This is a write-up of an exploration that took place last year. I’ve only just got around to publishing it on my Pyestock website.
This narrative is a simple account of the day’s events. This is because my Pyestock website is split into two parts: a history and description of the site itself; and the tales of our urban exploration.
So, this is part of the urban exploration section...
(Note: the 'best' photographs taken during the day were selected for the main part of the Pyestock website. Therefore this piece is illustrated with rejected shots or second-best pictures. But it gives an idea of what's there).
"I really don’t mind you dicking around on that hoist, but I’m here to take a few photographs." It was fairly late in the afternoon and my fourth trip to Pyestock was becoming a little frustrating. Marlon and Tom had found an emergency hoist in the gantry crane of the Power Station, and Tom was debating whether to give it a try. He'd uncoiled the rope so Marlon could test it at ground level by putting his full weight on it.
I was worried that Tom would simply plunge straight down from the cab after coiling the mechanism back up and jumping from the canopy; but I was more concerned about the sheer amount of noise they were making.
Therefore I left them to it. I finished photographing the ground floor of the Power Station and made my way into the offices to the north of the building. Tom and Marlon eventually reappeared looking a little sheepish. I couldn’t really blame them: Marlon’s camera was being repaired so he was making do with an old film camera with hardly any features. (We would joke occasionally about his "analogue" camera, it’s ridiculously noisy timer and having to wind the film on). But he was making do with the best he had. Tom suffered battery problems; his camera refused to work with the brand new AA batteries he’d bought for it. (A similar fate happened to me at Cane Hill and RAF Upwood and both explorations were never written up). Therefore the guys amused themselves in different ways - hence the winch.
"Why don’t you go up on the roof?" At the end of the corridor a ladder lead invitingly through a skylight onto the roof. I was going to try it later but I wanted to take a look through some of the last offices. They had all been stripped but the view was magnificient: it looked over the former Fairways Transformer Park towards another huge building stuffed full of pipes and ductwork (which I later discovered to be the Battle Test House). Like almost every building at Pyestock it was huge, unique and intriguing.
The old metal framed windows wouldn’t budge. I was trying to open one as they were too dirty to take a photograph through. Overhead the whir of a helipopter's blades started to cut through the silence. We’d heard helicopters before and I always assumed they were en-route to Farnborough airfield which was next door. But these were loud. And getting louder. And suddenly I really started to worry.
I ran back to the corridor. "Guys, get off that roof..." Marlon and Tom were still in the corridor, eyes wide, listening to the chop of the blades which were now overhead. "How low is that helicopter?"
I sneaked back into the front office. The helicopter roared over, very low, and then started a slow arcing turn over Battle Test House to face the Power Station. It was fitted with a huge search light, was jet black and bore no markings. "This doesn’t look good."
I bolted back into the corridor where we all stood motionless and listened to the growl of the helicopter as it arced around the Power Station and passed slowly overhead again.
All the messing around with the crane was completely forgotten.
This was my fourth trip to Pyestock and I was really looking forward to it. The weather was going to be fine all day, albeit a little windy, but excellent for photography. Tom, of course, was half an hour late so we were delayed for our meeting with Marlon in the car park.
There was the usual dilemma of how to approach the site. Given the good light, I was anxious to re-take some of my previous photographs especially the sun-setting through the Air House. We also wanted to show Tom our discoveries from our previous trip, namely Number 10 Exhauster and Cell 3 West. And everyone was anxious to find the Power Station and the building with the plane in it. From viewing other explorers' pictures, and tallying them up with my own knowledge of the site, and assuming such postings were sequential, I had a vague idea of where they might be. But it was generally agreed to go south and deeper into the site.
Soon we were in "no-mans' land": the rough scrub between the perimeter fence and the buildings proper. It wasn’t the best of locations to be in as some of the windows from Sigma overlooked our route, but it was a significant distance away and worth taking the risk. However, we weren’t prepared to see someone actually standing outside Sigma.
"Shit, there’s someone there. Freeze."
The lone figure turned and disappeared from view now hidden behind Number 10 Exhauster.
In the meantime, we'd taken the opportunity to dive into a large laurel bush which conveniently stood between us and Number 10 Exhauster.
"Who was that?"
"Don’t know. Doubt he was Sigma. He walked into Pyestock itself. Must be security."
We peered around the bush but saw nothing through the visual cacophony of Pyestock. We weren’t going to give up in the slightest.
"We’ll give him five minutes and then move on." If he was security then he’d be on his rounds and simply waiting would mean he’d be out of the area. It also helped that the buildings were clanking and banging in the wind so our footsteps would be drowned out. After an uncomfortable wait and a quick run later we found ourselves in Number 10 Exhauster.
The light was superb although it was a little more noisy then usual. The whole building echoed and banged; the easterly wind whipped up the loose metal panels and slammed them back and forward. Although a little unsettling, it offered us lots of protection; any noise we made was covered by the bedlam around us.
I was quickly up the stairways and along the gantries, taking repeat shots but reaping the benefit of the better light. After ten minutes, I noticed something: "Marlon, where’s Tom? Did he come in?”
I didn’t want Tom wondering around outside looking for us with a potential security guard on the prowl. I quickly gathered my items together to go out and find him but Marlon offered a much better solution: "I’ll call him."
With Tom duly directed back to our location, I moved back into the control room to get my last shots and practise some close-up work. Through the door of the control room, I could look into the glass lined stairwell opposite Sigma: their doors were open and there were several cars in the car park. Obviously very active.
I quickly and quietly worked around the control panel taking several replacement shots and many new ones. As I did, the door from the stairwell behind me slowly opened. My thoughts were rapid: Who the hell is this? They’ve come in from the Sigma side. Get ready to have a good explanation for being here. Oh ...
It was Tom.
"Have you just walked up that stairwell in full sight of Sigma?"
"Yeah."
"Bloody hell."
"Anyway, do you want a beer?"
It was one o’clock and I’d already had my nerves tested. A drink would be wonderful thank you. So after having our nerves shattered, and now a warm beer, we were far more relaxed. In fact, considering we’d almost walked into someone already, we were quite brazen. Back into the warm sunshine, we left the banging Number 10 Exhauster and walked directly to Cell 3 West.
Tom seemed more interested in the compound and towers to the west so we spent some time crawling over those. Literally. The spiral staircases gave an excellent view of Cell 3 West and the buildings in our vicinity.
However our brazen climbing was noticed and we were quickly rumbled.
When I noticed the two figures walking across to us I wasn’t at all worried. They weren’t dressed as security and both were carrying cameras and rucksacks: the universal disguise of the urban explorer.
It turned out one of them had brazenly walked down the road to Sigma and turned left sharpish into the derelict Pyestock site when he realised there were cars parked outside. "I didn’t even know there were active buildings here" he explained. However, I suddenly realised this was the guy we’d seen and so hurriedly hid to avoid. Laughs all round. Did they know where the plane was? Or the Power Station? No, they were new to the site. We exchanged farewells and pushed on.
The mass of pipes emerging from the Air House was our next target. Whilst we worked well in pairs, it appeared our triple was a little less organised and we all disappeared into the maze of blue pipework individually. Not for the last time keeping our little team together was like herding cats.
I took a spiral staircase up the side of the CECA Plant but found the view disappointing and there was far too much piping in the way (the usual problem with Pyestock). I met Marlon on my way down and then bumped into Tom as I was investigating the catwalks which traversed the eight huge pipes from the Air House.
It was proving to be extremely fruitful and even on my fourth trip I was finding new parts in buildings and areas previously unexplored. Tom suggested trying a door in the side of the Air House and I ventured in.
Suddenly it got very dark and cold. Pigeons cooed in the darkness and the place was rank with pigeon shit. I quickly found a torch and found myself in the depths of the Air House, a cavern which stretched the entire length of the building which housed pipes, gauges and equipment. Somehow we’d all managed to miss this before.
The pigeon messed areas appeared to be for storage and were partitioned with chicken wire fences. Old fridges, desks and chairs, now covered in guano didn’t inspire us and the smell was terrible, but we found several old Christmas trees amusing; they were both out of place and out of season. Further into the mesh of pipes revealed pits where the pipes connected through from the compressors above us to the blue pipe array which eventually led outside. It was cold and stank.
Marlon followed me in and we set up some shots before deciding to venture into the turbine hall of the Air House above us. Just as we were leaving, the door at the far end of the corridor opened and a figure walked in. He paused. No doubt his eyes were still acclimatizing to the darkness of this pit, but he didn’t seem too worried about us.
Marlon and I simply continued partway down the corridor and then crossed into one of the pits in the main turbine hall. We simply assumed the figure was one of the guys we’d met previously.
Inside the turbine hall the normally quiet Air House was loud and noisy. Given the wind, loose metal was flapping and banging against the side of the building, but there were also the additional noises of footsteps and voices. I set up a shot to try and capture the depth of this engine bed and the height of the ceiling above me. We weren’t concerned about the noise now; so far we’d seen nothing at Pyestock to be worried. Although there had been dramas every trip, they’d all been unfounded in the end; we’d never seen security let alone have to take precautions.
Our approach to being seen was getting laxer and laxer and we were now getting stupid and sloppy. And, from past experience, this would be our downfall.
Later on in the day as we cowered in the Power Station listening to the rhythmic thud of the chopper blades I wondered if our luck had finally run out. The helicopter was now over Battle Test House, low and motionless.
"Do you think they have heat sensors?"
"Do you mean they can detect us in here?"
"I don’t know. Perhaps we should hide in the engine bed in the main turbine hall?"
The whine of the helicopter changed and it slowly banked west, moving to the side of the Power Station. I was planning escape routes, but we were literally on the other side of the site from our entrance point. It was a long, hard run. And until we made it to the Air House and Cell 4, it would be mostly across open ground.
We would have to sit it out.
Earlier that day, the turbine hall of the Air House was warm and familiar. Once out of the dark, cold, dirty chambers, we were back in the blue tinged, airy and light turbine hall. Unexpectedly it was very noisy with lots of bangs and thuds so Marlon and I were cautious, quiet and slow.
Initially the turbine hall appeared empty but we soon spied two figures on the crane gantry. Not wanting to spoil their pictures, I took advantage of the good light to leave the turbine hall and take some more photographs of the control room. And then it struck me.
"Marlon, those two lads on the gantry are the ones we met earlier aren’t they?"
He nodded.
"So… who was it at the end of that dark corridor downstairs?"
"Dunno."
Well, whoever that was didn’t seem too concerned about us. I checked out the white boards in the control room. Perhaps our mystery explorer had signed in. Whilst the main board was completely covered in meaningless scribbles, another white board was still being neatly filled in. Three explorers had signed the previous Sunday but no-one else had added anything since.
“Can you phone Tom? Tell him we’re in the Air House control room. I think it’s time to move on, it’s getting very crowded in here."
Tom duly reappeared grinning widely. "Dudes. I’ve just been on the roof. We should have lunch up there."
This was an excellent idea. Ever since I noticed the exhausts stacks had catwalks and handrails on their summets, I knew there was probably a way onto the roof. And that would allow some excellent high shots of the site.
So we all agreed it would be a good idea and left the banging loud turbine hall and the two explorers on the gantry, and made our way outside. Via some external steps, we were soon on the lower flat roof and walking to the second set of steps to the main turbine hall roof.
As I started to climb the second set of steps I looked north. As expected, I was in full view of Sigma. Unexpectedly there was someone outside, who walked back inside as I watched. Had I been seen? I remained motionless on the ladder, the wind whipping up around me, roaring in my ears. If I’d been seen, then it would take them five minutes to get out here. Five minutes would be enough to get on the roof, get pictures, get off and disappear again into the depths of Pyestock.
Once on the roof, I quickly made my way to the exhaust vents. The view was superb but the wind was now howling and the pipes themselves were uttering a low gutteral moan as the wind whipped over them. The hand rail was making it difficult to compose any shots of Pyestock but I managed to get a couple.
Tom and Marlon were now alongside and Tom had pulled out some fresh crusty bread and humus. One of the perks of urban exploration: eating lunch in utterly bizarre places.
I took a shot and then noticed something. "Oh damn, that’s security isn’t it?" Marlon came over. "What?" he yelled above the wind. "There. That gatehouse office. That’s security. We’re in full bloody view of them." Not that I’d ever approached that section of the site yet, but the gatehouse looked active and the barrier was down. Security had to be there otherwise QinetiQ and Sigma employees wouldn’t be able to get off the site.
So far, we’d been potentially seen by a Sigma employee and security. And for some reason, we were all so relaxed that it really didn’t seem to bother us enough to make us leave the Air House roof. Anyway, it was warm and sunny, if not a little bleak, and Tom’s impromptu lunch was certainly tasty.
A police siren sounded in the distance. “Guys….” The siren got louder. “OK, right, we’re leaving this roof now.”
Normally distant police sirens wouldn’t concern me in the slightest, but coupled with the fact we were on a roof limited our options somewhat. I wanted to get back on terra firma with the three degrees of freedom that allowed. Not cornered on a roof. With a crusty loaf. And some humus. That would be too silly for words.
"Let's eat in the Plant House control room."
Fifteen minutes later we were lazing about in the Control Room, which was much more snug, warm and welcoming. As the sun shone through the window, we pulled up some chairs and settled down to our Enid Blytoneque feast of lashings and lashings of bread, humous, carrot cake and the final bottle of beer.
Our two fellow explorers also appeared, looking slightly incredulous atthe barmy scene in front of them, but after the excitement of the Air House roof, we were very chilled. It was also a bonus for Marlon as he’d not seen this building and he busied himself by talking a few shots of the various galleries and heavy plant littered around the building.
I made a more thorough search of the filing cabinets and found a document describing the function, layout and building of the Plant House. As I photographed its pages, I soon discovered the Plant House’s function, its relationship with the other surrounding buildings and how Pyestock developed. It seemed that the whole site gradually grew and evolved and didn’t spring up in one furious building spree. It also explained why some buildings looked far more dilapidated and run down than others.
Tom had finally given up in digust with his batteries and camera. Rather than waste the brand new AA batteries, he removed a clock from the wall and put them in that. "It’ll freak people out" he observed as he put the working clock back on the wall, the minute hand now tracing time. I wondered if we could connect a battery to one of the warning lights on an instrument panel; that would really freak out visitors.
In the end, the light in the Plant House was too good to miss and I grabbed a few more shots.
After a brief diversion onto the roof, we decided to strike out and expand our knowledge further. Rather than continue our exploration of Cells 1 & 2, we crept down to the front of the Plant House and tried to determine which road was active, where the van and other parked cars were, and which buildings were still in use and which were derelict.
It was difficult but in the end we plumped for a long, dilapidated building which required a quick run across and along the road. Keeping an eye out for security, and listening intently for traffic, we darted out of the shadows and intro the full sunlight. Several seconds later, we disappeared into the gap between two buildings.
It was overgrown and grassy; the elder bushes threatening to take over, the grass pushing through the cracked tarmac. The building to our left was clearly completely empty and some of the windows were cracked. We’d guessed correctly, found further dereliction, and were under cover. The only problem was getting into the building itself. None of the windows were open, and the doors were shut or padlocked. As we worked our way down, we found a large concrete shed, empty expect for some props and some children’s toys. Simple store room, nothing to see.
I’d soon covered the length of this building and had yet to find a way in. Reaching the end I peered around nervously. Whilst not exactly lost, I had no idea where I was within the site, and everything was new and alien. A brief look revealed an empty car park, a Fire Station and the most bizarre concrete pylon I’d ever seen.
A couple of shots later and I was ready to continue on to the Fire Station (after Marlon and Tom had finished recreating a Grand Prix using a wooden jump, a child’s bicycle and a pogo stick back in the store room.)
The Fire Station proved much easier to crack and soon (via a opportune open door) we were inside. And our first sight was the plane. Finally, another of Pyestock’s mysterious sights was well and truly put on the map.
I’d already solved the mystery of the plane by some Internet research some weeks previously. The Farnborough BAE museum used some of Pyestock’s unused buildings for temporary storage, moving some of their exhibits there when their original museum site was sold. The planes (for there was a mock up of another) and some museum displays should've been cleared when the museum found a new home, but for some reason were left behind.
Only the front of the building was a Fire Station. The rest compromised a long central open area (with obligatory crane) and various side rooms, several of which were still fitted out as workshops, glass stores and chemist rooms (the fume cupboards being a give away). But the whole area was filled with odds and ends from the museum, giving the building that odd "out of place" feel that many derelict sites take on. The planes were amusing but were simply life-sized models and starting to show the ravages of time (and/or vandalism).
By now everyone was completely sick of serial graffitist Catboy. Reminders of his omnipotence were everywhere: security notices, door signs, fire precautions, door frames, every scrap of paper, every exposed surface, all written in black permanent marker. The final straw was his stinking spore left in black on the plane itself.
We exited via the door at the front of the Fire Station (which was labelled Catboy) and made our way back alongside the other side of the large building which previously eluded us. Still no way in. But everyone was thinking the same way and the large building which stood alone in a small dell of trees looked very interesting. Glass skylights, 1950s styling, brick block house: was this yet another test cell? It was far from the madding crowd: no connections with the Plant House and far too far away for any association with the Air House. This needed investigation.
The sheer amount of noise emanating from the turbine hall of this building was extremely off putting. With the bangs and clatters echoing through its expanse, we concluded there had to be people inside. But the doors were locked and the windows were frosted so we couldn’t see nor get in.
Creeping past we slunk into the darkened ground floor of the brick blockhouse, pausing to find torches and lights, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Huge cable runs, some cut, revealed a rat’s nest of power distribution. I began to put two and two together; this amount of power perhaps suggesting we’d found our power station. It would’ve been a successful day if we found both our targets.
Our way further was blocked so we found another open door, this time on the second floor. A lone instrument panel stood in the room, further doors and corridors lead into the gloom. The left hand room was a battery store, all the glass batteries still wired and ready to spring into action. The other room continued into pitch darkness. After finding torches again, we moved past further instrument panels until we found ourselves behind a circular bank of electrical panels. Light streamed in from an unseen door and we moved around this arc of metal before finding a small corridor disappearing between cabinets. This was a tiny semicircular passageway which curved back, internally, within the panels we’d previously circled.
Finding ourselves back where we started, we walked around the back panels again, and this time moved towards the light.
Yes! Found it! Following the light lead us to a small room, three sides covered in 1950s dials, lights and switches. A lone teak desk stood in the centre of the room, fitting in perfectly with the multi-coloured, patterned wooden floor.
Behind this room, a glass connecting corridor led into the Power Station, disappearing into a dark corridor with circular skylights. Whilst I used to compare the western side of Pyestock (the Air House and test cells) with Gerry Anderson Supermarionation classics (Thunderbirds et al), the Power Station control room was far older, evoking memories of black and white Flash Gordon serials, harking back to a valve driven, hot and dusty, big electronic era.
It was almost impossible to photograph and capture and we spent a while photographing the room from different angles. But now, I was trying to save what little juice was left in the camera for the Power Station turbine hall.
Also the sun was starting to set, the shadows were lengthening. I took some low angle, and portrait shots, just to try and capture something of this time warp wary that the camera was starting to struggle. (It would be annoying, but oddly appropriate, if the camera died in the Power Station).
As Marlon and Tom continued to look over the control room, I quietly slipped into the corridor and held open a door to the turbine hall. The cold wind hit me as I listened intently. The banging was random, there were no voices, and from my position I couldn’t see anyone. I opened the door enough to slide silently into the space and waited. The banging, clicking, snapping and other metallic noises continued as fans, loose slats in vents, and some loose metal on the exterior of the building thudded and crashed.
There was no-one here: it was simply the wind. I surveyed the scene. After the splendor of the Air House, and the magnificent test cells, the Power Station (pre-dating those structures) was a disappointment in terms of size. It was no larger than Number 10 Exhauster. The turbine hall consisted of the usual crane, winch, loading bay and a single generator. The most interesting item in the hall was an indicator panel; crafted by Metropolitan Vickers, it resembled a ship’s telemotor and just reeked of 1950s styling and ancient electronics.
If I could pick one thing from Pyestock, I would take this; it was simply remarkably funky.
As Marlon and Tom busied themselves with the crane, I took photos of the lower level and then ventured outside to figure out my bearings and put the building in context. More of Pyestock stood before me; Admiralty Test House, more cooling towers, more buildings. Due north was Battle Test House, impressive and packed with pipes and valves. We had come as far as other explorers, yet I’d never seen any other of these buildings featured.
We’d reached the limit of explored Pyestock. From here on it was all completely new. I was right to question other smug reports, and the first who’d supposedly “done” Pyestock. They’d cut a diagonal slash across the site, meandering from north west to south east, but left so much behind. And in their arrogance, they didn’t consider it worthwhile to return.
A few minutes later, the atmosphere changed dramatically as Marlon, Tom and I wondered what to do as the black helicopter slowly circled overhead. I moved back, along the corridor to the glass walkway between the two parts of the Power Station to listen to the helicopter above, and roughly work out its position. As I reached the walkway I was able to peep around the corner and watch the black machine slowly drift over the trees to the south of the site.
And then the roar of the engine and the chop of the blades lessened as it turned towards Farnborough and gradually disappeared. Perhaps it was simply destined for the airfield and had circled for a while. Or perhaps we’d been seen? But it was definitely time to move on.
With out exit point a long walk away and the sun now low in the sky, I decided it was time to leave.
Marlon and Tom were interested in pushing on; perhaps venturing into Battle House or revisiting Cell 1 & 2? I suggested we cut diagonally across Pyestock and take advantage of the acute angles of sunlight to get some startling new impressions of old favourites. I really wanted to get some shots of exterior of Cell 1 & 2, the concrete exhaust and the sunlight setting through the Air House.
It turned out to be a good call as the journey across the site was full of further distractions: more buildings, more doors, more pipe ducts. Marlon and I climbed the old spalling concrete steps of the Plant House Cooling Tower, stepping over the "Unsafe Handrail" sign as we did so. As we reached its apex, being especially careful of the admittedly unsafe and rattling handrail, I suddenly motioned Marlon to come down; again we were climbing a structure in full view of security.
So again, we disappeared into the blue pipes and dense metal undergrowth of Pyestock, remerging high on catwalks or climbing up the side of the Plant House to compose shots of the sinking sun through the Air House.
The day had been one of excitement and complacency; of satisfaction and frustration. I think everyone was pleased to finally start hitting the bounds of the site and start putting the whole place in focus. Furthermore the discovery of the planes and Power Station were important icing on the cake.
But it had also been frustrating. Marlon and Tom had spent a fruitless day battling with their cameras. Marlon was further despondent whilst trying to unload the film from his ancient analogue camera and discovered that it didn’t require winding back – had he taken any photos at all with it? We stopped taking the mickey at that point.
The day also featured our first real drama at Pyestock, rather than the imagined footsteps and noises of previous trips. I doubt we’ll ever know who the mysterious person in the Air House was or if the helicopter was actively searching for someone or idling circling before landing at Farnborough.
It suggested we should be more careful in the future, but for now we were immensely satisfied with our day.
All the best,
Simon
www.ngte.co.uk
This narrative is a simple account of the day’s events. This is because my Pyestock website is split into two parts: a history and description of the site itself; and the tales of our urban exploration.
So, this is part of the urban exploration section...
(Note: the 'best' photographs taken during the day were selected for the main part of the Pyestock website. Therefore this piece is illustrated with rejected shots or second-best pictures. But it gives an idea of what's there).
"I really don’t mind you dicking around on that hoist, but I’m here to take a few photographs." It was fairly late in the afternoon and my fourth trip to Pyestock was becoming a little frustrating. Marlon and Tom had found an emergency hoist in the gantry crane of the Power Station, and Tom was debating whether to give it a try. He'd uncoiled the rope so Marlon could test it at ground level by putting his full weight on it.
I was worried that Tom would simply plunge straight down from the cab after coiling the mechanism back up and jumping from the canopy; but I was more concerned about the sheer amount of noise they were making.
Therefore I left them to it. I finished photographing the ground floor of the Power Station and made my way into the offices to the north of the building. Tom and Marlon eventually reappeared looking a little sheepish. I couldn’t really blame them: Marlon’s camera was being repaired so he was making do with an old film camera with hardly any features. (We would joke occasionally about his "analogue" camera, it’s ridiculously noisy timer and having to wind the film on). But he was making do with the best he had. Tom suffered battery problems; his camera refused to work with the brand new AA batteries he’d bought for it. (A similar fate happened to me at Cane Hill and RAF Upwood and both explorations were never written up). Therefore the guys amused themselves in different ways - hence the winch.
"Why don’t you go up on the roof?" At the end of the corridor a ladder lead invitingly through a skylight onto the roof. I was going to try it later but I wanted to take a look through some of the last offices. They had all been stripped but the view was magnificient: it looked over the former Fairways Transformer Park towards another huge building stuffed full of pipes and ductwork (which I later discovered to be the Battle Test House). Like almost every building at Pyestock it was huge, unique and intriguing.
The old metal framed windows wouldn’t budge. I was trying to open one as they were too dirty to take a photograph through. Overhead the whir of a helipopter's blades started to cut through the silence. We’d heard helicopters before and I always assumed they were en-route to Farnborough airfield which was next door. But these were loud. And getting louder. And suddenly I really started to worry.
I ran back to the corridor. "Guys, get off that roof..." Marlon and Tom were still in the corridor, eyes wide, listening to the chop of the blades which were now overhead. "How low is that helicopter?"
I sneaked back into the front office. The helicopter roared over, very low, and then started a slow arcing turn over Battle Test House to face the Power Station. It was fitted with a huge search light, was jet black and bore no markings. "This doesn’t look good."
I bolted back into the corridor where we all stood motionless and listened to the growl of the helicopter as it arced around the Power Station and passed slowly overhead again.
All the messing around with the crane was completely forgotten.
This was my fourth trip to Pyestock and I was really looking forward to it. The weather was going to be fine all day, albeit a little windy, but excellent for photography. Tom, of course, was half an hour late so we were delayed for our meeting with Marlon in the car park.
There was the usual dilemma of how to approach the site. Given the good light, I was anxious to re-take some of my previous photographs especially the sun-setting through the Air House. We also wanted to show Tom our discoveries from our previous trip, namely Number 10 Exhauster and Cell 3 West. And everyone was anxious to find the Power Station and the building with the plane in it. From viewing other explorers' pictures, and tallying them up with my own knowledge of the site, and assuming such postings were sequential, I had a vague idea of where they might be. But it was generally agreed to go south and deeper into the site.
Soon we were in "no-mans' land": the rough scrub between the perimeter fence and the buildings proper. It wasn’t the best of locations to be in as some of the windows from Sigma overlooked our route, but it was a significant distance away and worth taking the risk. However, we weren’t prepared to see someone actually standing outside Sigma.
"Shit, there’s someone there. Freeze."
The lone figure turned and disappeared from view now hidden behind Number 10 Exhauster.
In the meantime, we'd taken the opportunity to dive into a large laurel bush which conveniently stood between us and Number 10 Exhauster.
"Who was that?"
"Don’t know. Doubt he was Sigma. He walked into Pyestock itself. Must be security."
We peered around the bush but saw nothing through the visual cacophony of Pyestock. We weren’t going to give up in the slightest.
"We’ll give him five minutes and then move on." If he was security then he’d be on his rounds and simply waiting would mean he’d be out of the area. It also helped that the buildings were clanking and banging in the wind so our footsteps would be drowned out. After an uncomfortable wait and a quick run later we found ourselves in Number 10 Exhauster.
The light was superb although it was a little more noisy then usual. The whole building echoed and banged; the easterly wind whipped up the loose metal panels and slammed them back and forward. Although a little unsettling, it offered us lots of protection; any noise we made was covered by the bedlam around us.
I was quickly up the stairways and along the gantries, taking repeat shots but reaping the benefit of the better light. After ten minutes, I noticed something: "Marlon, where’s Tom? Did he come in?”
I didn’t want Tom wondering around outside looking for us with a potential security guard on the prowl. I quickly gathered my items together to go out and find him but Marlon offered a much better solution: "I’ll call him."
With Tom duly directed back to our location, I moved back into the control room to get my last shots and practise some close-up work. Through the door of the control room, I could look into the glass lined stairwell opposite Sigma: their doors were open and there were several cars in the car park. Obviously very active.
I quickly and quietly worked around the control panel taking several replacement shots and many new ones. As I did, the door from the stairwell behind me slowly opened. My thoughts were rapid: Who the hell is this? They’ve come in from the Sigma side. Get ready to have a good explanation for being here. Oh ...
It was Tom.
"Have you just walked up that stairwell in full sight of Sigma?"
"Yeah."
"Bloody hell."
"Anyway, do you want a beer?"
It was one o’clock and I’d already had my nerves tested. A drink would be wonderful thank you. So after having our nerves shattered, and now a warm beer, we were far more relaxed. In fact, considering we’d almost walked into someone already, we were quite brazen. Back into the warm sunshine, we left the banging Number 10 Exhauster and walked directly to Cell 3 West.
Tom seemed more interested in the compound and towers to the west so we spent some time crawling over those. Literally. The spiral staircases gave an excellent view of Cell 3 West and the buildings in our vicinity.
However our brazen climbing was noticed and we were quickly rumbled.
When I noticed the two figures walking across to us I wasn’t at all worried. They weren’t dressed as security and both were carrying cameras and rucksacks: the universal disguise of the urban explorer.
It turned out one of them had brazenly walked down the road to Sigma and turned left sharpish into the derelict Pyestock site when he realised there were cars parked outside. "I didn’t even know there were active buildings here" he explained. However, I suddenly realised this was the guy we’d seen and so hurriedly hid to avoid. Laughs all round. Did they know where the plane was? Or the Power Station? No, they were new to the site. We exchanged farewells and pushed on.
The mass of pipes emerging from the Air House was our next target. Whilst we worked well in pairs, it appeared our triple was a little less organised and we all disappeared into the maze of blue pipework individually. Not for the last time keeping our little team together was like herding cats.
I took a spiral staircase up the side of the CECA Plant but found the view disappointing and there was far too much piping in the way (the usual problem with Pyestock). I met Marlon on my way down and then bumped into Tom as I was investigating the catwalks which traversed the eight huge pipes from the Air House.
It was proving to be extremely fruitful and even on my fourth trip I was finding new parts in buildings and areas previously unexplored. Tom suggested trying a door in the side of the Air House and I ventured in.
Suddenly it got very dark and cold. Pigeons cooed in the darkness and the place was rank with pigeon shit. I quickly found a torch and found myself in the depths of the Air House, a cavern which stretched the entire length of the building which housed pipes, gauges and equipment. Somehow we’d all managed to miss this before.
The pigeon messed areas appeared to be for storage and were partitioned with chicken wire fences. Old fridges, desks and chairs, now covered in guano didn’t inspire us and the smell was terrible, but we found several old Christmas trees amusing; they were both out of place and out of season. Further into the mesh of pipes revealed pits where the pipes connected through from the compressors above us to the blue pipe array which eventually led outside. It was cold and stank.
Marlon followed me in and we set up some shots before deciding to venture into the turbine hall of the Air House above us. Just as we were leaving, the door at the far end of the corridor opened and a figure walked in. He paused. No doubt his eyes were still acclimatizing to the darkness of this pit, but he didn’t seem too worried about us.
Marlon and I simply continued partway down the corridor and then crossed into one of the pits in the main turbine hall. We simply assumed the figure was one of the guys we’d met previously.
Inside the turbine hall the normally quiet Air House was loud and noisy. Given the wind, loose metal was flapping and banging against the side of the building, but there were also the additional noises of footsteps and voices. I set up a shot to try and capture the depth of this engine bed and the height of the ceiling above me. We weren’t concerned about the noise now; so far we’d seen nothing at Pyestock to be worried. Although there had been dramas every trip, they’d all been unfounded in the end; we’d never seen security let alone have to take precautions.
Our approach to being seen was getting laxer and laxer and we were now getting stupid and sloppy. And, from past experience, this would be our downfall.
Later on in the day as we cowered in the Power Station listening to the rhythmic thud of the chopper blades I wondered if our luck had finally run out. The helicopter was now over Battle Test House, low and motionless.
"Do you think they have heat sensors?"
"Do you mean they can detect us in here?"
"I don’t know. Perhaps we should hide in the engine bed in the main turbine hall?"
The whine of the helicopter changed and it slowly banked west, moving to the side of the Power Station. I was planning escape routes, but we were literally on the other side of the site from our entrance point. It was a long, hard run. And until we made it to the Air House and Cell 4, it would be mostly across open ground.
We would have to sit it out.
Earlier that day, the turbine hall of the Air House was warm and familiar. Once out of the dark, cold, dirty chambers, we were back in the blue tinged, airy and light turbine hall. Unexpectedly it was very noisy with lots of bangs and thuds so Marlon and I were cautious, quiet and slow.
Initially the turbine hall appeared empty but we soon spied two figures on the crane gantry. Not wanting to spoil their pictures, I took advantage of the good light to leave the turbine hall and take some more photographs of the control room. And then it struck me.
"Marlon, those two lads on the gantry are the ones we met earlier aren’t they?"
He nodded.
"So… who was it at the end of that dark corridor downstairs?"
"Dunno."
Well, whoever that was didn’t seem too concerned about us. I checked out the white boards in the control room. Perhaps our mystery explorer had signed in. Whilst the main board was completely covered in meaningless scribbles, another white board was still being neatly filled in. Three explorers had signed the previous Sunday but no-one else had added anything since.
“Can you phone Tom? Tell him we’re in the Air House control room. I think it’s time to move on, it’s getting very crowded in here."
Tom duly reappeared grinning widely. "Dudes. I’ve just been on the roof. We should have lunch up there."
This was an excellent idea. Ever since I noticed the exhausts stacks had catwalks and handrails on their summets, I knew there was probably a way onto the roof. And that would allow some excellent high shots of the site.
So we all agreed it would be a good idea and left the banging loud turbine hall and the two explorers on the gantry, and made our way outside. Via some external steps, we were soon on the lower flat roof and walking to the second set of steps to the main turbine hall roof.
As I started to climb the second set of steps I looked north. As expected, I was in full view of Sigma. Unexpectedly there was someone outside, who walked back inside as I watched. Had I been seen? I remained motionless on the ladder, the wind whipping up around me, roaring in my ears. If I’d been seen, then it would take them five minutes to get out here. Five minutes would be enough to get on the roof, get pictures, get off and disappear again into the depths of Pyestock.
Once on the roof, I quickly made my way to the exhaust vents. The view was superb but the wind was now howling and the pipes themselves were uttering a low gutteral moan as the wind whipped over them. The hand rail was making it difficult to compose any shots of Pyestock but I managed to get a couple.
Tom and Marlon were now alongside and Tom had pulled out some fresh crusty bread and humus. One of the perks of urban exploration: eating lunch in utterly bizarre places.
I took a shot and then noticed something. "Oh damn, that’s security isn’t it?" Marlon came over. "What?" he yelled above the wind. "There. That gatehouse office. That’s security. We’re in full bloody view of them." Not that I’d ever approached that section of the site yet, but the gatehouse looked active and the barrier was down. Security had to be there otherwise QinetiQ and Sigma employees wouldn’t be able to get off the site.
So far, we’d been potentially seen by a Sigma employee and security. And for some reason, we were all so relaxed that it really didn’t seem to bother us enough to make us leave the Air House roof. Anyway, it was warm and sunny, if not a little bleak, and Tom’s impromptu lunch was certainly tasty.
A police siren sounded in the distance. “Guys….” The siren got louder. “OK, right, we’re leaving this roof now.”
Normally distant police sirens wouldn’t concern me in the slightest, but coupled with the fact we were on a roof limited our options somewhat. I wanted to get back on terra firma with the three degrees of freedom that allowed. Not cornered on a roof. With a crusty loaf. And some humus. That would be too silly for words.
"Let's eat in the Plant House control room."
Fifteen minutes later we were lazing about in the Control Room, which was much more snug, warm and welcoming. As the sun shone through the window, we pulled up some chairs and settled down to our Enid Blytoneque feast of lashings and lashings of bread, humous, carrot cake and the final bottle of beer.
Our two fellow explorers also appeared, looking slightly incredulous atthe barmy scene in front of them, but after the excitement of the Air House roof, we were very chilled. It was also a bonus for Marlon as he’d not seen this building and he busied himself by talking a few shots of the various galleries and heavy plant littered around the building.
I made a more thorough search of the filing cabinets and found a document describing the function, layout and building of the Plant House. As I photographed its pages, I soon discovered the Plant House’s function, its relationship with the other surrounding buildings and how Pyestock developed. It seemed that the whole site gradually grew and evolved and didn’t spring up in one furious building spree. It also explained why some buildings looked far more dilapidated and run down than others.
Tom had finally given up in digust with his batteries and camera. Rather than waste the brand new AA batteries, he removed a clock from the wall and put them in that. "It’ll freak people out" he observed as he put the working clock back on the wall, the minute hand now tracing time. I wondered if we could connect a battery to one of the warning lights on an instrument panel; that would really freak out visitors.
In the end, the light in the Plant House was too good to miss and I grabbed a few more shots.
After a brief diversion onto the roof, we decided to strike out and expand our knowledge further. Rather than continue our exploration of Cells 1 & 2, we crept down to the front of the Plant House and tried to determine which road was active, where the van and other parked cars were, and which buildings were still in use and which were derelict.
It was difficult but in the end we plumped for a long, dilapidated building which required a quick run across and along the road. Keeping an eye out for security, and listening intently for traffic, we darted out of the shadows and intro the full sunlight. Several seconds later, we disappeared into the gap between two buildings.
It was overgrown and grassy; the elder bushes threatening to take over, the grass pushing through the cracked tarmac. The building to our left was clearly completely empty and some of the windows were cracked. We’d guessed correctly, found further dereliction, and were under cover. The only problem was getting into the building itself. None of the windows were open, and the doors were shut or padlocked. As we worked our way down, we found a large concrete shed, empty expect for some props and some children’s toys. Simple store room, nothing to see.
I’d soon covered the length of this building and had yet to find a way in. Reaching the end I peered around nervously. Whilst not exactly lost, I had no idea where I was within the site, and everything was new and alien. A brief look revealed an empty car park, a Fire Station and the most bizarre concrete pylon I’d ever seen.
A couple of shots later and I was ready to continue on to the Fire Station (after Marlon and Tom had finished recreating a Grand Prix using a wooden jump, a child’s bicycle and a pogo stick back in the store room.)
The Fire Station proved much easier to crack and soon (via a opportune open door) we were inside. And our first sight was the plane. Finally, another of Pyestock’s mysterious sights was well and truly put on the map.
I’d already solved the mystery of the plane by some Internet research some weeks previously. The Farnborough BAE museum used some of Pyestock’s unused buildings for temporary storage, moving some of their exhibits there when their original museum site was sold. The planes (for there was a mock up of another) and some museum displays should've been cleared when the museum found a new home, but for some reason were left behind.
Only the front of the building was a Fire Station. The rest compromised a long central open area (with obligatory crane) and various side rooms, several of which were still fitted out as workshops, glass stores and chemist rooms (the fume cupboards being a give away). But the whole area was filled with odds and ends from the museum, giving the building that odd "out of place" feel that many derelict sites take on. The planes were amusing but were simply life-sized models and starting to show the ravages of time (and/or vandalism).
By now everyone was completely sick of serial graffitist Catboy. Reminders of his omnipotence were everywhere: security notices, door signs, fire precautions, door frames, every scrap of paper, every exposed surface, all written in black permanent marker. The final straw was his stinking spore left in black on the plane itself.
We exited via the door at the front of the Fire Station (which was labelled Catboy) and made our way back alongside the other side of the large building which previously eluded us. Still no way in. But everyone was thinking the same way and the large building which stood alone in a small dell of trees looked very interesting. Glass skylights, 1950s styling, brick block house: was this yet another test cell? It was far from the madding crowd: no connections with the Plant House and far too far away for any association with the Air House. This needed investigation.
The sheer amount of noise emanating from the turbine hall of this building was extremely off putting. With the bangs and clatters echoing through its expanse, we concluded there had to be people inside. But the doors were locked and the windows were frosted so we couldn’t see nor get in.
Creeping past we slunk into the darkened ground floor of the brick blockhouse, pausing to find torches and lights, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Huge cable runs, some cut, revealed a rat’s nest of power distribution. I began to put two and two together; this amount of power perhaps suggesting we’d found our power station. It would’ve been a successful day if we found both our targets.
Our way further was blocked so we found another open door, this time on the second floor. A lone instrument panel stood in the room, further doors and corridors lead into the gloom. The left hand room was a battery store, all the glass batteries still wired and ready to spring into action. The other room continued into pitch darkness. After finding torches again, we moved past further instrument panels until we found ourselves behind a circular bank of electrical panels. Light streamed in from an unseen door and we moved around this arc of metal before finding a small corridor disappearing between cabinets. This was a tiny semicircular passageway which curved back, internally, within the panels we’d previously circled.
Finding ourselves back where we started, we walked around the back panels again, and this time moved towards the light.
Yes! Found it! Following the light lead us to a small room, three sides covered in 1950s dials, lights and switches. A lone teak desk stood in the centre of the room, fitting in perfectly with the multi-coloured, patterned wooden floor.
Behind this room, a glass connecting corridor led into the Power Station, disappearing into a dark corridor with circular skylights. Whilst I used to compare the western side of Pyestock (the Air House and test cells) with Gerry Anderson Supermarionation classics (Thunderbirds et al), the Power Station control room was far older, evoking memories of black and white Flash Gordon serials, harking back to a valve driven, hot and dusty, big electronic era.
It was almost impossible to photograph and capture and we spent a while photographing the room from different angles. But now, I was trying to save what little juice was left in the camera for the Power Station turbine hall.
Also the sun was starting to set, the shadows were lengthening. I took some low angle, and portrait shots, just to try and capture something of this time warp wary that the camera was starting to struggle. (It would be annoying, but oddly appropriate, if the camera died in the Power Station).
As Marlon and Tom continued to look over the control room, I quietly slipped into the corridor and held open a door to the turbine hall. The cold wind hit me as I listened intently. The banging was random, there were no voices, and from my position I couldn’t see anyone. I opened the door enough to slide silently into the space and waited. The banging, clicking, snapping and other metallic noises continued as fans, loose slats in vents, and some loose metal on the exterior of the building thudded and crashed.
There was no-one here: it was simply the wind. I surveyed the scene. After the splendor of the Air House, and the magnificent test cells, the Power Station (pre-dating those structures) was a disappointment in terms of size. It was no larger than Number 10 Exhauster. The turbine hall consisted of the usual crane, winch, loading bay and a single generator. The most interesting item in the hall was an indicator panel; crafted by Metropolitan Vickers, it resembled a ship’s telemotor and just reeked of 1950s styling and ancient electronics.
If I could pick one thing from Pyestock, I would take this; it was simply remarkably funky.
As Marlon and Tom busied themselves with the crane, I took photos of the lower level and then ventured outside to figure out my bearings and put the building in context. More of Pyestock stood before me; Admiralty Test House, more cooling towers, more buildings. Due north was Battle Test House, impressive and packed with pipes and valves. We had come as far as other explorers, yet I’d never seen any other of these buildings featured.
We’d reached the limit of explored Pyestock. From here on it was all completely new. I was right to question other smug reports, and the first who’d supposedly “done” Pyestock. They’d cut a diagonal slash across the site, meandering from north west to south east, but left so much behind. And in their arrogance, they didn’t consider it worthwhile to return.
A few minutes later, the atmosphere changed dramatically as Marlon, Tom and I wondered what to do as the black helicopter slowly circled overhead. I moved back, along the corridor to the glass walkway between the two parts of the Power Station to listen to the helicopter above, and roughly work out its position. As I reached the walkway I was able to peep around the corner and watch the black machine slowly drift over the trees to the south of the site.
And then the roar of the engine and the chop of the blades lessened as it turned towards Farnborough and gradually disappeared. Perhaps it was simply destined for the airfield and had circled for a while. Or perhaps we’d been seen? But it was definitely time to move on.
With out exit point a long walk away and the sun now low in the sky, I decided it was time to leave.
Marlon and Tom were interested in pushing on; perhaps venturing into Battle House or revisiting Cell 1 & 2? I suggested we cut diagonally across Pyestock and take advantage of the acute angles of sunlight to get some startling new impressions of old favourites. I really wanted to get some shots of exterior of Cell 1 & 2, the concrete exhaust and the sunlight setting through the Air House.
It turned out to be a good call as the journey across the site was full of further distractions: more buildings, more doors, more pipe ducts. Marlon and I climbed the old spalling concrete steps of the Plant House Cooling Tower, stepping over the "Unsafe Handrail" sign as we did so. As we reached its apex, being especially careful of the admittedly unsafe and rattling handrail, I suddenly motioned Marlon to come down; again we were climbing a structure in full view of security.
So again, we disappeared into the blue pipes and dense metal undergrowth of Pyestock, remerging high on catwalks or climbing up the side of the Plant House to compose shots of the sinking sun through the Air House.
The day had been one of excitement and complacency; of satisfaction and frustration. I think everyone was pleased to finally start hitting the bounds of the site and start putting the whole place in focus. Furthermore the discovery of the planes and Power Station were important icing on the cake.
But it had also been frustrating. Marlon and Tom had spent a fruitless day battling with their cameras. Marlon was further despondent whilst trying to unload the film from his ancient analogue camera and discovered that it didn’t require winding back – had he taken any photos at all with it? We stopped taking the mickey at that point.
The day also featured our first real drama at Pyestock, rather than the imagined footsteps and noises of previous trips. I doubt we’ll ever know who the mysterious person in the Air House was or if the helicopter was actively searching for someone or idling circling before landing at Farnborough.
It suggested we should be more careful in the future, but for now we were immensely satisfied with our day.
All the best,
Simon
www.ngte.co.uk
