The Garden Bunker

(DISCLAIMER: As an overall nice human being, I do not force entry, vandalize, steal, or disclose means of entry or location if it isn't obvious. I do this to protect locations and respect them. Trespass without forced entry is a civil offense rather than a criminal one, which isn't worth acting on unless one causes damage, steals, has ill intent, etc. I simply photograph and leave everything as I find it. I do not condone breaking and entering, and I do not condone what I do. I'm a danger to myself and a terrible role model )

 In the 1950s, with the sudden arival of Nuclear Weapons, the governments of the world collectively clenched so tight that when they farted only dogs could hear them. Leaflets were distributed telling families silly things to do in the event of a nuclear attack, like how to prop a door up against a wall, and surround it with sandbags, get the entire family under there, and stay there until the danger was over. That's right, even if you have three squabbling kids, and one of them really needs to pee.
In hindsight it's fairly obvious that the people in control didn't have a clue what to do, but they were just trying to make it look like they were at least trying to do something.
One of the best outcomes of this era is the presence of abandoned nuclear monitoring bunkers scattered all over the UK, mostly derelict, some demolished, many trashed, but a few still in good shape.

1,563 underground bunkers were built all over the UK, each one manned by the Royal Observer Corps, or ROC for short, designed to monitor for nuclear strikes, and report any activity. They were filled with communication equipment, but they were also equipped to be lived in, in the event that a nuclear strike should happen.
I've actually been to quite a few now, and they come in such varied quality, from the burnt out husk that is in Church Stretton, to some which are oddly pristine.

These things are tiny, and even though I love them, I won't usually go out to them unless I happen to be in the area, purely because it's such a gamble over whether or not they're accessible, since so many are padlocked or welded shut.

As it happens, Tamsin, Maya and I were traveling from Shawbury School to the legendary Lost Village. On the way we decided to swing by this bunker, to check it out. We cut across fields to get to it, only to find that it was in someones garden. Both Tamsin and Maya had never been to one of these before, but I had, and the external features are fairly recognisable.
"There it is!" I announced as I saw it.
"Where?" the girls replied.
"Just on the other side of those two angry-looking men," I told them.

And sure enough, there were two men strolling our way, eager to know what we were doing in their backyard. Understand, residential trespass is something I do not usually do. The majority of places I explore are abandoned or owned by corporations. Sneaking into someones residential property is morally wrong, and I'd led Tamsin and Maya into someones garden completely accidentally. The two men were absolutely right to be mad.

Tamsin spoke up, asking if we could see their bunker, and it's probably thanks to her that we got permission. Men tend to be more inclined to do favours for women. If I had gone by myself, I probably would have been angrilly told to bugger off. But luckily, with two women by my side, the men barely acknowledged me, which is great, because I'm hopelessly socially awkward. We got to go down into the bunker, and I was left to do what I wanted.

These bunkers consist of a fifteen foot ladder into the ground, with a tiny room, and a toilet cupboard. There's no other way in or out, so if the ladder breaks or the hatch gets locked while someone is in there, they'd be in a pretty sticky situation. There is, as you'd probably expect, no mobile signal down there. In my previous blog posts on bunkers like this, I often reference a Thora Birch movie called The Hole, which I actually recommend for anyone who wants a thriller about an abandoned nuclear bunker.

Many of these bunkers were closed in 1968, but this particular bunker was decomissioned in 1991, so I was expecting it to be in better shape than most.

I'm not one for showing people in this blog, unless it's a photoshoot, but I somehow managed to not take a single photo looking up the shaft that didn't have Maya in it. So here, guys, have a photo of Maya.

See, I told you I had real friends!

At the bottom of the shaft is this pump, which was used  to prevent flooding. Apparently it's very rare to find these in good condition, but I've only been inside ten of these bunkers, which out of 1,563, means I really don't have a good enough perspective on what can be considered average. But this one appears to be in good shape.

The toilet has been taken out, and shelves have since been fitted in the "room" which seems kinda appropriate since the toilet room was really just a cupboard with a bucket in it. I'm sure my other blog posts on similar bunkers have pointed that out.

Our friendly land owners pointed out that they had originally used this bunker as a wine cellar, but had to stop, because urban explorers kept stealing their wine. But generally they didn't know a lot about the history of this thing. They knew it was a bunker, obviously. They didn't know what era it came from, mistakenly refering to it as a world war 2 air raid shelter, but that's fair enough. I didn't know much on the subject either prior to finding my first one.

Typically these bunkers will have the beds at the far end, and a desk going along one side. This one is actually unique among the ones I've found so far in that it had this big diagonal board going across it, which I assumed was some kind of noticeboard, but was actually gigantic to the point of making the bunker seem a lot smaller than it was. Which, in an already tiny bunker, seems like a silly thing to have.

Over on the bed, the mattress is still there, so someone could easily camp down here. There's also a crate on the bed, identical to others that I've found in other bunkers, which is called a Siren Box. It contained a hand-operated siren, which has now been taken away.

As you can see, there's still paperwork on the desk, and a bit of graffiti on the wall.

 Some of this paperwork is original, but some of it has clearly been brought down here after the bunker was decomissioned, like this little newspaper clipping. It's almost as if someone once wanted to preserve this as some kind of museum, but for some reason it didn't happen.

Other bits of paper are more likely to be left over from when the post was active.

 There are still a few bits of communication equipment on the walls, although the majority of it has been cleared out. The big circular chunk of metal would fit over a central cylindrical tube in the ceiling. I thought that this was a ventilation shaft, but it was actually called an FSM tube. FSM stands for "Fixed Survey Meter" and was a piece of equipment which would be inserted up the ceiling tube to count radioactive particles in the air following a nuclear strike.This metal disk could be used to seal the tube.

 Here's a box that the FSM would have been stored in. The box is empty, with the device being removed when the bunker was decommissioned.
It sure is odd that they took all the machinery but not the boxes it came in.

 Here's the air vent at the back of the bunker.

 And to take a closer look at the graffiti, it's dated 1998, and was allegedly written here by the people who stole all of the wine back when the bunker was a wine cellar. However further research reveals that these people are the guys who worked at this bunker, and had come back in 1998 for a nostalgic visit. The guys who showed us around made the connection from these guys to the thieves because they hadn't noticed the graffiti prior to the wine going missing, but given that it's a pitch black room in the ground, it's probably quite easy to miss a few scribbles. I'm more inclined to think that it wasn't these guys who stole our hosts wine, since our hosts looked like they would have been prepubescent in 1998.

There's this adorable creature living in the access shaft too! Isn't it beautiful?

Following this brief excursion, Tamsin, Maya and I said goodbye to our hosts and continued on our way to the Lost Village. Would we find it? You'll have to wait and see, but I wouldn't be blogging about it if we didn't find something. It also falls on my 150th blog post, so it better be good!

That's pretty much all I have. These bunkers are scattered around the British countryside, and are pretty tiny. They were manned with the intent of reporting nuclear strikes, but were also equipped for the people stationed there to potentially live in should there be a nuclear strike.

Nowadays, since nuclear weapons have become a lot more refined, these bunkers would probably offer insufficient protection. But take a look at the size of it, and think of your most annoying work colleague. Now imagine you were both stationed down here when a nuclear blast went off, and having to live with that colleague for an extended period of time, in this tiny room.

It's not a pretty scenario!

If anything, these bunkers reflect on an era of panic, that we don't appreciate today. We've grown up in a world where nuclear weapons just exist, and we don't always realise that there was a time when they were new and the entire world didn't quite know what to do about it.

Anyway, as mentioned I've been in ten of these things now, but if you've been paying attention, you know that this is only the seventh bunker blog post. The remaining three still need a write up, so that's something you can look forward to, assuming the world doesn't go kablooey first.

As always, thanks for reading. If you like the blog, share it. And also follow me on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.

Thanks for reading!

The view from Shrewsbury Abbey

(DISCLAIMER: As an overall nice human being, I do not force entry, vandalize, steal, or disclose means of entry or location if it isn't obvious. I do this to protect locations and respect them. Trespass without forced entry is a civil offense rather than a criminal one, which isn't worth acting on unless one causes damage, steals, has ill intent, etc. I simply photograph and leave everything as I find it. I do not condone breaking and entering, and I do not condone what I do. I'm a danger to myself and a terrible role model )

I think a large part of my happiness is almost a gesture of defiance at nobody in particular. Life throws me lemons, and I eat the damn lemons, keep a straight face throughout, and then remark on how tasty they were, and ask for seconds.  It's very easy to find excuses for why happiness is just out of reach, but we weren't created miserable, the government didn't make us bored, and a lack of wealth never equated to a lack of spirit. We each build our own limitations, and I decided to turn the world immediately around me, wherever I happen to be, into a playground, and explore it in a way it seldom gets explored. And it's bloody awesome.
 Today I'm checking out the view from the top of Shrewsbury Abbey
Of course I'd get there eventually.

This is actually a pretty big deal for me, given that I've somehow managed to get to the top of most of Shrewsburys landmarks, except the one that predates almost all of them. The Abbey is almost a thousand years old and has always been on my to-do list. I was very excited to finally get up there, and if God didn't want it, he wouldn't have given me limbs.

On the site of the Abbey originally stood a small wooden Anglo-Saxon chapel, known as St Peters and St Pauls Chapel, built by a relative of Edward the Confessor, known unflatteringly as Siward the Fat.
In all likelihood, if this was an Anglo-Saxon worship site, then it was probably built on top of a Celtic one, but that's just my speculation and might be completely incorrect.
In 1083, the priest of St Peter and St Pauls Chapel went on a pilgrimage to Rome and came back with the genius idea of persuading the Earl of Shrewsbury, Roger de Montgomery, to turn the shed into something far more impressive. Montgomery sent for a couple of monks from Normandy to direct the construction, which is presumed to have finished in 1087, and as such, Shrewsbury now had an abbey.

And just to throw this out there, Roger de Montgomery had a hostel built for the construction workers, and this hostel became the famous Shrewsbury pub, the Dun Cow. In Tudor times, the pub was repaired with timber from the wrecks of the Spanish Armada of  1588, which can still be seen in the pub today, which is pretty cool, but slightly off topic.

Initially I got in touch with my old accomplice Tree Surgeon for this adventure, because after years of rooftopping together, I didn't want him to miss out. Restorative work has recently been done to the Abbey, and as such there was scaffolding on it. Even though the scaffolding would eventually make it all the way up the tower, we found that it was not required, due to a small door from the lower roof that led into the towers interior. Luckily it was unlocked. Climbing the tower internally was my preferred means of ascending. Climbing such an old building externally might damage it, and I don't want damaging one of my towns most famous historic landmarks on my conscience, although I'm sure the local newspaper would love it. But then that's just how the newspapers work. I'm sure they were disappointed when I explored Chaddeslode House and reported no confidential information had been left behind to make a scandal out of. (But I digress, and bitchilly so. I just loathe the local newspaper.)
So as I was saying, the scaffolding made partially up the Abbey, and once at the base of the tower, we were able to make it to the top through the interior.
I guess it makes sense that the door would be unlocked. The key holders have no reason to lock an exterior door that nobody can get to. And it made me positively giddy to get into this centuries-old tower. 

Humans don't come up here. They have no reason to. Even the Abbeys current staff have no need to come up this far. This absence of humanity was reflected by the presence of birds nests literally built on the towers staircase. 

Check it out! There's an egg and everything!

Also present was a door, which was locked, leading to the actual bell of the tower. I couldn't access the bell, but the door did have a small hole in it, big enough for a camera lens but too small to fit the flash through too, so I had to hold my camera at an odd angle to this hole while keeping it on a long exposure. As such my picture of the bell is blurry, but you can still see it.

I'm still pretty happy to have seen the bell, even if I couldn't access it.

Shrewsbury Abbey did pretty well for itself throughout history. Its abbots all became incredibly powerful people, drawn into politics, given the tasks of inspecting the local military and castle, and of imprisoning important hostages, and from the 13th Century they sat in Parliament. Back then, parliament moved around the country and settled wherever the King happened to be staying at the time. Consequentially parliament was held in Shrewsbury Abbey in 1283 to decide the fate of the last native Prince of Wales. He was killed, and because the medieval times were crazy, his death was a public event at the top of Pride Hill.

In spite of the Abbeys success, it was decided that they lacked anything of great religious significance to put Shrewsbury Abbey on everyones pilgrimage to-do list. A few of the monks did discuss it, and it was pointed out that a huge number of saints were buried just over the border in Wales. Around this time, one of the monks was conveniently "seized by a mental impairment" which was only cured when another monk had a dream in which the deceased St Winifred came to him and told him that she would cure the afflicted monk if they all celebrated mass at her well in Flintshire. They did so and the mentally impaired monk was miraculously cured. As a result, the people of Shrewsbury decided that St Winifred was their personal saint, and so the Cult of St Winifred was born. A chap called Robert Pennant went off into Wales in 1138 and procured the remains of St Winifred, and her uncle, which were then taken to Shrewsbury Abbey for worship.
And it worked! In the era of religious superstitions, a mental impairment, a dream from a saint, and a miraculous healing were all enough to win people over. Shrewsbury Abbeys popularity among pilgrims rose to new heights, and the Abbey prospered.

But in hindsight, and given the desire of the Abbey to obtain a religious relic, one would almost think based on the convenient timing that the monks faked the whole thing to have an excuse to rob some womans grave. Nowadays historians admit that there's not even conclusive evidence that the stolen bones were even St Winifreds or even that she existed at all given that legend tells that she was decapitated but got better simply by having her head reattached, but nevertheless, the Cult of St Winifred was a massive hit at the time.

For the people of Shrewsbury, the Abbey provided job opportunities, education, and hospitality. But in spite of this the relationship with the townsfolk was tenuous and often gave way to violence. In 1121 laws were passed that meant that the townsfolk working on mills would have to give all of their grain to the Abbeys mills, so that the Abbey could profit at the expense of the town. In 1220 this resulted in the construction of illegal mills, a crime that was still being practiced as late as 1422. Another notable clash was over a fair in 1401, which resulted in the Abbey having tollgates put in place that were a nuisance to people passing through town. This resulted in some toll staff getting beaten up by some of the Shrewsbury residents, including Shrewsburys MP.

 So anyway, Tree Surgeon and I made it up onto the top of the tower. It was raining, but the view was brilliant and totally worth the effort. Check it out! This shot looks over towards Shrewsbury town centre.

It's definitely worth noting that Shrewsbury Abbey was once far, far more immense than what we have today. While Thomas Telford is often blamed for the destruction of it, because he drove this big road through it in 1836, the dissolution of monastreys in 1540 also played a huge role in its destruction. A lot of the damage done to the Abbey also happened during the Civil War, when Shrewsbury was a Royalist stronghold and captured by the Parliamentarians. Following the fall of Shrewsbury in 1645, the then-derelict Abbey was used as a prison for captured Royalists for a short period of time.
The Abbey had numerous other buildings connected to it, such as an infirmary, water mills, and accomodation, and between 1540 and 1836 they all gradually slipped away. Many simply became derelict, and were raided for materials. So while Thomas Telford is typically regarded as a vandal for destroying a huge chunk of the Abbey to build a road, from his point of view, the Abbey at the time must have looked pretty shit. Plans were made to preserve the Abbey and its various buildings by reclassifying it as a cathedral, but those plans never came to be a reality. Had they succeeded, we'd perhaps have a lot more Abbey to look at today.

 Down there, next to the carpark, are a couple of exterior buildings that were once part of the Abbey, one of which is known as the Old Infirmary, although it's just a shadow of its former self. In spite of it being called the Old Infirmary, historians pretty much agree that it was never any such thing, and it is commonly believed that it was actually a waterfront store house, since the river would have come right up to it.
For ghost enthusiasts, it's been the site of a few ghostly monk sightings too!

 Over on the other side of those trees is Asda, and while it is just a big bleak carpark from here until there, this area once had the Guest Hall, named Abbey Mansion, and beyond that were large fishing pools, and an artificial mill stream designed to route the water through the mill. All of this was paved over and filled in when a small train station was constructed here in 1866, but the tracks have since been pulled up too and now it's just a big bleak carpark.

 But down here poking out of the trees is one of the more curious remnants of the Abbey, the Stone Pulpit. Before Thomas Telford built the road at the bottom of this picture, the Abbey would have extended over to that pulpit, which was actually indoors. In fact it was in the Abbeys refectory, and someone would have stood in it and preached to the monks as they ate.
That whole portion of the Abbey was torn down to make this road, but the pulpit has survived and today makes for an interesting garden ornament. It's survival is largely due to the Langley Family, who lived in the Abbey Mansion, which stood behind this garden. They converted the pulpit into a small gazebo, and that was how it remained until the mansion was demolished in 1865.

 Very faintly on the horizon, one can see Lord Hills Column protruding on the skyline.

 Over there is the railway signal box and Shrewsbury train station.

And right over there is the river, with the central Shrewsbury locations visible, such as the church spires, with the clocktower peeking out from behind one, and the Parade Shopping Centre sitting in front of another. Look closely and one can also see Shrewsbury Library, and Lauras Tower too!

Isn't this awesome?
So for those who might be unfamiliar, those photos basically did a counter-clockwise rotation from the Abbeys tower.

Whats left of the Abbey would quite possibly have been lost but in 1840 a local consortium raised the money to buy it, and preserve what was left until 1885 when sufficient money was gathered to aid in drastic restoration, turning the once-great Abbey into the church that stands today.

But that's a seriously abridged story of the Abbey. There's a lot that could be expanded on. Whole books have been written about it.

While I haven't got much else to show from the tower itself, I will include a closer look at the stone pulpit.

As mentioned, this thing only survived because it was temporarily turned into a gazebo. In fact, the windows were fitted with glass and there was even a door on it once. It was completely weatherproofed and made for a nice place to just sit and chill. It became disused when the Abbey Mansion was demolished.
 Nowadays this garden is off limits to the public, but if I blindly obeyed that rule, I wouldn't be able to get such a nice shot of it. And there's more! The ceiling has Jesus on it!

 It's a very odd depiction but it's unmistakably a cross with a dude on it.
I have always wondered why a religion allegedly looking forward to the second coming would greet the messiah with images of him dying in agony. Imagine greeting JFK with a gun, or Joan of Ark with a burning witch effigy at a bonfire. The crucifix seems more suitable as a symbol for the worship of Judas, since it's the outcome of his dirty work.

In fact why aren't there more churches for Judas? It makes sense for humans living under a corrupt government to worship someone who betrayed their master! Heck, why aim as high as the government? Hate your boss? Have a controlling partner? The Church of Judas is for you! It makes more sense than the Cult of St Winifred, thats for sure!

Anyway on another note, the Abbeys so-called Old Infirmary has a few notable features that the public walk past without noticing every single day, and that's the remnants of archways poking out from the ground.

 There's two ancient looking ones here, which apparently descend into the ground to a depth of nine feet, which is where the riverbank would have been back in the medieval times. These archways were allegedly used to unload cargo from barges that would have come up the river, delivering stock to the Abbey.
The majority of this building was demolished in 1836, with what remains turned into a malthouse, connected to a nearby mill. The mill burned down in 1906 and this building was gutted.

This third archway is a little more modern looking, being made out of brick. This building can be traced back to 1746, making it a relatively recent addition to the Abbey. At the time the Langley family owned the land, and were living in Abbey Mansion, so it's unknown why they had a second residential building constructed. Nevertheless that is still unmistakably an old archway in the road. Whatever its purpose was, I dont know for sure, but I do have a speculation.

The proximity of this building to where the Mill Stream was makes me wonder if this was an archway allowing for the passage of water, but I don't know for sure.

And that's one of the cool things about the Abbey. So much of it is just speculation and rumour. Rumours circulate about underground tunnels linking the abbey to just about every major landmark in Shrewsbury, and given the size and prosperity that the Abbey once had, it's certainly possible that there were tunnels leading away from it. But given the fact that vast chunks of the Abbey have been demolished, and paved over with roads, carparks, railways, and other buildings, it's likely that whatever tunnels were once underneath the Abbey will never be found.

The best supporting evidence I have ever found for tunnels connecting to the Abbey were actually in the cellar of a building across the street from it.

 Even though there is electricity in some parts of the cellar, it's going unused, and is more labyrinthian than a regular cellar, with various passageways leading out, under the street before getting blocked off.

 Theres a doorway down here, facing towards the Abbey. It's full of clutter and rocks, but towards the bottom of the doorway is actual brickwork. It looks as though the doorway was bricked up, bashed down again, and then refilled with whatever was handy later on. There's no getting down there now.

And another curiosity down here is that the floor is cobbled.

So given these tunnels, and their proximity to the Abbey, and the obvious history down here, and the curiosities, it's easy to see why some might speculate if it once led to the Abbey.
But it is all speculation and there are no conclusive answers. The Abbey is almost a thousand years old, and that's plenty of time to have millions of changes here and there.
In fact, given that the so-called Infirmary proves that the ground was once lower in some places by at least nine feet, I'm open to the idea of these passages once being above ground. But again, it's speculation.

However I'm thrilled to have made it to the top of the Abbey while I had the chance. Given that the general public are not allowed up, and the Abbey staff themselves rarely go up there, it's not just historically rare to have been at the top, but it could be years before anyone else does too, although I am aware through social media that other adventurers and rooftoppers made the same adventure that Tree Surgeon and I did. Even so, the number of people who have had the same view is still very low.

On a final note, I'll leave you with this artists impression of how the Abbey might have looked back in its glory days.

You'll notice that the familiar tower is still there, but the Abbey sprawls out beyond it. The bridge at the bottom left of the picture and the road at the top right are now connected  by a straight road by Thomas Telford, and literally everything caught in the middle was demolished. Where the carpark is today, there are two large fishing pools and a mill stream, and in the bottom of the picture, you'll see that the river severn came right up to the so-called Infirmary, where the archways are connected to a dock.
It's strange seeing this, recognising it, but at the same time seeing something completely different to what exists today.

Anyway that's all I got today. If you like the photos or if you like the adventure, or if you like history, share this blog post wherever you want. Don't forget to follow my Instagram, my Twitter and like my Facebook page.

Next blog post I'm checking out a nuclear bunker! It'll be awesome.

Thanks for reading!

Shawbury Primary School

(DISCLAIMER: As an overall nice human being, I do not force entry, vandalize, steal, or disclose means of entry or location if it isn't obvious. I do this to protect locations and respect them. Trespass without forced entry is a civil offense rather than a criminal one, which isn't worth acting on unless one causes damage, steals, has ill intent, etc. I simply photograph and leave everything as I find it. I do not condone breaking and entering, and I do not condone what I do. I'm a danger to myself and a terrible role model )

Todays accomplices are my homies, Tamsin and Maya. Maya comes from Liverpool, and Tamsin comes from the distant past.

Maya and I met comparatively recently, but Tamsin I actually met on my first ever visit to Shrewsbury. 
It was the kind of escapade rarely heard of from me at the time. I was a very different person. My childhood, as I've mentioned before somewhere, was abusive. I rarely go into it because I don't want being a survivor of child abuse to define who I am, but consequentially as a teenager I had absolutely no social interaction, being incredibly introverted and isolated, to an extent that actually hindered my own personal growth and development at the time. But Mother was a bus driver, and my adventurous side one day got the better of me and I decided to see just how far one could reasonably get if one used this little advantage to procure a free bus pass. And that is how I discovered Shrewsbury.

On that particular day, in spite of having the social skills of a satsuma, I met a few new people, one of which was a girl who was meant to be meeting some guy off the internet, which was a big deal at the time. Nowadays it happens regularly and is typically regarded as an ordinary means of making friends, but back in the early days of the internet, before Facebook, and before the trafficking of information became normalised, we were told to never give out personal information online, and meeting up with anyone was like the internet equivalent of feeding a mogwai after midnight.
So of course, that's exactly what people did. My new friend was stood up by Dave, the guy she was meant to be meeting, and given the fact that he was a fellow off the internet, we concluded that he could in fact be lurking around, just not who he said he was. This resulted in the admittedly childish (but fuck it, we were children) antic of referring to everyone that day as Dave. And one of these Dave-people was Tamsin. And that's how we met, on a completely random good-idea-at-the-time trip to Shrewsbury and if I hadn't enjoyed it, I might not have moved here years later and annoyed everyone with my mediocre blogging, so it all worked out well.

Thousands of years later, shortly after my trip to the Eagles, Tamsin randomly contacted me on Instagram, saying that she's an urban explorer now, and that she and Maya were coming to visit from Liverpool, and were wondering if I fancied a team up. I was apprehensive, mainly due to having had horrendous encounters with urban explorers in the past, but I really got on with these two, and that day we managed to annihilate a good chunk of my to-do list, starting with this epic  abandoned primary school.

Check out that sign! It's actually referring to the path that runs past the school which leads onto MOD property, but for the sake of an external shot it really serves the purpose of making this lovely little school look a lot more sinister.

 Just to negate any sinister vibes, the school greets visitors with a huge wall painting depicting a horde of smiling children and an air traffic collision.

And stuck to the painting is this sign, which declares its intent on raising the children in a christian environment.

Officially named "St Marys Church of England Primary School," this establishment was constructed in 1958, and closed its doors in 2012, when the site moved across the village to a larger premises. At the time, there was a bit of a public uproar due to this and other educational establishments closing, the most notable being Wakeman School in Shrewsbury.

Slipping in to the school was pretty easy, and it shows because evidently the local kids have had the same idea, slipping in and trashing the place.

 It looks pretty disastrous, although not as trashed as that other school I explored years ago. Evidently these hallway noticeboards were once decorated with students work.

And there's still some childrens work left on the board. It's just not from a student, and it's much less imaginative. In fact, it's just the word "Gay" scratched into the board. It's hardly the stuff of graffiti legend, although this is a Christian school, so the offensive impact just depends on where the school staff land on the Christianity scale between Jesus and Westboro Baptist Church.

Of course anyone who actually knows the bible knows that it just says "Do not lie with a man as you would with a woman," which to me just means that if a man asks you if he looks fat, it's okay to tell him yes.

 Here is the head masters office, next to another office, which I presume was some kind of reception area given that the main entrances smashed window overlooked it.

 This was the staff room, which has had a big hole bashed into the wall.

 As you can see, someone REALLY needed to use the toilet.

Next to the replica of the bathroom from the Shining is the schools resource room.

 Some of the local kids have used the resource room to learn the alphabet in, by carving random letters into the door, totally neglecting the whiteboard next to it.

 There's a plastic lid in here which is labeled "Maths resources. Please return to the resource room after use."
I find it kinda hilarious that the lid, which was labeled, has been returned to the resource room, but the box and contents havent.

The contents of the resource room have been oddly collected into one pile of rubbish, pretty similar to that room I found at the back of Radbrook College library, although thankfully this time it's without the condom packets.

 I love how this toilet has written in French "The toilet for the teachers." The literal translation seems so much more friendly than the big blunt "Staff toilet."

 This classroom is named "Classroom 3" in spite of being the closest one to the front door, with classrooms 1 and 2 being oddly on the other side of the building.

There clearly used to be a sink here, which has since been removed. The sink appears to have had the tiles decorated, in a similar fashion to my previous adventure in Oaklands School. The tiles have since been vandalised.

 This is Classroom 4.

It was here that I found a map of the school, which is how I've been able to identify the rooms. The main entrance is at the bottom of the map, and the map itsself is in Classroom 4, as evidenced by the pink fire exit directions.

 Here's Classroom 5.

 The most baffling part about this room is the writing on the blackboard, which at first appears to have been left by the class when the school shut. But it's dated Wednesday, 1st December, 1999. Given that the school closed in 2012, it doesn't seem likely that this chalk writing remained here, in an active school, for over a decade. Maybe somehow it's genuine, or maybe some previous trespassers set it up as a prank, and wrote an older date to make their photographs of an abandoned school seem creepier.

Again, the sinks have all been removed, which I find odd. Why were these taken away?

 Here's another bashed down toilet door. Did someone spike the school with laxatives and lock the toilet doors as a prank on the last day, or something?

 "Praise the young and they will flourish."
That's actually a nice message for a school to have. Shame it's on the floor of the abandoned school, where nobody will see it, except trespassers.

 I was a little shocked to see that all the students names were still on their designated coat hooks.

 The classrooms and hallways are all wrapped around this central hallway which seems to double up as a gym and cafeteria.

 There seems to have been a huge painting decorating the hall, but large portions of it have since been ripped down. However, it is by far the most photogenic room in the building.

 More intriguing is this crudely drawn map of the school, which has since been ripped up. I'm not sure why anyone would bother with this, since there's a map in one of the classrooms.

 The hall would have also been a cafeteria, which shows in these nutrition posters, and its direct link to the kitchen. The kitchen door was previously shut, but someone has forced it open.

This door has also been forced open, in a messier, more spectacular fashion.

 The kitchen is similarly barren. Nothing remains of the old appliances.

 However, there are a lot of keys here.

 The student toilets are tiny and make me feel like a giant.

 They're a bit smashed, and designed for little people, but they're still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

 Near the toilets was this huge cupboard, which I assume from the signs was once filled with cleaning products.

 So here's where the sickness mop would have been. I have no idea why the word "sickness" has been partially replicated with graffiti.

 This hallway was particularly creepy, because it was narrow and retaining the students work, which was mostly unvandalised but falling victim to natural decay from a leaky ceiling. It all gave it quite an eerie atmosphere.

 So this is Classroom 1, in spite of being all the way at the opposite side of the building from the main entrance. Since the numbering system has no logic in terms of layout, I can't help but wonder if maybe it's more in relation to the age of the students.

The evidence is here, with the alphabet on the wall, indicative that classroom 1 had younger students than the kids in, say, classroom 5, who are perpetually trapped in 1999.

Lastly there's classroom 2, which features more of the same, with the missing sink. and vandalised tiles.

There's some graffiti here. Who needs sex ed when you've got urban explorers and graffiti, right?

What, isn't your urethra a two-inch gash across the entire head of your reproductive organ? No? You must be deformed, mate. These people are true artists, with pinpoint accuracy.

There's still the faint remains of writing on the blackboard here.

As far as the interior goes, that's it, but all classrooms had exterior doors that led into the play area, which had its own creepy vibe to it.

There's a dead pigeon out here. It's a good thing the school is closed. I'm sure the local kids would hate to come on their break and find the skeletal remains of the local wildlife.
Actually, the kids would probably be fine. The teachers would probably freak out and then make a fuss about the effects on the kids afterwards to justify their own revulsion. Kids are way better at handling this sort of thing. 

Most of the playground stuff is number and literacy related, to make playtime somewhat educational.

There are dinosaur related stuff too, just in case numbers get boring. Everyone loves dinosaurs, right?

Towards the edges of the playground, nature was slowly taking it all back and growing over everything.

Oddly, there's a random lego brick out here. I'm fairly sure this must be left over from the school, but it's still kinda cool that it's gone forgotten and unnoticed for all these years.

As far as Shawbury School goes, that's it. As far as I'm aware, the building is under offer, so someone has plans for it. Whether they do anything in the near future remains to be seen.

Tamsin, Maya and I drove off into the Shropshire wilderness to find the mythical lost village, but that's a blog for another time. Aren't road trips great? It means I get an entire string of blog posts out of one day. Kinda like Operation Cobra, except we're not getting chased by the totally not fictional Welsh Mafia.

However seeing as I alternate this blog between Shrewsbury and not-so Shrewsbury, my next blog post won't be part of our little excursion. It'll be more local, and it'll be great.

In the mean time, share this blog post if you like it, and don't forget to follow my Instagram, my Twitter and like my Facebook.

Thanks for reading!