I was surprised by the age of 'The Dover Lock Inn' after checking some history. Built around 1830, just at the start of Britain's Canal Age, this pub was likely built for those who shipped goods by the preferred method of transport of those times.
It is situated right next to the ancient Leeds/Liverpool Canal, also built around those times.
I do remember a little history from school, even though I acted like a dumbass see?
Renamed from the White Lion to the Red Lion (is this in defiance of the War of the Roses perhaps?), in 1858 I found this very old image and a short but interesting article regarding the pubs' history.
In later years (2009) it was looking more familiar and the ‘To Let’ signs tell me things were not exactly going to plan.
There are plenty of barges still floating down the Leeds/Liverpool canal and the odd pub is close to some of them. Maybe the chef had poisoned someone, or the food tasted like ground dog shit mixed with a dash of salt and pepper, and word got around?
'The Dover Lock Inn' is out of the way, and in a rural area. Pubs need to offer great food, or they close down, get boarded up, get torched, and then the likes of ME come and see what’s left. It’s a common cycle that I see often.
The one was burnt a couple of times in 2021 and has been left to slowly dissolve since. We needed to get inside and discover what was left.
Having nowhere to park beside a car park around 150 yards further down the road, we opted for that. I didn't want to dump the car on the bridge close to 'The Dover Lock Inn'.
Ignoring some canal walkers who stopped and stared open-mouthed at us climbing a surrounding wall, and then balancing on an iron bar before jumping onto the grounds, we saw a lot of boards, most of them in new condition.
While a ‘leg-up’ and going headfirst through there may seem appealing, I kind of like my bonce and would prefer it not to crack open due to the 5-foot drop on the other side.
We found our way in through a troublesome small window on the first floor which had me struggling as usual due to lack of flexibility.
The room looked like a kitchen fitted with the latest stylish 'burnt-look'. Maybe this could catch on as some short-term fad if marketed correctly.
Exiting to a larger room which was perhaps the main area and bar, things were hardly improving, though the floor appeared to be quite stable.
A toaster that managed to get very toasted with a microwave made out of today's finest vintage rust.
This corridor ended abruptly and was on the narrow side. A walk down there would guarantee you emerged much blacker than when you entered.
The ex-Kitchen was teeming with items, all severely fire damaged but not outright burnt. The fire must have been close but this room semi-escaped the main blaze.
I can't say I have ever seen Tia Maria or Thousand Island dressing in that shade before.
The far side of this room looked a little like it could have been a bar and was easily circumvented by simply veering around the large holes.
The football machine even has some colour left, colour that is not black that is. Of course, there's plenty of rust, the rain and damp will ensure that.
Could this place be saved and fixed up? It hails from 1830, probably houses a few ghosts (who as usual didn't say hello to me) and could be protected. It's quite fucked, to be honest, and would take some insanely rich madman to recover it.
It's amazing what can survive a blaze in the form of paper and a notebook with scribbles. Titanic was also saved on this occasion; that is unique.
We did find several DVDs in 'The Dover Lock Inn', though, for the most part, it was entirely burnt beside the cellar.
Yes, I did gingerly climb over all this crap, as it was the only way to get over there and the 'other side'.
Today was continuing to be a 'Day of the Burnt'. Would we set foot in any place that had escaped the raving arsonists?
Against my better judgment, I trudged up the stairs knowing from the outside view it was going to be a futile idea.
I am quite daring at times, but waking on fire-damaged beams with huge holes in between seemed more like a suicidal idea.
It was back down the stairs, avoiding the fried banister which looked like it might fall off if you stared long enough at it.
Finding some lower stairs, we both assumed this was the cellar, was larger than anticipated and with much less fire and smoke damage.
This literally was 'The Cellar', with what was once a narrow tunnel with tables and chairs and a small stage at the end, presumably once housing a cheesy comedian with racist jokes.
Fresh flowers? Hardly..!
This one was even skinnier than its ‘burnt brother’ one storey above. I wasn’t going down there just for a few colourful baubles.
We exited ‘The Dover Lock Inn’ via the same awkward window and walked around the outside, only to find another dodgy hole leading downwards.
This looked like one of the restaurant areas, with a few mugs littered about.
Compared to the main section it had fared a lot better with usable chairs and tables.
Hmmm, now look at that sauce. Don't you want to rip those sachets open with your teeth and laden them thickly on to a bacon sandwich?
Fine Food? Not anymore and maybe the lack of it was the downfall of 'The Dover Lock Inn'. We may never know.
Avoiding this leg-breaking stairway we made our way to the exit point and started climbing the wall, with a little aid from the large supporting bar.
It was an explore, a history lesson, a suicide run if you want to explore the upper story, but otherwise just another fire-bombed pub.
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