A whole row of derelict houses, or shops… or something. I spotted this terrible-looking street a few years ago, and since then, it has only got worse.
Some of the houses were burned out, and others were in such a decaying state that they could well be considered non-recoverable.
‘Black Abbey Street’ it is named. A deadly label, no.., it’s quite boring in fact.
‘So named because the monks from ‘Kirkstall Abbey’, also known as Black Abbey, farmed here in the 13th century’
You can’t say this is not old, it’s ancient, and why was the Abbey named ‘Black Abbey’? That knowledge, I fear, has long since passed and faded from memory.
Nearby? Leeds is NOT nearby at all, and given those dates it would take those monks a long time to reach ‘Black Abbey Street’. Horse and Cart, as there was no M62 or Teslas to make travelling life easy then.
The fronts were sealed with that shiny tin stuff. Not much chance of an entrance using that method. We sauntered around this side entrance that looked extremely disused besides the all-seeing eye camera on the back wall.
Taking a chance, we climbed over the broken-down fence and gazed downward. Was that a door entrance that was severely lacking a door? It looked that way, but the only way to be sure was to descend more.
Bars at the windows..., there had to be priceless gemstones in there.
Bars at the doors were also required, but were happily missing. It didn’t take us long to get inside.
Well… so much for the promised gems. It was one massive room, almost devoid of features unless you have a fetish for traffic cones. The pallet lying against the wall could have been a previous entrance, before someone smashed the door down.
I was disappointed to say the least, but started looking more intently. In a small room filled with ash and burnt-out remnants, some written matter emerged.
An almost £4000 order from 1989, printed on a dot-matrix printer. A 021 number (Birmingham), before it turned into 0121, and VAT at 15%; the good old days?
Did they buy their stuff mail order, add a levy and then retail it out on ‘Black Abbey Street’?
Given the street is hardly town centre material, I can’t see them having a lot of customers even in 1989 when retail was much more prevalent than today.
More Kay’s printouts, I can’t figure out what they were doing besides it being a lot of stuff.
A blast from the past; Rhyll in Wales today is a complete shithole, and of similar compare to Blackpool. People used to spend a week there by the sea and send postcards to their friends. Now it’s full of drug addicts and crime. This is what people did in 1972. Spot the Welsh stamp with the dragon.
The business card is a little newer. A six number telephone means it’s probably from the nineties or later.
Is it the same sender? This time from that wonderful place in Spain, Terrormolinos. Yes, I spelt it wrong intentionally. The Hotel Samba appears to no longer exist!
What can you find if you sneak into a place such as this and dare to go in there?
…‘never mind the coat of black shit you need to remove after you have left, that’s part of the experience’…
So the pallet was not another way in; it’s a way to experience the upper levels. What upper levels, you might say? I have to agree.
Yes, maybe we would give it a miss on this occasion.
Not even some used needles dripping with heroin to photograph; bummer.
A little further down, we found another one, no door, and just so inviting…
What’s around the bend, I could make a guess.
Stairs heading up, and although it looks closed, we managed to get inside.
Not even a postcard from Blackpool, how disappointing.
‘Black Abbey Street’ was turning into one of those 3/10 explorers that we find occasionally, devoid of anything interesting.
Down the stairs, and as this was the end property, the end of the road for us.
Stand on the beer barrel and haul yourself up? No fucking chance, given the standard of what we had already seen.
Up the muddy slope; take a run and not a problem. If it’s raining, then you are going to get full of shit, that’s a fact.
Could the locations today get any worse? No, this is about as bad as they come.
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