Chapel

I am a fan of abandoned chapels. Chapels of all sizes are dotted around the Welsh countryside, in varying states of neglect and dereliction. Most of them served tiny hamlets back in the days before transportation was prevalent, and the only thing these people had was what was in their immediate area. For the local farmers and their families, attending service on a Sunday was also their means of socialising and catching up with their neighbours. And then as the world progressed, many of the rural chapels became somewhat redundant.

 

Obviously the big, beefier chapels with the fancy ceilings and balcony seats are a lot more photogenic, but there's something cute and humble about these tiny cottage-sized ones. These people didn't need something grand to worship in. Any building with seats would do the job.

The chapel shows up on maps from the 1880s, and according to one source it was constructed in 1837. Originally it was standing on the grounds of a large estate that was owned by the Wynne family, a big Welsh family that boasts many a baron and rich toff.

The mansion on this estate was first occupied by Reverend Richard Wynne, who married Gaynor, the daughter of a man named John Wynne. So straight away we have "inbreeding" ticked off our list of rich people stereotypes. 

But we're not here for Princess Wynncest and her great big house that could fit my entire flat in its kitchen. We're here for this chapel, and it sure is cute!

 

It's actually quite lovely. There's no vandalism whatsoever. It's a little too rural for that sort of thing. I think the majority of vandalism is done on impulse by people with half a brain, who get a freedom overdose when they realise that they're in a place with no cameras and no humans. Ironically I find that it's the most well behaved members of society who succumb to this. If someone is morally competent because the law tells them to be, then they're more likely to go a bit nuts when the law can't get them, whereas if someone understands that legality and morality don't always walk hand-in-hand, and can ascertain right from wrong because of their own sense of empathy and emotional maturity, they probably won't go somewhere like this and piss all over the pews.

Having said that, I absolutely love this decay! The ceiling is collapsing and the walls probably weren't always that pleasant shade of green. It will be interesting to see this place ten years from now, if humans were to have no input.

 

Here's the ceiling details. 

 

 

And a cute little window. 

 

 

Here's a hymn book, entirely in Welsh. 

 

 

There's an Easter leaflet here from 2012! That feels shockingly recent. How on Earth did this chapel stay active for that long? It's a fair trek from any houses, and there's nowhere to park. It must have had a very devoted community.

 

So going back to the Wynne family, the chapel does hold some significance for Richard and Gaynors Great-Great Grandson, Edward. His own father passed away less than a month before he was born, and his mother remarried a chap named Mr Brodrick. Mr Brodrick would also die in 1915, leaving poor Anne Brodrick twice widowed.

 

In 1916 Edward would also die from injuries in the first world war, being laid to rest in France at the tender age of 22. At this point, Anne seemingly opened up much of the estate to the public. The heir to the house was her daughter, Margaret, who turned the remaining land into a horse farm, bringing in a number of mountain ponies, which she ran until her death in 1961.

 Edward is mentioned on this big memorial slab at the back of the chapel which was apparently unveiled in 1923, and witnessed by a Colonel Williams-Wynne, presumably a cousin. 

But also mentioned is a William Jones, who died in the battle of Mametz Wood in 1918. That raised my eyebrow because the infamous bloodbath battle of Mametz Wood happened in 1916. I did worry for a moment hoping William Jones martyrdom was suffering a typo, but no, that wasn't the case. There was a lesser known battle of Mametz, when the Germans took it back from the British in 1918.

There is a newspaper article from 1923 which outlines how much of an absolute saint Anne Brodrick was. She actually helped the family of William Jones go to France to visit his grave- something they were ill-funded to do by themselves. The same article talks of the locals and says "They are all indebted to Mrs Brodrick for giving the land upon which that chapel had been built."

So it looks like Anne Brodrick actually gave the chapel away to its trustees. Some say that she gave away the land so that the chapel could be built on it, but the chapel appears on old maps so that can't be true. The news article admittedly does phrase things vaguely, but "had been built" is past tense. 

But I think this might be part of the problem. There is allegedly no deed for this property. It was given away a century ago and nobody in the present day has any responsibility, nor any authority to do anything. Admittedly property ownership isn't my area of expertise. I'm not sure how any of this works.

 

Whatever the ins and outs of who owns what, this chapel did actually make it into the latter half of the 20th Century, although it did nearly close in 1965 when it changed ministers. I guess its longevity and loyalty of the flock was in fact a fondness for him more so than a fondness for God. There's the saying- "people leave bad managers, not bad jobs," and I guess the same can be said for rural communities and their pastors. 

But that's not to say the new guy was bad, but people are change resistant. 

Apparently things did pick up when new people moved to the area, and the chapel did get a bit livelier. 

And then a storm brought a tree down on the roof, resulting in the poor wreck we have today. 

I guess "Act of God" is a good a reason as any to close a chapel.

On the pulpit are some bibles, in Welsh and English.

There's also these positively ancient books.

Dated February 1881. This is so awesome!

But what future is there for the chapel? Admittedly it is sad. I don't really get along with God. Or rather, I dislike the attitude of many Christians and flat out sneer at the ones who take the bible too literally. I'm a historian, albeit a renegade one. I know that with very rudimentary research we can see the transition to monotheism from the ancient texts that the bible is based on. So really, there is no historic truth in the bible. It's adaptations and metaphors at best. 

Having said that, if someone takes comfort from belief in a loving deity, and wants a quiet place to pray, then that harms nobody and the loss of a chapel like this is kinda sad.

The saving grace is that the organ and communion plates were donated to other chapels in order to save them, but for the chapel itself, the situation is a little more complicated. I've heard that people would like to see it sold, but no deed actually exists. The estate apparently still has a claim on the land, which is sometimes contested by the public, who have documentation that proves the estate bequeathed it. But it is alleged that nobody actually owns it, so nothing can really be done. But nobody wants to see it destroyed either.

I don't know what the answer is. Like I said, property ownership is not my area of expertise.

So that's it. It will definitely be interesting to check back in a decade to see how nature takes it all back, assuming humans don't smash it up,

Until then, the adventures continue, and I have one more spot to hit on this blog before I start focusing on my local blog again. Until then, the best way to stay updated with my blogs is to follow my social medias. I'm on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, Threads, and the more obscure ones, Bluesky and Vero.

Most of the main ones are shit, but it's quite refreshing that people are starting to realise and make us some alternatives. 

Thanks for reading!

Mortuary

Today I'm looking at this mortuary!

Funnily enough, this will only be the third mortuary slab I've ever had a lie down on, and let me tell you, they are surprisingly comfortable. The cold porcelain can be quite refreshing on a warm day. These are the perks of mortuary slabs that their traditional clients don't get to enjoy. But as the saying goes- there are two types of urbexer: The ones who find a mortuary slab and immediately have had their photo taken lying on it, and liars! 

I guess I should be trying to add a more sombre mood to a write-up on a mortuary, and regale you with tales of gloomy vibes and a heavy atmosphere. But the truth is there wasn't one. Mortuary's are actually awesome! If I could go back in time to 2010 and tell young innocent me in his first year of urbexing that someday he'd be photographing a hospital morgue, it wouldn't just be the dead getting stiff! I think at that point all I'd done was rooftopping and the occasional mooch around the abandoned gym above Bodycare that is now apartments. I never saw myself doing this.

For me the appeal is being able to nip "behind the scenes" and see something that I wouldn't ordinarily ever get to see. I mean if I didn't do urbex, the only way I'd ever be in one of these is if I was actually dead. And where's the fun in that? When I say I'm dying to see this place, I mean figuratively.

 

The sink is looking a bit grim. 

Excitement aside, I think working in a mortuary would be quite depressing. And I say this as someone who, at work, has prepared the deceased for their final trip. Due to the nature of my work I've only ever worked with people who have died in old age or have had a cardiac arrest. But a mortuary will see everything, from horrific accidents to small children, and I don't think I could handle the latter.

This mortuary was built in 1910 for the nearby tuberculosis sanatorium, initially for children but later expanded to include adults. I've covered sanatoriums in my blogs before. While it may seem outrageous in the modern era where we're all jabbed, back in the day tuberculosis had quite the body count. Between 1851 and 1910 four million people in the UK died from it. That's 185 people a day! With the general assumption that fresh air and rest were beneficial for treatment, sanatoriums were often in the countryside and were almost like hospitals mixed with a health spa. There was treatment but there was also bed rest out on the balcony on a sunny day, and recreational activities for those who were able. 

But depending on the severity, being bed-bound was mandatory. Some patients were allowed to leave the bed once a day for a shower but that was it. Some more severe cases would result in wooden blocks being placed under the foot of the bed to tilt it thirty degrees, which must be fun if you're perpetually bed bound. This was allegedly to compress the cavities in the lungs and help them heal.

But with tuberculosis being pretty damn deadly, many survivors would later draw similarities to the old evacuations of world war 2, where people would leave their families for the countryside without knowing if they'd ever see them again.

In this particular hospital, if it wasn't obvious, the ones who didn't survive were taken here.

The trolley is still here. Presumably this was used by mortuary staff to transport the dead from the fridge to the slab. Perhaps it was even used by the porters to bring the dead from the hospital. 

But what's this?

I think this might actually be embalming fluid, still here after all these years.

I have heard a few tales from people who either worked at the sanatorium or were patients there in the 1950s. They tell of how tuberculosis deaths were actually on a decline by this point, largely due to the medication provided. In fact the fatality rate was so low that one former patient here was able to look at a ward group photo and pick out the only one who had died. I have seen the group photo, but I'm not sure which one he is. I know in my last mortuary blog I was able to identify several former "clients" and tell their story. But that was a wartime overflow mortuary. This one is a hospital morgue. It's seen a much larger number of visitors. Every single person who has ever passed away in the hospital between 1910 and the 1990s has come through here.

The tuberculosis vaccine really brought about the end of sanatoriums and many across the world have been abandoned. This particular one got lucky and started branching out into other fields. In 1967 they got a hydrotherapy pool, operating theatres, a radiology department and an orthopaedic unit, and as such the sanatorium transitioned into a community hospital. This mortuary is believed to have closed down in the 1990s, and it totally makes sense. It's actually some distance away from the hospital, and they no doubt now has a new modern one inside the actual building, making this one somewhat redundant.

 

The fridges were a real treat to see, long deactivated but still containing the platforms that the deceased would have been stored on. I've actually never come across mortuary fridges before. At Denbigh Asylum I could see where they had been, but everything that made them identifiable had long been destroyed or snatched. Here the fridges are perfectly preserved. Naturally my entourage and I had to get our photos taken in it, with out feet peeking out. I won't be posting any pics of my trotters though. If you'll pay an onlyfans girl, you can bloody well pay me too!

 

But now onto the best part of any abandoned building, the toilets!

But hold up! We have a guard!

Look at this adorable bat, casually hanging from the toilets door handle. This is perhaps the most awkward place a bat could possibly choose to take a nap, but I can't stay mad at something so cute. 

Luckily I was able to gently ease the door open without upsetting it.

And here we are. It's still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs. 

Lastly, one door led through to a small chapel area.

 

This is what makes this mortuary somewhat different. Sanatoriums were self-contained communities. In that sense they are reminiscent of the old lunatic asylums of the Victorian era, except people were expected to get better and leave. Funeral directors wouldn't take tuberculosis victims, so the mortuary had to do funeral services here. The funeral officiant would enter through the mortuary, being on this side of the "altar" while the public would enter through that door at the back, and a small service would be held. 

This is the room that felt a bit sad. This is where people came to mourn their loved ones. It's impossible to be here and not put myself in their shoes a little bit.

But from an urbex perspective, it is nice to see so much left behind, all decaying naturally without any vandalism.

 

But that's all I've got for this place.

The mortuary did become super popular with the urbex herd, and it's understandable really. I'm not going to berate anyone for wanting to check this place out. But the increased footfall didn't go unnoticed, and I have heard that the powers-that-be have since sealed up the entrance. In regards to urbex history, it was just a small chapter. 

But I still love it. I'm glad I got to see it. I can now tick "climb into a morgue fridge with my friends" off my bucket list. It's right underneath "make some friends." 

So, the adventure continues. I've got a chapel to see next, and I absolutely love it. In the meantime, my social media platforms are the best way to stay updated with the blog, and I'm actually enjoying the alternative ones to the main trinity of shittery that we're stagnating in. So you can, follow me on the shite ones- Instagram, Facebook and Twitter, and Instagrams hate-child with Twitter, Threads. Or you could jump ship and find me on something new, like Bluesky and Vero. I'm also on Reddit sometimes.

Thanks for reading!

Pointy Manor

As many long-term readers will know, something quirky and odd is sure to lure me out. After a trip to Greece where I swam out to a capsised cruise ship, I was back in the UK for maybe five minutes before everything on my to-do list was overshadowed by this outright bonkers chunk of architectural quirkitude. As soon as I saw it on screen, I knew I had to see it with my own two eyes, and soon I was back on a plane again. And it rained the entire time I was out there, except for the one day that I made the trek out to this pointy manor. I'm not one for thinking something was meant to be, but if I was I'd be thinking it now.

There's a lot to unpack here. The obvious curiosity is the shape of the building. It's L-shaped, with the corner being pyramidal. Allegedly this is intended to represent the Celtic villages of old, with the houses and watchtower gathered around a central place of worship in a courtyard. But the fact that the pyramid symbol is repeated throughout the structure, even referred to as a coat of arms, has fueled rumours that there's something more masonic or occultic about the place. And indeed, the owner was allegedly a Freemason, and the story of this place does lend credence to any theory that there's more to this place than aesthetic eccentricity. That's not to say that Celtic influence isn't apparent. There are obvious Celtic sculptures here, and even the name of the manor translates in the appropriate Celtic dialect to "Place of exile." And that seems fitting. The owner chose this place purely because it was the only point of ten hectares of land that was viable to construct anything at all, meaning his manor would go undisturbed by any subsequent construction, as isolated as could possibly be.

But it's rumoured to be built on the remains of a German bunker, and so rather than go upwards, its additional floors go downwards, into the ground. Elevators flank the fireplace, and even the driveway goes under the building, Thunderbirds style, giving it all a "Super villain lair" vibe. 

The story attached to it is a little too fantastic as well. The layers are a little too ridiculous. It's a gorgeous building and I understand why someone would want it. I'd snap it up in a heartbeat if I had the money. But as I read up on it, I thought that it was a little too important to people, and that's part of the intrigue.

Before we even set foot inside, I'm intrigued by this huge granite cross in the backyard. Depicted on it is a rather wind-battered and weathered effigy of Jesus, crucified and overlooking the sea.

It's a good view. But check out the building itself!

Sculpted onto one wall are six Celtic warriors, each with unique shield designs. This is the work of a granite sculptor called Guy Pavec, and it's allegedly symbolic of the Celts settling here in 483AD. It also allegedly refers to the legend of Ys, a city of ancient myth.

According to legend, Ys was ruled over by a chap called Gradlon. He built the city by the sea for his daughter, Dahut, and had a palace built of marble. Due to its precarious placement next to the sea, they had a giant dike built over the bay that opened for ships at low tide. Gradlon alone had the key to open the dike. According to some legends he is to blame for the catastrophe. A saint came to tell him that his sins were going to be punishable by flood, and he did not listen. But as of 1680 the legends were altered somewhat to say that Dahut was a sinner and sorceress, serial seductress and killer, cavorting with korrigans and the devil himself (My christian gender-biased re-write sense is tingling) and for no other reason than being a cunt, she opened the dike and flooded the city, causing it to fall into the sea. She fled on the horse with Gradlon, but at the urging of the saint he threw her from the horse (some say she fell) and he went on to rule elsewhere. Dahut allegedly transformed into a mari-morgan which is a Celtic sea spirit not dissimilar to a mermaid. In fact some versions say that Dahut is the progenitor of the mermaid race.

 

What intrigues me about the story is that it has striking similarities to other Celtic legends. In Ireland there's the legend of Lì Ban, whose city was destroyed when a spring caused the formation of Lough Neagh. Lì Ban survived by transforming into a mermaid. In Wales there's the legend of Cantre'r Gwaelod, which was consumed by the sea due to the negligence of the rulers. 

Some might even draw parallels to Atlantis or Lemuria, mythical kingdoms lost to the sea serving as a cautionary tale of mankind's hubris. The parallels here are fascinating.

Next to these steps is another sculpture.

This one depicts Celtic warriors on a ship. Its sail bears the triskelion, representing the trinity through three interlocking spirals. Just next to the left-most shield we can see "Guy Pavec," the artist signing his work. There's some sort of flying creature in the top left corner too. 

Meanwhile, the pyramid "coat of arms" is repeated on the walls around the manor, giving far too much importance to the buildings shape than just someones eccentric design idea. It all feels like it has a little too much emphasis.

There's a courtyard right in front of the manors entrance, and in the middle is a Celtic fountain, tragically ruined by idiots.

I mean really, why do people do things like this?

The manor isn't that old, only being constructed in 1971. The owner was a chap called Auguste, a man born in 1902, and seemingly named after a multitude of ancestors. Digging into the past reveals another Auguste with the same surname, a farmer born in the area in 1890 who died in the first world war. His father was also Auguste, born in 1856, and prior to that there was another Auguste born in 1833. It's like Blackadder. Every generation had an Auguste.

 

Our Auguste was a millionaire, banker, businessman, and a Freemason. By 1971 he already had numerous properties, and since he was getting on a bit, his health was failing. This all makes me wonder why he even bothered having this place built. He certainly wasn't short of places to live out his twilight years, and he must have known he wasn't going to have much time to enjoy it.

He purchased ten hectares of land purely because so much of it was unviable for construction. He wouldn't have any neighbours here. Having said that, the construction did attract a crowd of spectators, scratching their heads about the odd new structure on the skyline. Some called it a wart on the cliff. But Auguste was proud of it. He had loads of rare plants brought in to the garden, and he commissioned a multitude of postcards depicting the manor. 

 

But curiously he never got to actually live in it, although it was fully furnished, and there was allegedly kitchen and gardening staff. and a caretaker.

Here we have the main entrance, and shockingly spacious area that would have once been the lounge of the manor.

The floor is marble, an indicator of its former refinery. Cleaned up and fully furnished, it would look spectacular. I think that's part of what makes this place so sad. Having never really been occupied by its owner, what we've lost here is potential. We'll never know what might have been.

And directly beneath the pyramid is the lounge fireplace, flanked by two elevators. It's actually pretty damn big, and definitely draws all the attention.

And above the fireplace is the pyramid sigil, once again indicating far more importance to the houses shape than it simply being something they thought would look cool. There's a hidden relevance here.

 

The elevators to the side of the fireplace are predictably non-functional messes, but would have once led down to the basement. 

 

This one appears to be purely decorative. They only needed one elevator, but they wanted symmetry so they had an elevator door put over a blank wall. I love it.

With the building being L-shaped, and the fireplace being the central point, the living quarters spread out to the left and the right. We'll start by heading right of the fireplace, over here.

So the owner, Auguste, developed hemiplegia in 1971. That's a partial paralysis of part of his body due to injury in the motor functions of his brain. This was followed by a heart attack in 1973, and another in 1977. In 1977 he was also diagnosed with dementia, with his doctor officially declaring him a vulnerable adult. 

Consequently, Auguste had hired a nurse in 1976. She had been born in 1927, and was in the process of divorcing a doctor. She also had a disabled son who she needed to support. In addition to being Auguste's nurse, she also became governess of the estate, relieving Auguste of household duties for a measly 6000 a month.

Auguste also had a wife, but she was in bad shape, being blind, crippled, bedridden and suffering from Alzheimer's. Auguste passed away in 1978, and she would follow in 1983.

 

One month prior to his death, suspiciously so due to his reduced mental capacity, Auguste had written up a revised will, leaving everything to his nurse, including this manor and his Cadillac. The will also had instructions forbidding his family to dispute any of it. It all seemed a bit dodgy.

I quite like the wallpaper in this room. It's nice to see. Of course at this point in the buildings decay, I'll enjoy whatever remnant I can find. 

I assume the rooms beyond this point were either bedrooms or the kitchen.

 

 

Following the couples death, a number of people suddenly expressed an interest in this house. One in particular was this stories antagonist, a rich businessman named Baron Gay. I'm not making that up. Straight away, we know this guy is not to be messed with. Any man who survived his school years being literally named Gay is going to be indestructible now. From what I can understand he added the "Baron" prefix himself, but surely that's a power move too. He's saying "You think my name is silly? Well I'm just gonna make it sillier, and still have more money than you."

 

Baron Gay was allegedly a distant relative of Auguste's wife and consequently believed himself to be the rightful inheritor of all their stuff. Upon Auguste's death, Baron Gay headed straight here and emptied it of all its furniture and anything else of value. According to the caretaker, Baron Gay helped himself to the contents of a safe too, which contained legal documents pertaining to who would actually inherit this building. These documents have seemingly disappeared.

And in direct opposition to him, we have a cousin of Auguste, named Marie, who was born in 1930. Marie is the daughter of Auguste's aunt on his fathers side, and while seemingly left out of any legal inheritance, she did have a law degree, and instantly caught the whiff of something fishy. She cared about her family history and didn't want this manor falling into the wrong hands. Moreover, with Auguste not having any children, Marie believed herself to be the blood heiress.

 

Marie's outrage, understandably, stemmed from Baron Gay's presumptuous emptying of the building, and then the discovery that Auguste's nurse and Baron Gay had actually withheld the news of Auguste's death from his friends and family until the funeral was done and dusted, far away from where Auguste had wanted to be buried. Baron Gay would later deny any knowledge of the death until after the funeral, until Auguste's butler provided paperwork that proved that Baron Gay had paid for the burial. There were additional revelations, that the caretaker who had let Baron Gay into the safe had attended the funeral while so many others had been left in the dark, and also that Baron Gay had actually either employed or recommended Auguste's nurse. They'd even spent a week together in Paris in 1977. Fishy is an understatement. 

 

It later came to light that the nurse had began an intimate relationship with Auguste back in 1976, behind his wife's back. I do sympathise with the wife, who was likely completely in the dark due to her failing health, but it's also important to remember that Auguste would get diagnosed with dementia a year later, and we don't really know the extent of his mental capacity at this point. This nurse ended up controlling everything. She received the mail, answered the phone calls, and dismissed certain domestic staff who challenged her authority. Auguste's physiotherapist went on record saying that he was very uncomfortable with the hold she had on Auguste. But it was her treatment of Auguste's wife that is the most heartbreaking. Remember, she's blind, crippled and suffering from Alzheimer's. The nurse had total control over her, and told everyone that she suffered from a highly contagious and dangerous illness, forbidding anyone to visit her, even the local priest. A doctor would later deny such a diagnosis. It was all a cruel lie to completely isolate the poor woman.

In 1977 and 1978 numerous complaints were made against the nurse for kidnapping, mistreatment, suppression of correspondence, theft, fraud, breach of trust, destruction of documents, forgery of documents, and consequently once Auguste and his wife were dead, she attempted to fall off the face of the Earth entirely. A criminal investigation was opened against her and in 1985 she did do time in prison. She had essentially abused vulnerable people in her care, and made their final years miserable.

 

This began a legal tug-of-war over who should have the manor. Obviously the nurse's right to the place was brought into serious question. Baron Gay wanted it. Cousin Marie was determined to stop him.

 

I really struggle with the legal hoo-hah. Legal documents are complicated enough, but this time I've had to translate it from French. I might be getting a lot of stuff wrong.

From what I can tell, Baron Gay's wife apparently did a genealogy test to determine the rightful blood heir, and to prove that Marie had no right of inheritance. The genealogist in question remained suspiciously anonymous, and Marie then had to prove her family connection.

There was also a matter of Marie's mother Virginia also having the right of succession but allegedly renouncing it. This renouncement was later claimed to be false. She had in fact wanted the manor, but all documents concerning her legal ownership of the building mysteriously vanished.

Baron Gay's lawyers, who are said to be notoriously corrupt, and more famous for pedophilia scandals than they are for their legal competence, were already looking at selling the property in 1985, before legal proceedings had even wrapped up.

But Baron Gay died in 1989. Surely that was the end of it?

 

Nope! His metaphorical horse in the race was re-saddled by a lady called Dubois, who was the carer of his widow. She would later claim to be their daughter, but this was challenged in court.

 

The manor was empty throughout all the long-winded legal babble and subsequently became a playground for local kids in the 1980s. In 1990, Cousin Marie, sick of seeing it broken into and vandalised, moved into a nearby house on the estate with the aim of protecting it. From what I understand, she was technically squatting since it's said to be the caretakers dwelling, but she was pretty active in chasing away squatters and vandals, and also carrying out maintenance on the manor, keeping it structurally sound while the legal battle raged on. 

 

But then the manor became the subject of a rave in 1995. The event was called Sao Tan, and it was allegedly organised by British people. The posters depict the same pyramid symbol. 

 

(Image not mine, obviously)

 
And according to some documents, Marie was accused of being behind the raves. One document alleges she was imprisoned in 1998 for two months and issued a fine for endangering peoples lives. It's all very intriguing. What would her motive be, if she cared about the manor?

 

Here we have the site of the former toilet. It's still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

Allegedly the bathrooms had gold taps, but these were stolen during the 1980s, along with just about everything else.  The wall tiles remain though!

And now, to the left of the central fireplace.

One doorway leads downstairs, while the other leads to what I assume was the living quarters.

 

So throughout all the legal bickering, the documents get very strong-worded. The deaths of Auguste and his wife are referred to as "assassinations," with the accusation being that the nurse and Baron Gay were in cahoots and had orchestrated their deaths. Some even refer to Baron Gay as being part of a Mafia family, with shady underworld connections and networks of corruption throughout the legal system. Some legal documents suspiciously go missing. Others are forged. Marie's main argument is that those who claim to have a legal right to the manor actually don't.

In 2002 the whole case picked up steam again when Dubois had sought to sell the manor to a couple, and Marie had argued that Dubois had no legal right to do this.

 

A man from the Bahamas was said to be the true owner of the manor, but I have no idea why. Some refer to him as the successful bidder, which would indicate that a sale or auction had gone ahead despite the legal battle being ongoing. I'm not entirely sure how he fits into it all. He doesn't seem to give a shit, but it was revealed that he had the same shady lawyers as Dubois.

 

The courts decided that Marie could legally live in the caretakers house in 2003, but through Dubois's meddling this decision was reversed in 2011, arguing that Marie had no actual proof of mental capacity. She then had to undergo a psychiatric examination to prove that she was compos mentis.

 

 

Amidst the decay and vandalism we have a few little details like this old wardrobe space, and a shelf, giving this all a glimmer of a bedroom vibe. 

 

 

In 2012, Dubois sought police assistance in evicting Marie. She was 82 at this point, and was pretty miffed. But she did have support from the locality. Many people from the nearby towns and villages, including the mayor, argued in her favour. In all these years she had obtained a reputation as someone who kept an eye on the weird manor, keeping her horses and a couple of goats on the land, occasionally emerging from the bushes with her dog to regale visitors with tales of the family history. People have gone on record saying she was nice, and "not at all like we've heard," which would imply some sort of slander campaign was going on. The argument has been made that if Dubois was confirmed to be the legal owner of the property then Marie should be reimbursed for the upkeep.

Alas, it was not to be. Instead one of her horses was murdered. It was found with broken ribs and a huge gash on its side, 50cm long and 10cm deep. The official story was "It might have fallen."

Fallen on what?? A machete???

That poor horse must have been in agony. 

 

And this is what I mean when I say that people want this manor a little too much. I mean, if Marie is to be believed then there's a huge conspiracy with a network of criminals, whose machinations brought about the death of the original owners, falsified documents about who was the new legal owners, and then murdered a horse just to drive away the opposition. This manor is spectacular but is it really worth all that? 

 

 

Externally spectacular, anyway. Internally it's all a bit generic. 

 

In 2015 there was another rave here, paying tribute to the rave of the 1990s. Police counted 140 vehicles, estimating about 500 people in attendance. A letter to the prime minister accused Marie of organising the rave and putting people in danger again, saying that she was long-suffering but continuing to complicate her own existence. It also rather curiously said that the mafia were dying of laughter, but I think that might have been a facetious statement based on Marie's own accusations.

 

And that seemingly brought about the end of the case. In 2016, after all that drama, the council obtained the estate to build a coastal path, the same one that enabled me to approach the weird manor from the nearby town, and that was that. The Manor seems to be merely ornamental now.

 

And this just further baffles me. It's almost like some parent figure finally snapped over bickering children and said "You know what? Nobody is having that damn toy." After forty years of legal tug-of-war, which has outlived most of the people involved, what was it all for?

I don't know if Marie is still living nearby, but she'd be in her nineties now, and I certainly didn't see anyone.

It's time to head downstairs!

 

Here we have the boiler room. 

 

 

It's nice to have things to actually look at down here.  

 

The lower floor is pretty eerie. There's no light down here, but nor is there much of anything else.

 

Presumably these were bedrooms,

 

 

But then sometimes the rooms were linked to both each other and to the corridor, which hints at some other purpose. Perhaps one was a bedroom and one was a study or office. Perhaps one was a kitchen and one was a dining area. Perhaps the intent was to rent some rooms to people, so that certain chunks of the overall building could serve as their own lounge and bedroom. I have no idea what the typical layout of subterranean lairs is.

This place would make a phenomenal Airbnb.

 

 

There are a few old meter boxes down here, which hint that the downstairs served a primarily utilitarian purpose. 

 

There's a trap door in one corner that leads down to another level.

I guess I could get down there if I hung from the grab rails and clambered down the rubble, but I also had to hold my torch at the same time or do it in pitch black, so I gave it a miss.

Nevertheless, it's possible to dangle the camera down to see what's down there. There seems to be an elevator mechanism and an electric meter, but nothing else.

 

There are rumours of ghosts and curses and hidden treasures, and rooms or even entire floors that have been blocked off and hidden. One curious post claimed that there's a golden owl that was never retrieved from the building and has yet to be found. But I'm not sure how Random McRandoman on Facebook could verify what has been stolen or not. It sort of reminds me of urban explorers who claim that they were in somewhere first, just because nobody on their specific facebook circle has posted photos before. Just because you didn't see it, doesn't mean it didn't happen. The urbex world is not without its solipsism.

 

Here we have the bottom of the elevator. 

 

 

"Everything will end by returning to the..." 

The sentence is unfinished.

 

 

And this room, which has clearly had a fire of some sort, is the room directly beneath the central fireplace upstairs. And I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I mean, this is a house whose identity hinges on symbolism, with the upstairs fireplace drawing a lot of attention to itself. I had kinda hoped for more from its subterranean equivalent.

 

 

There's a big metal thing over there, next to a door that leads to this rooms ensuite, but that's about it. 

 

And finally we have this door, which was bricked up, but reopened with a cute pile of rubble placed in front of it to facilitate scrambling through. It all looks very inviting. It would be rude not to!

The hole actually leads to the vehicle bay. This here would be where Auguste parked his Cadillac, and whatever else he planned on having. There's easily enough room for at least four or five cars. Perhaps he had a Batmobile or something.

It's kinda cool to think about. He does his shopping and drives straight under the house, parks up and strolls into his home via the basement without even having to go through the front door. I love it. 

Here's the opening ascent to the driveway, semi-bricked up.

And here we are once again outside. This is where the vehicles would enter.

I absolutely love this place. There's a very huge part of me that wishes it could be my home. I love the quirkiness. The pyramid shape, the courtyard, the fact that it overlooks the sea, the fact that a good chunk of it is subterranean and accessible via elevators. I would feel at home here.

I wouldn't kill a horse to get it, and that is what really intrigues me. People want it too much. And with rumours of freemasonry and the occult, it really does make you wonder. I mean, I can't imagine wanting this house because of anything of monetary value hidden within it. It's all been plundered now. I think the house has important symbolism and relevance in other ways that is completely lost on people who aren't in the loop. Perhaps that's occult-related. Who knows? You don't have to believe in it, but they might. What's obvious is that people wanted this place enough to kill for it. They wanted it enough to drag a legal battle out over forty years. Whatever the secrets, they've been taken to the grave and now the manor sits silently overlooking the sea.

That's all I've got from this place. I didn't want to leave and nor do I really want to finish the blog, leaving it in the past as just another thing that I've done. It feels more important than that, somehow. 

But the show must go on. 

My next blog will be jumping on the urbex bandwagon for another mortuary. Only the third time I've laid on a mortuary slab, and certainly not my last. But until then, if you like my blogs then you can keep up to date on my social media profiles. I'm using Bluesky a lot lately, but you can also find me on the shitter platforms, Facebook, Instagram, Threads and Twitter. I'm also on Vero but I'm probably the only person who is, and I'm also on Reddit. Thanks for reading!