The small door leads to the offices, the large door leads to the shop. My back at this time is to the corrugated steel wall. At the time I wondered why there was just one steel wall, not knowing that 40 years before there was another spot for an engine here. This section of the roundhouse has become a sort of town dump–car seats, cans of paint and tires are piled into its corners.
The remains of the surgical suite.
The cold air collided with the sun-warmed water on the floor, filling the ground floor of the Keg House with thick fog…
Depending on the position of the valve, flour could be routed from the filtering process back into a mill.
It was a strange choice, although I appreciate it, for the firm reusing the shops to brick up the doorways while leaving the doors.
A typical shower in the old section of the hospital. It looks a little horrifying in the harsh light of a camera flash on the thousands of little white tiles. One soap holder hadn’t been stolen yet.
Some of the internal staircases were fitted with cages that wound round down the stairs to deter suicidal patients from taking a dive.
The third floor corridor is not so welcoming, as it requires visitors to walk along the support breams without the luxury of a floor. I didn’t mind, but I can’t see the family with young children that was also exploring Noisy doing the same.
The crumbling building barely contained the colors inside of it.