Around the time I visited this derelict house, I started to notice that my camera wasn't focusing like it used to. Something was wrong, and I knew it was sputtering towards its eventual death, which would probably happen at the worst possible time. But until then I'd just have to make do with what I've got. The blogs images might just be a teeny bit shite for a bit.
Things are a little less bleak on the Travel Blog where I've taken a step to appear trendy among more prevalent mindsets on the modern internet, by invading Poland.
My camera issues are a weird admission to make before plugging my book, but plug it I shall! My photo book, Rooftops of Shrewsbury, collects a reasonable chunk of the rooftopping shots that I've taken over the past fifteen years, and compiles them in print form for the first time. It makes a nice coffee table ornament or gift for a tourist. You can buy it here.
But now let's check out this house!
Externally, this place is gorgeous. I love the spiral staircase encased in ivy, heading up to a balcony. It allegedly once had a beautiful garden hidden from the neighbours by trees, making the house completely invisible from the street. It sounds amazing.
I became aware of this place during what I call a "house cascade." I posted a house blog on a local facebook group and suddenly the comments section was full of people making mention of some other abandoned house they knew about. I just sat back, rubbed my hands together gleefully at the prospect of some minimal effort adventures. A house cascade doesn't necessarily bring the best results in the urbex world, but it does mean I'm never bored.
Internally this house is pretty bleak. There's almost nothing left to see, and it makes me feel less like an urbexer and more like I work for Rightmove. It's been empty for less than a decade, which is a bit of a turn-off, but the history does kinda give it some relevance.
Unfortunately I wasn't the only person paying attention, and the house did get shared around a few urbex pages, with the peculiar nickname "Party House," so called because the owners had friends over occasionally, like just about everyone who actually lives anywhere.
I always find it amusing how urbexers will take the most mundane fragments of a dead persons existence and contort it to become their entire personality. We saw it with Vanity House back in the day, when some genius decided that the owner had "an obsession with time" just because they owned more than one clock.
As always I'll try to add some truth and dignity to urbex.
This house was lived in by an elderly couple. Their names were Sheila and Dave, and they did way more for the local area than hold parties.
When it comes to research, there's actually quite a lot that can be found online. In the 1990s and early 2000s, David wrote in to the Shrewsbury Chronicle quite a lot, often voicing his opinion on things like fox hunting, perpetually struggling NHS and, at the turn of the century, the millennium bug. For those who don't know, in the late 1990s there was a bit of concern that computers were not going to be able to cope with the dates changing from 1999 to 2000, and this could have catastrophic ramifications along the lines of incorrect financial calculations and disruptions in critical infrastructure like power grids and air traffic control. I don't remember the details personally because I was just a child, and nobody really told me anything because they assumed autism meant I was thick, so I mostly just kept my nose in a book and read about quantum wave function collapse while the more intelligent neurotypical people worried about who was shagging who on Corrie. But I definitely remember the media making a huge drama about the Millennium Bug, with a few people even saying it could mean the End of the World.
Interestingly, Wikipedia does have a list of predicted Ends of the World, and I've survived more than fifty, so I'm feeling pretty indestructible.
In 1998 David decided to test the threat of the Millennium Bug with his VCR, setting the time and date to December 31 11:55pm, and then watching as it skipped over its perceived millennium with no issue whatsoever. He then wrote to the local paper to express his amusement that a device built in 1989 could handle the new century when the media was saying that all of the worlds most sophisticated computers would require extensive reprogramming.
David would also send in photos, including one he took of horse racing in the Quarry Park.
(Photo not mine, obviously)
I had no idea that the Quarry Park had once hosted horse racing so that's pretty cool. This image can be dated to the immediate post-war years, because it depicts some lime trees that were felled in 1952 due to being dangerous.
Of course, if you really wanted to make the quarry less dangerous, they'd sack that psycho park keeper, but that's just my humble opinion. I'd like to know what exactly he does with people's bank details after he forces them to have their bank cards photographed under the pretence of checking their ID. But maybe that's just me being an overly concerned citizen.
The titular swimming pool is probably the most interesting part of the garden, and it's a surviving remnant of what was once a beautiful, secluded area that has been exposed by developers, who fully intend on destroying everything here in favour of putting up featureless blocks that lack any character whatsoever.
The pool is pretty nice, and it still has some water in it for anyone who fancies polio.
While I have no doubt that the presence of a pool added to the houses "party house" reputation among the urbex herd, an article from 1967 actually mentions the pool in a way that I wasn't expecting.
In 1967, an oil tanker called Torrey Canyon hit some rocks off the coast of England, and spilled about 25 million gallons of oil into the environment, affecting hundreds of miles of coastline across England, France and Spain. It was, at the time, the worst oil spill in history.
Sheila, the woman who lived here, spent nine days in Newquay cleaning oil off birds. She ended up taking a few guillemots and razorbills home so that she could see to their rehabilitation.
(photo of Sheila not mine, obviously)
And because these are coastal birds, she had them live in this swimming pool. The RSPCA provided the pool with salt water and everything.
I actually really love this. There's not many people in the world who would give up their pool to host a temporary menagerie, but Sheila did. And in doing so, she actually beat her husband to the newspapers by several decades.
Time to check out the house!
Slipping inside the house was pretty easy. Everything's just open. But there's not much left to see. It's all been stripped out and emptied. Nevertheless there's still some character to the place.
So regarding David's hobby of bombarding the newspapers with letters, I actually really enjoy the way he phrases things. He once said about the police "Our police today are still unarmed but when it comes to public relations and applying common sense to law enforcement they seldom miss an opportunity to shoot themselves in the foot."
It's like he wanted to moan in a way that entertained. In 2004 someone wrote to the Shrewsbury chronicle complaining, ironically, that too many grumpy people were writing in just to complain. This happened to coincide with David getting a 14% council tax increase. So he wrote in response:
"I could just grab our local police chief by the throat, and shout 'Get off your backside and earn the increasingly high wages I'm forced to pay you.' Of course, decent tolerant rate payers don't do that sort of thing. We just write to the local paper. I'm sorry that I can't be more positive but the letters page provides an indispensable outlet for grumpy old men to relieve their frustrations."
I think he's great. Based on some of his opinions, I think we'd disagree on plenty of things, but I can't help but enjoy his delivery and phrasing. And I have to respect someone who can moan in a way that entertains.
As well as his opinions, David also sent in a postcard that his father had received in the 1930s, purely because he liked the handwriting, which he felt exemplified a slower pace of life.
(image not mine, obviously)
Check out that calligraphy! What an absolute historic gem.
And that brings us onto his Dad, Albert Mitchell. It would be a huge mistake not to talk about this guy.
(photo not mine, obviously)
Albert was a wireless officer as a naval cadet and became fascinated by the radio. He had trained during the first world war but became fully qualified just in time for armistice, meaning he now had to find other means to explore his interest. And while nowadays a passion for radio might seem a bit strange, back then it was relatively new. Albert actually described it as a wonder of science, and in 1923 he opened his own radio store in Shrewsbury.
(photo not mine, obviously)
This building is now the British Heart Foundation store at the top of Mardol.
As well as selling and repairing electrical appliances, Albert also got involved in electrical exhibitions at the music hall, and provided PA systems for local fetes throughout the 1930s. During the 1960s he also hosted technology exhibitions at the Lion Hotel.
His major breakthrough came in 1931 when the founder of Murphy Radios happened to be in Shrewsbury. He came across Albert's store and they ended up making a deal. Albert Mitchell became the sole distributor of Murphy Radios in Shrewsbury.
His son, David, would go on to inherit this business.
And here we have David's abandoned kitchen, pretty spacious and modern, and mostly empty. And while some saw this place as "the party house," I now see it as the former home of someone who helped drag Shrewsbury into the 20th Century. That's way more interesting.
I've not really got much to say about this kitchen though. I like that it's spacious. Modern kitchens seem to be getting smaller and smaller. In my last flat the kitchen was basically just a cupboard. If I can do star jumps while waiting for the toaster to pop, that's a refreshing change of pace!
There's an old noticeboard here where David and Sheila would have pinned things to remember. The last remnant is a picture of British wildflowers.
Here's a hatch leading into the lounge.
And rather curiously, there appears to be a second kitchen...
This is really quite interesting. It looks like a kitchen but it's smaller and a separate room to the other kitchen. This one is smaller but still pretty spacious. Why do they need two?
I do like the collapsible ladder into the attic but I didn't bother with it. Attics are seldom interesting.
There's a poster on the floor, depicting a scorpion lifting an astrological Scorpio rune out of a pond. Behind it, there's a knight fighting a dragon, and a woman doing yoga. In the foreground there's a baby holding a skull.
Apparently this particular poster was printed in the 1970s and is pretty rare, fetching $250 on ebay.
As well as being one of the earliest distributors of radios in Shrewsbury, Albert Mitchell achieved Hero status in 1947, when he was setting up loudspeakers at the Quarry Park for an event at the Pengwern Boat Club. He and his brother spotted a woman floating down the river, face down, presumably having fallen in. Albert swam out to her fully clothed and dragged her back to land. She made a full recovery.
Albert also made history on a small, local scale, by being one of the first people to sell televisions in Shrewsbury.
(photo not mine, obviously)
Here are Shrewsbury's first TVs on display outside his store on St Johns Hill.
There's one aspect of technology that I found really interesting, and this must have been considered completely normal back in the day despite being totally forgotten, on par with having to get off the internet whenever someone wanted to make a phone call. Basically, early televisions had a habit of malfunctioning every time a car drove past, due to electrical interference from their ignition systems. As a result, cars began being fitted with ignition suppressors, and Albert was one of five electrical firms in Shropshire who offered to fit ignition suppressors free of charge to Shrewsbury residents. It was a two-minute job, allegedly, and the short term expenditure would be made back by making televisions more efficient.
Moving onto the dining area...
It's all a bit featureless and empty, but since my visit I've seen other urbexers post photos of this, and it's been torn apart. Somehow people have managed to trash a completely empty room.
David probably took control of the family business in 1977 when Albert passed away.
The business pops up a few times in historic records. In 1962 someone stole a radio from the shop, and Albert chased him to a cinema before calling the police. The newspapers full on doxed the thief, outright naming him as Robert Jackson of 66 Meole Crescent, which absolutely blows my mind. Could you imagine the fireworks if the media did this today? Every nonce in Telford would be lynched! The population would be in double digits!
I'm quite happy that we are able to see into the lives of the former occupants here. Often all we have is census data, which gives us dates of occupancy and maybe what they do for a living, but seldom anything else. But we're not just our jobs. We're our passions and interests, and quirky hobbies.
David wasn't just a guy who inherited his fathers electronics business. He and his wife were lovers of jazz and classic cars. Dave was a member of the Rolls Royce Enthusiasts Club, and even had his own that he would lend for events like jubilee parades and stuff. It's so refreshing to be writing about three-dimensional people instead of just names on a register.
In modern urbex pics, these seats have been ripped apart.
The wooden radiator casings have also since been ripped off the walls and strewn across the floor.
Next to this fireplace, we can see where the kitchen hatch comes out.
Here we have the conservatory. More recent urbex shots show that this has also been smashed.
The lounge is similarly empty.
Maybe it's the low hanging light but I can totally imagine a pool table being here.
And at the far end of the house, these blue curtains lead onto the patio and out to the pool.
In more modern urbex photos, the blue curtains have been ripped off and the glass doors behind them completely smashed, which baffles me because it's just senseless. Even if someone wanted to access the house, the doors just slide open. They aren't locked. There's no reason whatsoever for someone to smash them, unless they had sibling parents or something.
This wall does have some speakers, which no doubt add some fuel to the urbex narrative that this was a party house. They probably did like to put some music on when they had friends over. Who doesn't?
But to define this place as "The Party House" still just feels tacky.
This family literally introduced televisions to the people of Shrewsbury. They have historic significance beyond getting the neighbours tipsy. How is it 2025 and people still don't know about Google?
Moving on upstairs!
I also learned that prior to David and Sheila living here, it was lived in by Charles Cureton-Jones and his wife. In the 1940s his wife was vice chairman of the local conservative club and spoke in the local women's club about her travels around South America. Charles was fined for keeping dogs without a license.
But generally these two have done very little to hog the spotlight, in stark contrast to David who seemingly wrote in to the Shrewsbury Chronicle as often as he changed his undies.
That's not a criticism though. Have you seen how bonkers the newspapers get when they don't have something to talk about? There will be another asteroid heading to Earth, or yet another clue about the whereabouts of Maddie McCann. At least David was giving them something interesting to write about!
There are two bedrooms in this place, the first of which has this wash basin bult into the wardrobe, which gives me more hotel vibes than anything. I could see this being a guest room or something. Perhaps David and Sheila put their room on Airbnb. That might explain the two separate kitchens.
The second bedroom was probably David and Sheila's bedroom. I have no proof of that, but it has doorways that lead out onto the balcony, and if I were a house owner and had a choice between these two rooms, I'd pick the one with the balcony, and so would you.
There's also this very small room with cute wallpaper, but it's far too small to be a bedroom, and too big to be a cupboard. Perhaps it was a study or something.
And now onto the best part of any abandoned building, the bathroom.
Still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs,
But check out this sunken bath! I actually think this really might be the best room in the entire house. The bathroom itself is pretty small, but with the tiles and the bath being in the floor, it kinda gives me Roman villa vibes. I absolutely love it.
I can totally imagine what it would be like to slip into this with a good book and some candles. It seems very relaxing. In fact just looking at this has ruined baths for me forever. I'll always know that no matter how warm and comfortable I am, it could be better.
This fellow is enjoying the bath too!
Onto the garage.
This is where David kept his Rolls Royce. Presumably he was a bit of a tinkerer too, given that he has a big trenchy thing in the centre of the garage. I'll probably piss off a few car nerds by calling it a big trenchy thing, and I'm absolutely okay with that.
I think, given that he was passionate about cars, David may have operated a small business out of here too.
On the wall is a seriously faded map that my camera, in its death sputters, refused to focus on.
Alas, David and Sheila have passed away. One died in a hospice and the other passed away four years later in hospital. Shropshire absolutely lost two pretty impressive characters.
The building was sold to developers, and they cleared the garden, expecting this house to be next. But from what I've heard, they found newts on the land and have been unable to proceed further. The house remains as it is, in developmental limbo.
It will probably mysteriously catch fire under suspicious circumstances that lead to absolutely no consequences whatsoever, and then it will all be a distant memory. And that is why urbex is important. In spite of this buildings colossal blanditude, it's still history. History is important, even if you have to bend a few rules to document it.
So that's all I've got.
This house might not have a lot left to see, but I do like it. It's a nice house, sadly awaiting flattening, and somehow despite being mostly full of nothing but air, people have still managed to trash it since my visit.
I actually dread to think what condition it's in now.
The house I'm blogging about next is fully furnished, and a lot older. There's a bit more to see, although I haven't started researching it yet, so I don't know how much there will be to say about it.
I do know that other urbexers have been there, and I am optimistic that I can at least find more than they have, because I almost always do.
In the meantime, if you want to stay updated on my blog and you're interested in an exercise in futility, then follow my social media platforms. Facebook has recently told me that it's increasing my reach for being a good boy, but so far I haven't noticed a difference. Instagram continues to squeeze my reach, as punishment for not being a sell-out. On the plus side, I could post photos of myself placing Maddie McCanns remains beneath my floorboards, and I'd absolutely get away with it. In fact, while Instagram is a mismanaged algorithmic dumpster fire, there's never been a better time to come out as a serial killer.
If only I was one.
And then there's Twitter. Somehow that still exists.
Personally I'[m trying to promote my favourites- Bluesky, Vero and Cara. They aren't without their flaws, but at least people see who they've chosen to follow, and that is literally all I want from social media.
So follow me on any of those, if you want.
Thanks for reading!
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