In 1739 Holywell vestry authorised the foundation of a workhouse or "poorhouse" on the shoreline of the river dee in North Wales, and was ‘farmed’ for the production of clothing until the poor law union was built in 1838. Holywell workhouse as it then became known, served a union of 14 parishes across Flintshire throughout the Victorian era. Over the next century the site was a bustling area of activity and extended across almost a dozen out-buildings, including a children's home just to the north of the workhouse. In 1930, the workhouse passed into local council control and became a Public Assistance Institution as the laws surrounding poor law began to change for the better. Electricity was installed for the first time on the grounds to replace the old paraffin oil lamps, and the site was used by the military in both world wars. Subsequently in 1948 the former workhouse became part of the newly founded NHS (National Health Service) and was from then on appointed as Lluesty General Hospital. Despite the modernisation of the buildings and regulation of working conditions, the workhouse infirmary and chapel have remained almost exactly as they were, serving as a constant reminder of their dark history. After the turn of the millennium the NHS had evolved and underwent extensive changes throughout the UK, causing smaller and more locally focused hospitals such as this one to offload their services to more modern facilities at Holywell and Deeside. The hospital therefore closed in 2008 and the site was sold for redevelopment as a residential care home. However, the plans fell through and the building has since been left standing empty and increasingly derelict. At first the site would have been nothing but an empty concrete shell, but as nature starts to take back such an industrialised place, it proves that nowhere is ever permanently just metal and concrete. Despite this, I couldn’t help but notice during my visit that a pattern seems to be emerging amongst these former hospitals. Little to no protection or security is provided on behalf of the government to save them from becoming complete ruins, regardless of them often being littered with asbestos. They are all quite literally rotting away. Ultimately earning the same fate as Britain's asylums had done some twenty years ago. It never ceases to amaze me that in such a small country, a publicly owned site such as this can be forgotten rather than re-used. Lluesty hospital is an example of 270 years of progress, and generations building on each other’s work to create something that is ultimately better than before. It is hard to think of a more fitting example of this than the transition of the poor law act into the National Health Service. It is truly saddening for this place to have been central to that revolutionary change and to then be thrown away and uncared for in such a way. It makes me wonder how much of our heritage this generation will eventually leave behind.
