Todays blog is a bit special, because I've sat on it for a year or so now. I first became aware of this derelict manor when I was tagged in a post on an urban explorers Facebook page. A quick scan through the comments indicated that this particular building had been accessed by multitudes of people, with them each lightheartedly discussing their means of entry. While I too got around to checking it out, I didn't want such an amazing place to get pillaged and plundered, or set fire to, so I've waited patiently until news reached me that it had been purchased and was finally in the process of becoming someones home.
However, to preserve its location and so as not to bring unwanted attention to it, I still won't disclose its name, or show any external shots. You'll just have to trust me that it's a gorgeous building.
It was my old accomplice, Brother Michael, who provided a lot of the information about this place. Long time readers of my blogs will remember my mentions of Brother Michael. He came on adventures with me ages ago, although it was never really his cup of tea. However, he'd come out of a twenty-two year relationship, and he was feeling pretty lost. He'd been in this relationship since he was sixteen, so it was the backbone of his entire adult life. He was depressed, and I wanted to do something, and so I invited him on adventures, just to keep him active.
Mental health is important to me, and as everyone knows, the male suicide rate is actually pretty shocking. Ultimately it's loneliness that kills people, and for men it's a vicious circle- when a man is socially awkward people just gossip and say that he's creepy, and then it becomes an anxiety-ridden journey to attempt to prove wrong the chosen social narative. Sometimes it's easier to just give up, and often that's the only way to get help, to hit rock bottom. When I asked for councelling for my own abusive childhood, I ended up on a waiting list for well over a year, told that I simply didn't need help that badly, otherwise I would not have asked for help, and would have gone straight for the noose.
But we should not have to hit rock bottom to get our mental health taken seriously. Sometimes all someone needs is a friend, conversation, to be listened to and understood. Providing these things means that the downward spiral can be reversed, and the person never even gets near rock bottom.
So I took Brother Michael on as my accomplice, nicknaming him Brother Michael due to his former profession as a bogus monk, and began his adventure therapy. And much to my shock, he knew this building already. In fact he'd come here before with his ex, another bogus monk, back in 1997. And he somehow miraculously still had their old leaflet for it. He has since given it to me for reference. So let's dive in.
Check this place out!
The area takes its name, which I will not disclose, from a chap who was given the land by William the Conqueror, presumably for helping with some of his conquering. Early record show that there was a building here as early as 1086, but this particular one was built on the site in 1580, for an order of monks, before undergoing a redesign in the 1660s, when its restoration was gifted to a family who had lived nearby since 1275, by the monarchy as a reward for being loyal to the Royalist cause during the Civil War.
Isn't that great? You don't see the royal family today handing out manor houses to people who display loyalty! Maybe I'd care more about royal weddings and Prince Someones child if I knew I'd get a house out of it, but until then he's just another over-evolved monkey like me... or a reptile overlord from space depending on who you ask... Either way, I called him Prince Someone because I don't know if it's Harry or the other one who has recently spawned, and I would rather defecate on my hands and clap than google it. But just so you know, I did google the correct spelling of "defecate" because I wasn't sure if the middle vowel was an I or an E. So defecation is more important to me than the names of my countrys monarchs, and that won't change until they give me a house, dammit.
But I digress!
The family who ended up owning this were also devout Roman Catholics, and since they were still widely persecuted at the time, the manor had a number of priest holes, for Catholic priests to hide in. I didn't find any when I snuck around, but that doesn't mean they weren't there...
Due to the families royal connections, King Charles I stayed here in the 1600s, and King James II stayed here in 1700. But this family sold the manor in 1705, with its new owners renaming it Capital Manor for some reason. That thankfully didn't last.
Throughout the centuries it changed hands again and again, even being occupied at one point by a relative of Princess Diana, and Winston Churchill.
Yeah... I didn't know those two were related either, until I got to writing this, but upon further research, it seems they are. Winston Churchills great-great-great-great-great grandparents are also Dianas great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents, Charles Spencer the third Earl of Sunderland and his wife, Lady Anne Spencer. It's worth noting that Winston Churchills legal name was Winston Spencer-Churchill, the surnames of both parents being hyphenated, but with it being commonly shortened.
I have conflicting sources, one telling me that the Spencer family, from which Winston and Diana owe lineage, actually owned this building from an initial restoration of it in 1875 right up until 1956, but another source seems to think that another family lived here in the 20th Century. But regardless of who had it, the sale in 1956 proved to be its downfall. It was converted into flats, with this lovely large entry hall, along with the rest of it, divided up into smaller chunks. It was occupied from then on up until 1976, and then it was abandoned.
Under this blanket is a grandfather clock, but from a distance it sure did spook me!
By the 1980s a decade of neglect had turned this house into an uninhabitable derelict ruin. It probably wouldn't be here today, had it not been discovered by a couple in 1986, who were looking for a place to park up their motorhome and calling it a night. The man was a professional golfer from Scandinavia, and his wife was a hairdresser of Greek descent. Allegedly they didn't know that the manor was even here when they decided to pull up on the land one dark and stormy night, but in spite of it being dark and rainy, they had the strange compulsion to go for a walk across the fields. Together they discovered this magnificent derelict structure just rotting away in the wasteland that had once been its garden. His wife had allegedly wanted to leave, but he fell instantly in love with the place. He even said that he felt that he had been here in a past life, a claim later made by his mother when she came to visit.
The following day he set out to purchase it, although negotiations were a nightmare for both the estate agents and the couple, especially when a closer inspection showed that restoring the home would cost about ten times more than the cost of it. Ultimately the man emptied his various bank accounts, gathered £20,000 in cash, marched into the estate agents, plonked the money down on the desk and simply said that they had ten seconds to accept his offer. Allegedly they only had four seconds remaining when they said "Okay."
He explained his actions simply- "I'm a viking. We don't give up easily."
Having considerable skill in woodwork and buildings, the man set about restoring the manor to how it once would have looked, deconstructing the flats, and the more modern dividing walls, to reintroduce the former spaciousness, and he used only old building techniques to do it, rather than modern ones, to really get that authentic 17th Century feel to the place. It was a process that cost him roughly £1.5 million over the course of seven years, but it was totally worth it. He said of the work that he was doing things he'd never done before but that he just instinctively knew what needed doing, and what the place should look like, almost as if he'd been here before.
He was also an avid frequenter of antique shops and salvage yards, forever seeking treasures to add to his manor. A mantelpiece in one room was built in 1412, restored in 1814, and was allegedly spotted by them in an antiques shop while they were on their way to buy a new volvo. Deciding that giving his manor an antique fireplace was more important, he canceled the car purchase and splashed out £16,000 on the fireplace, which he would gesture to when he was entertaining guests and say "This is my new car."
An act of madness to some, but as he puts it, at least he knows it will only increase in value.
In total the antiques in the manor came to about £300,000 in value. The man joked that if the financial side went wrong, they'd still have a home. No furniture, but a home.
Also worth noting, the floor of this room came from discarded leftovers of a repaving of Trafalgar Square, which is just further testament to this mans ability to just take what was available and make something out of it.
The manor is H-shaped with this being the central room, and initially there was a point when it was completely uninhabitable, with the family confined to only one wing of the building, using plastic bags to block the numerous holes, so that they could stay warm.
In the barren wasteland surrounding the property, he made a huge garden, complete with a golf course for him to indulge his most favourite hobby. The manor had also originally had a moat, which had been filled in by the time he purchased it, but he dug a small canal in the front yard, and built for it a magnificent two-storey bridge based purely on a doodle he saw of the original gatehouse that stood there in the 1600s.
There is also a rumour that he also purchased the land next to the manor and had houses built on it, just so that he could have neighbours. It sounds crazy but it's actually supported by old maps, which show the manor isolated up until these guys lived here.
But what were they to do with such a place?
Originally they simply intended to let their friends from London stay in the numerous spare rooms, but they had capacity for up to sixteen people, and having spent so much to fix it up, the next logical step would be to get some fruits from their labour, by allowing the house to bring some money back in. And so they opened it up to the public.
But ever the eccentric genius, he adopted his role as lord of the manor with pride, even legally purchasing the "Lord" title. This proved to be comically controversial, as the Earl of Bradford objected so much to these common folk obtaining lordship that he set up a website calling them out along with everyone else who did it. Hilariously the Scandinavian Lord simply said in response "He has never liked us because we refused to give him our recipes for his restaurant."
They then went on to showcase their newly purchased lordship by appearing on a TV show entitled "Lords of the Countryside."
I have to side with them on this one. Who the fuck cares if someone purchases a "Lord" title? So many people just let themselves get so stressed out by the antics of others.
Here's how buying a title works- UK law states that you can call yourself whatever you want as long as you are not defrauding anyone, and as such, one can purchase a legal title deed poll. I'm going to purchase lordship as soon as I get paid. Fuck the Earl of Bradford.
The manor was open as a peculiar blend of stately home, museum and hotel. It offered more than a guided tour, gift shop and a cup of tea. It offered a chance to actually check in, step back in time and experience history as a guest rather than a tourist. It was a time machine to an experience, rather than a museum. Of course one had to suspend disbelief in some aspects- Nobody wants to completely abandon the luxuries of today, such as flushing toilets and equal rights, and in a complete contrast to the era they sought to replicate, some of the ensuite bathrooms had jacuzis. The house also had underfloor heating, which the owners were thankful for, since that meant they didn't have to ruin their homes medieval image with ugly radiators.
The Lord lived here with his wife and daughter, but he welcomed the public, in his own words, as friends, not customers. The guests would arrive and be treated to a house tour and meals, all done historically accurately, with open fires, candle light, and 17th Century style banquets. They prided themselves in reviving what they called the lost art of conversation. Gone was the social media, the ever-present internet access, and our self imposed isolation that comes ironically from being connected, and instead the dining hall was animated by laughter and banter, Elizabethan music, dancing, mead, and period costumes for everyone. The pamphlet light-heartedly says "Leave your watch in the bedroom- there is no time here."
The pamphlet is worth bringing up purely for its reflection of the couples sense of humour. Just take a look at these reviews.
It's little nuggets like these that show that these people didn't take life too seriously, and that makes them all the more appealing.
I got the feeling that this stairway was added in recently, but upstairs it sort of emerges from a very easy to miss wooden panel in the wall, which makes me wonder if this staircase is a converted priest hole.
Centuries ago this would have been the kitchen, pantry and scullery area, and it would have had servants working here. But in the 1990s and early 2000s this was the domain of the Lady of the Manor. She was able to add to the historic experience by studying ancient English cooking, boasting that she "offers medieval-style catering, but without the maggots."
She made her own bread and farmed her own eggs, and smoked her salmon over the fireplace.
The crockery used here was inspired by the fragments of pottery that they found during the renovation. They took the designs and then comissioned replicas to be made, for a cost of £20 a plate. They were slightly luckier with the cutlery, able to find and purchase authentic 17th Century knives and forks.
How cool is this? I've never seen this before, but it's an antique knife cleaner.
This red room was allegedly a guest bedroom, and it was said to be haunted by the ghost of a Catholic woman, who only showed up to scare Protestants.
Personally I think the very fact that one has stuck around to haunt a building should test ones faith in heaven or hell, regardless of whether they're Catholic or Protestant, but then I don't know how the afterlife works... yet.
Hanging on the wall is this annoyingly reflective map of the UK displaying how England was divided by the Saxons during the Heptarchy. Back in the day, what would become England was divided into numerous regions, collectively refered to as The Heptarchy until their unification and formation of England in the 10th Century. Such regions included Northumbria, East Saxons (Essex) and South Saxons (Sussex), and also Mercia being the Midlands, a Latinisation of the Old English "Myrce" meaning "The Border People" because they bordered Wales.
The stairs are quite magnificent, and were once the location of a photoshoot, which the daughter of the couple who lived here designed the costumes for, showcasing the photogrpahs on her blog in 2011.
Theres a bath on the landing.
There's a small office upstairs, from which I presume the business side of things was ran.
This bedroom was referred to as The Gold Room, and allegedly it was furnished with an antique wardrobe and a bed frame that the owners strapped to the roof of their car and drove over from France.
This room clearly had an ensuite bathroom at some point, but it's since been deconstructed.
This painting in the hallway is pretty eerie. It seems to depict someone standing awkwardly or reluctantly with her hands behind her head, leaning forward slightly, like she's a hostage being marched to an empty shack isolated in the woods by an unseen antagonist. It made me think of the tale of Erica from The Witches, where a poor girl was trapped within a painting for the rest of her life. It sure gave me the willies when I was a kid, but it probably wouldn't see release in this easily offended era. However, back in the early 90s, kids could handle anything you threw at them.
I love the furniture in these bedrooms. It seems to all be marvelously crafted antiques from all over the world. They're more than just here for practicality. They're works of art in their own right.
You csn see at the side there another ensuite bathroom.
This painting caught my attention as well, depicting a rather otherworldly young lady in a subterranean home, conversing with a mouse and a mole.
There are a couple of old dolls up here too.
Allegedly when the manor was owned by the Norwegian man, the families living area was here upstairs, while the downstairs was dedicated to tourist interaction. This central room served as a lounge, but it was also used for preparation for weddings.
At the very back of the room, a mirror clearly once hung, framed by the fancy font reading "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all." Although this is all partially obstructed by a wardrobe.
It was up here that things felt very eerie, although I didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
Ghosts in the manor were a common occurence though, even mentioned in the tourist pamphlet with the reassuring line "Don't worry, they're friendly," almost as if the owners knew there was a high probability of them being spotted, and wanted to explain their presence beforehand.
The most well known of these non-physical beings is the titular "Fred." Fred apparently has long brown hair, dresses in 17th Century attire, and was often seen laughing around the house. During the renovation work started in 1986, Fred allegedly took an interest in the work being done, and was frequently seen around the workmen. It was during the renovation that the owner first encountered Fred, and often talks about him as if Fred is his familiar rather than another independant ghost. When the man describes his renovations and his instinctive knowledge of where everything should be, he half credits Fred while simultaneously claiming that his knowledge came from living here before. I felt through my research that Fred was more of a projection of the mans belief in his past life, rather than the ghost of anyone. In mysticism and paranormal circles, such manifestations are known as "Thought Forms" or a "Tulpa." A Tulpa is essentially an object or entity created through force of will. An individual can, through psychic abilities, manifest a familiar who may then take on a life of its own. And Fred did seem to do that, being so localised that he had an entire room designated "Freds room." Guests who stayed there would often claim to experience a man standing over their beds in the night, accompanied by the strong smell of leather.
But whether or not you believe in this sort of thing is entirely up to you.
Other ghosts seen throughout the building included a young couple and their small child. When they've been spotted, the child has allegedly been crying, and the parents have been attempting to cheer them up. Other guests reported seeing a lady in red.
Allegedly the headboards of the beds came from all across the continent, but the frames themselves were made by the owners from boards pulled up during the renovation. The manors pamphlet advertises these as "The best beds outside of your own home. (We think even better.)"
There are still coats hanging up.
In Freds Room is this amazing Asian cupboard with some awesome art work.
And then, rather mysteriously, there's this door. Opening this door revealed that it led nowhere. There's just a blank white wall behind it. But there, written on the wall is the rather ominous but still somehow friendly toned message-
"You disobeyed! Now I shall have to pay you a visit during the night. Sir Fred."
I love it! I mean obviously this was written by the homes original owners, but for what purpose? It's like they've integrated the manors ghosts into the tourist experience. It's so sinister, yet so quirky and light hearted at the same time.
The next stop was the attic.
Centuries ago, the servants would have lived up here, but it seems to be the Norwegian mans daughter who lived up here in the 1990s and early 2000s, although part of it was dedicated to storing a vast array of period clothing for guests to change into if they wished. Make no mistake, this likely didn't affect the daughter, as the attic is huge and made up of several rooms, some of which no doubt also housed guests.
There's some writing scrawled into the wall, but I cannot make out what it says.
The remnants of pages from a book are adhered to a door, along with lettering indicating that this was someones room.
But by far my favourite part of the attic was the inscription of Baa Baa Black Sheep in the window, on one side in English and on the other side in Scandinavian.
I had to censor it, because is names the manor, and the daughter. The daughters still very much active on social media today, running her own business, and blog. I'd hate for her to get unwanted attention just because of this.
Curiously, the Scandinavian version isn't an exact translation. It uses the word "SØNDAGSKLÆR" which means "Sunday clothes" and "STØMPER" which means "Socks." And "Lille Lam" means Little Lamb, rather than Black Sheep. So it deviates by saying that he has Sunday Clothes for Father, Sunday Clothes for Mother, and socks for the girl.
It's a curious variation to the English version. One wonders why the translation wasn't more literal. But in regards to the term "Lille Lam," that's fucking great if you ask me!
When outrage culture first got hold of this rhyme, it was decided (by bored white people pretending to be progressive) that Baa Baa Black Sheep was racist. This is especially silly because black sheep DO exist. It's not racist to acknowledge the existence of an animal that happens to be black. If anything it's racist to not acknowledge the existence of something because of its colour. But whatever. Now the centuries old nursery rhyme, which had been unchanged since it first popped up in 1731, has now been renamed "Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep" which just sounds absurd but I guess it's a way of inclusion by throwing every colour possible in there. Now nobody can feel left out. I'm sure in 1000 years we'll have the means to alter peoples skin pigmentation cosmetically, and now we've ensured that green people won't be offended, along with X-Men characters and Oompaloompas.
There is no black in the rainbow though! Congratulations on trying to be inclusive, while excluding the one race that does actually exist.
But here's what I don't get- if an alternative to the rhyme exists in Scandinavia, called Baa Baa Little Lamb, why not use that? Why go right off the deep end with a goddamn rainbow sheep? Whats a rainbow sheep?
But I digress.
In 2008 there was some legal drama, as the owner of the house sought planning permission to work on an Elizabethan barn next to the manor. Despite going through the correct channels and getting permission, the council decided to use public money to take him to court anyway and were more or less laughed out of the courtroom by the judge and ordered to pay off their own legal costs.
I love little stories like that. It's a tale of victory over a bunch of suits with too much time on their hands.
Rather astonishingly, the family put the manor up for sale in 2008. This shocked me to learn, given that they spent so much time on it, but they simply wanted a more international lifestyle. To their credit, they were insistent on only selling it to people who would appreciate it and do well by the house. But those who did wish to buy kept cancelling and the family lived here for long after.
That was until 2013, when the delightfully eccentric Scandinavian Man sadly died of pancreatic cancer right here in this house at the age of 67. With him gone, the house became empty, and fell back into its derelict state, eventually drawing to it the occasional urban explorer, and myself. It eventually found its way onto the national list of buildings "at risk" in 2017.
When the current owners purchased it, they were allegedly dedicated to restoring it to its former glory once again, so it seems to be in good hands. However, it would be difficult to capture the same charm that came so naturally to the previous eccentric owner.
One final stop remains, and that's the cellar.
It was here that I began to grow wary. I was convinced numerous times that there were men talking above me, hearing snippets of their voices, and footsteps. I feared for a moment that I had been discovered, but on inspection nobody was up there.
The cellar is lined with little candle shelves.
This part was evidently a wine cellar, complete with a brick bottle rack.
And here is an old label advertising the wine that was once available here for the guests.
And here is the way out.
That's all I have for today. To conclude, in late 2018 it was announced that this place would become a home again, and I finally decided that now was time to publish my adventure, now that it's sure to be occupied and thusly safe from idiots. I'm glad that it's being used again, but make no mistake, the charm of the old days is gone. The Scandinavian Man and his family brought this place to life and gave it some character. It was the place to be for a couple of decades, and now it's just a memory.
Next blog, I'm doing a photoshoot in Shrewsbury, and then I'm checking out a derelict home in Shropshire. But until then, follow my Facebook page, follow my Twitter, and follow my Instagram.
Thanks for reading!
