I wrote a short story called Devil's Door a while ago. It's about an antique door that has a sinister past and a life of it's own. I've written about where I got the idea for the door, before, but this place (see the piccies below) was where the idea of a reclamation yard was born. A place where a father and his son might work, scouring the countryside for curious items.
House of Reclaim was an excellent reclamation yard in Fordingbridge, just on the edge of the New Forest. This is all that's left of it I'm afraid. The place was a treasure trove for lovers of antiques and curios, but also for writers. Imagine boxes of keys that fit locks to ancient houses that no longer stand, windows of coloured glass and lead that let you look onto their original views. Statues and gates that seem to stand waiting. Waiting for the place to close. So I was unreasonably sad when I discovered the place was no more. There's no moral here, except to treasure places like this when you find them, and to look for bizarre and unusual places wherever you are - just don't turn your back on them for long.
The last time I visited, I heard a woman asking for an ornate door that she could turn into a table. It's exactly the plot of my story, the door is turned into a table. It spooked me, and I had to steel myself to turn round and look - to make sure it wasn't the Devil's Door.