Underground Bed Maze

Subterranean treasures are always wonderful to find, although seldom ever easy to locate. That's part of the charm- an actual reward for actual effort. Prior to this one getting smeared all over the internet, with directions to it posted in the public domain resulting in a tidal wave of visitors and the authorities sealing it up, I went here with only a vague idea of what I'd find, having learned about its existence from Alice and her partner. Eventually, I spotted what I was after. A tiny hole in a wall, obviously once blocked off, but reopened once again. It would be a squeeze, but getting stuck would be hilarious more so than deadly.

Am I nervous about going in alone? Of course not! All the humans are on the outside.

As soon as I entered, I found myself in a room with two three-tiered bunk beds. The hole through which I crawled was clearly not the main entrance, but even if this chamber had ended with a ladder to the surface only a few feet futher in, I would have been content with this little gem. But it didn't end there. This wasn't a measley little bunker, but an entire subterranean labyrinth. As I ventured further in, different passages led off in different directions, and soon I was quite happily lost.

The tunnels sprawl on, allegedly, for a mile in total. But as someone who does a fair bit of walking, I'm a little sceptical. It felt like a bit more than that. 

The tunnels date back to the second world war, when for the first time the ordinary British citizen was in danger in their own home. This resulted in blackouts so that cities couldn't be spotted at night, and also the creation of air raid shelters so that people could hide when the sirens went off. When it came to shelters of this magnitude, the powers-that-be had a bit of  debate over it, with some politicians saying it was an overall futile effort. But ultimately the deciding factor was the fact that a lot of terraced property in urban areas couldn't support their own air raid shelters, and the public needed somewhere to go when the bombs dropped.

Preparations for the tunnels began in 1938, and they opened to the public in 1939. According to one source, they only took four months to make, a feat achieved largely thanks to the sandstone being easy to dig through. Another source claims that they took two years to make, but that's an urban explorer and not an "official" source. 

This is one of three tunnel networks under the town. Of the other two, one was opened to the public as a museum in the 1990s, while the other was left forgotten, like this one. While the museum one is the largest, "normal" tourism doesn't really do it for me. This is just the smallest of the remaining two, which makes me drool to think of what the last one has to offer. I know where it is, but not the way in. At least, not yet. 

But to my increasing delight, some sources say that there are five tunnel networks. It's a contradiction, but one not made impossible when one considers that one source says that there are three "main" shelters, which would indicate that if the remaining two do exist, they aren't as spectacular and possibly didn't get any use at all. And also, there are rumours of a sixth shelter, but that is just a rumour with no official documentation whatsoever. If it's out there, it's lost, waiting to make its future discoverer very happy.

None of the tunnel systems are actually connected, which is a bit of a shame really.

Here's an old lamp on one of the rusty bunks.

As I ventured deeper and deeper into the tunnels, I moved completely at random at first, figuring that the easiest way to memorise the tunnels and to ensure I saw all of them would be to get completely lost, and be forced to figure out how to get back out again. It's a good method, and also very fun.

It was easy to get temporarily lost here too. There are arrows painted on the walls, but they lie. Or at least, they do now. Whatever entrances they once pointed at have long been sealed up. Every turn brought me to an identical tunnel, lined with a row of three-tier bunk beds that ran the entire length, connected head to toe. There was capacity for a whopping two thousand people down here, and the three main tunnel networks combined could save around 9,300 people. Collectively this makes them the largest public air raid shelter in the UK.

But really, despite being the smaller of the shelters, two thousand people is still a lot, and to think about them all crammed down here while the Luftwaffe flew overhead sure is surreal.

In addition to being a labyrinth of beds, the tunnels also had a toilet block, which someone has adorably labeled with spray paint.

It's just a row of brick cubicles.

And the toilets are all chemical toilets, which is pretty much just a bucket with a seat. This means that someone had the unfortunate job of taking them to be emptied after use. 

They're still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

Some of the beds look very new and shiny compared to some of the rusty ones, and at first I wondered if maybe the rusty ones had been exposed to the elements more, but the truth is that for some reason some of the beds were galvanised and others weren't. Galvanizing is basically a process to coat metal in zinc in order to prevent rusting. It was used long before the war, which makes it a little odd to me that it was done on the beds so inconsistently. Perhaps it was a cost saving measure.

The tunnel itself is reinforced in this part too, which makes everything look a little more modern, and has also given the local vandals something to scribble on.

"If Aiden reads this, I'm surprised he got through the hole! Nearly as surprised as I am that his mum didn't abort him."

Poor chubby Aiden.

This might sound weird but I didn't spot the racism until after. I wouldn't take a photo of racism because I think it's petty. I was just looking at the graffiti above it dated 2009. That graffiti is over a decade old, and I think that's kinda cool.

Some people have knocked over the beds too for some reason.

To my knowledge, only one actual bombing took place in the city above, and that was in 1940. But one bombing is still enough. There still would have been scares. The sirens still would have gone off when the German planes approached. Just imagine hundreds of people huddled down here together, with the sound of the siren, and planes and bombs overhead, wondering if their homes and businesses would even be standing when they went back to the surface in the morning. 

And yet there are urban explorer videos using "Haunted" as clickbait, as if this place needs help to be special or creepy. The history is enough to speak for this place. It doesn't need sensationalising.

Although I am fond of the supernatural. I just think it's called the supernatural for a reason, in that it exceeds what we know to be natural. For something to be considered supernatural it needs to rule out all rational explanations, and if that happened with enough regularity to sustain as many Youtube channels as it does, it would be scientifically observable, and would no longer be considered supernatural. And in any case, why the hell would anyone die and then come down here to haunt?

The tunnels were open to the public but they started to close it on some nights as the war progressed and the likelihood of being bombed died down. They finally closed for good in 1948, and fell into obscurity. Presumably they were re-discovered and re-explored and re-closed numerous times over the years. It's ridiculous and kinda arrogant to assume it's the modern urbex community who has shone a light on them now after nearly a century. Even by the 1960s they would have become the stuff of urban myth. "My dad says there's tunnels under the town." That sort of thing. By the 1980s, it would be the grandparents telling the story. And before the internet, those who ventured in would not be doing so with the intent on publishing photos.

In actual fact the tunnels were surveyed and mapped in 1975, although I didn't get a look at the maps until after I'd been here. The survey eventually led to the opening of the larger nearby tunnel system as a tourist attraction. But the future of this one was simply to be forgotten once again. Graffiti would indicate that it's been accessible as far back as 2009, and in 2013 the tunnels made headlines when two teenagers got lost down here. According to the article, they didn't have torches or phones on them, which seems a tad absurd. Who would venture deep enough to get lost, but not bring a torch or something? Apparently the kids shouted for help until a passer-by heard their voices and called the emergency services. Twenty firefighters showed up, but in the end it was a cop passing the kids a torch through a gap in the wall that saved the day, enabling them to make their own way out.

Then in 2014, the firefighters came back to put out a fire that was started by homeless people.

 

And then, of course, the modern UK urbex community got their slice of the pie. But if one looks back, this place was actually explored and documented by urban explorers fairly consistently for years, through the same means of entry. So there was a time when urbexers were generally discreet about coming here, so that it could be enjoyed by urban explorers again and again. 

And then it was noticed by people naive to a parents-are-siblings extent about what impact posting an exact location on Facebook can have, as well as the even sillier underbelly of urbex who like to upload videos of themselves being cocky with police after being caught, to prove that they're big men. How did it get to this, where being caught is some kind of flex? It happens all the time. Look at the clickbait titles. "We got caught," or "We set off alarms." It's not good urbex. It's the urbex equivalent of saying you purchased a motorcycle and accompanying the annoucement with a picture of the motorcycle as a flaming crumpled mess after a crash.

 

Unfortunately gems like this cannot exist without discretion. The best urban explorers know this. But with the exact details of how to find this place publically posted online, it attracted a tidal wave of visitors that was about as subtle as the holocaust, and now the way in has been sealed up. It's unfortunate because it's a pretty cool place, and there are good urban explorers who may never get to see it in person now. This is a pretty typical example of why I don't hand out locations.

Interestingly there are a few bricked up parts, and these have been bashed through in some areas, presumably by people who want to see if there's more to offer or if the brickwork is just for structural support. I decided to take a peek and see if there was anything through these gaps.

 

There's more tunnel, but not much more. It does make me wonder why it was bricked up.

 

I'm also not sure what this pile of bricks was, but someone sure didn't like it! There would have been wardens posts and tool stores around the shelter, so maybe this is the remnants of one of those.

In the walls are the indents of former electrical wiring where lighting was installed, sadly all long stripped from the tunnels. 

And finally, we have the stairway to the surface.

It's still possible to see where the handrail used to be, but why it was ever removed is a mystery.

The entrance at the top is bricked up, but just on the other side of this wall is a nice ordinary street. Perhaps the people living on it know what's down here, but perhaps they don't. 

Fortunately while I was happy to get lost, I was also happy to get out, back to fresh air, sunlight, and food. 

But to summarise, I love this place. It's a shame that it's now been sealed off, but maybe someday it will be rediscovered and enjoyed once again. Maybe it will be sealed up long enough to fall into local myth but in the internet age that's unlikely. Maybe someday it will even get the same treatment as its larger counterpart and open up as a museum. Maybe not. But it's still cool that it's all still down there, waiting to be found again.

That's all I've got. Next blog will be a cancer research laboratory, and then after that I'll blog about a cute tiny mortuary. Until then, follow me on Instagram, Reddit and Vero... and the less-loved Twatter and Faceboomer where we eagerly wait to see what Zuckerberg will ban me for next.

Thanks for reading!

Abandoned Swimming Pool

  (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, 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.

 

 

When this place first started doing the rounds in the urbex groups, I was pretty excited. I haven't done an indoor swimming pool before! At least, not to my recollection... It's been a decade since I started doing this. You expect me to have a good memory? I shouldn't even still be alive!

I've done a couple of outdoor lidos, but in regards to actual leisure centres, I'm pretty sure I've been unlucky so far.

But when I heard down the urbex grapevine that this leisure centre had been sealed up, I wondered if it had been actually sealed up, or just sealed up to ground-dwellers who don't know how to climb. This actually happens quite a lot. You can't trust people who think two-dimensionally to judge whats accessible to someone who lives three-dimensionally. So off I went. As an added bonus, I got to hang out with the artist, Shawn Duffy. 

I started working with Shawn when I wanted to depict my adventures in cartoon form that would head the blog when the link was shared, and make it look more visually appealing. I'm not ALL about likes and clicks, but I am about fighting back against the algorithmic hellscape that is Facebook, and my reach hasn't been the same ever since I was thrown into Facebook jail for blogging about the 1936 Olympic Stadium and it was damaged more when some boomer decided to spread a rumour that my blogs are secretly running the Yulin festival. I wish I was joking! It's not exactly a difficult myth to debunk, but I was getting death threats for months just because people believe whatever they read online. Hasn't the entire dynamic of the internet just reversed? When it was new, the adults were like "Hey kids, be careful what you look at online. It's not safe. Don't give out your real name or other personal details," whereas now, the kids are like "Grandad, stay out of that group. You'll end up storming Capitol Hill! And don't give your bank details to that Nigerian Princess!"

 

Anyway, I digress. Basically, prior to Shawns first piece, which was for a big abandoned flour mill, I met up with her to go exploring, and also to make sure I wasn't entering a professional relationship with a massive cunt. Consider this adventire a job interview. What, didn't your employer take you to an abandoned leisure centre for your job interview? I guess I'm just awesome.

 

 

Above the main entrance of the leisure centre is this coat of arms, which was granted to the city in 1898. The central cross represents the cities founder, St Wulfrun, and around it is a Saxon pillar, representing a local historical landmark, a woolpack to represent the towns wool trade, an open book to represent the grammar school, and a padlock to represent the towns lock industry.

 

 

The building itself opened in 1932, after much discussion among the council, specifically the Public Library Committee and the Parks and Baths Committee. What could they possibly have to discuss? Why, just the opening of a swimming pool and library combination, of course. Doesn't your local library have a swimming pool?

 

Sarcasm aside, if I'm honest I do find it a peculiar mix. Nevertheless it got weirder. Another portion of the building was used as a launderette. In fact it was the first launderette in the city, with a whopping four washing machines and fifteen stalls for hand washing. So it does have some historic significance. 

I still find it a little odd. It's like the council just wrote things on bits of paper and then pulled them out at random like raffle tickets, and then decided to build it.

 

 

Slipping inside was a delightful scramble up the side of the building. It wasn't too difficult, but anything that's a little more challenging than simply walking in always gets me excited. I love looking at a place and having to use my imagination. Shawn took a little more encouragment, but that's because I was expanding her comfort zone. This was the first time she'd ever climbed up the side of a building. For me, it was Tuesday. We entered upstairs, but nevertheless, I'll start the narrative from the main entrance, since back in its glory days, this would be what people would see as they came in, albeit, slightly less peely, and probably with glass in the reception windows, and just overall cleaner. I'm actually quite fond of the peeling ceiling though. It looks pretty cool.

 

The launderette was apparently in the south of the building, which according to these signs, was later repurposed for judo, a solarium and a sauna. Interestingly, I've heard that the library, in contrast to the launderette, actually outlived the swimming pool. While the pool closed in 2003 after being considered structurally unsafe, the library portion apparently remained open until 2006. I'm not sure how correct that is. It doesn't seem logical and may just be some guy on the internet getting the dates wrong.

Since its closure, it's sort of fallen into developmental limbo. There were talks in 2005 about turning the building into a community health centre, rumours from 2011 of its demolition, and further mentions in 2015 and 2019 of it becoming some sort of multi-purpose community venue. None of this shows any sign of actually happening.

 

 

There's an old vending machine here in the entrance hall. Apparently there were arcade machines too, but these were cleared out when it closed.

 

 

There's also a safe behind the reception desk, which is intriguingly locked. But the best part of this area, like any abandoned building, is the toilets.

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

The managers office is also nearby, with its door presumably lying in the same spot it landed when it was pulled off its hinges.

 

 

Looks like there was once a noticeboard on the back wall. 

 

And then we have the disabled toilets...

 

 

I sure do wonder what went on in the disabled toilet to make them ban both cameras and mobile phones in there...

 

 

Someone has stolen the support bar, which is just weird. 

It's time to check out the pool itself!

If you follow urban exploring groups at all, firstly, my condolences. Those places are cesspits. Secondly, chances are you've seen this pool from this exact angle, which is annoying from the point of view of anyone seeking originality. But alas, it's a good angle. But the little archways over yonder do have a raised platform to scramble up onto, so we'll hopefully get a little variation from there.

Scrambling up onto the raised bit above the archways, I found that I wasn't the first to make the effort.

 

We have the obligatory penis graffiti, making reference to my/someones mother. It's childish but kinda cool in that whoever wrote this doubtlessly knew that not everyone would climb up here. It's like they purposefully hid some secret penis for a select few. 

Mmm... secret penis.

But enough of that. Thankfully this little raised bit (the platform, not the penis) gave me a better view of the pool.

 

The pool is said to be 75 feet long and 34 feet wide, but I didn't measure it myself, so I don't know for sure. While it was open to the public and for school swimming lessons, it also had a pretty successful swimming team, a member of which won a gold medal in a competition in Holland back in 1948. Personally I love that this exact pool has served the community for so many decades. Not only is this nostalgic to people still alive today, but it will be nostalgic to their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents too. Just think how many people have secretly pissed in here between 1932 and 2003.

It turns out some of them were possibly dolphins!

Newspaper clippings make mention of a dolphin show that took place here in 1972. These dolphins came here all the way from Florida and toured the UK, doing tricks and performing for an audience in the public pools of various towns, including this one, although it moved to a different pool when they returned the following year.

(Picture not mine, obviously)

 

The show was hugely successful, initially lasting about a week, with eight hundred people showing up every day. It was so successful that the show had to add a couple extra days just to meet the demand. I'm fairly certain such a show is probably illegal now. A public pool designed for humans does seem a little inadequate for something like a dolphin. 

 

It's a little unusual, but the swimming pools changing areas are right at the side of the pool. Perhaps this was once common practice in swimming pools, but nowadays it's a bit odd. In fact I've seen some people who came here when they were younger actually refer to this place as "the pool with the changing rooms right next to it," which would indicate that it's an uncommon feature.

 

 

There are some big vertical speakers on the wall, which were either used for announcements or maybe for commentary during competitions, and telling off kids who messed about.

 

 

Theres a few old notices dotted around too.

 

 

 

 

I managed to find an old shot of the pool from a similar angle to one of my shots. It's pretty cool to see it like this.

 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

 

 And there's an even older one in black and white.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

I'm not sure why they put scaffolding around the pool after it closed. Maybe it's to stop trespassers falling in.

 

 

I've also got this shot of Shawn standing in the pool to give an impression of how deep it got. As you can see, if it were full of water she'd be just about submerged, and she's only half way along it. It actually did get pretty deep.

 

There's also a second pool which had no windows, meaning that I had to mount my camera on the scaffolding and take a long exposure.

Apparently this is the childrens pool, and like anything children-related (such as the teletubbies, the Night garden, and Prince Andrew), it's got a really creepy vibe to it. 

Curiously I read online that it was only three feet deep, but let's be honest, you can tell just by looking at it that it's deeper than that! Just look at those steps in the corner!

 

There's a battered old vending machine next to it.

Onto what I assume was the library...

 

It's difficult to tell for sure, because there's nothing library-like in the entire place, but this seems to be the only part of the building where a library could possibly have been, being the most spacious area, apart from the pool itself. The library has been described as a typical 60s library, a description that is lost on me, given that I didn't exist in the 1960s and therefore could not form any opinion on its style of libraries. I have so many questions. Were they racially segregated? If libraries existed in the 1960s, how come so many boomers on Facebook can't spell? And what's so "typical 1960s" about having a library next to a swimming pool?

Apparently about three quarters of the library were for adult books (demographic, not erotica), and then the rest was the childrens section. Today, with the ceiling decaying and letting in the elements, this is perhaps the wettest, and slippiest part of the building. That's a little ironic if the library did out-live the pool, due to the pools structural integrity. The pool part seems fine.

 

Just off from this area were more cubicles, which made me wonder if it was in fact used for something like judo. I mean, there was a sign for Judo down by the reception desk, and it makes no sense for there to be cubicles here. Of course that raises the questions, where was the library if this large area was for judo, and if it was the library, where was the judo?

 

Fortunately the launderette portion is easier to identify. It's since been turned into a solarium and sauna.

 

 

The sauna has some interesting graffiti.

 

 

Then we have the Solarium, which still has the tanning doohickey.

 

It's certainly seen better days! But I wonder if it could still be made functional again. 

 

 

The sauna area also had a couple of showers.

 

Next we have the fitness suite.

 

 All that's left is a solitary treadmill.

 

I can't help but wonder, why was this one left behind? Because no doubt there were more. This entire room was probably full of gym equipment. For some reason it was cleared out, apart from this one. Maybe there just wasn't any more room in the van, and they just said "Fuck it."

 

Lastly, I want to check out the "back bits." These are the parts that were accessible only to the former staff of the leisure centre.

 

 

There's actually a little network of old utility tunnels underneath the pool area, and while they weren't exactly spectacular, they did have a few curiosities. 

 

 

One room down here, which I presume was a staff room, clearly had a dart board at some point. Someones nabbed it.

 

 

In the same room there's an oven lying on its side.

 

 

Other parts of the cellar seem to have been used as storage. Here we have the remains of a pool cleaner, and a fire hose.

 

 

Filing cabinets.

 

 

And cages for drowning children in the creepy kids pool.

And that's about it for the leisure centre. It does seem a shame that a place like this is going to waste. It's a really nice building with heaps of potential, and hopefully it does get a second chance to serve the community at some point. From an urbex standpoint, it's a challenge to get into, which sets it slightly above your remote derelict cottages accessible via a wide open door. If walk-in spots are more your cup of tea, this isn't for you. This isn't overly challenging though, and if you are a beginner urbexer looking to expand your horizons beyond remote walk-in locations and break out of the comfort zone somewhat, this can be a nice starting point. Obviously don't be an idiot about it. Climbing can be dangerous, and in a place like this it is high profile.

 

My next blog is a vast underground network of tunnels that date back to World War 2, and then some kind of massive cancer laboratory. I'm very much looking forward to them. In the meantime, follow me on Instagram, Reddit, Vero, Twatter, and Faceboomer. These social media sites are almost all algorithmic hellscapes, but following them is the best way to see future blogs.

Thanks for reading!