London's Smallest House

Hello and thanks for stopping by. From quaint Georgian terraces to brutalist tower blocks, homes in London come in all shapes and sizes, some of which are very quirky indeed. This bizarre structure for example, which is located near Burgess Park in Woolworth, is known as the Still House. As you can see it's built in and around a railway viaduct. Not too far away, in Kennington, stands this 10-storey tall dwelling which was converted from an old water tower, the original purpose of which was to serve the former Lambeth Workhouse. I wonder what the unfortunate souls who were inmates here all those years ago would have made of such lofty luxury. Over on South Terrace in Kensington meanwhile, you'll find this impossibly thin looking block of flats, which were designed this way to help them slot alongside the tracks of the District and Circle Lines which rattle below. A number of other very scrunched up properties can be seen shoehorned into tight spots all around the capital. This house for example is on Goldhawk Road, whilst this one's on St John's Hill near Clapham Junction Station. It'll come as no surprise to hear that these claustrophobic and for what they are ridiculously expensive properties are amongst the smallest homes in London. But which house is the smallest? Well, historically it's generally considered to be this wee building, number 10 Hyde Park Place, Bayswater Road, West 2. This narrow cylindrical red building appears to be relatively modern, but that's only because its facade was remodelled in the early 1990s. This is how it looked originally. As for what it's like inside, that's anyone's guess. You can hardly ring the bell and ask for a nose around because, well there isn't a buzzer, or a door handle, or even a letterbox for that matter. Just a coded lock and a small keyhole. Descriptions of the interior as it appeared in decades past do exist though. The best ones I've read date from 1913 and 1933, both years in which the property was up for auction. This is the 1913 account. The smallest house is really a tiny little retreat built over a long passage between numbers 9 and 11. The passage is a cul-de-sac, but halfway along it there is an iron ladder, a kind of ship's ladder which can be climbed only with difficulty. The ladder leads to a single room. It is as wide as the passage and about 20 foot long. It has none of the fixtures of a modern house, but is lighted by a window which gives a most charming view of Hyde Park. The 1933 account meanwhile says the upper level has since been by a pair of double glazed panel doors. But when you consider that the connecting ladder was so narrow that, to quote another article, a fat man could not possibly ascend it, installing those doors must have been a pretty tricky task and leads me to wonder why whoever had it done bothered at all. As for why this home was built with such matchbox like proportions, well that's quite a mystery, although there are quite a few theories. The first explanation which I can remember hearing was that the house was put in place to block off a nuisance alleyway, in other words a place which people were using as a public lavatory. The path in question led to St George's Burial Ground, now St George's Fields, which is located behind. The proximity of this old graveyard leads to another suggestion, which is that the little building was in fact intended as a watch house from where an eagle-eyed warden could look out for body snatchers, those nefarious gangs who specialised in digging up freshly buried corpses for the purpose of selling them on to medical schools. This theory does have some credence as such guard houses did exist in London, most notably this one on Guildsboro Street, just across from the Old Bailey, which would have been used at one time to deter body snatchers from targeting the graveyard of St Topolka without Newgate. This building by the way is an early 1960s replica, the original having been destroyed during the Blitz. Back in Bayswater, some people believe the little house was built in around 1805, which ties in with the watch house theory as that period was indeed at the height of the body snatching craze. Also plausible is the assumption that the home was built by a Miss Jub, who lived at number 9 as a residence for her maid and as she blessed the annex with a door number, it became a house in its own right. If this is the case, then it's possible, as suggested in some accounts, that the wee home in fact dates from the late 1860s, the same decade in which the section of Bayswater Road called Hyde Park Place came into being. Before that it had been known as St George's Terrace. There are two more theories about the little building which, to be frank, sound a lot more silly. The first of these reckons the house was built by a Scrooge-like miser who'd inherited a fortune but, as is often the case with such tales, had to abide by one unusual condition if he wanted to collect the money. The clause in this case being that he had to use part of the cash to Naturally, being so tight-fisted, the penny-pincher kept his end of the bargain, and had the last laugh of course, by ensuring the house was made as small as possible. The final claim is that an old fellow lived here long before anyone else, and was quite content with his cosy little cottage. So much so that when larger properties began to muscle in, he refused to budge, and that's how the dinky little building ended up being squeezed in between. That sounds like the plot for the classic Pixar film Up, doesn't it? Whichever way it came into being, the tiny house was a well-known oddity by the early 20th century. In the summer of 1904 for example, one newspaper noted how drivers of the city's new-fangled motorbuses enjoyed pointing out the curiosity to their passengers. The same piece also mentioned that the building was apparently uninhabitable, despite having one of the finest positions in London. At around the same time, a legend developed amongst local children that the dwelling was occupied by a little gnome-like man who had a smiling red face and a long white beard. This mystical inhabitant would, it was said, only ever exit the building at the stroke of midnight, after which he'd enter Hyde Park and make his way towards Kensington Gardens, where he would apparently frolic about by himself on the broadwalk. I have a feeling this bit of urban folklore may have been inspired in some way by the Elfin Oak, which is located close to the northern end of the broadwalk. This ancient tree, it's about 900 years old, was placed here in the early 20th century and if you look closely, you'll see it's full of little carvings of gnomes, elves, fairies and pixies. It really is rather charming. London's smallest home also inspired the so-called Little House, which appears in J.M Barrie's 1902 novel, The Little White Bird. Barrie would have indeed been familiar with number 10 Hyde Park Place, as he lived a short distance away at number 100 Bayswater Road, which is on the junction of Leinster Terrace. On the few occasions in the past when number 10 was up for auction, it was always in conjunction with its neighbour, number 9, as the two homes were classed as a pair, which I'd say lends weight to the idea that the small building was intended to be When reporting on the last auction, which occurred in 1933, it was said the little home had been unoccupied for about 15 years, but had been maintained by the resident of number 9, the celebrated doctor and cancer specialist John Lockhart Mummery, who had the door painted bright green and ensured fresh flowers were always on display in a window box. I reckon he was using it as his man cave. The only person to have been officially recorded as a bona fide resident of number 10 Hyde Park Place was a Mr Lewis Grant Wallace, who apparently vacated the property in 1941 after it suffered bomb damage. Born in 1910, Lewis was a writer and film producer who worked on a number of public information films during World War II, including one featuring, I kid you not, a talking suit, which was intended to encourage people to make do and amend. Excuse me? Oh don't look so surprised Mary, it's only the old suit speaking. You said we were both so young and happy, you mean of course all three of us. You're right, all three of us were young and happy. Yes, do you remember the day I came off the peg? The opening shot, in which this sentient outfit is revealed in its cupboard, has a rather claustrophobic feel. I wonder if it was inspired by Lewis's time at number 10 Hyde Park Place. After the war, the wee house was acquired by its current owners, the nuns of the Tyburn convent, and it remains part of this silent retreat today. I wonder what the next chapter in the history of London's smallest house will bring. Thanks so much for watching. I hope you enjoyed this look at London's smallest house and would love to know your thoughts in the comments. Is it somewhere you could see yourself living, and which theory about its origins do you think sounds most plausible? I'd like to thank all of you who left such kind comments on my recent video about London's Forgotten Square, Craig's Court. I really do enjoy reading them. I'd also like to extend a very warm welcome to all new subscribers. It's great to have you along. If you haven't yet subscribed to Rob's London, I'd be most grateful if you could please consider doing so, as this, along with clicking the bell icon, will ensure that you don't miss out whenever I publish a new video. And if there are any particular hidden corners of London you'd like to see covered, please do feel free to suggest them. If you're in a generous mood and fancy leaving a small tip, I now have a Ko-fi account where you can do just that. 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