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Published: October 4th 2009
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Several people asked us why we were off to a secret nuclear bunker this weekend. The answer is - er, because we can? Imogen's Dad bought Paul a book a couple of years ago called "Bollocks To Alton Towers - Alternative Days Out". Kelvedon Nuclear bunker featured in that and was highly recommended. Whilst travelling round New Zealand in a camper van, we agreed that when we got one back in England, we'd make a pilgrimage to the bunker. And finally on a breezy October weekend, we had the opportunity...
It was 8pm on Friday evening before we left Tesco, freshly stocked with essentials like beer and bread rolls, and hit the M25 for the trip to Essex. Thankfully the journey took less than an hour-and-a-half despite the roadworks.
Our plan was to stay at the Kelvedon Hatch camp site, which is one of the ‘club sites’ provided by the Caravan and Camping club (which both Imogen and Paul are members of, we just need to work on the beards). The club directory gives detailed instructions on how to get there including maps and a note written in bold red writing saying “Once near, DO NOT USE SAT NAV -
follow map provided”. Paul has experienced a couple of ‘sat nav moments’ recently, so we misinterpreted this as meaning that sat navs struggled to find the site. It doesn’t. It means that if you follow your Tom Tom’s recommended route, you’ll get there fine but it will take you down some of the darkest and narrowest lanes imaginable (certainly not suited to anyone towing a caravan) and reward you at the end, if you make it that far, with some of those width restriction metal poles which are perilously close together and designed to remove your wing mirrors and brown your undergarments. Never underestimate the power of Wes though, he made it no problem (despite the fact that his new UK headlights still need some adjustment making dark lanes extra fun!).
By the time we arrived, we really needed a pint. The local pub was about a mile away, so we popped in for a cheeky half and then pitched up for the night. Imogen had prepared a delicious Midnight feast of beef stroganoff - who says camping means compromise?!
The night was windy in many respects, but we awoke toasty warm in Wes in the morning after a
welcome lay-in. Going to a secret nuclear bunker requires a hearty breakfast, so some beans and sausages from a tin set us up for the day. The bunker sits in Kelvedon Hatch village, only a couple of miles from the campsite. Despite the secretness, the car park was well signposted and we parked up and walked up to what can only be described as a reasonably normal looking detached house. Saying that, there was an armour-plated vehicle and missile sitting in the driveway. It’s also notable that they stuck a 150 ft mast on the hill above the bunker, but no-one seemed to have noticed that during the 50 years of secrecy. There’s no-one there to greet you, just a load of printed signs and some ‘wands’ which provide the audio-guide as you walk around. Interestingly, you don’t pay until you get to the end and even then payment is via an honesty box. But with all the secret surveillance, and the Russians and that, who’s going to risk it?
Once in, you’re greeted by a bleak looking 120 yard long corridor. This feels flat but in fact leads you down at an imperceivable angle deep into the side
of the hill where the bunker’s 3 levels are hidden. As you move around the bunker listening to the audio guide’s narrator, you quickly realise that he has a very dark and morbid sense of humour. He seems to take great pride in telling you that the corridor was designed to be very easy to defend from the inside - not to keep the Russians out, but to prevent the likes of you and us from getting in when there’s a nuclear winter going on outside. More than once, he accidentally refers to the building as a concrete coffin, rather than a bunker, acknowledging the fact that the 1950’s design has never proven to work in the face of actual nuclear fall out. There are also many references to the classic work of public propaganda that is the “Protect and Survive” leaflet handed out during the cold war to Joe Public. It’s interesting that we were expected to be reassured that sitting under the kitchen table for 14 days with a holdall full of sand on the top would resist the blast effect of a 100 megatonne bomb. Of course, you needed to remember your wireless, some jigsaw puzzles for
The corridor
This is the official way in and out. And as far as we'd get if they were defending it! the kids and a bucket of sand to wash your dishes (has anyone ever washed dishes with sand?!). Interestingly, the list of things to keep in your shelter with you are almost identical to what is stored in Wes’ cupboards. We know where we’re hiding if there’s ever a 4 minute warning!
The bunker features a communications centre, sick bay, bunk beds for up to 600 staff and a fully functioning BBC studio from which the Prime Minister could broadcast reassuring messages to the radiation sickened remains of the population. What’s great about the whole place is that you can get up close and amongst the displays and equipment. For the geeks amongst you (you know who you are) there are some amazing bits of old computers knocking about. The audio guide light-heartedly points out that there’s not much point using cutting edge technology in the bunker if it has all been blown up outside. As we approached the end of the tour, we were starting to realise that actually, being tucked up safely in the bunker wouldn’t necessarily be a golden ticket to survival. Unlike the Second World War, where the armed forces worked tirelessly in dangerous situations to
ensure their families were in relative safety, people down here would be well aware that their families had most likely been wiped out whilst they remained safe. The place could operate in isolation for up to 3 months, but then they’d have to come out and face whatever was left. It’s a sobering thought that they kept enough cyanide for all 600 staff in case 1. they couldn’t get out, or 2. there was nothing left of the rest of the World when they did.
But before the two of us got too lost in morbid thoughts, the fire alarm went off. Trouble is, in places like this you never know if it’s all part of the museum experience. We stood for maybe 30 secs waving our hands a bit and pointing, and then decided to dash for the exit. “Oh wait a minute, it’s a nuclear bunker. Arses, it’s only got one way in and out!” We realised we were near the way out anyway so we made a run for that. Turns out it was a false alarm and we then had to play it cool near all the people in the cafeteria even though we secretly
knew a bit of wee had leaked out in all the panic.
After a well deserved pint we headed back to the campsite and Wes became a luxurious afternoon retreat.
In the evening we cycled to the local pub for a delicious meal and ate ourselves stupid. If there had been a nuclear explosion on Saturday night and we did have to go hungry for a few days, we would definitely have had plenty in reserve. Once back in Wes again, we were tucked up in our sleeping bags with a can of beer and a DVD.
The following morning the wind had subsided and the sun had got his hat on. We were able to sit outside and eat canned All Day Breakfast - all the bad bits of pigs with the familiarity of beans. But all food prepared in the great outdoors is delicious and this was no exception. By 11:30 we had hit the road and were home by 1pm.
So in summary, you must visit the bunker - everyone will love it, but boys will love it that little bit more, and none of us can put our finger on why…
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