Tales of the Urban Explorer: The Bagshaw Residence

It was to be my second visit to ‘The Bagshaw Residence’, the first being over three years beforehand.

This one had already done the rounds, been forgotten about and left in the past but as we happened to be passing the area, I dragged it out of the archives for a second look.

Locating it had been a pain in the arse, and an exercise in my patience tracking it down using the few clues the 'other explorer' had left on their now vintage post.

Whereas before, you needed to be an expert climber to get inside, today things were different after jumping over the front wall, and hastily making our way to the rear of the property, as we were greeted by this sight.

Selotaping doors and the kitchen sink to try and plug holes doesn't tend to work so well, but whoever had 'broken in' had not left it at that, removing several bricks in the process.

Ducking under, turning an abrupt right we found an awkward entrance due to the kitchen floor resembling something like quicksand.

That vicious sucking power had already half consumed the family cooker so we had to crawl along the top and try to edge down hoping clawed hands would not grab us, and pull us into the depths of the basement.

We were pleasantly rewarded with a decent Time Capsule of sorts, though one that has been thoroughly ransacked several times over.

I was to quickly learn that one Walter Bagshaw liked writing cheques, and large ones.

... 'And Sons' it says, though I have to figure out what happened to them and why they haven't claimed this detached property assuming Walter has 'popped his clogs’.

Unilever is pulling out. Was this a change of fortune for the Bagshaws? Despite the reassurance from 'Mike', those are large boots to fill.

In 1994, interest rates were fucking high…, I remember. Considering there's £36,000 only earning 2.5% interest I figure they could have made that money work a lot harder than a standard crappy business bank.

It does make a change from seeing bank accounts in the red. The Bagshaws were obviously doing OK during the nineties.

What a mess, someone has been in here not just for the quick loot but to have a hand in a little vandalism at the same time.

Why not have a couple of them? By the nineties, everyone was using printers, but these relics could well have been used within a much earlier period.

The Imperial model is quite the classic, but sadly a little rusty to spill out letters in today’s world.

Amerex is not a brand I recognise despite this type of combined 'stereo', as they were called then, being similar to what I owned at the age of around eighteen. They didn't sell this weird brand in your local Rumbelows.

This is it, home sweet home with a bottle of orange on the hearth, likely left by another explorer, as well as a dubious bottle of medicine on the edge.

While we could have sat down, put our feet up, and enjoyed the remains of that pop, sadly there would be no TV today.

Trying not to step on things, we made for the stairs adorned by Grandma's finest carpet.

Up here was a little more forlorn with the bed bases missing and only the mattresses remaining.

Given the time, I could have dug into the Bagshaw business to see what they were up to. All the paperwork was stacked in the family home.

It’s those old postcards again from different decades, that thankfully have gone out of fashion. Writing postcards and sending them to the UK, and having them arrive AFTER you return from your holiday was a complete waste of fucking time.

Walter liked his cheques. Maybe it's because he had such a lot of money in that bank of his, that he sent them out like candy.

So old, that it may turn to dust if I attempted to turn the pages.

Finding war years paraphernalia is always a blast though, especially ones about smoking and being, 'good for your health'.

There’s no point in turning those taps, no water will come out.

People make such a mess when ransacking. Do you really need to upturn large pieces of furniture while looking for stashed bank notes underneath?

We made for the lower section again, as there was still more to see.

Very comfortable I would guess, if only the TV still worked, we could have watched it, and picked up one of the many cheques floating around and imagine we were rich like Walter.

‘Calcium Borogluconate’, what a mouthful; was it for curing nymphomania, or some other psychotic tendency? Unfortunately not, it’s for the treatment of hypocalcemia in cows.

Hypocalcemia is a lack of calcium. Can't those cows drink their own milk, which is loaded with the stuff? This was getting a little weird. Why was this animal juice next to their toothpaste and shoe polish?

A fine layer of webbing lay over the precious silver jar. Don’t ask me what was inside, as I didn’t look.

The phones look little ‘nineties’, which seems to be when all the activity happened at the Bagshaws.

We departed with few answers. There is a Mrs Bagshaw, but what of those 'Sons'? The house is turning into a nightmare but could be recovered.

Did both sons drink too much of that ‘Calcium Borogluconate' and mutate into cows? The surrounding fields were full of them mooing in irritation as we left, and a couple of them were distinctly glaring in a threatening manner.

That must be it. It's always good to gain closure.

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