Now then, I don't believe I have told you the story of Cane Hill. You are in for a treat, this is one of my favourite stories of all time, and who better to tell it than my good self? I was there, you know.

So it all began in Easter 2005. My friend Simon was struggling for inspiration with regards to his photography degree. His final project deadline was fast approaching and he was not happy with the portfolio that he had to date. He had toyed with the idea of taking photos of people dressed as zombies. I volunteered my services for this, but Simon was not happy with the idea and didn't know how to develop it into something tangible. Still, please find below a picture of me dressed in my zombie attire clambering out of the ground.

Zombie man

So with Simon struggling for ideas, I suggested that we take a look around Cane Hill in Coulsdon. Now then, Cane Hill used to be a mental asylum. It's one of the biggest in the area. It closed down in the early 90's and has not been used for anything since. There are rumours that there is still a unit in operation for detaining sex offenders and paedophiles, but I can't say whether there is any truth to these rumours and for the moment they stand unsubstantiated.

We visited both Cane Hill and West Park, which is a largely disused hospital in Epsom. West Park was nice and easy to get into at the time, and this involved jumping through a broken window, venturing to the ground floor of the building, and dropping down through a hole in the floor to get into the maintenance tunnels. It was fucking wicked, let me tell you. Even though what we were doing was essentially very wrong, we got some great photos from it and had a whale of a time. And it has also supplied me with lots of stories to entertain all and sundry. More about West Park at a later date, we're talking about Cane Hill now.

So we visited Cane Hill a handful of times. The first time there were police walking around inside looking for a guy that some kids had reported for apparently threatening them with a knife. We somehow managed to evade the police and their dog and beat a hasty retreat. It was clear that Cane Hill would not be as straightforward as West Park to get into and stay hidden.

It was on our second or third visit that this story takes place. We arrived at about 11:30am with all our photographic gear. It was clear that we were not there to vandalise anything, as was the case with most unwanted visitors to the asylum. We got in through a hole in the fence, it was one of those metal barrier types with the long thick metal poles and barbed wire at the top. We were able to gain access because one of the poles had been removed, allowing us to squeeze through the gap. If the pole had not been missing then we wouldn't have been able to get in, remember that for later on.

So we got inside, made our way to the nearest ward, and set about taking some photos. The beauty of Cane Hill is that there are no locked doors, as was the case with West Park. We didn't have to break any windows or destroy any locks in order to progress through the building. The main goal of our trip was to get to a ward called "Vincent/Vanburgh". All the wards were named alphabetically, you see. Seeing as we had come in through ward "D" it was quite a trek round to ward "V". There are literally miles of corridors, some in worse condition than others. Some of the corridors and rooms are totally inaccessible because of the sheer damage from weathering, rain and fire. People like to break in and set fire to things, this is why we wanted to see "Vincent/Vanburgh" ward, because it was decimated by fire.

We succeeded in our mission of finding "Vincent/Vanburgh", and just like we had been led to believe, it was ruined. Absolutely ruined. We had to tread carefully on the second floor because everything was so unstable. We could see the beams of the ceiling below through the massive holes in the floor. It was really quite scary, and quite a few times we would be walking with utmost care when a big chunk of floor would fall away. We didn't have any safety gear with us, just our rucksacks and camera paraphernalia. Looking back I suppose it would have been nice if we had taken hard hats and appropriate footwear. But alas, we are still alive.

So we spent about 5 hours inside in all. When it started getting dark outside we decided to make tracks. We negotiated our way back through the labyrinth of corridors and wards and rooms. We got back to our entry point only to find that the hole in the fence had been sealed up...

I did a double take and questioned whether this was the same way that we came in. It was right next to the gate, so there was no doubt about it. We had been inside for 5 hours and in that time some bastard had fixed the broken fence, trapping us inside the facility. Shock set in and we had to try to weigh up our options with clouded judgement. I suggested the following to Simon:

Walk around the perimeter and look for another way out;
Climb up the 10ft fence, get cut to shreds by barbed wire and break our ankles when we drop to the floor;
Turn ourselves in to the on-site security and explain that we somehow got stuck inside the asylum;
Call a friend for back-up and assistance.

We opted for the first choice. That was until it started pissing down like you wouldn't believe. The heavens opened wide and soaked us through, we had to take shelter under a rusty old fire escape.

In this situation it was looking far more favourable to turn ourselves in. It isn't illegal to "break in" to these places, we could prove that the fence was already broken, and it was privately owned so it would be up to the owner to prosecute us as they saw fit. Being poor students we weren't too keen on this idea, so we decided to call my friend Graham to come and help. Graham is a tree surgeon. I knew he would have some tools to help us cut our way through the fence. I wanted him to bring a chainsaw, that's how desperate it was getting. He said he would be about 30 minutes, so we had to wait in the pouring rain until he arrived.

When Graham finally arrived he had his girlfriend at the time, Andrea, with him. I didn't like Andrea. Naturally she didn't understand what we were doing in an abandoned mental institute. She was also laughing at us, the bitch. Graham produced a meaty hacksaw and we were all set to cut the fence into little pieces.

Simon had disappeared somewhere to take a slash. He found some bushes that would supply him with the privacy he craved. I was talking to Graham whilst Simon relieved himself, it was going to take a few of us to complete our task. Simon had been gone for a few minutes when I heard him cry out. I can't remember what he said, and I don't even think he actually said anything that made sense. It was this weird noise, but I knew he had found something, and I hoped that it wasn't a dead body.

During his slash, Simon had rested his hand on the fence. The fence panel fell away to reveal a lovely gap that was big enough to fit through. We were saved! I still remark on how, of all the places that Simon could have rested his hand while he was taking a piss, that he would rest it on the only loose fence panel in the entire place. We had experienced equal parts bad fortune and good fortune. Graham's tools were not required and we exited through the new hole in the fence.

There were also some other "survivors" that had been inside, oblivious to our plight. The golden rule of walking around these places is that if you hear anyone else in there, you stay out of sight. No one wants an accidental assaulting by way of a wooden board with a nail through it. Thus we had stayed out of sight of these adventurers, as had they with us. It was also a bit strange that Andrea knew these people. Small world, eh?

We have not ventured to Cane Hill since. It's too much like hard work getting in there, keeping out of sight and earshot, and getting out again. I'd rather watch TV these days.