I stand in the darkness of what was once Wildings department store in Newport, Wales, using my phone's torch to read a lift sign that now hangs by its wires. The choices—shoes on the ground floor, lingerie on the third—feel like ghosts from a past era. On January 19, 2019, after 144 years of operation, this retail landmark closed forever, leaving behind a musty, empty shell where perfume counters once stood.
Climbing the stairs reveals a stark transformation. The first floor, once home to fashion brands like Annabelle and Tigi-Wear, now holds discarded tents and plastic jerry cans. Hanging from the ceiling are remnants of makeshift ventilation ducts—evidence of the building's more recent, illicit chapter as a cannabis farm.
To understand Wildings in its prime, I speak with Peter James, the store's former managing director. "Department store retail was theatre and it was glamorous in those days," recalls James, 65. "It was more about service than constant sales. Very traditional, otherworldly, atmospheric." He took over from his father, Sheldon James, in 1995, continuing a family legacy that began in the 1960s.
James remembers a workforce of 50-60 staff, predominantly women who found family in the store. He particularly recalls Miss White, a formidable secretary who joined in 1942 and didn't retire until 2007. "My father had to gently remind her that he was the managing director, not her," he says with a laugh.
The building's current caretakers, Mo and Naj from Afghanistan, let me in. Their boss purchased 165 Commercial Street at the end of 2024, and they've been clearing out the space ever since—not remnants from the department store days, but from its time as a cannabis operation.
In October 2023, Gwent police raided the building and discovered over 3,000 cannabis plants spread across three floors, with an estimated value exceeding £2 million. Two Albanian men, Adrian Daja and Andi Shabani, were found living among the crop and received two-year prison sentences in January 2024 for drug production.
James sold the building for £230,000 three years before the raid. "A lot of people thought I was doing it to pep up my pension," he jokes. "It would have been a good idea; I wish I'd thought of it."
On the third floor, where lingerie and Alfred's tea room once operated, I discover something unexpected: a makeshift skate park. A U-shaped ramp constructed from ripped wall cladding stands alongside a pull-up bar and what appears to be a packing-tape punchbag. Scrawled on the wall in marker pen is a chronicle of its creation:
17/3/25–19/3/25 CLEANING UP THE ROOM 22/3/25 TUCK SHit OFF WINDOWS 23/3/25 WE SK8TED IN HERE TODAY 25/3/25 WE StARtED THE FRAME OF THE RAMP 28/3/25 FiRST RAMP DONE TODAY (WE BOtH SK8TED IT!!!)
The graffiti continues, documenting three months of construction that added rails, quarter-pipes, and a fun box. The authors identify themselves as "THE WILDINGS WANDERERS," with frequent references to "GHOST" and "SHADOW" alongside drawings of drug paraphernalia. All dates are from 2025—long after the cannabis farm was dismantled—revealing yet another secret chapter in the building's story.
In the front offices overlooking Commercial Street, a 2016 year planner still hangs, possibly in the same room where Peter James once revised for his exams. The building that hosted fashion shows and employed generations of Newport residents has become a canvas for urban exploration, its empty spaces repurposed by those seeking adventure in forgotten places.