Echoes in Stone: Exploring the Forgotten Beauty of Wainhouse Terrace

 There are places that whisper stories of the past, their stones imbued with the echoes of lives lived and forgotten. Wainhouse Terrace in King Cross, Halifax, is one such place. Tucked away near the impressive Wainhouse Tower, this intriguing structure, often overlooked, offers a captivating glimpse into Victorian ambition and nature's relentless embrace.

Walking along what was once a grand promenade, you can't help but feel a sense of serene melancholy. The sturdy stone walls, once meticulously maintained, now bear the marks of time and weather. Overgrown pathways, with creeping vines and wild grasses reclaiming the carefully laid bricks, lead you deeper into its forgotten corridors. Sunlight filters through the leafy canopy, casting dappled shadows on decaying facades and hinting at the structure's former glory.

The architectural details are still striking – the robust columns, arched doorways, and intricate stonework speak of a time when craftsmanship was paramount. Yet, juxtaposed against this solid construction is the pervasive sense of decay. Broken flagstones lie scattered, testament to the years of neglect. Staircases, some spiralling into hidden depths, beckon the curious, while others lead to nowhere, their purpose long since lost to the overgrowth.

Perhaps the most poignant aspect is the way nature has intertwined itself with the man-made. Trees sprout from unexpected crevices, their roots slowly but surely asserting their dominance. Greenery cascades over walls and through empty window frames, transforming the rigid lines of the architecture into a softer, wilder landscape. It's a powerful reminder of nature's ability to reclaim, to soften edges, and to eventually, gracefully consume.

Even with its current state of disrepair, Wainhouse Terrace holds a unique allure for those drawn to urban exploration, forgotten places, and the beauty of decay. It’s a photographer's dream, with its dramatic contrasts of light and shadow, the starkness of stone against the vibrancy of green. And in the distance, often peering through the trees, the iconic Wainhouse Tower stands as a stoic sentinel, a silent witness to the passage of time and the changing fortunes of its smaller, more intimate neighbour.

Wainhouse Terrace isn't just a collection of old buildings; it's a testament to history, a canvas for nature's artistry, and a place that invites contemplation about the transient nature of human endeavours. If you find yourself in Halifax, venture off the beaten path and discover the quiet, captivating beauty of this forgotten gem. You might just find yourself lost in its echoes, and all the richer for the experience.

I took these pictures on the 3rd October 2017 with a Nikon d3300, clicking on any of them should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

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A Glimpse into the Past: Old Lane Mill's Enduring Legacy

 Towering over Ovenden, Old Lane Mill stands as a powerful, silent witness to the industrial revolution that forged the identity of Halifax. Built in 1825, this mill is more than just an old building; it is a vital piece of history—the oldest surviving multi-storey, steam-powered, iron-framed textile mill in Halifax, and quite possibly, the entire UK.

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A Monument to Innovation

The mill was the brainchild of James Akroyd, a true visionary who was unafraid to embrace new technology. He incorporated ground breaking features for the time, including an iron frame and stone floors, which were essential to support the massive weight of the Jacquard looms he installed just two years after the mill's construction in 1827. These looms were the very first of their kind in Britain, and their arrival at Old Lane Mill marked a significant leap forward in textile production.

Despite its innovative, "fireproof" design, the mill was not invincible. A large fire tore through the building in 1905, causing extensive damage. Yet, the mill persevered, changing hands and purposes throughout the 20th century, even becoming part of the larger Dean Clough Mill complex.

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The Mill Today

Today, Old Lane Mill stands in a state of dereliction, its empty shell a haunting reminder of a bygone era. The ravages of time and vandalism are evident, but the building still whispers stories of its past. The stripped-out machinery and the distinctive features of the large engine house offer a compelling glimpse into the heart of what was once a thriving, bustling hub of industry.

The future of Old Lane Mill is uncertain, with its historical significance making it a subject of ongoing preservation efforts. Whether it will be lovingly restored or repurposed for a new life, the mill undoubtedly deserves to be cherished as an integral piece of Halifax's textile heritage.

Please note: The building is in an unsafe state. It is not recommended to enter or explore Old Lane Mill. The exterior photos featured in this post were taken from a safe, ground-level position. For a look inside, you can find excellent videos and photos from urban explorers online.

I was in the area on the 15th April 2015 and visited the mill. The pictures were taken using a polaroid is2132 bridge camera, clicking on any of them should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

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A Forgotten Farmhouse: A Walk Along the Calder and Hebble Navigation

Sometimes the best discoveries are made by accident. While walking from Cooper Bridge to Brighouse, tracing a route along the scenic Calder and Hebble Navigation, I stumbled upon a building that time seems to have left behind. Tucked away on a track that crosses the railway, I found this abandoned farmhouse, a poignant and beautiful relic of a forgotten past.

With the gates clearly locked, I didn't want to trespass. Instead, I stood on the track and took these pictures from a distance, capturing the building's quiet dignity. The stone walls and weathered roof told a story of a life that once thrived here, now replaced by an eerie silence. The building stands in a state of decay, with broken windows and overgrown foliage hinting at the years of neglect.

Despite its condition, the farmhouse retains a powerful, melancholic beauty. It's a reminder of a time before the railway and the canal dominated the landscape, when this place was a home, a farm, a living part of the countryside. This unexpected find was a highlight of my walk, a chance encounter with a piece of local history that invites you to wonder about the people who once lived and worked here.

These photos, taken in May 2023, capture the essence of this solitary building, a peaceful and compelling monument to the passage of time.

Clicking any of the images below should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

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Revisited: A Glimpse into Britain's Hidden War History

I've always been fascinated by the quiet, unassuming places that hold powerful stories from our past. Years ago, I visited the remains of a World War II Operation Starfish site near Sowerby. On August 16, 2022, armed with a much better camera—my Nikon D3300—I decided to return, knowing that while the scenery would be the same, the story it told would feel just as poignant.

And in many ways, nothing had changed. The sprawling moorland landscape remained a beautiful, desolate expanse. The old brick bunker, a silent sentinel on the hill, was exactly as I remembered it. The only real difference was the unfortunate addition of more rubbish and a bit of minor damage to the brickwork, a sad mark left by time and neglect.

This remote spot was once part of a crucial large-scale deception plan known as Operation Starfish. Developed by Colonel John Turner after the devastating bombing of Coventry in November 1940, the plan was a brilliant, if simple, ruse to protect Britain's cities. The idea was to create large-scale decoys that would mimic the glow of bombed-out cities and industrial targets, tricking German bombers into dropping their payloads in harmless, open countryside.

The sites were strategically located about four miles from their intended targets. In the fields surrounding the bunker, metal troughs were hidden, ready to be filled with a volatile mix of creosote, coal, and diesel oil. When enemy bombers were overhead, these troughs would be set alight, creating a convincing imitation of a city on fire. After a short period—usually about 15 minutes—water would be added to the fire, causing a burst of flames and smoke that mimicked a secondary explosion, signaling a direct hit to the bombers flying high above.

The Sowerby site was specifically designed to be a decoy for major industrial centers and railway junctions. Its blazing fires would have been intended to lure bombers away from the cities of Manchester and Leeds, as well as the vital railway goods yards in nearby Greetland, Halifax, Todmorden, Littleborough, and Rochdale.

At the heart of the operation was a two-room bunker, which, remarkably, still stands today. Protected by a blast wall, it would have been a small, claustrophobic space where the brave men operating the decoy would have lived and worked, orchestrating the fiery deception. The images I took, particularly those from inside the bunker, show a space now filled with rubble and rubbish, a stark contrast to the purpose it once served. Yet, even in its neglected state, you can feel the history, the tension, and the ingenuity that once existed within those walls.

These hidden relics of Operation Starfish serve as powerful reminders of the lengths to which a nation will go to defend itself. They are memorials not of grand battles, but of quiet, strategic brilliance, and of the forgotten individuals who played a crucial part in protecting their country.

Clicking any of the images below should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography store on Zazzle.

The blast door pictured in front of the bunkers main entrance

Inside the bunker on the left hand side of the entrance is this former control
room. Now filling up with rubbish that has been left behind.

Looking north over the bunker. In the foreground can be seen some
brickworks, probably housed washrooms and generators. Their isn't much
evidence of the site ever being linked to mains electric.

The former control room to the right hand side of the entrance.

Looking west away from the bunkers entrance, taken from the roof I
assume the site in front of me would have housed the metal pans
that created the dummy lighting effect.

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Lost to the Trees: Unearthing History in Jumble Hole Clough

There’s a unique feeling that comes from stumbling upon a forgotten corner of history, a place where nature has begun to reclaim what was once a bustling part of human life. On May 4, 2022, I had one of those moments while walking through Jumble Hole, a wooded valley that meanders down from Blackshaw Head toward Eastwood, tucked between Hebden Bridge and Todmorden.

The valley is carved by the Jumble Hole Clough, a waterway historically known as Blackshaw Clough. This stream is more than just a scenic feature; it's a boundary steeped in history, traditionally marking the line between the counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire. More importantly, it was the lifeblood of a small, industrious community. Its waters once powered several mills, and scattered dwellings lined its banks, housing the people who worked and lived there. The stream even had a spiritual significance, used for baptisms by the nearby Nazebottom Baptist Church.

As I followed a path alongside the water, I passed over an old stone bridge, its arch gracefully spanning the clough. The sound of the water cascading over the rocks and a small waterfall was a peaceful soundtrack to the green, moss-covered landscape. But my eyes were drawn away from the rushing water and towards the hillside. Tucked into the lush greenery, I saw the stone remains of a building, a silent witness to a time gone by.

I had to investigate. Pushing through the undergrowth, I found myself standing before the ruins of what was once a home. The most striking feature was a stone fireplace, still standing strong despite the roof and walls having long since collapsed. Covered in a thick layer of green moss and surrounded by new growth, it felt like a monument to a lost world. The fireplace, once the warm heart of a home, now stands open to the elements, a somber reminder of a community that faded into history.

Exploring Jumble Hole Clough is like stepping back in time. It’s a place where the past isn't just a story in a book; it’s a tangible presence, waiting to be rediscovered by those who take the time to wander off the beaten path. These forgotten ruins and stone bridges serve as a powerful link between the valley’s industrial past and its wild, beautiful present.

Clicking any of the pictures below should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography on Zazzle.

Inside the abandoned dwelling I found. This artwork is based on
a photo that can be seen below.

Jumble Hole Clough.

Jumble Hole Clough, the abandoned dwelling is just to the right
of the picture.

Another artwork of the inside of the abandoned dwelling.

The abandoned dwelling, it was the top of the fireplace, just visible
that made me go and take a look around.

Jumble Hole Clough weir.

The photo of the fireplace my artworks are based on.

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Old Lane Mill: A Haunting Reminder of Halifax's Industrial Past

Perched above the Ovenden Valley in Halifax, a remarkable ruin stands as a silent sentinel to a bygone era. Old Lane Mill, a towering stone structure with gaping windows and a prominent chimney, isn't just another abandoned building; it's a piece of living history. Built in 1825 by visionary textile manufacturer James Akroyd, this mill holds the distinction of being the oldest surviving multi-story, steam-powered, iron-framed textile mill in Halifax, and quite possibly, the entire United Kingdom.

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A Glimpse into the Past

Old Lane Mill was a marvel of its time, a testament to industrial innovation. Akroyd wasn't content with traditional building methods. He pioneered the use of a cutting-edge iron frame and durable stone floors to support the massive weight of his newly acquired Jacquard looms—the first to be used in Britain. These revolutionary looms allowed for the creation of intricate patterns and marked a pivotal moment in textile production.

Despite its sturdy construction, the mill wasn't entirely fireproof. A devastating fire in 1905 caused significant damage, but the mill was resilient and continued to operate, changing hands and adapting over the decades. It even became a part of the larger Dean Clough Mill complex for a time, a testament to its enduring legacy.

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The Present and the Future

Today, Old Lane Mill is a dramatic and poignant sight. Time and vandalism have taken their toll, leaving the building a hollow shell. Yet, even in its derelict state, the mill retains a powerful presence. The broken roof, empty window frames, and the massive engine house with its soaring chimney tell a story of a once-thriving industrial heart. Nature is slowly reclaiming the site, with trees and shrubs sprouting from the walls and a peaceful brook, the Ovenden Brook, flowing beneath the mill's remains, as if a life-giving force in the midst of decay.

The future of Old Lane Mill is uncertain, but there is hope. Its historical significance has made it a priority for preservation efforts. Whether it's ultimately restored or repurposed, it's clear that this mill deserves to be remembered and honoured. It stands as a profound reminder of Halifax's rich textile heritage and the ingenuity of those who built its industrial foundation.

I took these pictures on the 15th April 2015 with a Polaroid is2132 camera. Clicking anyone of them should open a link in another window to my Colin Green Photography Store on Zazzle.

The water outlet stands just to the south of Old Lane Mill, it carries
the Ovenden Brook underneath the mill and probably provided some 
of the power source for the mill historically.

Please take a moment to share this post, follow me on social media, and explore my work on Clickasnap and Photo4Me using the links below. Your support means a lot!

All the pictures remain the copyright of Colin Green. Please don't take the approach of an estate agent who a few years ago was marketing the mill and decided to use my pictures without permission, suitable recompense and no credit. The not even bothering to credit me really was the most annoying bit.