The Swiss Cottage

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose location or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.

Sat innocently next to a lake is this cute little abandoned cottage. It doesn't look like much. It certainly doesn't look like it would have the kind of history it has, but this has been a point of interest for me for many years. It was once part of the wealthy Brogyntyn estate, which I've blogged about twice before, once during my initial visit to the hall itself and then later on when I explored the rest of the estate in more depth. The Swiss Cottage was always off limits, boarded up, teasing me with its refusal to let me complete my documentation of Brogyntyn, so imagine my shock last year when internal images popped up online! Someone had been in, and I knew that my literal window of opportunity would be narrow.

Old photos do exist of the Swiss Cottage, showing it much less dilapidated, and even quite homely with smoke rising up from the chimney.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

But now it's fallen into ruin.

Here's the cottage as it looked on my visit. Below is another old photo depicting the land around it also clearly cared for. A house like this next to a lake would make quite a cool home, or countryside getaway.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

There are also out-buildings but these are little more than ruins now.

The pillars that wrap around the front half of the building bring the roof over this cool little veranda area where the exterior walls are decorated with limestone rocks.

The name "Brogyntyn" originates from "Castell Brogyntyn," a former Motte & Bailey castle that once stood on the land. They weren't castles as we know them. Instead they were more like little wooden forts surrounded by a moat that came into popularity after the Norman conquest in 1066. Castell Brogyntyn was likely used to protect Wales, and also to occasionally attack a nearby Shropshire town. It came to be owned by Owain Brogyntyn, who lived from 1160 til 1186. It was a short life by our standards, but not too surprising in the 1100s. Owains father was Madog Ap Meredydd, the last king of unified Powys, and if anyone read my blog on the folks who owned that totally awesome Cyclops cavern, you'll know I went a bit nuts on tracing the lineage, and you might not be surprised to learn that Owain Brogyntyn is a distant relation of the Cyclops Cavern family, linking two of my favourite locations, albeit distantly.

This little cupboard, while not providing a means of entry, does have a rather fancy ceiling.

The first "Brogyntyn Hall" was built in 1617, although back then the estate was known as Porkington. By the 1700s it was occupied by the Owen family, and would you believe it, I can trace the Owens linage back to the Cyclops Cavern folks too!

As I covered in the Cyclops Cavern blog, there was a chap called Richard, born in 1477, who fought for Henry VII in the Battle of Bosworth when he was just fifteen. For his loyalty he was given Henrys sword and the belt that he wore during the battle. He was also offered a place in the kings court, which he politely declined, saying "I dwell among my own people." Young Richard was Welsh and proud, even if he did get to wear the kings fancy belt.

Returning to Wales, Richard shot his DNA into his wife eight times with success, spawning a bunch of children. It was the eldest son, Thomas, who inherited all that they had in 1549. Back then, surnames were a little different. Thomas was born "Thomas ap Richard," with ap basically meaning "Son of." But upon reaching adulthood, Thomas disposed of this idea and used the name of the village in which they resided as a surname instead. His siblings did the same, and that surname is with them to this day. The Cyclops Cavern was owned by the descendants of Thomas's brother, Pyers, and so that blog mostly left the lineage of Thomas alone, stopping by it briefly to point out that his great-great-great-great grandson also called Thomas married the great-great-great grand daughter of Pyers, just because no story about rich folk is complete without some cousin fucking.

But speaking of fucking, in an effort that would turn Jeremy Kyles hair grey, Thomas had a whopping nineteen children! Of them was William, born in 1521, who spawned another Thomas in 1535... Either thats recorded inaccurately or William bumped uglies when he was just fourteen, but then that's not too surprising. In 1275 the age of consent in the UK was twelve. It still is in Telford. It was only increased to sixteen in 1885. But it was William who moved to the vicinity of Brogyntyn. His son Thomas had five children, including Roger in 1567, who did his best to follow his great-grandfathers footsteps, spawning thirteen children, including Robert. Robert had a single daughter, Elizabeth, who married and had two daughters, including Margaret in 1663.

It was Margaret who married Robert Owen of the Porkington Estate. Their son, William, was born in Brogyntyn in 1689. His son Robert was born in 1733, and Brogyntyn fell into his hands until his death in 1792, whereupon it passed to his sister Margaret, who was married to Owen Ormsby.

God, family trees give me a headache. Quite when the Swiss Cottage was built escapes me, hilariously so. How is it I can trace a family over seventeen generations, but can't find a year of construction for a house?

The "modern" Brogyntyn Hall was built in 1735, on the site of the previous hall. The pleasure gardens date back to the 1760s, incorporating the remains of Castell Brogyntyn, and the man-made lakes show up on maps from as early as 1800. Margaret's daughter, Mary Jane, had a heap of changes made to the main hall and surrounding area in 1815, carried out by Napoleonic prisoners of war.
The Swiss Cottage was apparently built around that time.

Mary Jane Ormsby married the politician William Gore, hyphenating their surname and then spawning the boys who would become the first and second Lord Harlechs. When the first, John, died his daughter Fanny wasn't suitable to inherit the title, what with having a vagina and all that, so John's brother William took on the title.

Allegedly there's a curse on the hall and the family lineage, and if you're into that sort of thing then it might be worth mentioning that the halls original architect died only a few years after it was built, in 1738.

The Swiss Cottage has the remains of seating areas outside it, but what's it like inside?

Let's take a look!

Well I trust that ceiling to stay there about as much as I trust the McCanns to babysit. But it does look like it would have been quite a nice kitchen back in the day. It's certainly spacious!

However, the best was yet to be. A doorway led from the kitchen into this wonderful circular room.

Holy shit! This interior is not at all like you'd expect from the outside.

Check out the ceiling! Wow!

And to my delight the door that we had come through was a bookcase door! How amazing is that???

Its also worth noting that all the bookcases and shelving units similarly pulled away from the wall to reveal secret compartments. I had the delicious idea of hiding in one and screaming, only for passers by to come and investigate only to find the house seemingly empty. The Harlech lineage does attract rumour and legend. A ghost story would be icing on the cake.

So of the Harlech lineage, William died in 1904. However, he and his wife and brought into the world six crotchfruit. Of them, George became Baron Harlech next. He was a freemason and also commanded the Welsh Guard during the first world war. His son William inherited the Baron Harlech title, and fought in World War 2. And then in the first of many a tragic car accident to plague the family, William's son Owen died at the age of nineteen, leaving his younger brother David to inherit the Harlech title. This is where things get interesting.

David is by far the most notable of the lot, being lifelong friends with a certain John F Kennedy. You know, the president that got shot and spawned  conspiracy theories that still rage to this day. I personally love conspiracy theories, even if some of them are absurd. Queen Elizabeth is totally a lizard, Donald Trump is absolutely Greta Thunberg time traveling back from the future after a sex change, and the world is a frisbee getting tossed back and forth between God and Satan. Gods thrown us, which is why we have plagues at the moment, but don't worry because when Satan catches us, we'll have an orgy.

But I digress. Back to Lord Harlech...

David was pretty influential during Kennedys presidency, helping during the Cuban Missile Crisis and securing the Russian test ban treaty in 1963. He was also a pallbearer at the presidents funeral in 1963, and many believe he was having an affair with Kennedys wife. However, surviving family members aren't particularly pleased with that rumour, and are keen to refute it.
David's wife, Sylvia, certainly didnt like Jacqueline Kennedy, telling her son Francis  "this charming American woman carries an aura of tragedy. Whatever it is will haunt not only her but anyone deeply involved with her."

Some say that this is the Brogyntyn/Harlech curse, and that it was Jacqueline Kennedys curse more so than theirs. After JFK died, Sylvia met her gruesome end in a car crash in 1967. Some conspiracy theorists find that a little suspicious. Following her death, David did propose to Jacqueline, but she turned him down due to the fact that she didnt want to live in Shropshire, choosing instead to marry someone who sounds like an STD, Aristotle Onassis. Curse enthusiasts will be interested to know that Aristotle lost his son in a plane crash in 1973, two years before his own death.
On her death bed in 1994 Jacqueline Kennedy confessed that rejecting Lord Harlechs proposal was the stupidest mistake of her life, and that it had haunted her for twenty years.

Just think. This awesome little lakeside house could have been hers.

And luckily I was able to obtain one photo of this place in its former glory, fully furnished and looking sexy as fuck.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

How times have changed.

The Swiss cottages glory glory certainly seem to be the 1960s when according to rumour it was lived in by Mick Jagger, who was dating David's daughter Jane. The song "Lady Jane" is about her.

David and Sylvia's kids were often referred to as the Harlech Hippies, and the term "hippieocracy" has been thrown around, often to describe their unusual blend of rebelious rock music and political connections. Not only was Jane dating Mick Jagger and staying in this house with him, but her sister Alice was engaged to Eric Clapton, who stayed in the gardeners cottage. Rounding off the Harlech Hippies was Julian, Francis and Victoria. Check this out- I found a family photo.

(photo not mine)

So thats David and Sylvia on the right. The girl on the far left is Jane, and next to her is Julian and then Victoria, who I've heard is quite lovely.
The smaller children are Alice and Francis.

Quite sadly, when Alice turned seventeen, Eric Clapton got her hooked on heroin, an addiction that would take her life when she was only in her forties.

A more intriguing and fun story from the old "Harlech Hippy" era is an incident at the Swiss Cottage where Mick Jagger crashed his motorcycle into the lake. According to rumour it's still down there...

Moving on upstairs...

I couldn't access all of the upstairs, what with the floor threatening to collapse into the kitchen down below. But there was one small room and the bathroom...

Let's just take a moment to consider this: Mick Jagger has sat on this toilet. Mick Jagger has quite possibly been naked in that bath.

The upstairs sole occupant is this bat, flapping around the small bedroom, angry that I'd disturbed its slumber. I decided to leave it alone.

Also at the side of the lake is this circular brickwork, although I dont know what it is.

Sadly hard times fell on the Harlechs, contributing to the rumours of curses, and whispers of conspiracy theories. Julian, struggling with addiction and depression, shot himself in 1974. Alice found the body but it was 20-year-old Francis who had to identify it.

Their father, David, met his tragic end in a car accident in 1985, swerving to avoid a sheep dog. This was the third car accident to haunt the family. Francis, now Lord Harlech himself, had to identify the body again.

It was all a bit much for Francis. Remember, he was dabbling with booze and heroin too! While he kept the land, he apparently ignored the hall due to its memories, and moved into a house on the estate instead.

Speaking of the land itself, it wouldnt be worth a trip to the Swiss Cottage without checking on the old Motte and Bailey, and the tunnel that still runs through it.

The people of Brogyntyn had turned the area into a pleasure garden, reshaping the central mound to be perfectly circular, giving it a bowling green on top and then running this tunnel through it.

The reason? Well it was the Victorian era. Nothing they built made sense. Just look, once more, at the Cyclops Cavern.

Francis had two children, Jasset and Tallulah, who are still alive today, having been born in 1986 and 1988. Jasset has been described to me as "lovely" while Tallulah has been described to me as "Interesting." But I don't really want to focus on them. I'm more interested in documenting history, rather than writing gossip about the antics of people who still exist.

In 1995, Alice died of a heroin overdose. It was several days before she was found and once again Francis had to identify the body. It's hard not to feel sorry for the poor guy at this point. He was fined heavily in the next few years, for silly things like dangerous driving, having guns on him, and also following an arrest at Crewe train station for having a load of heroin on him in 1999. His wife divorced him in 1998 and Tony Blair then got rid of most hereditary peers, leaving Francis without a job too. In 2001, faced with huge fines and funeral costs, he made the decision to sell the Brogyntyn estate.

And while the hall was scooped up by developers, the Swiss Cottage has been rotting away, unchanged apart from the changes inflicted by nature. 

For the sake of completion I'll show a few shots of the now empty Brogyntyn Hall, but I've covered it in greater depth before.

 

Check it out! Another bookcase door!

Francis, allegedly a raconteur forever entertaining guests with passionately-spoken tales of his derring-do met his end in 2016. His derring-do was derring-done. I do have a bit of sympathy for the guy. While his behaviour was admittedly self destructive, this is usually a sign of internal suffering, and he had gone through a lot. Those that knew him have told me that he was an absolute sweetheart. He just made some silly choices sometimes.

I can totally relate.

But that's all I've got today. The Swiss Cottage is a little small to fit in with the saga of the Harlechs. But while the hall is at least getting developed, the swiss cottage is being left to rot, and I find that tragic. It's a gorgeous little house desperate to be loved again. Maybe someday someone will scoop it up and restore it to its former glory.

Next I'm blogging about an old cinema, and then I'll do another rooftopping blog. In the meantime, follow my Instagram, like my Facebook, and follow my Twitter.
Thanks for reading!

Coffin House

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose location or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.

It's been a while since I've done an abandoned house, largely due to them having mostly similar layouts, and not much that really sets them apart from each other. There is an eerie appeal in the houses that are, or at least were, time capsules. However once they're "discovered" and get media attention they don't tend to last long. These days "Red Dress Manor" is red dressless, and there are more tragic stories, such as "Flowerpatch", which I nicknamed Christmas Cottage. The only reason I can disclose the real name now is because it's been demolished after a guy faked finding human bones and called the police for Youtube hits. We lost a gem with that place. It was cute and creepy, a little like Maggie Thatchers grand daughter.

But the thing is, abandoned houses were peoples homes once, and often the former resident has passed away with nobody to take care of their belongings, which is sad. An abandoned house is essentially a grave site, or a memorial. This is their life summed up and immortalised as nature slowly takes it back. They're deserving of respect. So often now I tend to give them a miss, in favour instead of less intrusive things, like abandoned theme parks and Nazi bases. What drew me here were the coffins. Lots and lots of coffins. The dark tourist in me is postively giddy.

And put down your pitchforks! We visited this place before the current lockdown. Not that anyone cares about lockdown anymore anyway. It's like as soon as we found out we had the highest death count in Europe, the British population collectively said "Fuck it."

Before we get to the coffins, let's check out the house itself. It's pretty trashed! The windows are all broken and the upper floor threatens to come crashing down if I so much as sneeze. But the majority of it is natural decay rather than vandalism.

It's believed to have been occupied by a coffin maker, but as is often the case with abandoned homes, there's no concrete facts and no known reason why the house has ended up abandoned. All we can do is speculate based on what's left behind.

 There's a single mattress over there.

This is quite a nice little sofa. 

 The cellar is always the forbiden fruit of any abandoned house, second only to the fridge. Obviously it's dangerous to check it out, especially in a house that's about as stable as Carole Baskins second marriage, but I know that if I don't check it out it'll bug me afterwards.

It's delightfully creepy down here. The single hanging lightbulb and the barred up coal shutes make it look like a small dungeon. 

Heading back upstairs...

In this room, the real structural instability of the house was made apparent. Hanging down around me were bits of garments, dropping through the floorboards in the bedrooms above.

Oddly there's a bed in the front room.

And look! Here's some porn! Some might find this shocking but I don't see the big deal.
Sex is a big part of being human. You do get those judgemental types who will be like "This is disgusting" like they've never played Downstairs DJ themselves, but I'm more open minded. People are people.

There do seem to be a lot of beds on the ground floor. It's almost like they were in the process of moving things out and then just stopped.

There's a cute little TV sitting at the window.

Moving on upstairs, the stairs had even more porn crumpled up on it, but also a teddy.

See, now this suggests that the occupant either had kids or was quite sentimental. If they did have children then presumably that means there's still family out there, which only makes this house that much more mysterious. Why is it like this? Why weren't any of the posessions secured or taken away?

The upstairs is pretty dilapidated, and I had no doubt at all that one wrong step could bring me down to ground level faster than I'd like. Nevertheless I managed to peek inside some of the rooms.

Moving away from the house, it was the outbuildings and the garden that caught my attention more. It was out here that we found all of the coffin-related paraphernalia.

But much to my delight, there was a privy! A privy is basically an old outdoor toilet. Nowadays toilets can flush, so they're welcome in the house now. The privy... well, see for yourself.

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

These are pretty cool. They're coffin handles!

This is a coffin roller, also used to transfer a coffin from one place to another.

This, I assume, is the company vehicle. Now it also needs a coffin.

Here's a vintage telephone.

And here's more adult content!

Moving on to the out-buildings...

Here's a top hat and some boots.

This is pretty cool. These are cremation application forms!

There was also a fridge in the barn and because I just can't help but punish myself occasionally, I took a peek inside...

Stupid of me. Never, ever look in the fridge.

Hmm... Yum!

In this case, disgusting as it may be, I don't regret looking in the fridge so much, because there's a wasp nest in it! How cool is that? It's like a little hive of Boris Johnsons!

It appeared to be inactive, so it was likely made the previous summer.

There's a very vintage-looking bassinet on top of the drawers.

But right at the back of the garden, next to the remains of a collapsed shed, we found the titular coffins.

 

They aren't exactly in tip-top condition. I'd feel sorry for the pallbearers at my funeral if I got carried in one of these, because I'd probably come crashing through the bottom of it.

At least it would be a memorable event! You should totally come to my funeral. It'll be a great party!

Anyway, naturally my accomplice for this adventure, Tamsin, who you might remember from my Dudley Tunnel blog, couldn't help but get into one of these. I tried too, but I wouldn't fit. All of the coffins are woman-sized, and I'm over six feet tall.

But don't worry, this isn't disrespecting any dead. Evidently the coffins themselves were never actually used. In fact, there are plenty of pictures online of other dark tourists getting their photos in these exact same coffins... although Tamsin is almost definitely the only one to choose the upside-down one. My friends are pretty eccentric. They pretty much have to be to keep me company without blowing their brains out.

Anyway, that's all I've got for today. Coffin House continues to rot away in the countryside, and the coffins rot along with it. I'm sure they'll host a few more photos before they degrade beyond recognition, but the future for this house is pretty bleak.

Next time I'm checking out another quirky abandoned house and then I'm checking out a cinema. In the meantime, follow my Instagram, Like my Facebook and follow my Twitter.
Thanks for reading!