Personally I don't feel there would be much point, since it is barely recognisable from its pre-requisition pictures, with the exception of the church which has been left alone as it is an ancient monument. Perhaps part of the fascination (I am quite seriously in love with Imber) is precisely with the sense of loss, of requisition, of combat, love for a place which is surrounded by signs saying you must keep out because it is dangerous. The remains of the village are actually open to the public a few days a year, but other than that it doesn't even get urbexed because if you go to Imber there is actually a very real possibility you will die.
Perhaps it's also a love of the anomalous: below is the census data for Imber (the Wiltshire website characterises it as an extreme anomaly):
Imber Census Information |
Year | Imber | Wiltshire |
1801 | 331 | 185,107 |
1811 | 379 | 193,828 |
1821 | 414 | 222,157 |
1831 | 404 | 240,156 |
1841 | 405 | 258,733 |
1851 | 440 | 254,221 |
1861 | 382 | 249,311 |
1871 | 344 | 257,177 |
1881 | 339 | 258,965 |
1891 | 292 | 264,997 |
1901 | 261 | 271,394 |
1911 | 252 | 286,822 |
1921 | 188 | 292,208 |
1931 | 152 | 303,373 |
1951 | 0 | 386,692 |
1961 | 0 | 422,950 |
1971 | 0 | 486,747 |
1981 | 0 | 518,545 |
1991 | 0 | 564,471 |
2001 | 0 | 613,024 |
Source
And it's also Imber's remoteness:
Imber on Google maps
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