Todays adventure was a complete surprise.
My accomplice / driver / client, Brother Michael and I were on our way to a completely different location when we spotted this pub in a tiny Shropshire village. It has an unusual name, The Cape of Good Hope, although a tree obstructing the external shot makes it look like it says Cafe. (Thanks for that, you fucking plant.) But with some of the windows boarded up, and some of the doors obstructed, and a slight run-down appearance, it was clearly no longer being used. But it was possible to enter, so how could I resist taking a look?
As always, I researched the location afterwards and discovered something curious. Over the last two centuries the village that this pub is in has actually moved!
Let me elaborate!
A peek at maps from the 1800s shows the pub relatively isolated, with the village about a mile north, where it began in medieval times, situated around a church.
In the 1800s, coal mining began about a mile further south, and houses were built down there to accomodate the workers. This also led to the construction of the pub, for the use of the miners. The name itself is indirectly celebratory of their work, as it comes from the actual Cape of Good Hope, a rocky headland on the Atlantic coast of South Africa, which was best traversed by coal powered ships, due to the wind and storms making it too dangerous for the old sail ships. So this oddly named pub is actually named after one of the successes of the coal mining industry, which is quite fitting.
The cenus reports on the population reflect the impact that coal mining had on the village. In 2001 the village has a population of a mere 181 people, which is a boost from the population of 90 reported in 1961, but still measely compared to 1811 when the population was 425.
And as mining continued, the houses around the church became abandoned and derelict, before fading away altogether, as people built new accomodation closer to the pub, which became unmistakably the central point of the village in modern times, while the church further north is now pretty lonely and surrounded by a few farms on the site of the village. There is still evidence of the former villages- One of the farms, Hall Farm, is called such because of a manor house that allegedly stood there centuries ago.
But the village, though absent from its original spot, retained its name about a mile south, away from the church, and around the pub.
And now the pub is shut, almost as if God got revenge.
But let's be honest, alcohol in the 1800s was waaaay stronger than it is today, so anyone who chose booze over church probably got to meet Daddy G a lot faster anyway.
So in roughly 200 years the village has moved, which is pretty cool and unusual.
I'm not sure if any of the mines survive, but I'm totally up for looking for them sometime. But meanwhile, here's the pub, as I found it.
I think, but I'm not certain, that it closed in 2016 after a drop in business. It also allegedly suffered from an armed robbery which was apparently on Crimewatch, but I wasn't able to find any details on that.
It still retains a lot of its personality though, and obviously this area would have once had tables, and more stools, and loads of happy drunk people. It looks like it would have had quite a welcoming atmosphere back in the day.
The books were for sale, for £1 each, with the proceeds going to the village church.
But it was too little too late for God, evidently.
The bar looks ready to serve up, but given how long it's been empty, with the occasional visit from urban explorers, I'm amazed at how tidy everything is. I mean in two years, nobody has even come along and put badly drawn genitalia on the walls.
The dart board is long gone, but the scores from the last game are still there!
The Wifi password is still on the wall too.
And presumably these were table numbers, because the Cape of Good Hope served food. In fact, everyone who I have spoken to about this place say that the food was amazing, and a great price for the size of the portion.
A pipe by the front door seems to have burst, and the hall is flooded. Given that the toilets are near here, I tried not to dwell on the thought of what liquid I was actually walking in.
This place is actually much bigger than it appears from the outside, and spreads out into various different rooms.
Behind the bar, there was a lot of clutter but even so, it was difficult to believe that this pub has been empty for so long. Out of every pub I've explored so far, it is in the best condition. I guess being far away from any town has done it a service, and consequentially it's mostly untouched.
Is that a semi-poured drink, still under the tap? Yum!
Theres this little list of instructions behind the bar, which tell the staff what to do at the start and end of their shifts.
Leading from the bar area was this door which had the instructions to keep it closed at all times. Ironically it was wide open. This led to a couple of back rooms where the alcohol was stored. Most pubs have a cellar for this sort of thing, but this one didn't.
There's a Christmas Tree and decorations stored back here!
And this is the door onto the carpark, through which the alcohol was delivered. I bet that step got annoying!
But back to the actual pub area!
At the very back of the pub are doors into an overgrown beer garden, and additional toilets, so that anyone eating or drinking here wouldn't have to wander all the way to the front of the pub and paddle over to the toilets there.
There's still a few pictures hanging up.
I've never seen a potted plant in a male pub toilet before but I assume it got watered regularly.
The women had pink sinks! Just in case the lack of urinals wasn't a big enough indicator that these toilets are for those who sit down when they pee.
It's interesting that the majority of chairs and tables have been removed, and seemingly disposed of, but loads still remain. Given that the place closed down in 2016, it seems odd. It's like they began emptying the place and then gave up.
There's a box of dominos on the floor.
At the back of this area is the kitchen, which was where all the food was prepared.
Kinda obvious really... why did I even type that?
It was considerably messier than the rest of the pub, but was likely the first room stripped when the place closed down, what with all the appliances being somewhat absent. But there are still plates, cutlery and even food left behind, and it appears that someone decided "fuck it" when it came to the washing up.
I didn't dare look in the fridge. It's always something of a gamble, and it's a line I seldom cross, what with my lactophobia.
Upstairs, however, things got a little odder.
Presumably the upper floor of this pub was lived in, and I assume that this room was their lounge, given that it's got multiple sofas and a television, although the televisions placement is curious.
It was the alcohol that puzzled me, along with food packaging. In spite of the mess, and the pub being boarded up, this place felt susipiciously lived in.
There are no beds, but there are mattresses with bedding. It makes me wonder if maybe there were squatters living here.
The thought made me nervous, because even though we were completely alone here, I didn't know how recently the squatters had left, or even if they were returning. But I took some comfort in the fact that the downstairs hadn't been smashed and vandalised, because that meant that any squatters here were probably decent people.
Two mattresses have been pushed together which I guess could indicate that a couple had been staying in this room.
There are bits of paperwork scattered around, mainly bills and stuff, but this is actually about registering for games machines, which I presume the pub had.
There's an upstairs bathroom in reasonable condition. It's grubby but it just needs a bit of a tidy up.
The kitchen still had plenty of plates, and most of its appliances, and loads of alcohol. It wasn't particularly tidy, but it was organised, with all the alcohol in the corner. It looks less homely, more uni dorm.
It seems that whoever was squatting here was living on cereal and tea.
That's it for the interior. It's strange that the pub area has gone for so many years without being trashed, but that's arguably due to the isolation of the pub, and also, if there were squatters here then it may have put off any trespassers.
Personally, I think the Cape of Good Hope would make a fantastic place to stay in and live off the grid. It's a lovely little pub, and I'd keep piranahs in the flooded bit, named Florence and Bobo, and feed them urban explorers.
Or maccies food since it's probably more nutritious.
Just kidding, Florence is a stupid name for a piranah. I'll think of something better before I chase this dream.
The beer garden is deliciously eerie, overgrown but still retaining its character.
There's one final out-building and it appears to be a dumping ground for much of the pubs furniture.
Obviously this isn't the entirety of the pubs furniture, since the pub is huge in comparison to this small room. I have absolutely no idea what purpose this room would serve prior to the pubs closure though.
And that's it for the Cape of Good Hope. I don't know what the future holds for this building, but apart from a burst pipe in the main entrance, there's absolutely nothing stopping this place from reopening under new ownership. It hasn't been trashed, vandalised, and nature hasn't found its way in yet. I hope that in the future this pub does see new life. The village is centered around it, and as it is, the villagers probably see it as something of an eyesore.
Historically, it has its significance, as being built for the miners, and having its name derived from the success of such an industry. I only wish I'd known about this pub, and sampled their food, prior to its closure.
That's all I've got. Next time I'll be checking out an abandoned house... in Shrewsbury! Now that should be interesting.
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