I first saw this house over 25 years ago, when it was far more intact and substantial than is now the case.
I recall it was on a stormy October night, when I was on my way over to Blaenau Ffestiniog. High on the moors above Denbigh, suddenly on the skyline there hove into view the eery, ruined outline of the most isolated house imaginable.
On first appearances, it was like something out of a Hammer Horror Film, with its broken roof line, sightless windows, and towering, tottering chimney stacks, dominating the surrounding acres of empty moorland.
For years (this is prior to the Internet) I was unable to find anything out about the property, and then, quite by chance, I came across a book on ruined houses in the United Kingdom: and there it was, Gwylfa Hiraethog, with details of how it came to be built and its subsequent decline and fall.
Nothing, as it turned out at all sinister: just a building built for, and belonging to, a way of life which had vanished forever amidst the carnage of the First World War.
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