Writing for Fun
It Happened in the Gallery the Urbex Way - Jan Osborne
November 2014
David and his fiancée Sarah were committed urban explorers. The hobby of exploring derelict manmade structures such as abandoned properties, industrial or residential, mines or other underground works fulfilled a special need in both their psyches. He was an insurance broker and Sarah a secretary. Their work lives were safe and predictable. This was excitement: facing trespass, injury or even death clambering through the dark unknown interiors of places unfamiliar, taking videos for historical record and posting them on YouTube.
They liked to think of themselves as mature, responsible adults and adhered to the philosophy of cave explorers and hikers: take nothing but pictures; leave nothing but footprints; kill nothing but time. Today would be no different . . .
. . . or would it?
Laughing like school children they ran upstairs to their hotel room and collected the equipment necessary for today's Urbex. Loading up the car they set off for the Scottish village of Shandon, about two and a half miles from their hotel in Rhu.
Shandon House was their exploration target for today. Set in twenty two acres, near the coast, it was now owned by the Ministry of Defence due to its proximity to the submarine base at the Firth of Clyde.
They found a secluded spot in the grounds to park, near the house but hidden by trees. They did not want to draw attention to themselves and risk discovery.
Dressed sensibly with hard hats they donned rucksacks to carry essential safety equipment and provisions. Both slung powerful lamps over their shoulders and carried video cameras.
As they approached the back of the huge 19th century, turreted, baronial style mansion they were awestruck by the size and forbidding aspect of the place. Sarah shivered and clutched at David's arm. The sun had disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds and the metal shuttered windows took on a sinister aspect. Crumbling slimy, masonry and rotten wooden window frames all hidden behind rank overgrown vegetation gave the house a look of something out of a Gothic horror novel.
'It will be ok once we are inside, you'll see.' David had felt the same sense of foreboding as Sarah had as they shared a mental rapport that did not need words spoken between them for there to be total sharing of minds. He gave her a reassuring hug and taking her hand headed for a window. A few quick minutes with a screwdriver and the metal sheet over the window was loosened enough for them to gain entry and quickly pulled back into place once they were inside.
Switching on their hard hat lamps they looked around. They seemed to be in the servants' halls and kitchen area and taking film as they went they explored the ground floor rooms. Marvelling at the decaying splendour they grieved for the ravages of time and neglect. Although only built in the last century the decor was truly dark and gothic. Wood panelling prevailed although in a bad state and in many places had fallen away from rotten plaster and hung in forlorn strips of mildew.
As they entered the ballroom built at the side of the mansion Sarah gasped with delight. Large, almost floor to ceiling windows marched down the side wall and high up at the far end was a minstrels' gallery with a series of small bay windows with window seats. This small balustraded area was panelled and bestrewn with wood carvings on the walls and window seats. As the huge windows were boarded up it was hard to picture this room in its heyday but the sight must have been breathtaking.
'I must get up to that gallery and see the carvings at close hand.' Saying this Sarah, not waiting for David, trod past the remains of the fallen door in the wall and mounted the staircase with care as some were rotten. David hurried to catch up but Sarah was already in the gallery when he reached her.
'Sarah please don't rush off like that. We need to be cautious. Splitting up is not a good idea.' As he said this the floor board beneath his right foot gave way and to save himself he launched his body towards the back wall and grasped the window seat. It immediately gave way and he fell onto the floor in a crumpled heap of dust and dry rot. 'So much for our credo of leaving things as we find them' he muttered as he cautiously stood up and brushed himself down.
'Oh, my Lord. Look at this!' Sarah reached down into the broken remains of the window seat and carefully picked up a large dusty, oilskin wrapped bundle. Brushing away thick cobwebs she stared at the object. Sarah looked at David to see his reaction but instinctively knew what he was thinking. He nodded mutely, feeling the hairs rise at the nape of his neck, although he did not really know why.
Sarah carefully unwrapped the age stiffened oilskin to reveal a large metal bound wooden box. She forced back the lid against rusted hinges and gasped. Inside was a large notebook of some antiquity, stained with the passage of time but thankfully dry and, in the main, intact. Underneath was a cloth bundle tied with a faded stained ribbon. Both of them stared at each other in amazement. David was the first to move. He brushed a small space on the floor clear of detritus and gestured for them to both sit down. This done he set up the portable lights they carried to illuminate the scene as well as he could and then videoed the box and its contents. He added a commentary giving the time and place. They looked at each other and David nodded. Sarah undid the ribboned cloth bundle and nearly dropped the contents in her surprise. Sparkling in the lamplight were gold necklaces with matching bracelets, brooches, tiaras and rings. All were set with what looked like fine quality large, fiery diamonds, rubies and emeralds. They could not help themselves; they ran their trembling fingers through the hoard in shock and wonder then turned to the notebook.
Sarah opened it and found only one entry. It was a letter written in shaky copperplate writing. After reading the letter through she passed it to David without a word but with tears starting in her eyes. David read the words aloud:
To whomsoever finds this parcel and narrative
Shandon House, August 10 1848
The very act of you reading this sad tale means that I, the Hon. Phoebe Stanton has most like been murdered by my guardian, George Winston, MP.
To most people he displays only courteous, gentlemanly behaviour but to me and the servants he shows a very different and cruel aspect.
At this moment of writing I am nursing a bruised and bloodied body after enduring yet another brutal beating. The attacks are getting worse and more frequent as he is growing more desperate. His debts, due to his gambling, drinking and debauchery are mounting and he will soon be bankrupt. His only salvation is to sell my inheritance; Family jewellery bequeathed to me by my beloved mother. I loathe this man and I would rather die than tell him where I have hidden them. He thought to keep me recluse to avoid the chance of me finding a husband and the jewellery being used as a dowry but he could not prevent the Vicar's visits.
Tonight I will hide this letter with the jewels. The plan is that tomorrow night my dearest Reverend Thomas and I will elope. The jewellery is to fund our new life together in a new country, but I have a dreadful premonition that I will not live to see the fulfilment of my dreams, so I leave my Will and this plea.
If it please you to help right a great wrong done to a young person read on and you will be rewarded.
I, the Hon. Phoebe Stanton, hereby bequeath the parcel of jewellery lodged with this missive to any person releasing it from its hiding place. It is bequeathed in its entirety and not to be given, under any circumstance, to my guardian, the owner of Shandon House or any of George Winston's descendents.
You are free to use this inheritance as you will. All I humbly request is that you make enquiries into my untimely death and try to bring my guardian to account or set historical records straight.
Yours Forever in Gratitude,
The Hon. Phoebe Stanton
They solemnly photographed the letter and repacked the box.
The creed: 'Take nothing but pictures; leave nothing but footprints; kill nothing but time,' weighed heavily. What should they do?
They looked at each other, smiled and nodded.
Their minds were of one accord.
