A more post-apocalyptic re-edit of the television shot from Furhouse Manor, inspired by Fallout 3.

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Before we left we had one more room to see, dubbed “the green room” by other explorers, for obvious reasons.  Getting into it was a bit of a pain, as we had to inch our way along the edge of a giant hole in the floor in the foyer in order to get through the door.  This room didn’t have as much clutter lying around as the others, and was one of the better preserved rooms.  We found more newspapers, more pictures of cows, a small toy model of the Titanic, an old cheque book, and most interestingly a certificate of baptism dated Christmas Day, 1938.   The furniture in this room is in amazing shape, the cushions on the chairs still firm and comfortable.  Next to the fireplace are a number of walking canes, all in perfect shape and planted in the most bizarre cane holder with a monkey on it.   The TV is not a part of the green room, but is found upstairs and doesn’t fit with any of the photo sets.  The last shot is a partial view of the front of the house. We left the same way we came in, and the bull had laid down in his hay pile, his indifferent gaze following us as we left.

All in all? The experience of a lifetime!  I’ve been in love with derelict buildings for as long as I can remember, in awe of their grim beauty.  Whilst I’ve been on a few other urban exploring excursions, nothing has topped this manor… and I have a feeling nothing ever will.   This is a  jackpot, a rare and beautiful and awe inspiring find, one that has remained untouched by vandals and thieves, one that will hopefully remain standing for years to come so others, those brave enough to hop the fence and get past the bull, may appreciate this amazing house.

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After Alicja and I were done in the library we made our way back downstairs and into the music room, where we found a piano, a record player, and a pipe organ.  Like the other rooms we had seen, this one was littered with all sorts of things, from hats to candlesticks to old papers.   And, quite uniquely, lots and lots of pictures of cows.  The office is through the music room and out the back, where we found a desk stacked with books on animal husbandry, logs of cattle breeding, pocket-sized guides on milk pasteurization, and letters of correspondence.  Photos of cows were everywhere.  The original owner bred many types of cattle, including the Aberdeen Angus, the breed to which our lovely “guard bull” out front present day belongs.

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We doubled-back down the hall from the children’s room and continued on through an archway of heavy, carved wood, making our way into the library.   When I had begun researching this abandoned manor  this was the room I looked forward to most, and we weren’t disappointed.  Hundreds upon hundreds of volumes, some in perfect shape and others little more than a pile of pulp from where they’d weathered moisture and mildew for decades.  The oldest volumes we found are pictured above, dating back to the 1860s.  Much like the other wood in the house, the floor to ceiling book shelves are all hand-carved, each of the doors still sporting its glass windows.  We also found a collection of newspapers from the 30s, 40s, and 50s, all in remarkable condition.

We spent the majority of our time browsing the old volumes, checking for dates, reading passages, and marveling at these treasures, rotting away to dust in this gorgeous, derelict building.

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We ascended the staircase to the first floor (that’s the 2nd floor in US terms) hands firmly on the wooden rail in the vain hope that, should the whole thing start to collapse, the railing would save us. We made our way down a dark hall and crawled through another hole knocked into a locked door, human cat flap style. Once inside we discovered we were standing in what would have been the children’s bedroom or, at the very least, playroom. Jigsaw pieces littered the floor among plastic and wooden figures belonging to a hundred and one different board games. We found letters from Granny, post cards, an acrylic art set, countless toys and illustrated books.

Although I’m not sure which is more off-putting: the creepy, beat up pram sitting in the corner of the room or the dead bird lying in it’s own wire bird cage, now rusted with age.   It’s as though the family picked up and left in the middle of the night, forgetting about poor Polly!

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