(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. I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.
The Brogyntyn estate remains one of my favourite spots in Shropshire, although I was starting to think I'd done it to death. I explored the mansion years ago, and returned to see what had changed, and check out the famous Brogyntyn tunnel. More recently I've also checked out the famous house by the lake too... the same lake that is rumoured to contain a motorcycle once belonging to Mick Jagger rusting away in its depths. Growing up in the area, I'd heard all the stories about this place, long before I got into this hobby. As irritating zit-faced teenagers, we used to explore the land and talk about some of the conspiracy theories associated with the familys connections to JFK. It's a very nostalgic place for me.
But as awesome as it is, after three blogs on the place I had nothing new to see there anymore, and it was time to let it go. That was until I became aware of a second tunnel. Unlike the famous one, this one isn't well known. It doesn't even pop up on Victorian maps, and those who do know it keep their lips sealed to protect a small bat colony that resides there.
The tunnel has an interesting little trench system around the entrances, roughly about seven to eight feet deep, but because of the woodland and surrounding vegetation, I completely missed it, took a step onto what I assumed was solid ground, and plumetted downwards. It was probably hilarious to watch.
I landed right there, where the brambles and stuff are drooping in, having failed to support my weight. It's not too far to fall, but I had a pretty rough landing. Jess was somewhere above me, choosing not to follow in my footsteps but instead giving me a rare glimpse of her caring affectionate side by asking frantically if I was okay. It was nice. I should have milked it a little more.
I was actually laughing hysterically, which isn't to sound badass. My sense of humour evolved as a response to childhood trauma, and apparently it extends to when I'm lying on the floor in agony too. Laughter is natures anaesthesia. But quite seriously, I could barely bend my knee! My hands were also torn up, from clutching for hand holds on the way down and finding only brambles. That would be a bitch later, when it was time to endure the mandatory post-adventure hand sanitizer. Seriously, fuck brambles, and fuck gravity. My second and third biggest enemies had teamed up on me.
Still, it could be worse... I could live in Telford.
And on the bright side, I had found the tunnel!
At this end of the tunnel, it forks, creating two entrances pretty much right next to each other.
The
story of Brogyntyn is rather long, and also rather sad. I've talked about it
before, but for those who don't know, I'll go over the important bits again. The name "Brogyntyn" refers to Castell
Brogyntyn, which is basically Welsh for Brogyntyn Castle. The two L's together do not make the sound that a primarily English speaker might expect. The Welsh have their own alphabet, deriving from the Brythonic language, which was actually widely used in Britain before English came along. I say this mainly because I feel that Wales often gets overlooked, but its culture, language and history are actually quite cool.
Castell Brogyntyn would have been an old Motte and Bailey fort. It was owned by Owain
Brogyntyn, who lived from 1160 until 1186 and was likely used to defend the Welsh border from those pesky Normans, and possibly to carry out raids on medieval Oswestry too. Centuries later, the land on which the fort had stood was now part of a vast estate called Porkington. The current mansion was built between 1735 and 1736 by Napoleonic prisoners of war, but it's said that an earlier hall existed there as far back as 1617. In 1792, the big cheese of the estate, Robert, passed away, and the land was inherited by his sister Margaret. Her daughter, Mary Jane Ornsby, married a chap named William Gore. They hyphenated their surname and their progeny would go on to carry the Baron Harlech lineage.
It's worth noting that I've mapped the family lineage back centuries, but completely accidentally. Like this tunnel, I sort of fell into it. I was researching another family, who owned another location, and it just so happened that they were actually the cousins of Margarets Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather on her grandmothers side, who was also Margarets Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather on Margarets Grandfathers side too. It gets confusing. What can I say? Rich people like to keep it in the family. But keep in mind that this happened centuries after the initial fork in the lineage so it's not that taboo. What is interesting is that Margarets great-great Grandfathers brother is the great-great-great-great grandfather of the first Duke of Wellington, who happens to be the Great-Great-Great granduncle of the Queen. How cool is that?
I'm not sure how many royal family members, and cousins, would need to die in order to put the current Lord Harlech on the throne, but I imagine it's probably quite a lot. The split in the lineage is eleven generations back, and would Lord Harlech even want it? I've never met him, but I know people who have, and they say he's the most laid back, chilled and awesome rich person in the world. He doesn't seem like he belongs with the killing-princesses-in-Paris crowd.
The tunnel, much to my delight, is not a boring straight line. Nor is it smooth like the one under the remains of Castell Brogyntyn. It seemed much craggier, and I found it incredibly photogenic. I'm sure some might find the images here repetitive, but I just loved them all. We crouched as we made our way through, so as not to disturb the bats, and also because it hurt like Hell to straighten my damn leg!
I assume that this tunnel was constructed around the same time that the more famous tunnel was constructed through the grounds of Castell Brogyntyn, as a folly in their pleasure gardens. This would put the tunnels construction sometime in the 1760s. That is just speculation though. Only the Harlechs would know for sure. But follys were all the rage back then, along with other eccentric garden features that served no purpose and did nothing. I love stuff like this. Some people are passionate about abandoned houses, but if I'm on an adventure, something random like this will always win my attention.
Of the Harlech lineage, the most notable one is Mary Janes Great-Great Grandson, David, who lived from 1918 til 1985. He was buddies with John F Kennedy, and even offered advice during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and helped secure the Russian test ban treaty in 1963. He very nearly married JFKs widow after the assassination, and she even admitted years later that she wished she had.
The famous connections don't end there either. Two of Davids daughters dated Mick
Jagger and Eric Clapton. In fact, the Rolling Stones song, Lady Jane, is
said to be about the same Jane who lived at this estate.
The connection to JFK has fuelled a few conspiracy theories about later tragedies to grip the family. Some even call it a curse. These theories might be your cup of tea, but I'm sure the family themselves would find them distasteful. Let's not forget, some of Davids children, as well as his grandchildren, are still alive. I'm all about talking about history rather than annoying the living, although truth be told I am heaps better at the latter.
David
lost his wife, Sylvia, in a car accident in 1967. He too died in a car accident years later in 1985.
Of
his five children, one died of a self inflicted gunshot wound in 1974,
and another of a heroin overdose in 1995. Francis Harlech, said to be quite the character and pretty fun company, eventually
sold the estate in 2001, and much of it ended up just rotting away. Some of it is now being developed, but a lot of it is still rotting away to this day. It ultimately ended up on the urbex radar, with its sad history giving it the cheesy nickname "The House of Tears." I managed to sneak inside in 2015, and the mansion
itself started being developed shortly after. Other parts of the estate
remain in ruins, and with this tunnel recently coming to light, it
really intrigues me that there could be other secrets on the land
waiting to be found. I know there were rumours about secret tunnels and
bunkers around the main mansion, from back when the cellar was used as a
Cold War communications hub, but I found nothing to confirm these
rumours when I went down there in 2015.
But
only the Harlechs know for sure. And as much as I'd love to ask, they
suffered so much tragedy here and I don't particularly want to cause any
upset by reopening old wounds.
Here's the exit to the tunnel, although you wouldn't think that we were outdoors now. Above us was a thick ceiling of tree branches and bushes. From the outside, it would be impossible to see the tunnel, and probably impossible to get to it, too.
As with the other side, there was a trench network. It's weird to think that this was once a garden feature. Imagine the Harlechs in their younger years, and the likes of Mick Jagger, exploring this tunnel back in the day. Remember, his motorcycle is said to be at the bottom of a lake on this land, so if he was hanging out here back in the day, driving his bike into bodys of water for no reason, he may well have explored the tunnels too. If I was dating someone who had tunnels in their gardens, that's what I'd be doing!
After a while it becomes impossible to progress out of the trenches, so we left the way we came, back through the tunnel and out of the trench on that side. It turned out there was an easier way in, so I didn't have to scramble up the way that I'd fallen. What a relief. My knee was fucked and I wasn't going to be doing any climbing for a while. It sure was stiff in the morning, but it got better, right in time for my car accident which knackered my other knee for a bit! By 2022 I'll be exploring in a wheelchair.
But that's it for this tunnel, and to the best of my knowledge, this is the last blog I'll do on the Brogyntyn estate too. But I thought that last time, and here we are. The land may well hold other secrets so never say never.
Personally, with its tragic history and quirky things to find, it's one of my favourite places. Unfortunately the main mansion is just a shadow of itself now, barely resembling the pictures I took in 2015, and I understand there was some drama in recent years, with some imbeciles stealing from it. It's best, I think, if people stay away from it. And if you know where this tunnel is, please respect the secret for the safety of the bats too.
Next blog will be about an abandoned pub that Jess and I found, and then I'm blogging about a pet cemetery in another lost wealthy estate. In the meantime, follow me on Instagram, Twitter, Reddit... if you're on Vero, follow me there. It's basically Instagram but without the shitty algorithm. If it had more users it would be great, but it hasn't so it isn't, but it has potential. Oh, and follow me on the hub of human misery, Facebook. Like and share my shit to help me against that algorithmic hellscape too, if you don't mind.
Thanks for reading!
