On Friday evening, some PGCE accomplices of mine frequented the watering holes of Cambridge’s bustling metropolis, culminating in entry to one of the local discotheques. There was nothing extraordinary about this at all – the night was perfectly normal. A few drinks spent in the company of a few good people, followed by a boogie.
What happened after was more interesting.
I had completed the most part of my amble homewards. In fact, I was just heading over the railway bridge on Mill Road which joins Petersfield and Romsey in blissful union. Although this was unexeptional, what I witnessed upon glancing to the right was far from normal.
A few hundred metres away, beyond the railway station itself, stood a large building. It was on fire.
As it emerged, this was no small fire either. I could already see it from quite a distance, with embers flying into the air at an impressive rate, billowing out of the building’s peak.
Instead of finishing the journey home, I diverted myself to the environs of the building. In the five minutes it took to get there, the fire had seemed to increase in severity. The area was populated by firemen, and I clambered onto a nearby brick wall to get a view over the large metal fence which presumably failed to prevent some arsonists from setting the place alight. A few people had already done the same thing, and had climbed into a more central, albeit difficult to reach, viewing platform.
Spillers Mill, on fire, from nearby. Shoddy picture quality, because I only had my mobile phone to take the picture with.
My view got boring, so I headed for the Hills Road railway bridge, a minute or two from my beloved Homerton College. The view from the bridge gave more confirmation that several parts of the building were alight. The fire was raging, and the one hose pointed at the building’s top floor seemed too punitive to prevent the flames from spreading. You could see the glow of the blaze through every empty window on the site.
Spillers Mill on fire, as viewed from Hills Road railway bridge. Again, taken with a mobile phone, so poor quality.
Anticipating that I should head home, but still desiring another view, I headed to the industrial park adjacent to Rustat Road. Deep within the industrial park, which had thus far appeared to be completely deserted, I saw a new Mini parked up, blaring out the music of the Kings Of Leon.
Mindful of what I might be disturbing, I tentatively headed closer to it. Nearby, I saw a girl atop a stack of tyres. She turned and spoke to someone out of vision. Quoth her: “Er, there’s someone else here”. Bemused, I thought I’d join their impromptu gathering.
Twas a man and a woman, probably three or four years younger than myself. The woman had a beefy SLR camera, and mentioned that the guy she was with was a relative stranger to her. They had been at a party nearby until they realised this building was on fire, which clearly required their attention. They were both very friendly, and we engaged in smalltalk, observing the spectacle as one might a fireworks display.
At some point, I slipped on my new position atop the pile of rubber tyres, and pierced my hand on some barbed wire. Not too badly though; the bleeding soon stopped, but the cut was slightly deeper than your average laceration. At any rate, the girl announced to me that they were about to take some of this “methadrone” stuff, and asked if I took it. I replied with a negative, for I do not.
It appeared to be something they snorted. I don’t know an awful lot about it. The girl turned to me and asked “are you going to judge us for this?”. I said “no”, as I imagine there are far more heinous or harmful things to be doing with one’s time, even if taking methadrone isn’t such a wonderful idea.
With that they were off, and I decided it was time for bed, and I headed home. Five minutes later, I had crossed Mill Road, and was nearly back in my bedroom armed with a bowl of post-night-out Weetabix, reflecting on the bizarre spectacle which I had beheld.
The building itself is, or perhaps was, known as Spiller’s Mill. Standing several storeys high, it used to consist of an original mill building dating from 1894, with some large modern appendages. The additions did not feature the historic materials of the initial building, and looked like a series of cheap bolt-ons. At some point in the last decade, the ugly new bits were removed, with the intention of converting the old building into flats.
I don’t know if this plan was abandoned or not. Certainly the area has been a building site for some time, though whether things have been happening on it, I cannot say. I would imagine people who live in close proximity to the building know the answer to this mystery.
Now Spillers Mill risks collapse due to the structural damage caused by the blaze. I had maintained, and observed to my Mum at some point during one of her recent visits to the city, that I felt Spillers Mill to be one of the finest buildings in Cambridge. It dominates the skyline around it, and I felt it to be a great shame that it couldn’t be used for something else.
Now, I suppose, the chances of that happening have been greatly diminished, and the building may have been lost forever. This is to the detriment of the city, I think. Reminders of England’s industrial heritage often combine beauty with the fact that the building was highly functional. I wonder what fate awaits for Spillers Mill.
Interestingly enough, someone appears to be paying the electricity bill. I’m genuinely intrigued to know who they are and why they’re doing it. Perhaps whoever owns the building is hoping someone will walk past and decide that the plot is perfect for the discount superstore that they’d always dreamt of running since five seconds ago when the thought first occurred to them. Perhaps Woolworths is staging a secret comeback – first Ipswich, then the world! Or perhaps E-On forgot to press the off switch. More to follow on this fascinating story.