Hay folks visited bessingham manor a couple of weeks ago but my computer had packed up and could not post till now. now this place has been posted so many times on so many different forums so it was top of my to-do-list as it has so much character now since it first was posted the state of the site is getting worse by the month. Now I never ventured up stairs as it really is rotten and with us fast losing light I was not going to risk it shame as there are so many gems on higher levels.
Visited with the normal urbex crew kathyms & chris34
some interesting info i found on the web
Bessingham Manor is a tale of tradition and eccentricities. Built in 1871, the estate was home to the Spurrell family, a long-lived race of agriculturists. Having farmed land in Thurgarton and Bessingham since Tudor times, the Spurrell’s name has become embedded in the earth, and their rural traditions firmly rooted in the villages’ history. The house was passed down to the youngest of Daniel and Sarah Spurrell’s seven children, Edmund Denham Spurrell. Upon hearing of his father’s death, in 1906, Denham returned home to Bessingham, bringing with him a bear, which he had bought on his travels across India. The great brown bear was kept in the stable block, adjacent to the house, and would perform at dinner parties, ‘dancing’ for Denham’s guests. One day, the bear escaped, attacking a housemaid and injuring several others. Consequently, the poor beast was shot, and buried somewhere deep in the grounds.
Bessingham Manor remained in the Spurrell family until Denham died in 1952, having managed the estate for almost half a century. During the 1970s, a WWII fighter pilot bought the house. Bob Gamble and his wife, a glamorous Swedish woman, lavishly decorated the manor, introducing beauty and splendor into the grand building. As heir to the Bessingham throne, it seemed only fitting that Gamble exuded as much eccentricity and character as it’s previous owner. Serving in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces had required Gamble to train pilots in the Middle East, and he regularly received gifts from eastern princes, including exquisite Persian rugs. These remained unopened until he could no longer live independently and was moved to a nearby nursing home. He would sleep all day so that he could stay up at night to listen to Radio Four, as he believed all the best programmes were broadcast overnight. He used wild bullace and plants from his garden to brew wines, which he left to ferment in the vaulted cellar. Coloured demijohns glinted like jewels in the cascading light that shone through the upper windows – a bottled treasure still waiting to be poured.
When his wife died, around 1980, the man became increasingly eccentric, leaving the rooms as they had been whilst his wife was alive. The red-brick beauty began to crumble around him, and has now fallen into a state of disrepair. Ivy and brambles have reclaimed the exterior, whilst the upper floors have succumbed to the weight of water seeping through the roof. Our nation’s ostensible love for old builds and our penchant for peculiarities have captivated curious minds, all sympathetic to Bessingham Manor’s derelict charm. Now standing empty and alone, with an impending date for demolishment, only the bones of the dancing bear remain buried in the grounds.
how the manor looked in her prime with the dancing bear
how she looks today
Thanks for looking peeps
Visited with the normal urbex crew kathyms & chris34
some interesting info i found on the web
Bessingham Manor is a tale of tradition and eccentricities. Built in 1871, the estate was home to the Spurrell family, a long-lived race of agriculturists. Having farmed land in Thurgarton and Bessingham since Tudor times, the Spurrell’s name has become embedded in the earth, and their rural traditions firmly rooted in the villages’ history. The house was passed down to the youngest of Daniel and Sarah Spurrell’s seven children, Edmund Denham Spurrell. Upon hearing of his father’s death, in 1906, Denham returned home to Bessingham, bringing with him a bear, which he had bought on his travels across India. The great brown bear was kept in the stable block, adjacent to the house, and would perform at dinner parties, ‘dancing’ for Denham’s guests. One day, the bear escaped, attacking a housemaid and injuring several others. Consequently, the poor beast was shot, and buried somewhere deep in the grounds.
Bessingham Manor remained in the Spurrell family until Denham died in 1952, having managed the estate for almost half a century. During the 1970s, a WWII fighter pilot bought the house. Bob Gamble and his wife, a glamorous Swedish woman, lavishly decorated the manor, introducing beauty and splendor into the grand building. As heir to the Bessingham throne, it seemed only fitting that Gamble exuded as much eccentricity and character as it’s previous owner. Serving in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces had required Gamble to train pilots in the Middle East, and he regularly received gifts from eastern princes, including exquisite Persian rugs. These remained unopened until he could no longer live independently and was moved to a nearby nursing home. He would sleep all day so that he could stay up at night to listen to Radio Four, as he believed all the best programmes were broadcast overnight. He used wild bullace and plants from his garden to brew wines, which he left to ferment in the vaulted cellar. Coloured demijohns glinted like jewels in the cascading light that shone through the upper windows – a bottled treasure still waiting to be poured.
When his wife died, around 1980, the man became increasingly eccentric, leaving the rooms as they had been whilst his wife was alive. The red-brick beauty began to crumble around him, and has now fallen into a state of disrepair. Ivy and brambles have reclaimed the exterior, whilst the upper floors have succumbed to the weight of water seeping through the roof. Our nation’s ostensible love for old builds and our penchant for peculiarities have captivated curious minds, all sympathetic to Bessingham Manor’s derelict charm. Now standing empty and alone, with an impending date for demolishment, only the bones of the dancing bear remain buried in the grounds.
how the manor looked in her prime with the dancing bear
how she looks today
Thanks for looking peeps
