Essex: Kelvedon Hatch Secret Nuclear Bunker

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Although I was disappointed in the Postal Museum Store, the drive to Essex wasn’t a total waste, as we also had plans to visit the Kelvedon Hatch Nuclear Bunker.  I’ve had it on my list of places to visit for a while, though I was slightly more enticed by the thought of Merlincock Wood (made even funnier if you’ve actually seen that terrible Merlin show on the BBC.  We used to have an old TV that could only pick up BBC1 and Channel 4, so I’ve been forced to watch an entire series, a depressing number of hours I can never get back.), a nearby forest, than perhaps the bunker itself.  In any event, while we never found Merlincock Wood (though I shudder to think what kind of visitors I’m going to bring to my blog by even typing that name), we did find the bunker, albeit with some difficulty. Since it was a secret bunker, it stands to reason that it would of course be hidden away, which it was.  We had to loop around a narrow country road a few times to even locate the parking lot, which was at the end of a long dirt road past a field that looked as though it might have been full of land mines (probably just normal seeds though).  Upon parking, we realised that the bunker was a cash-only affair, so we then had to drive for half an hour to locate a cash machine (Kelvedon Hatch is sort of in the middle of nowhere), so don’t get caught out if you decide to visit.

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Cash located, we made the lengthy trek back to the bunker, and I was frankly thinking at this point that the bunker had better be pretty damn amazing to make up for all the inconvenience.  My first impressions were not great.  It shares a parking lot (and cafe) with some sort of military themed playground, where swarms of bratty children hung from ropes whilst screeching like banshees.  The bunker itself was not especially encouraging either.  The front of it was plastered with stern signage, outlining the many rules of the bunker (no pictures of the interior for one, unless you wanted to purchase a £5 “licence,” hence, although there were many cool things to take pictures of, all the ones in this post will be of the rather boring exterior).  The whole thing operated on an honour system, so there was no admissions desk, rather, you helped yourself to an audio headset and were told to pay at the end of the tour. I have to admit, I tend to steer clear of places that I imagine will be rife with hardcore conspiracy theorist types, and the bunker hadn’t done anything so far to dispel my preconceptions.  We were the only people there, and I was a little apprehensive about entering the dodgy looking tunnel, but as the sign at the threshold informed us there was no turning back at that point (without having to pay, anyway), we were already in too deep.

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Like the vast majority of audio tours, this one was also long-winded, but there were signs up with the same information that was given in the audio tour (in some cases, word-for-word), so you didn’t necessarily have to listen to it.  It actually got pretty annoying, as the narrator kept repeating the same phrases.  For example, he told us how “the likes of you and I” would be kept out of the tunnel at gunpoint about five times.  The vast majority of information was about the operation of the bunker, rather than why or how it was built.  I mean, obviously it was a Cold War construction, but there wasn’t much background provided.  Nonetheless, once we left the opening tunnel (there to protect the bunker against the blast), and entered the bunker proper, things picked up quite a bit.

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The bunker promised “extremely realistic” wax models, and whilst I’d perhaps quibble on the realism, they certainly delivered an impressive array of wax figures, including ones of Margaret Thatcher and John Major (we actually visited the week before Thatcher died, so it would be interesting to see if they had changed anything as a result, though I don’t see why they would have, as the figures were there to represent the Prime Ministers who would have used the bunker).  The bunker was vast, far bigger than I would have thought, and all the communications rooms had clacking machines running, so it was surprisingly lively in there – a nice change from the funereal mood of the entrance.  They had ’50s and ’60s era nuclear preparation films playing in a few of the rooms, and I love that kind of atomic kitsch, so we of course stopped to watch. You’ll be glad to know that I now know how to create a shelter within my home, assuming I can lay my hands on a couple of old doors and a hell of a lot of sand, and have time to do some frenzied construction.

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I’m kind of a Where’s Waldo (or, sigh, Wally, though that just sounds wrong to me) in this one.

You’re allowed to tramp through most of the former bunker, and the tour takes you through various communications rooms, bedrooms and dormitories, and the actual workings of the bunker, including the air filtration system, with wax figures to demonstrate the use of the rooms throughout.  The emphasis seemed to be strongly on how the majority of the population would suffer under a nuclear attack, with less on how life in the bunker would actually unfold, though there was some of that; it was just repetitive, and only dwelt on certain aspects of the bunker.  I think I wanted to know more about the realities of day-to-day living in the bunker, rather than the mechanics of its operation; the audio guide was most keen on me learning things like how the radios would have worked, and that I probably would have died, or at the very least, turned into some sort of disfigured mutant.

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Near the end, there was an area where you could dress up and pose for pictures, however, the £5 picture surcharge still applied, unless you wanted to spend £2 to use their ancient camera, which scarcely looked functional.  As they didn’t even have the promised gas masks, I skipped it.  Now, this is really what annoyed me about the place: throughout the bunker, we were constantly reminded by various signs that we were on CCTV, and someone was watching us, which for a sort of anti-establishment styled attraction, felt like a creepy amount of surveillance.  But, when we actually reached the exit, the only people working there were a couple of men washing dishes in the cafe.  The entire payment system was through an honesty box, and whilst we were of course honest, and paid the full admission charge, I’m sure there are plenty who don’t.  It seems like they try to scare people from taking pictures with warnings of their weird surcharge, but in the end, no one actually cared about enforcing anything, which was irritating.  Even the items for sale in the gift shop were to be paid for through the honesty box (which I guess is why they require you to have cash), but the whole setup was just bizarre.  I think it would be much better if they had a normal admissions desk up front, or else just had visitors enter through the canteen, instead of trying to freak people out with off-putting signs.

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Payment system aside, I did enjoy the bunker more than I expected, so I’ll give it a 3/5.  I think there are some definite issues they need to work on, in regard to the audio tour and admissions, but I wasn’t unhappy with the overall experience, and we easily killed a couple of hours there.  Besides, emerging unscathed from what looked at the outset to be some kind of freaky torture bunker made me unusually grateful for the weak British sunlight outside.

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