Tales of the Urban Explorer: The Scout Masters House

It was a matter of time before one of these 'Time Capsules' would come good. As I stated in a previous post, we almost vetoed 'The Scout Masters House' as it was sealed.

Bullshit; it was not sealed though it could be now. They don't stay fresh indefinitely. 'The Scout Masters House' was not going to disappoint.

I noticed this one sometime in 2021. It had been doing the rounds and had hit the TourBus. For Time Capsules, that bus is a little smaller, as the community is more tight-lipped about these properties.

Where was it? Threads of shitty information were forming on the airwaves. It’s in Lincolnshire. It’s down south somewhere.

All bullshit again and designed to throw us off. I gained simultaneous information from both @grindle and @anidiotexplores concerning its whereabouts.

Regardless, it was now on our radar and getting on 5pm by the time we reached our destination.

We parked way too far away on this occasion which gave us an unwanted longish walk. Word is that the neighbours were getting pissed off with explorers visiting ‘The Scout Masters House’ and turfing them off with police threats.

We guessed who it was as we walked a country lane and kept our noses in line with the path. Don’t look or it will raise suspicions.

Turning sharp left I sighed with relief. A public footpath, the saviour of explorers was zigzagging away from the road, and leading next to the house which was now visible.

Lots of sheds and outhouses, sometimes they are better than the house itself.

With nobody in sight, we scaled a small fence and made our way to the back.

Hugging the side of this quite bad-looking house we tried to be as quiet as possible. No sounds to be heard.

Was it sealed? It looked like no effort had been made to board anything and once again an awkward climb through a window awaited.

Right away it was one of those YES moments. 'The Scout Masters House' was a little off the beaten track but worth it.

Only true 'Time Capsules' host a Singer sewing machine. It's almost mandatory.

The living room, just wow! I didn’t know where to look. Closets with clothes in a strange location, what’s wrong with the bedroom?

Mr. James had lived here and by the look of Elizabeth and my misplaced knowledge of philately, I would estimate the letter is from the 1960s.

The photographs were growing a little with mold; relatives and children of Mr. James?

You only need to buy one Status Quo single and you have the entire discography. That is apart from ‘Pictures of Matchstick Men’. Darts? fucking terrible, no taste whatsoever.

As well as Mr. James there had been at least one child, probably a girl and a cat.

Knitting is a hobby mostly for ageing ladies, as well as @eveuncovered.

Bad luck for the man, fresh as a daisy for the lady. Always use plastic when storing your clobber.

Takes me back to the days when I ripped music from the radio. They were solid, and I bet it still works.

So it’s a little untidy, but would be as good as new with a little love.

Why wrap your beer in a woolly black cow? I didn’t check to see if it was empty.

Bloody kids vandalising the outhouses! Give them all criminal records I say. Do they remain for life? That's not exactly true.

It was a farm once; pigs need love as well as us and our Strawberry jam needs.

Not another one of those bloody ovens. I must have seen half-a-dozen of them on that day.

Bring your own bread and you could indulge in a tasty snack at ‘The Scout Masters House’. @meesterboom would feel right at home chomping into those 'Oaties'.

Fuck knows what this says. Perhaps @grindle could decipher it. What's interesting is that by 1979 a certain Mr. Pritchard was living at 'The Scout Masters House'.

Was he related to Mr. James, and why was Mr. James’ correspondence hanging around if not?

Back in 1957 and Mr. James is the boss again. The cheques look suspiciously like Monopoly money and he's dealing out some serious amounts.

They look quite girly and were in good condition. Pinky and Perky? I'm getting squeamish here.

I am sure Mrs. Pritchard was over the moon about receiving this. We are rich!

Whoever the daughter was, she will be in her fifties or sixties by now.

Jack's Party Six was unconsumed. We could have settled down, got pissed, and read some Magic Roundabout stories.

That girl must have been well-read. I should have dug a little more; the amount of stuff to see was overwhelming.

Enid Blyton. A favourite of mine when I was in short pants.

She sees all. We had to be very careful around there.

This one was even more judgemental and that naked one on the window was one true exhibitionist.

People tend to stash their old bills no matter how old they are.

From the days when quills were used; you can always detect it, the style and the ink. Mr. James lived here before Elizabeths' reign. This could well be from the late 1940s.

My mum used to buy and read this tripe. No, I didn’t turn the pages.

Fuck off Des, I ain’t listening to you either.

June 1938 and just before World War II. There’s a mention of Wimbledon. It's generally the last week of June, the first week of July. It was about to kick off.

We left the house buzzing thinking that was something! The barns awaited but we were not going to have much progress.

“What’s that noise”, I ushered to @anidiotexplores.

I poked my head around a corner and spotted a large car with at least two blokes. They had not seen us and were ridiculously close.

…How could they not have heard us? Are the majority of welsh people.. deaf?…

Using gestures to my comrade, I poked him in the ribs and then in the opposite direction. It was time to leave.

Since then, I have heard of standoffs between explorers and these local visitors. They are the owners, are not in any hurry to renovate the house, but are aggressive with trespassers.

I would rather avoid contact and not be seen. We left the same way we arrived and left Farmer Giles and his boys to masturbate and tinker around in their barn.

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