Tales of the Urban Explorer: The British Rope Works

My last trip to Liverpool was around two years ago, and it was one of the more fruitful expeditions I remember in recent times, in terms of quantity, but not necessarily quality.  I arranged a trip with @lpff, the North’s most hated explorer, but someone with whom I get along very well. As he supplied all the locations, that generally means you are going to end up in derps and shitholes. Later in 2024, this would not be the case, as the number of explores declined, but for now, the next batch will all be Liverpool and outlying areas based. We arrived at ‘*The British Rope Works*’ early and hoped that the front window gauze on a recent explorers post would still be peeled away. Zooming in and having a good look told us how to get in if the local authorities had not stepped in and sealed it up. That, or the ‘sealers’ as we call them, aka the spoilers of fun and adventure. >The British Rope Works, which was active from the 1960s until the early 2000s, specialised in the manufacture and distribution of ropes, cables and wires as well as tugger, towing and trawler winches. >They supplied many businesses operating on the nearby docklands. As with many businesses around this area, production went overseas to cut costs, and many businesses ceased production. The building was later used for storage before falling into a state of dereliction. - [Source](https://www.instagram.com/p/C4unVWSAzje/) The textual history above is courtesy of @lpff, who has a gift for dredging up information from the internet about old places even when the data appears not to exist. I searched in vain and could not find a shred of detail. “It’s open, I can see the gap”, I said to @lpff. Could the day start off with a success? Those days were getting rarer as the years went by. <center>  …***’see the hole, second window from the right. Its looks wide open, but trust me it was not!’…*** </center> Metal gauze can be a pain in the arse to get past, especially if it’s scraping your skin when trying to bypass it. I don’t recall the entry to ‘*The British Rope Works*’ as particularly demanding on this occasion, but still required some effort. We had only just gone inside when some scruffy, skinny bloke wandered past outside, sniffing around and peering through what was a window. Did he live here, were we the intruders? Did he see us get inside? I had to remind myself I was in Liverpool, and ‘crime’ is quite normal here. Minutes later, he was gone; not a big deal. Carry on as though nothing happened. My first thought was, ‘Where’s all the rope?’  It was a large room, filled with the usual bric-a-brac that abandoned businesses tend to yield, the mandatory shopping trolley, a lot of dead bracken (where the fuck did that come from?), and a musical instrument in the far corner.  I honed in on what looked like a vintage organ right away, a genuine Hammond no less.  Someone had murdered this lovely instrument. Hacked all the ends off the keys. Why would you do that?  Whenever I approach a chest freezer such as this, I always hope the inside will not reveal a dead body. This one was quite empt […]