Situated deep in the moors off an ancient Roman road known as 'The Street' is St Joseph's shrine. When the Goyt Valley was a flourishing community in the mid 1800's, the shrine was a popular destination for people seeking a peaceful place to pray. Now the villages and farms of the valley are long gone; vanished with the advent of the 20th century reservoirs of Fernilee and Errwood, leaving the monument now isolated and forlorn amongst the pine trees.

20 years ago to the day I remember vividly the moment I became aware of the events unfolding in Manhattan. At 12 years old I was in the early years of high school, and it was quarter past 3 in the afternoon in the UK. I'd arrived home and put my bike against the garage before peering in through the window to say hi to my Mum who was usually always busy doing something on any normal day, but she was on the edge of the sofa pointing and telling me to look at the TV screen. For the next few minutes I just stared in silence through the glass. By this time the second tower was billowing smoke and those images would only get worse as I eventually made my way inside. At such a young age I was incredibly impressionable, having grown up on American media during the 90's it felt personal despite being more than three thousand miles away. As the events unfolded, whether I liked it or not an anger boiled up inside me that I couldn't quite explain. Having a comfortable, trauma-free upbringing in a place that never brought any struggles I had no reason to hold any social grudges or retaliate against anything that threatened my way of life. Suddenly that changed not only in me but in my friends and those around me. Two decades on, I am sceptical as to whether or not my reaction was a natural one. Whether or not it was sculpted by western media or exaggerated by our own personal background, we simply detested the idea of what had attacked us from afar. We became angry, and that anger would bubble away inside me for several years as a young teenager. The images on TV fairly quickly turned to the villainous footage of those identified as responsible for what happened in New York, and as young teenagers we felt as though there was a Muslim culture brewing on the other side of the world that threatened everything about what we previously felt was a safe future.

Unlike some people of my age around the country, I came from a predominantly non-multicultural background, so it was unfortunate that my first experience with this culture was a negative one. My hatred turned into curiosity and through no real intention I suddenly found myself getting full marks in religious studies classes concerning this 'new found' culture that was suddenly on the news and a topic of conversation wherever I went. In hindsight I realise these classes were more than likely put there to make us understand the culture so that we wouldn't automatically vilify it. Either way, September 11th 2001 stayed with me for many years. I remember creating an art piece I put together depicting the events alongside a written piece in memory of the victims, which my teachers decided should be spoken out in front of the entire year in the assembly hall. Not my calmest of moments, but looking back it was clear that should I have been 10 years older I'd have been the ideal recruit for the forces heading into the middle east. Those men were likely no different to me, but simply had the misfortune to be born earlier. They had the passion, the patriotism and the anger built up inside of them with the will to bring peace and normality back to our lives. We now know many of them never returned home, and only became statistics in a campaign that almost exactly 20 years on achieved very little. Unlike me, they never had two decades to come to terms with what happened that day and detach themselves from the outrage that our leaders fed to us in order to justify an unjustifiable war. Churned up into political motivation and sparking intense cultural divide. It's quite surreal to know how much time has passed since that day, and to reflect on how it impacted the world around us. 2,977 people will never get that luxury, but they will never be forgotten.

1901 - 2021 Hilbre Island Lifeguard station. Lifeboats were stationed on Hilbre Island from 1848 to 1938, and were crewed by Hoylake volunteers who could launch at any state of tide. Pictured with her crew is the ‘Admiral Briggs’ (1895-1914), which saved 16 lives during her service on Hilbre. Isolated and without electricity or running water, the crew would wait by the open fire for a signal to head out on a rescue mission. During WW2 the island was chosen to install defensive measures and personnel against a possible invasion by water, and although they were never put into action, the station would not reopen after the war ended. With a new station on the north parade of the Wirral taking its place today. If you can time it right with the tides, you can still make the walk from the mainland, and the original stone lifeboat station with its slipway leading towards the Irish sea can still be seen today, battered by more than 80 years of weather after being left to the elements.

1960-2021. Castle Park House, Frodsham Cheshire. A former country house surrounded by extensive grounds that originates from the late 18th century, when it was built on the ruins of Frodsham Castle which burnt down in 1654. Sadly there are no image records of the original house, as it was extended in the 1850s, and its gardens were laid out by Edward Kemp. This image was taken after passing through many families when the house came to be used as offices by Runcorn Rural District Council until it was refurbished thanks to the heritage lottery fund in 2006. It now holds the archives of the Frodsham and District Local History Group, and the house and most of the park land is now held subject to the terms of the Castle Park charitable Trust.

Castell Dinas Brân, a truly ancient corner of Britain. Roughly translated as the "crow's fortress" or "fortress of Brân", it has occupied this steep hill in the Vale of Llangollen since at least the Iron Age and possibly as far back as the 9th century. The early fortifications have largely been obliterated by a medieval castle built in the mid-thirteenth century by Gruffudd Maelor, who inherited the land and built the castle most likely in the place of a Royal Palace or Hall that preceded it.

Gruffudd Maelor died not long after the construction in 1269 and the castle passed to his son of the same name. He supported the Welsh cause during the First War of Welsh Independence. Dinas Bran's power did not go unnoticed by English forces. In 1277, during Edward I's venture into Wales, the Earl of Lincoln, Henry de Lacy, besieged the castle. The Welsh lord of Dinas Bran was forced to submit to the invading army, which promptly set the site afire, completely destroying it.

Demonstrating the best of British: Dutton Sluice, built as part of the Weaver Navigation Improvement of 1874. Red and cream sandstone from the Cheshire quarries of Runcorn. Cast iron sluice-gates from foundry's in Paisley Scotland, blown glass lanterns from St helens, and segmental iron arches and walkways from iron works in Ellesmere Port. A culmination of efforts to control the flow of a once-natural waterway, with the goal being to allow seaworthy ships to transport valuable salt minerals from Northwich in Cheshire to Liverpool in Lancashire. Those men involved won't have known it at time, but they were operating at the peak of British industrialisation. An era that would continue beyond the Victorians only to eventually be irreversibly stopped in its tracks by the Great War.

Inside one of the north turrets of Beaumaris castle, an unfinished 'concentric' symmetrical fort that dates way back to 1295 when its construction began as part of Edward I's campaign to conquer north Wales. He was hell-bent on conquering - so much so that he got distracted and started to invade Scotland and never managed to finish building it. Despite never fulfilling its original design, it's location overlooking the eastern entrance of the Menai Strait meant that it continued to hold significant strategic purpose, and it passed through the hands of the English and the Welsh many times over the centuries until peace finally came and it was declared a UNESCO world heritage site in 1986.

Melin Maes Glas (Greenfield Mill) established in 1776, known locally as the battery works. It was the business of Thomas Williams of Anglesey, dubbed as the 'copper king' who sent copper ore from his mines on the island to Ravenhead in St helens to be smelted, and in ingot form to Greenfield to be worked into goods under the heavy tilting battery hammers. The wheel pits are still visible where the waterwheels turned to move the hammers and left marks on the brickwork. He patented a process to produce copper bolts for ships hulls, and built a rolling mill for the production of copper rollers for printing onto cloth and to produce thin sheets of copper. At its peak this became a huge operation, extending into a brass foundry and battery mill, until by the early 1800's supplies of cheap ore from Anglesey were becoming depleted and the ships and barges using the River Dee to traverse the north coast of Wales found it increasingly hard to supply Greenfield Wharf due to changes in the shipping channel. It eventually closed in 1847 and found several industrial uses as small scale metalworks for the next century before becoming a coal yard and eventually falling into the hands of the local council in the 1970's who have since preserved it as a site of valuable local heritage.

1906-2021 Runcorn Carnegie Library.

The library at Egerton Street was constructed in 1906 with money donated by the Scottish-American businessman and public benefactor, Andrew Carnegie. Runcorn's first free library was opened in 1882. It is believed that it was originally located in Waterloo House. Following the donation from Carnegie in 1906 the present purpose-built library was built on a plot adjacent to Waterloo House to the rear and the original external wall of the house subsequently became an internal wall. The Carnegie Library was designed by James Wilding, surveyor and water engineer to the Runcorn Urban District Council. It remained Runcorn's central library until 9 November 1981 when a new library was opened at Runcorn Shopping City and the Carnegie Library became a branch library, closing for good in2012 when Runcorn Library was moved to the former market hall on Granville Street. The only use the library has seen in the past decade has been as temporary housing for residents in between homes, forming dormitory-type accommodation in what was once the reading booths, which has been largely kept from the public eye. The current state of the building inside following this period of use is unknown. The library is a listed monument, and although protected by this status, as of 2019 the Carnegie Library is under threat of partial demolition due to the heavy decline of the adjacent Waterloo House, although it is worth noting that the structure visible in this image is not at risk of being lost.

A 1967 Lambert Engineering Hibernian Hydrocon Crane Truck. Originally in yellow, the layers of paint tell just a few of the stories that this one must have gained through the years. Once a staple name across the British locomotive industry, the Glasweigan company was defunct by 1987 and only rusting remains such as this one can now be found littered across the country. Hydrocons were a great success for the post war rebuilding of Britain, and were extremely popular on building sites for the erection of steel work. Many of the growing crane hire companies had fleets of Hydrocons, replacing manual ex military lattice jib cranes from Coles Cranes and others.

The company was originally an engineering firm owned by Jack Lambert who sold it to George Jesner who designed the Hydrocon brand of crane, starting with a staff of one in 1949. The name was an amalgam of HYDRaulic CONstruction with an 'O' added in the middle. They remained undoubtedly Scottish in design, with the circular raised panels on the cab boasting a full colour transfer logo of a Highlander, complete with kilt and claymore, and the cab interiors trimmed in a red tartan. It was the first crane to be operated by just hydraulic drive rather than the mechanical clutch and break system previously used, and became the first user of fibreglass in the UK for cabs and the first crane to carry its own jib sections. Another innovative Hydrocon feature was that the operators cabin could tilt back to allow the operator sight of the end of the jib.

Although giving off slight 'texas chainsaw massacre' vibes at the roadside, what with it's rusty axe and suspicious containers of god knows what in the cabin, this is one of the last few left in Britain, used by a farmer to erect his locally infamous 'christmas star'. The crane not only allows the star to appear to float in the night sky during winter, but it also makes it high enough for him to extend the power cable above the trees to his farm! It's probably the most use this one will ever see, but if you ever fancy seeing one in action, apparently they're still common sight in Malta, probably left over and repurposed from ex-military use when the British forces left in the late 1970's.

1950-2021 Fron Lift Bridge, Froncysyllte Llangollen. This one hurt my head as I couldn't for the life of me work out the perspective of the original image, as the counter-weight lift seemed an entirely different shape, until I realised it had been rebuilt in steel around 1990, having previously been timber since the early 1800's, when it was the terminus of the Lllangollen Branch of the Shropshire Canal whilst the ten year construction of the adjacent Pontcysyllte aqueduct took place. The lift allowed small traffic access to dwellings and industrial facilities on the opposite bank. It still provides the same function to this day, some 200 years later - one person must jump off the boat in order to wind the mechanism up and down letting another steer the boat through the open gate before chasing it down and jumping back onboard to continue the journey either to or from Llangollen.

Then & Now 2016-2020. Cheshire county constabulary, Oakmere. Built in 1892. Originally containing a courthouse, police station and rows of cells. Closed down in 1987, it had been derelict longer than I had been alive. For three years it sat in the middle of a new build housing site crumbling away as a reminder of the more isolated community that once existed here. To my surprise when passing i had to do a double take before realising it had been extensively refurbished into five dwellings. Turns out, it was part of the deal of the sale of the land. I do love it when developers are forced to use their skills for restoration. There won't be anything left of it inside, but this is a better fate for the building than most.

Built in 1834 using local stone under a pitched slate roof, this church in Greater Manchester once served a bustling industrial town at a time when christian congregation was still at the forefront of English communities. The architect was Lewis Vulliamy, of the famous clock-making family, who used a simple Gothic ‘preaching box’ design with an eight bay nave and three sided gallery. Fast forward nearly two centuries, however and the architecture may have survived but the social landscape has vastly changed. Congregations across towns like this barely fill seats on what used to be fully attended services. The result is that despite its listed status and architectural merit, growing maintenance costs of more than a quarter of a million pounds has inevitably led to the Church of England putting it up for sale, along with several dozen former places of worship across the country in order to fight back against the accruement of debt as it looks to survive into the modern era. 

Unfortunately it is unlikely that much of its brilliant interior craftsmanship will survive, as in december 2020 proposals were submitted to be appropriated for residential use alongside hundreds of churches across Britain that are now finding new life as homes, apartments, offices, bars and shops. Despite the fact that the governments Listed Places of Worship Grant Scheme provides a VAT exemption for the church to maintain its 12,500 listed buildings, its focus has now turned to protecting its wealth instead, with riches wearing thin as outgoings now reach 90% of its $1 billion annual endowments. As it draws closer to becoming nothing more than a registered business, in the not so distant future, all that will be left of a once-dominant faith will be perhaps its most valuable contribution of all - its architectural heritage. With a need to be recycled in order to survive, witnessing these buildings in their original state intended for worship may become an extreme rarity in our lifetime.

Leasowe Lighthouse on the Wirral Peninsula near Mockbeggar Wharf, built in 1763 to guide shipping safely to the Port of Liverpool through the treacherous route into the River Mersey known as 'rock channel'. Originally coal-fired before being changed to oil burning, with eight Argand lamps and reflectors, it is the oldest brick built lighthouse in the UK. Eventually the line of approach taken by ships had altered due to shifting sandbanks so the lighthouse became obsolete and was closed in 1908, with BIdston lighthouse further inland carrying on duties for a further 5 years. The lighthouse was also a home, and the last keeper was a Mrs. Williams, the only known female lighthouse keeper of the period. After its closure she kept the lighthouse open as a tearoom during the summer months until she died in 1935 and the building was closed. It has been disused ever since, and now remains as a monument on the northernmost edge of the peninsula, having had a brief period of restoration to prevent it from crumbling due to the harsh weather of the Irish sea.

The two crossings at Sutton weaver, between them marks the very south eastern edge of Halton borough. Since 1732 this stretch of the river weaver has been man-made, and was constructed as part of the weaver navigation to quickly allow passing trade from the east to reach Weston docks in Runcorn, where it could enter the mersey en route to Liverpool, or continue to Weston canal, and eventually to the Bridgewater canal en route to Manchester. This continuous loop sadly ended when the top locks in dukesfield were abandoned in 1966. Despite the Weston canal no longer existing, the ship canal still provides the route, and should the unlock runcorn project come to fruition, this loop would be revived once again.

For more info visit https://unlockruncorn.org/

During the post-medieval period numerous industries grew around the port of Frodsham including a salt works which was established in the late seventeenth century. However, a bill was passed in 1721, known as the Weaver Navigation Act, to enable the river to be navigable further inland toward the town. This was due to pressure from traders and manufacturers as the movement of goods from Frodsham port by packhorse inland was proving to be costly. By 1732 the Weaver was made fully navigable, but it was not until 1780 that Frodsham Lock and Cut were constructed as improvements to the navigation. The Wharf and its facilities encouraged more industry after the construction of the Weaver Navigation in the early eighteenth century.

Frodsham Cut was built in the late eighteenth century as an improvement to the existing natural rivers route saving time by 'cutting' through the marsh hence the name, and creating a docking point of sorts closer to Frodsham. The lock was necessary as the river was tidal prior to the building of the Manchester ship canal where it now begins at Weston Point rather than at the Mersey, but by the early nineteenth century the cut itself had been by-passed by the Weaver Canal to the north, which was much wider and could facilitate larger vessels. The lock slowly fell out of use as the occasional local traffic also began to prioritise the newer and quicker navigation route to the north. The sluice gate was therefore added in 1908 shortly after the above photo, presumed to be around 1900. Its purpose was to maintain the level of the cut and in turn the canal in the absence of regular use of the lock, and it still remains in unattended use silently allowing water to pass through. Since the lock closed, the entire southern route of the weaver that runs closer to Frodsham has been unnavigable, with the large sluice gates joining the northern route at Sutton having no locks for passing vessels meaning the western side of the cut remains a dead-end. The lock keepers cottages seen in the 1900 image were therefore demolished in due course. The lock may be heavily derelict, but it remains as one of the oldest canal locks in Britain, and together with the weir gained listed status in 1980 to protect their history from removal.

1950-2019. The Littlewoods printing room, Liverpool. Shown in the years immediately following WW2 when its huge halls were used to accommodate the production of aircraft during the war, when giant presses were brought in to print millions of pools coupons across the UK. Here in the printing room, pools coupons and literature were printed 'in house' by littlewoods and sent out by post. Up to 16 million per week were returned to check for the winners, until it was overtaken in popularity by the National Lottery and closed in 2003. A couple of years ago a fire ravaged through much of the building, but plans are still in place to restore this colossal building into a media centre to serve the fast-growing film industry in the city.

An 18th century Cheshire corn mill, disused but one of only a few that survive here from an era when there was more than 150 dotted around the county's landscape. Its many rivers, brookes and canals having provided pre-industrial power for what was predominantly an agricultural region for many centuries, making them even more common than petrol stations today. Whilst the natural flow of water was once to our benefit, as we speak this winter the waterways, many of which have now been altered to accommodate the expansion of new towns, have been flooding across the north after having to deal with several months rain in the space of 2 days.

1905-2020. Solomons temple, standing on the site where Buxton's extensive lime quarrying first began in the 1600's. Kilns were once spread here all over Grin Low Hill, leaving spoil heaps of waste material that permanently shaped the land. The tower is sentimentally named locally after Solomon Mycock, who in the early 19th century built the original tower. By the late 1800's the hill had been exhausted of materials and the quarry abandoned for decades. Only a few stones remained of the tower, so the community came together to have it completely reconstructed, finishing in 1896. Over time it became a popular beauty spot, with views from the top to Mam Tor, Rushup Edge, Corbar Hill, Corbar Cross and in the opposite direction to Axe Edge. What I love so much about this view is how little has changed in 115 years - you could almost pretend no time had passed at all. The white plaque reading CPRC inside the tower was installed to indicate the presence of The campaign to protect rural england, established in 1926.

Scout tunnel's south portal. Built in the late 1700's for the Huddersfield narrow canal, which fully opened in 1811, enabling coal to be brought in to fuel the mills which were now steam-powered. The 615 foot Scout Tunnel had to be cut through sturdy gritstone and shales, meaning the majority of the tunnel is bare rock but for two openings. Nowadays the tow-path gains far more use than the canal, and as the name would suggest, doesn't give much room for social distancing once you reach half way and bump into a stranger in the dark.The name Scout comes from the old norse ‘skœti’ meaning overhanging rock, and the narrow gorge which the tunnel was carved through met these scout rocks looming over the River Tame below.