Abandoned Castle Mansion

Today's location is a very gorgeous lakeside Victorian castle-mansion-thing with a fascinating but awful history. As with many urbex spots, it suffers from those who document it merely copying and pasting the bare minimum from Wikipedia, much of which only focuses on the latter years of the buildings history. But I like to find the real meat of the places I document. The story of this house is a love story. An incestuous love story, but a love story nonetheless!

No, it's not in Telford. I know, I'm shocked too. 

It began with a chap called John, who was born way back in 1775. His father, Abel, was a wealthy landowner, while his mother, Sarah, came from a farming background. Abel died when John was three, and he inherited all of it. He grew up to become a pretty successful businessman, and like his father, pretty damn rich. But he married young, in 1794. He was nineteen, and his wife, another Sarah, was just eighteen. What could possibly go wrong?

 

Thanks to the power of the Internet, I have managed to find a painting of John. The artist is unknown, but the theme seems to be "Let's make John look like his hobbies include haunting people."

 

 (picture not mine, obviously)

 

Sarah (the wife, not the mother) was a bit of an adulteress, so in 1797 John divorced her. But to his credit, he did pay her each week enough money to comfortably live off. The divorce legal mumbo-jumbo simply said "Differences had arisen, and they had mutually agreed to live apart. She might at all times live separate and be out of his control, reside wherever she wanted, and he would not disturb or injure her or her manner of living." 

It was a pretty sweet deal for Sarah the former wife. She went off to France.

Following that, around 1800 John sold his land and purchased some more, closer to his mothers side of the family, and right next to this lovely scenic artificial lake. He stopped paying his ex wife in 1803 when she began cohabiting with another man and no longer needed his financial input. She took him to court over it and lost, because she hadn't told him that she was seeing this other bloke, and that was that. Ex-Wife Sarah was defeated.

So on his new plot of land, John decided to build a castle. And numerous images of this exist from back in the day. It remains mostly unchanged. It just has a bit more glass in the windows.

(Photo not mine, obviously)

It's pretty monstrous, and I love it. Most sources say that it was built in 1811. Some say that it was built between 1811 and 1830, and this is often misunderstood as saying that the construction started in 1811 and finished in 1830. What they're actually saying is that nobody knows for sure when the house was built, but it definitely wasn't there prior to 1811 and it was definitely there after 1830, so that's the window it must have been constructed in.

 

The most likely date is 1817 or 1818, because documents prove John was still living elsewhere in 1816, but there is mail addressed to him at this mansion dated 1818.

The big scandal of the house was that John had built it for him to live in with his young cousin, Fanny, who he had fallen in love with. It's quite nice really. I don't see any of you building castles for the people you love. Something to think about when you're writing your next Tinder bio, despairing that you're back there again.

Anyway, in 1885 the same artist who had painted John also painted Fanny, and as a result she looks a bit like an alien in a human suit.

 (Picture not mine, obviously)

 

That's not to diss Fanny, of course. I just find this artist to be rather odd. I do enjoy the weird style though. It's pretty eerie.

Fanny was born in 1796, the daughter of Johns uncle James, his mothers brother. Fanny was in her early twenties in 1818, when she moved in with John. In fact she was almost the same age that John had been when she was born, so the age gap was pretty significant. The pairing would raise eyebrows even if they weren't cousins. The age gap was legal, but she'd still been only four when he met her, and he would have known her at all stages of her life onward. That kinda makes it feel a bit weird, and of course raises the questions of how long it had been going on for before he decided to build her a castle. It also raises the question of how much their family knew. Did they know Fanny was moving in with her much older cousin for romantic reasons? 

Let's check out the buildings interior.

 

Slipping inside the mansion, we were quite surprised to find that curtains still hung in the front room. But it's the colour scheme that really puzzled me. The walls and ceilings are pastel pink and green. It's like being in the abandoned set of a bubblebath-era Poppy video.

 

The wall with the fireplace is pretty garish, but the fireplace itself is quite nice. 

 

 

And then the ceiling has this really nice pastel-coloured light. It's quite feminine, and probably designed by the last occupants wife. 

 

The doorway out of this room has a gold velvet curtain over it, which is nice but puzzling, purely because as you can see, the place is a wreck. How has this survived?

Most of the rooms are empty, save for the lamp fittings, peeling wallpaper and radiators. But even so, it's got enough eccentric decor leftover to give it some character.

There was a scandalous rumour that Fanny bore Johns crotchfruit, and that this was covered up by swiftly shuffling the baby off to an orphanage. Interestingly the scandal isn't the age gap or the relation, but the fact that she wasn't married. These were different times, after all, and unmarried mothers were treated pretty harshly, unless they could pull a Mary and convince everyone that their child was the son of God. 

 

But is there any truth to the rumour of Fanny's pregnancy?  

Well, I think I may have cracked it. You see, Fanny had four brothers, John, William, George and James. The eldest, John and William, became farmers just like their dad. But George and James were sent off to St Johns college in 1825 to study divinity and become priests. It seems rather odd that the small farmers family could suddenly afford such an education, but even if they had that money tucked away somewhere, why did they spend it on their two youngest sons? Surely if they had that kind of money then the two older sons would take priority. Unless, of course, they'd reached adulthood and were set in their ways before the money came to them. 

And who could possibly want to suddenly pay great sums of money to the family? Maybe a rich person who has to atone for a few sins, like say, knocking up their daughter. Similarly, Fanny's brother George also ended up living in one of Cousin Johns houses and never struggling for money, so whatever the reason, it certainly seems like John felt obligated to give Fanny's side of the family a heap of dosh. 

And as for the child they had together, I may have a theory about that too.

 

Fanny's brother William and his wife Mary were struggling to have children, when suddenly in 1823 out of nowhere they suddenly had a daughter called Frances. It's coincidentally around the time John started paying loads of money to Fanny's family, and it actually makes sense for the era. Unmarried mothers often had their babies snatched up for adoption as soon as they were born, and this practice continued long into the 20th Century. But in many cases the baby did stay in the family, if there were family members willing to adopt them. The most famous case of this is Eric Clapton, who was adopted by his grandparents and grew up thinking that his mother was his older sister. 

And which of her nephews and nieces was Fanny said to have a disproportionate amount of affection for? Frances! And what is Fanny a hypocorism for? Vagina! Frances! 

 

Fanny can also be said to derive from the Spanish Estefania, which is the Spanish version of Stephanie, so maybe I'm reading between lines that aren't there. Howfuckingever, when John prepared his will in 1824, he left everything to his lover Fanny, and the exact wording was "bequeath my estates to Miss Frances," confirming that Frances was Fanny's legal name. So it's safe to say that young Frances was named after Fanny, a homage perhaps to her biological mother.

 

Or maybe I'm reaching. But if young Frances was the child of John and Fanny, then she was likely born right here in this house.

 

There's this bizarre tiny room in the house, which is cupboard-sized but with a church pew running along the wall.

And then there's this downstairs bathroom that seems a bit too modern for such an ancient house, but it was lived in right up until 2014 so there's definitely been plenty of time to modernise.

One of the oddest rooms is the one that has the most castle-vibe in the entire place, often said to be the master bedroom despite being downstairs. One descends down a couple of big stone steps, only to cross the room and ascend a couple of other big stone steps to a raised bit that's separated by the rest of the room by the fence. It's needlessly eccentric and I love it.

There are bits of bed littering the room... or at least there were. I actually came here again, a year after my first initial visit, and found that someone had assembled the bed! Check it out!

It's a pretty grand four-poster bed, too! But that's not the point. Who took the time to put it together? And why? This room is pitch black and I assume this would have been a team effort. Who has the time for that? 

There are countless videos of this place that see this room for the first time and assume, understandably so, that this is how the room has been abandoned. Really its authenticity is now questionable. Was this even a bedroom?

 

In this room, the ceiling has started to collapse. It's perhaps not the safest room to stand in, but that's a misconception. There's not much left to fall on my head if the ceiling is beneath my feet.

 

 

There was a hole in this room leading down into the buildings foundations, but since there was no way down there, I didn't photograph it.

 

 

There's a pretty large kitchen too, which still has a microwave sitting in the corner. And there's this big gorgeous fridge, big enough for a human to climb in. As far as kitchens go, it's unbelievably spacious by modern standards but back when this place was first built, John and Fanny would have had servants. The kitchen would have been fully staffed and pretty busy.

 

John died in 1831, at the age of 56. I'm not sure how he died, but given that he'd written his will when he was only 49, it's safe to assume that his health was failing. Fanny was 35 when she inherited the hall, but it wasn't all smooth sailing. Who should pop up? Johns evil ex-wife, Sarah, of course! She was actually living in France at the time, but she came back to take Fanny to court for Johns possessions. She failed. Not only was she dismissed, but she had to pay Fanny for her troubles. And with that final defeat, Sarah buggered off forever.

 

Many say that Fanny then lived here until she died, but that's not entirely true. The census from 1841 actually shows that she's living somewhere else entirely, in spite of owning this massive hall. The occupants of this place, according to the 1841 census, were Fanny's brother, Rev James and his wife Harriet. The same Rev James who went off to study his priestly ways under mysterious funds. 

In 1839, Rev James and Harriet had a child who is confirmed to have been born in this house, meaning they were living here as early as that year. This son was named George, but he had Johns surname as his middle name, indicating that the family was close with John, in spite of the scandal with Fanny. But alas, little baby George was born on the 24th December, and he died the following April, not surviving the winter. Allegedly he died here in this house. 

But then on the 23rd April, 1841, they had another son called Charles, who was also born in this house. Charles had a somewhat luckier life, surviving until 1852. He was eleven when he died, but I don't have any details on that. 

Their third child, James Augustus, was born in this house in 1843, followed by a daughter, Emily, in 1847. The fact that they were born in the house indicates that Harriet and Rev James were still living there. But they also had another son, Lewis, in 1845 who records say was born elsewhere, so that's curious. They had two more children, William and Ellen in 1852 and 1854, but they were not born in this building either. The 1851 census indicates that Fanny had returned.

 

 

Luckily, all of James and Harriet's children after Charles survived into adulthood. Ellen is particularly notable because she married an Australian state governor. 

 

In 1849 a railway station had opened nearby, and suddenly the lake next to the mansion stopped being a peaceful place accessible only to locals. Now there was an increase in tourism, and the railway company were determined to sell train tickets by holding events at the lake. The first event had aquatic sports, archery and about six thousand people. For the locals, it was pretty annoying. However it was the 1851 Easter Regatta that annoyed Fanny the most. 10,000 tourists descended on the lake, along with aquatic sports, brass bands and artillery. It was pretty noisy, and while many of the locals were dismayed to see their quiet country homes turned into a tourist trap, it was Fanny who launched legal proceedings against the railway to stop them using the lake for commercial use. This legal battle took about four years to conclude, but she came out on top. The tourism faded away. 

That's not to say Fanny was a total sourpuss. She actually donated £106 to the church in 1862, to be distributed among poor women. According to the internet, that's the modern equivalent of just under £10,000. 

The lawsuit didn't quite mark the end of events at the lake either. In 1864, Carlos Trower, an African-American performer, walked across the lake on a rope suspended a hundred feet above the water. Shropshire-born Captain Matthew Webb, famous for swimming the English channel, came here in 1877 for an aquatic fete that attracted some 25,000 people. Shops and factories closed, which papers at the time remarked was unusual for a Monday. It seems that events at the lake were still possible. It was just the railway company that was legally forbidden to organise them for personal profit. 

Fanny died in 1875 at the age of 79. According to records she "fell asleep" in this house, which indicates that she died peacefully in bed.

 

 

One of the most notable parts of the house is the stairway, set in a rather narrow green hallway, with a really awesome ceiling.

 

 

This may actually be my favourite part of the house. On my second visit I found these walls covered in graffiti, which was saddening, but at least I managed to document them before they were vandalised. I was also with my friend Eilish on my initial visit here, and we had a bit of a mini photoshoot at the top of the stairs. 

 

 

Most of my pictures of Eilish came out a bit shite, but I'm happy with this one.

 

 

To the left of the top of the stairs, there's a window at the end of a hallway, which offers a view over the surrounding countryside. It's crazy to think that in the 1800s, Fanny, John, James, or Harriet, or maybe their kids, could have stood in this exact same spot.

 

 I took a flash photograph too, just to capture all of the details.

 

 

A doorway brought us out into the room above the collapsed part downstairs. From up here it's possible to see just how weak the floors are. It's only a matter of time before the rest of it comes crashing down.

 

Its difficult to keep track of Fanny's family. She died a spinster, leaving her family lineage in the hands of her siblings and their many children. There's a lot of them, but some of them do stand out. A chap called James, born in 1885, went on to create the first public cinema in Leeds, although it didn't catch on. Cinematic technology just wasn't the peoples jam back then. One of his sons went on to die in Pearl Harbour. Another chap named Douglas, born in 1886, became a circus manager. Fanny's oldest brother had a son who left to work with animals, and then his son Frank, born in 1866, went on to become a famous circus owner known as The Animal King. 

(Picture not mine, obviously)

Frank probably had very little to do with this house. Perhaps "my aunt Frances is an incest baby" came up in conversation once or twice, but who knows? However when I found a photo of him surrounded by taxidermy lions, I just had to include it. He's like a Victorian Joe Exotic. One of his best known exploits was capturing a lion that had escaped into the sewers of Birmingham. You couldn't make it up.

He married a woman named Susannah of the Barnum & Bailey Circus. Barnum as in P T Barnum the chap played by Hugh Jackman in a historically inaccurate musical.

The thing is, many of Fanny's cousins went on to have exciting lives, and it's worth noting because perhaps they would have all just been farmers if Fanny hadn't gotten pregnant, and if John hadn't decided to atone for this by giving the family vast sums of money.

 

But with Fanny dead, it was her niece, Georgina who ended up inheriting the mansion, along with her husband, Rev Boothman. Georgina had been born in 1842 to Fanny's brother George. George had been living in one of Johns houses, so this does make sense. 

A photo of Boothman does exist, but he's with his second wife. Unfortunately I can't find any images of Georgina. 

 

(Photo not mine, obviously)

 

So as the presence of a second wife indicates, Georgina didn't stick around. Their marriage was said to be an unhappy one. She was apparently mingling with the wrong crowd, always out drinking and coming home late at night totally bladdered. Normally we'd say this was no big deal, but this was the 1800s. Georgina, honey, you're in the wrong century! Bus alas, unable to procure a time machine, poor Georgina met her untimely demise when she was found dead in 1890, smothered to death with her clothes removed, either on the way back to this house or actually in this house. The details on that on are vague. 

She did have children with Boothman, and the house did have servants, so while it's easy to point the finger at Rev Boothman for ending the life of a wife he loathed, there are other options. It's worth noting that Boothman never faced any consequences. But his name does show up on a list of members of his local freemason lodge, so maybe that's why. Freemasons get away with this shit. Just look at Gerry McCann.

 

The bedrooms up here are pretty much more of the same. Empty, but decaying, and with pretty fireplaces. 

 

 

Boothman left this house in 1903, and perhaps in an act of revenge on the family that he had brought him twenty years of marital misery, he sold the mansion to the same railway company that Fanny had fought the tedious legal battle against to stop them using the land for commercial use. Her legacy was undone. But despite owning the mansion now, they still had to obtain parliamentary permission to use it for commercial use, but with Fanny dead that permission was easily granted. 

As such the lake became a tourist attraction once again, much to the disappointment of the locals, some of which had moved to the area specifically to live somewhere quiet. A dance floor was built on the dam of the lake, and they built loads of stalls for refreshments and souvenirs. In the winter they held ice skating events on the lake when it froze over. 

In 1906 the railway established a golf course on the grounds of the mansion, which was occupied by the golf clubs vice president, Mr Leigh, the only occupant of this house to not have some sort of scandal attached to him. His role in the development was to represent the interests of the locals now that he was also one of them. But really, what the railway company wanted to do was demolish the house entirely and build a new modern hotel.

Luckily the Great Depression came to the rescue. The freight traffic decline reduced the railways funds somewhat and in 1908 they realised that they really couldn't spare the money for something so ambitious. The mansion would remain. However, if it couldn't be a hotel, it could serve as a club house for the golf club. Poor Mr Leigh was evicted. It underwent a few minor changes. Changing rooms and locker rooms were added, and there was a bar. The stables of the hall were lived in by horses who would pull a mower to maintain the golf course. The groundskeeper also lived in a small accommodation there too.

It was quite a big hit at the time! Golfers would catch a train to the lake, where a horse and carriage would then take them up to the golf course. They invited journalists from all over, keen on widespread publicity. They did attract a little controversy when they decided to open on Sundays, because back then Sundays were strictly the day of rest, and should be spent in church. One of the local vicars was a bit miffed, saying "It was the greed for money. More people would come to church if they took a train or two off."

Not that religion has any leg to stand on when the discussion of greed is concerned, but hey-ho. 

The golf club retorted with "Working men ought to be offered facilities for a change of air and scene after being shut up all week in workshops." That was the last say on the matter.

At the start of its life the golf club had 114 members but this increased to 160 in just one year, rising to 180 in 1908.

By 1912 it had 230 members, finally peaking just in time for World War One.  

Its main downfall, it seems, was the elitism, and many former caddys have described poor experiences, saying that they were treated as non-entities or slaves, only allowed to speak when spoken to. They weren't even allowed in the club house, but they were allowed around the back where they were occasionally given bread crusts and water.

As for the hall, it was lived in by several chambermaids, one of which was a young lady called Maud, who ended up marrying a local railway platelayer named Frank. Franks family owned many of the cattle fields surrounded the golf course, and often golf balls were lost on their land, sometimes responsible for the occasional bovine concussion. This setting proved to be a source of criticism for the golf course.

But really it was the war that killed it. Many of the members went off to fight, and once the war concluded, transport links were reduced, making the golf course harder to get to. At that time other golf clubs popped up, providing new, fresh competition. The golf club had only 100 members in 1919 and finally closed in 1926.

 

The building sat empty for a bit, until the Youth Hostel Association began leasing it from the railway. Apparently this mansion made a really popular youth hostel, boasting about 7000 overnight stays a year. Of its many visitors was George Orwell, who later brought us such novels as Nineteen Eighty-Four, and Animal Farm. But in 1936 he was researching The Road to Wigan Pier, and studying the condition of the unemployed in Industrial Northen England. As part of his research he basically went on a youth hostel road trip.

In his diary, he described this hall as someones folly. He said it was difficult to find, a most peculiar place, really cold, with miles of stone tunnels and no lighting except for candles. He woke up so cold that he couldn't button his shirt, and had to thaw his hands before he could get dressed. He then walked ten miles and caught a bus to Manchester. 

Orwell observed that anyone who stayed in a hostel had to choose between an easy-going pigsty of a hygienic prison. I guess in his mind, this fit the former rather than the latter. After his stay here he decided not to stay in any more hostels, choosing instead to pawn his scarf and get better accommodation.

And while his criticisms of the hall as a hostel were rather harsh, they were a little bit true. The hall needed some work. Unfortunately the railway company that still owned it, now British Rail, were unwilling to renovate it unless they could raise the rent. As such in 1948 the Youth Hostel Association began negotiations to buy it from them, finally succeeding in 1955. With the mansion now theirs, they were free to renovate, and add electricity. With a bit of a hiatus, they reopened in 1958.

 

Nine years later, they sold it to a 34-year-old actor named Brian and his wife Wendy. This was to be their family home for the rest of their lives. 

 

 

There's some really nice wallpaper up here, in what was clearly once the bedrooms of Wendy and Brian's children, and possibly grandchildren, as they were said to reside here too.

 

 

But it is up here that we can see just how eccentric the original owner, John, was when he built place. The rooms are just oddly laid out and weirdly designed. This one is tiny but clearly once belonged to Brian and Wendy's son. Before that it was probably servants quarters, given that it's placed towards the back of the hall.

 

It has vintage car wallpaper which is pretty nice.

 

This room also clearly belonged to a boy, although it was likely servants quarters once too. The wall has old football stickers attached to it, no doubt placed here by a child.

 

Brian outlived his wife, and his children moved away, although I've heard it said that one grandson lived here with him for a bit. But otherwise, Brian grew old here alone with an Alsatian called Toby, and without any savings or pension he turned to investing in antiques as an alternative income. This hall was filled with many rare and valuable items, including a sword owned by Saddam Husein and a suit of armour worn by Oliver Cromwell. 

Unfortunately Brians collection was a little too well-known about and he was about to become victim to a bunch of absolute cunts.

 

One night in 2014, just as he was getting home from Sainsburys, Brian was attacked by a gang, who tied him to a chair and beat him up as they looted the house. He was recovering from a triple heart bypass so he was understandably terrified that this attack would have serious repercussions. Over the next eight hours, Brian was beaten while the gang stripped his house of all his possessions. And just because they weren't cunty enough already, they beat up his dog with a baseball bat too. 

Among the stuff lost was Saddams sword, Cromwells suit of armour, an Indian Matchlock Gun, Scottish broadswords, an Indian Snakehorn, a Crowellian pike, thirty paintings, a red velvet covered shield with an axe and a spiked ball and chain. But this wasn't a random, unplanned attack by yobs. They brought in three bales of bubblewrap so that they could pack everything up carefully and professionally. Then they stole Brian's van just because they didn't have enough space in their own vehicle for all the stuff. 

They left Brian tied up. He eventually freed himself by walking the chair he was tied to over to a glass which he then broke and held in his mouth and used to cut the tape that was binding him.

Brian lost about £200,000 worth of stuff, and his financial security, and also his desire to live in the house. I've heard it said that he was unable to return because he just didn't feel safe. 

Interestingly some of the items were recovered miles away in Hull, where police located them in a lockup while investigating something totally different. One guy was arrested for possessing firearms and handling stolen goods. Two more fled the country. Apparently it's definitely an organised crime gang, and not just yobs being yobs. Brian was happy to get some of his stuff back, but he would much rather preferred to see his attackers brought to justice instead.

A small but intriguing room. It's basically a long cupboard but it has Private written on the door. What could this have been used for?

The bathroom is positively hideous. I love it.

 

There's a large room full of sinks, no doubt added during the golf club era of the hall.

 

 

And of course we have some toilet cubicles as well. 

 

At the very far back corner of the hall are the servants stairs, now far more decayed than the rest of the building. Attempting to traverse these is a bit of a nightmare, and really, why bother when there's a perfectly good set of stairs at the front of the hall?

Unfortunately Brian died in 2015. The mansion has been empty ever since. It's a really sad end to the story. It's a shame that the attackers are still at large. But what really boils my piss as much as what happened to Brian is the disrespect given to the situation by youtubers in the years since the building has been empty. There are videos out there that wrongfully claim Brian was beaten to death here. One paranormal video particularly annoys me with the title "Brian was sadly beaten to death here. He made contact. He's still here."

 

That's just incredibly bad taste clickbait right there. Really, how fucking dare you, you absolute wastes of survival instincts. Brian's children and grandchildren are still alive and his death is still fresh in their memories. These videos have adverts on them! People make money off clickbaiting and exploiting Brian's horrific ordeal. 

I'm open to the supernatural. I've experienced things that I can't explain. However if the supernatural happened with enough frequency to sustain as many youtube channels as it does, then it would be scientifically observable. Actual scientists would be doing it, not you.

And as for Brian, he couldn't bear to live here in this big empty house after the attack. Why on Earth would he come back here for all eternity once he was dead?

Furthermore, isn't it convenient that all these psychics and ghost hunters are only able to tell us about Brian, the one resident they can read about on Wikipedia? What about poor Georgina who was smothered to death here? That should make some good clickbait. What about James and Harriet's infant child that didn't even make it to his first birthday? Where are all the clickbait videos about the ghosts of babies? Fanny and John both died here too. Where are they? I guess if it requires a little more effort than a quick Google search, it escapes the ghost hunters notice. Funny, that. 

 

But to conclude, I think it's worth mentioning, because the story of this house is quite sad, Fanny and John lived here together for over a decade. There was an age gap, and they were cousins, but Fanny did remain close to her family, which means she would have had options for moving out if things went sour. The fact that she stayed with John until his death, and then moved out of the house when he died in spite of inheriting it, tells me that they were happy together. This was a happy home once. That sort of thing is worth remembering.

Anyway, rant over. My next blogs will be a really awesome tunnel full of stolen cars, and then a Victorian lido. They should be pretty good. In the meantime, if you like the blog and want to know when I post new ones, follow me on Instagram, Vero, Reddit, Facebook and Twitter. 

Thanks for reading.