Follow My Tracks

Clapham Common – not far from where I am but so close to the city that it overspills and some of that vibrancy lands here. The night was a bit of a fail. The group had turned out to be larger than planned, one place we wanted to see was sealed and undo-able without enough action to make what we do a criminal offence and so that was not happening tonight.

The other – an epic – magical doorway into another world had been sealed and try as we might it was not doable.

We were starting to disband. Two new friends headed to the tube as responses to texts requesting further ideas had come up with absolutely nothing. I was about to walk towards the station myself when someone shouted that they had an idea.

We crept down the dark streets to The Greenway. There lit up like a Christmas tree stood a temple to everything that was great about Victorian architecture and engineering. The temple although having been recently open was now sealed. Through the window we looked at the great machines that were resigned to their fate of pumping the city’s shit through deep brick tunnels.

We stepped out in a light. Silver steel lids glinted in the glow and it is these we approached. A small click and the lid swung back revealing a ladder going down into the pitch black. I could see nothing in that hole. We descended into the dark and with a click the lid was pulled shut over us and torches came on. We came to the first platform and looked around us in with the pale beams of light.

If the building above was a temple this was a tomb… or a prison. Some great monster could have lived here, been lured down by the cities ancient founders and imprisoned, promised a wealth of food and regular sacrifice only to find it is shit on every moment of every day, the great joke on the green-eyed greedy beast.

The occasional rumble only emphasised the idea…

We descended from platform to platform down the great ladder, lifting heavy steel trapdoors and then we were at the bottom. A great smelling pit stood below us and the last ladder vanished into the swill. Across from us a hole and a wooden ladder that with some coercing was pulled across enough for us to reach it. The risk of falling and being swallowed whole was great. Who knew what lay beneath, something with tentacles? Something with teeth?

We found ourselves in the smooth stone tunnel, the floor covered in a black bubbling sludge, the slime of the beast. We walked through the cuverd, carved worm hole for some great unending distance, a labrynth with no turnings, but no goal, dark step after dark step. We walked and lost time and walked more until the decision was made to turn around. The long road back lay before us, and we trudged back to the ladder, crossed the great moat-way and hauled our weary asses up to the hatch and back into the fresh air.

I needed a shower – it was time to go home. I made it to bed at 3:15 and the alarm would go off less than two hours later to wake me for work.

So a friend at work had been trying to get in to see paddock for some time. Before he mentioned it to me, I had never heard of it. Then I found out that it was a Sub Brit trip and there seems to be some kind of animosity between Sub Brit and other Urbexers… Sorry – not enough to stop me going along to have a look for myself.

So Mr K and I turned up this particularily blustery May morning and had to wait by the tube for Ms M’s mother and grandmother (Ms M would not be attending). We strolled off towards the bunker, through the park, stopping for coffee along the way and it was all very civil.

Mr K was lugging his camera – a beast in terms of filming equipment, but he hopes to make a short film of our day trip to be able to show the other people at work. I had my 350D tucked into my bag but hadn’t bought my tripod with us as this was to be a group tour.

We arrived at the bunker and were handed hard hats and wrist bands (which we are told not to lose on pain of many things). Some poor woman has decided that Crocs are appropriate exploring footware and is digging around for plastic bags to wrap her feet in.

When everyone is ready, we descend what feels like the standard issue millitary/governmet stair case for the time but a bit longer, and then we’re in.

We’re given the potted history of the place, right up to the houses being built over it, cracking the foundations and now requiring two pumps to keep the water at bay during our visit. We would come across these later and be a little concerned by the noises one in particular was making.

This was very much a tourist trip and the Sub Brit team did a great job of entertaining the crowds and our friends family members whilst Mr K and I tried to go about our respective projects. The bunker is huge and it was easy enough to hang back and try to take the odd interesting photo. I was kicking myself about not bringing the tripod.

We worked our way through both levels and past many a taped off door and then it was all very quickly over.

There are two days a year that Paddock is open to the public by Sub Brit but the future of the site is uncertain. Mr K and I on retreating to the pub on the way home have decided that it would be well worth making a return visit and seeing if we can get permission to make a bit more of a serious affair of the day.

For my first Sub Brit trip I can see no reason why they get such a bad PR job in the Urbex world. Ok – they are the slightly more mature members of our little society but they are passionate about what they do and present a gold mine of information and lets be honnest, they organise trips to places that we can’t just hop the fence into. Look them up!

Tig