facebook with no GCSE's and a profile picture of his dog does think it's woke. 

The 1990s were spent diligently trying to save the bogland. As of 1997 it was revealed that only 5% of the sphagnum was still alive, and scientists began looking at the process of regrowing it, and therefore restoring the peat at the bogland. Up until 1999 there were campaigns encouraging people to find alternative forms of compost. This led to calls to boycott peat and protests at garden centres. People were passionate about conservation. 

Here's one of the contraptions that tore up the peat before feeding it into the elevators. I wouldn't want to fall on that!

In 1999 a cloudberry plant was found on the bog. It was quite a momentous discovery because previously it was believed to only grow in the Berwyn mountains. It's said that centuries earlier, Watkins Williams Wynne had sent a man to take a root from the Berwyn mountains so that he could grow some in his garden, but because of environmental factors, it never grew. Given that it only grew in the mountains, its presence here on lowland bog caused a bit of a sensation.

To give some indication of how rare it was, even in the 5th Century, St Dogfan joked that his yearly wages were a quart of cloudberry. The joke being that his wages were nothing because even in a year nobody could find a quart of cloudberry. 

So it's not all doom and gloom with this place. According to modern sources, over thirteen species of bog moss have been confirmed to live here. Wild cranberries have returned. Seven hundred species of moth have been documented here, along with 28 species of dragonfly. Adders have also made a comeback, although they are quite elusive. 

The bogs are also good for scientists. Pollen grains have fallen into the mire over the years, and these can be dated, providing a record of local plant life over the centuries, allowing scientists to document climate change. 

With the world so shite, it's nice to get some good news. It's refreshing to know that there are good people out there committed to making the world a bit better. The last thirty tears have seen a lot of work to undo the damage done by centuries of industry, and that's awesome.

That's all I've got about this place. Contrary to what the urbexers say, there was history to be found here. The trick to researching any place is to look to the people that it mattered to. The Allmarks, the Heaths, the Becketts and the Saywells are just a small portion of the families who have lived off this land for centuries, and worked in this old peat works.

A footpath does go right by this peat works. Now I'd be a huge hypocrite if I told you not to enter, but be careful if you do. This place is a death trap.

Speaking of death traps, my next blog is a sawmill. It's going to be great! 

In the meantime, to stay updated on this blog, the best way is to follow my social media profiles. I've got Facebook and Instagram, so give me a follow there. I'm also on the less-popular but also less-algorithmic platforms, Bluesky, Vero and Cara. They pretty much do what Twitter and Instagram used to do before their respective owners decided to make them shit. Give me a follow there if you want.

Thanks for reading!