Seeing as I've been doing urbex in Shropshire since 2010, it's probably more shocking to hear what I haven't done. My friend Lee definitely thought so. Upon learning that I hadn't ever been to see the ruins on Clee Hill, he pretty much held me at gunpoint and insisted that I take a look.
And I do see his point. They're probably among Shropshire's most well-known ruins, so I am a little bit ashamed of myself.
Alas, my camera has been buggy and sometimes refusing to focus, and is likely going to die at the most inconvenient moment, so while the internet is littered with fantastic shots of Clee Hill, you won't see any from me. Sorry.
But Clee Hill is still pretty cool. Despite being a popular place for people to visit, it remains free of visitor centres, admission fees, gift shops and the like. It's just here to be appreciated, and that's that. Even the parking is free. How unprecedented.
Clee Hill has been shaped by centuries of human activity. There's the remains of a Bronze Age fort somewhere up here as well as a 4000-year-old cairn.
But for centuries, Clee Hills significance has been its minerals. Sale of its coal has been recorded as far back as the 1200s, and even the word "Clee" is believed by some to derive from Clay, although some have speculated it might derive from the old english word "Clifu."
The Mappa Mundi in Hereford Cathedral, dated to the early 1300s, depicts the British Isles with 26 towns, but the only hills labelled in the entirety of the UK are the Clee Hills, demonstrating their significance even then.
The ruins are a sad remnant of an era of industrial glory.
The most prominent ruins are the giant crushing blocks, which are historically significant as early examples of the use of reinforced concrete. Carts would go underneath, and have all the crushed rock dropped into them from the vats above.
What we see now is just the bare bones of it, but in its heyday there would have been wooden and metal structures on top, and crushing machinery. There would have also been rails along the top to enable the carts to tip the rocks into the crusher.
Detailed images of the stone crushers in their heyday are sparse, but I did manage to find a painting.
(Artist not known, unfortunately)
It really does demonstrate how the concrete is just the bare minimum of what was once here.
Big crushing blocks aside, there are plenty of other photos of Clee Hill back in the day that show the workers and their machinery, including this one of a cart about to tip its rocks into the crusher. Notice that the brake mechanism is just a piece of wood jammed into the wheels.
(Photo credit: Titterstone Clee Hills Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect by A.E Jenkins)
The concrete structures were built between 1900 and 1910, but Clee Hill was thriving with industrial activity long before then. Iron, coal, clay and limestone have all been mined here, but these crushers were built for the "Dhu Stone", a dolerite named after the Welsh word for Black.
Demand for Dhu Stone dropped in the 1960s, and the quarry dwindled, but back in 1900 more than two thousand people were employed here. That's pretty incredible. Think how many of those workers had families to provide for. That's a whole lot of people being fed by the profits of Clee Hill. How many people in South Shropshire are descended from someone who worked here?
Here we have the area where the wagons would have parked to receive their loads, although the vats seem to have been blocked off.
But up above, we can still see into these wonderful death vats. There's no handrail, nor is there any exit. If someone snuck up behind me and shoved me in, I'd be trapped.
And probably injured or dead.
Workers came to Clee Hill from Ludlow and Bridgnorth, but there's an entire cluster of little villages in the area that were built especially for quarry workers. Among them is the actual village of Clee Hill, and a few others with some pretty curious names, like Dhustone and Bedlam.
Dhustone's name has obvious origins, but Bedlam is a little more mysterious and intriguing. The word "Bedlam" started out as a nickname for the St Mary of Bethlehem Psychiatric Hospital in London. It's since become synonymous with lunatic asylums in general, and in the 1920s, the headmaster of Bittersley Grammar School claimed that a specific ruin on Clee Hill was the remains of an asylum, and this is allegedly where the village of Bedlam gets its name.
But there is no proof of an asylum ever standing there. Alternative theories have been suggested, like the village being quite noisy and chaotic due to being situated right next to the railway incline up to these stone crushers.
I guess we may never know the truth.
But also on the topic of weird names, Clee Hill village had a pub named The Kremlin. This pub was built in the 1860s and was originally called The Craven Arms, after Earl Craven who owned Stokesay Castle. Similarly, the South Shropshire town called Craven Arms was actually called Newton until the Craven Arms hotel was built there, but that's another story.
Apparently there is no higher point between Clee Hill and the Ural mountains of Russia, and allegedly the pub was renamed the Kremlin because it could pick up Russian radio. That's pretty cool.
This particular stone crusher is directly in front of where the railway incline used to be, and I've been able to find one image online that shows how it used to look.
(Photo not mine, obviously)
As you can see, there's a little more on top of it, made out of either metal or wood, but this is long gone.
In the 1910s, the employees worked here from 6am until 5:30pm, although on Saturdays they were allowed to stop at 4pm. After 1918 the days were reduced to eight hours, and Saturday shift ended at 2pm.
Because of the nature of carving up a mountain and leaving big vertical cliffs, some of the men working here were designated "rock spotters." Before the days of PPE, the workers had their heads exposed, and if there was any movement on the steep cliff walls, the rock spotter would alert the others, and they'd scatter. Rocks could sometimes splinter if they hit other rocks on the way down, with shards flying everywhere, so people would generally run as far as possible.
According to locals, in 1914 a huge crack appeared in the quarry face along the top of the hill. Everyone knew it was a matter of time before there was a huge rock fall. They decided that rather than wait for the inevitable, they should break it away themselves, but after weeks of effort nothing happened.
The rocks eventually did fall in a massive roar while everyone was eating in the breakfast cabins. Their machinery and tools were buried but miraculously nobody was hurt.
But of course, this was just one lucky occasion. Plenty of people have fallen foul of workplace hazards here. A chap called Ted Garbett had his head split open by one such incident, and another chap named Israel Breakwell, grandfather of comedian Dennis Crowther, was killed by a rockfall shortly after coming home from the first world war.
Some deaths were just silly mishaps. A man named Jack Turner lived at Horseditch, a settlement on the hill that appears on old maps but doesn't seem to exist anymore.
He walked home from a pub in Doddington, taking a route over the hill. It was a rainy night, and he came across an engine heated by coal for operating a winding gear. He took shelter under it and fell asleep. But then hot ash fell from it and he burned to death, only to be found the next day. This was sometime between 1916 and 1920.
The saving grace for these unfortunate events was the community spirit. The villages around Clee Hill were so isolated from the rest of the world, but they all knew each other. It made the funerals a lot more personal, because the person leading the service was also grieving the person who had died, and that actually makes a huge difference compared to someone just talking because it's their job to do so. Of course, that's not to disparage the funeral service profession, but it does make a difference.
After centuries of industrial bloodshed, I was expecting to dig up a few ghost stories about Clee Hill. And I did, but none of them are the ghosts of dead quarry workers. I guess in a small community that sort of thing might be considered bad taste.
Instead, among stories of medieval dragons and witch covens, Clee Hill is most commonly said to be haunted by a giant black demon dog. How intriguing. I was instantly reminded of the big cat that is said to live on the Wrekin. What is it with Shropshire and legendary mountain beasts? What is this, a Pokémon region?
Here's the top of the second crusher, ready for anyone to casually tumble into and be trapped forever.
(Photo credit: Titterstone Clee Hills Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect by A.E Jenkins)
This image is from 1910, and I'm pretty sure the roof on the right is situated above, or obstructing the stone crusher. The top of the rail incline is still visible with some carts on it. What I really love is that this picture, faded as it is, gives us an idea of how busy this entire area once was.
(Photo not mine, obviously)
(Photo not mine, obviously)
I also found this old photo of a train with a couple of workmen. Based on the trains model, I think this photo would have been taken in the 1920s.
This high up in the hills, mist and clouds were actually more dangerous for the workers than frost, because they could descend so quickly, and unpredictably, and bring work to a halt. Sometimes the men working here would take to waiting out weather conditions by playing cards and having a drink. One man allegedly got so drunk he fell asleep, and his colleagues actually dug him a grave, complete with headstone, and lay him in it as a joke until he woke up.
Drinking on the job was frowned upon but still quite commonplace. The more persistent workers were occasionally threatened with dismissal, but given the abhorrent work conditions and low pay, these threats were met with a fairly apathetic attitude.
In the winter they'd actually swirl a red hot fire poker around the cider to warm it up. It sounds like the winters were bleak, but it also sounds like these men had some sense of comradery. They were in it together, providing for their families and their community.
Some of the graffiti among the ruins is pretty cool.
No idea what this little area would have been, but it's got some steps leading into it. I imagine this would have once been a little indoor section, maybe housing a generator or something.
As well as being used to create the docks at Cardiff, demand for Clee Hills Dhu Stone increased dramatically in the early 20th Century when automobiles started to become pretty common, and the roads were found to be woefully inadequate for this new technology.
Broad Street in Leominster was one of the earliest roads to benefit from Dhu Stone, being laid in 1909. Bromfield Road in Ludlow was laid in 1911 and a whole heap of other roads followed after that. Church Street in Tenbury Wells was laid in 1923. Some streets in Hay-on-Wye were also laid in the 1920s.
In 1922, Dhustone was used to make the pipes that supplied Birmingham with water from Rhayader. The brummies no longer had an excuse to not shower, but somehow a hundred years later they still smelled the same.
A few of the local churches were also constructed using Dhustone, including the Churches in Knowbury, Doddington and Hope Bagot.
During the 1940s, US soldiers came to Clee Hill to take Dhustone for their runways. But perhaps they didn't think the labour involved was very flattering because they were soon replaced by black military personnel instead. For some residents of the isolated little village of Clee Hill, this was their first time seeing black people. The so-called "coloured contingent" didn't stay for long, and most perished in the war, but from what I can gather, they were treated well during their time here, which must have been a nice refreshing change from their lives back home in the "land of the free."
But on the subject of the war, it would be a bit remiss of me to not mention Clee Hill's radar base. This was established during the war and had between forty and fifty staff living on site. It's still there today, run by the civil aviation authority, and is arguably better known to modern folks than the quarrying, because it dominates the skyline with a giant golf ball, very reminiscent of Teufelsberg in Berlin.
At the time of writing, I've just heard that the golf balls days are numbered. It is to be taken down, and the skyline will lose a rather iconic landmark. That's a shame.
Quarrying did decline in the 1950s. Better methods of road surfacing were developed and younger people weren't really learning the Clee Hill craft. In 1958, only six men worked here, and they were between the ages of fifty and seventy, each one having worked here since they were thirteen. They were experts at what they did, but there wasn't any passing of the torch.
With the growing prevalence of road traffic, the rail incline also gradually fell out of use. But an accident in the 1950s was one of the final nails in the coffin.
Someone did take photos of the rail accident.
(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday life, industrial history and dialect," by A E Jenkins.")
(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday life, industrial history and dialect," by A E Jenkins.")
But what I really love is that there are photos online from the 1960s, after the railway had closed, that show it in a derelict state. This is vintage urbex!
And really doesn't this just exemplify the importance of urbex? The railway and all of its buildings are now gone forever, but someone in the 1960s took the time to have a mooch and preserve the history. That's what urbex is about.
(Photo credit: D J Norton)
(Photo credit: D J Norton)
(Photo credit: D J Norton)
Who says urbex came about in the social media generation? People have always done it. Even before cameras existed, people did it.
I'm very jealous because this looks amazing but was sadly before my time.
I have absolutely no idea what this structure was, but it has a nice little doorway leading into a tiny room.
In the early 20th Century and earlier, Clee Hill was very isolated socially. It's said that even the nearby towns of Ludlow and Cleobury Mortimer felt like foreign lands. The nearest hospital was Kidderminster, and it was said that people who were ill would rather shoot themselves than go there.
Some workers had huge stomachs from ruptures caused by heavy lifting, and they just tolerated it. If people did relent and go to hospital, it was only once their illness had progressed to the point that they probably weren't coming back.
But what's really intriguing is that Clee Hill was so isolated it developed its own dialect. It's said that people in Ludlow couldn't understand them, and it was sort-of bullied out of them whenever they ventured into the rest of the world, so they became almost bi-lingual, having their at-home lingo while poshening up in jolly good old fashioned Queen's English whenever they were down among the rest of humanity.
If you were to time travel back to Clee Hill in the 1800s, how much you would be able to understand would depend entirely on whether the locals wanted to include you, and I think that's great.
Cleehillnese has since been watered down and extinguished as technological advancements and a changing culture has connected these isolated communities to the rest of the world. Perhaps there's a few pensioners who know a few words, but it's absolutely not what it once was. In the 1970s, the BBC allegedly took an interest and came here to film a family conversing in the local dialect, but by then they were unable to find a family that still spoke it properly.
Here we can see both of the crushers from another angle, and I've been able to find a pretty close comparison shot from 1923.
(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday Life, Industrial History and Dialect," by A E Jenkins)
Here we can totally see the crusher, still with its roof attached, and all of the other buildings surrounding it.
But in addition to the Dhustone works, Clee Hill was also home to more than forty coal pits in 1790.
The earliest record of coal mining is actually in 1235 when Wigmore Abbey sold some Clee Hill Coal for five shillings. And generally from what I've heard, the mining that took place in the 1800s and 1900s was not a fun job. There was inadequate lighting and minimal airflow, but these mines were also prone to flooding. An entire night crew was employed just to pump water out to prepare the mines for the day crew. And even then, if the mines were just waist deep, that was a good day.
Men worked then mines from 6am til 6pm, meaning that in Winter they didn't even see sunlight until the weekend.
Younger boys had it a bit easier, working 8am until 2pm. But even then, that's a long time to be standing in freezing cold water in the dark.
Quite predictably, pneumonia wasn't uncommon.
Around 1900 the coal mines began to run at a loss, and many were closed due to flooding.
The last men underground were two chaps called George and Tim Broome, who were probably related. They descended a shaft in a cage only for it to jam due to the shaft having earlier suffered a rock fall that narrowed it somewhat. They scrambled out of the cage only to find that it was actually a few feet from the bottom anyway, but the cage was jammed sufficiently that there was no way it was lifting back up. The two men were trapped, and needed to travel two hundred yards underground to another shaft in order to be rescued. The only problem was that the tunnels connecting the shafts were flooded and they needed to swim through freezing cold water in the dark.
It sounds rather terrifying. I mean, I've explored a few mines now, and even with my near-complete lack of a survival instinct I have a pretty healthy respect for how bad things can go.
While the Broome's were the last "official" people down the mines here, people did explore them after their closure, but I'm pretty sure they're all blocked off now. I'm a little sad about that.
Despite the fact that this portion of the Clee Hill Quarry has fallen into ruins, quarrying does still take place nearby. It resumed in the 1980s, and it looks pretty chunky on Google Maps, although I've heard it's just a fraction of the activity that used to be here.
But generally I totally recommend Clee Hill as a place to check out. These ruins are just big, ugly and fun to be around (to quote my tinder bio). If you're into urbex and ruins, it's a great spot for beginners. If you're into history, its a great insight into our industrial past. If you're into dog walking and pleasant views, it's perfect.
And if you'd rather stay in and read, then fear not. Clee Hill is featured in the book "The Virgin in the Ice" by Ellis Peters, where it is the location of some kind of Brigand fort in the 1100s.
And if video games are more your thing, then it features in Assassins Creed Valhalla too.
It's almost like there's no escaping Clee Hill. It will find a way to worm itself into your life.
But it's a lovely place and well worth a mooch.
I'll finish up with a group shot of some of the men who worked here in the 1930s. They're now long gone, and their workplace may be ruins that the casual observer easily overlooks, but their effort and hard work contributed to the history of Shropshire and Wales. I wish I could name them all and track their ancestry and tell each ones individual story. I think remembering them, talking about them, and honouring them does more to preserve our heritage and cultural integrity than, I dunno, vandalising a roundabout or something.
(Photo credit: "Titterstone Clee Hill's Everyday Life, Industrial History, and Dialect.")
So that's all I've got! My photos were terrible but believe it or not, I am a published photographer and my coffee table photo book "Rooftos of Shrewsbury" is on sale now, and can be purchased here.
My next blog will be an abandoned house. If you like my blogs and want regular updates, then social media is begrudgingly the way forward. I am on Boomer 4chan! Sorry, I mean Facebook. I'm also on Twitter, and Instagram for the time being, at least until I inevitably have enough and rip out my eyeballs.
And of course, I'm on the smaller independent ones, the ones that aren't run by twats, Bluesky, Vero and Cara.
Everyone should jump ship and join me there so that the internet can be fun again.
Thanks for reading!
