The four-bedroom home “blends historic architecture, soaring open-plan living spaces and every possible contemporary comfort”
2 min
A unique home on the outskirts of London within a former chapel that had a starring role in the hit TV series “Call the Midwife” is on the rental market for £39,000 (US$48,568) per month.
The four-bedroom home was carved out of St Joseph’s Missionary College, which, founded in 1871, trained young Catholic priests to work as missionaries abroad, according to listing agency Dexters.
Before its conversion to a lavish private residence, the college’s chapel had a starring role as nursing convent Nonnatus House in the first two seasons of the feel-good BBC show, which focuses on a church-funded midwifery in the 1950s and 1960s, based on the bestselling memoirs of Jennifer Worth, a former London nurse.
When the historic college was sold for redevelopment in 2013, and production of “Call The Midwife” transferred to a studio set, the chapel—along with the rest of the building—was born again.
Still going by the apt moniker of the Chapel, the home is the centerpiece of the site, which is now a gated development known as St Joseph’s Gate, said Dexters, which brought the home to the market in late February.
The home spans almost 10,000 square feet and “blends historic architecture, soaring open plan living spaces and every possible contemporary comfort,” said Andy Christophi, director of Dexters Finchley.
The chapel’s nave is now the dramatic heart of the home, complete with a 45-foot high vaulted timber ceiling.
The vast open-plan area—which also has columns and gothic-style arches—has a handcrafted kitchen, temperature-controlled wine storage, a curved living area with Victorian windows and enough space to easily host 30 at a dinner table, the listing said.
Above, a mezzanine bedroom has been constructed to appear as though floating above the main living area below.
The home also has a gym, a spa area with a sauna and steam room, and a media room.
“Perfect for a family that loves to entertain, its use as a filming location…makes it particularly iconic, and means you’ll never run out of dinner party conversation,” Christophi said.
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What a quarter-million dollars gets you in the western capital.
Alexandre de Betak and his wife are focusing on their most personal project yet.
3 min
Many luxury hotels only build on their gilded reputations with each passing decade. But others are less fortunate. Here are five long-gone grandes dames that fell from grace—and one that persists, but in a significantly diminished form.
A magnet for celebrities, the Garden of Allah was once the scene-making equivalent of today’s Chateau Marmont. Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner’s affair allegedly started there and Humphrey Bogart lived in one of its bungalows for a time.
Crimean expat Alla Nazimova leased a grand home in Hollywood after World War I, but soon turned it into a hotel, where she prioritised glamorous clientele. Others risked being ejected by guards and a fearsome dog dubbed the Hound of the Baskervilles. Demolished in the 1950s, the site’s now a parking lot.
The Astor family hoped to repeat their success when they opened this sequel to their megahit Waldorf Astoria hotel in 1904. It became an anchor of the nascent Theater District, buzzy (and naughty) enough to inspire Cole Porter to write in “High Society”: “Have you heard that Mimsie Starr…got pinched in the Astor Bar?”
That bar soon gained another reputation. “Gentlemen who preferred the company of other gentlemen would meet in a certain section of the bar,” said travel expert Henry Harteveldt of consulting firm Atmosphere Research. By the 1960s, the hotel had lost its lustre and was demolished; the 54-storey One Astor Plaza skyscraper was built in its place.
In the 1950s, colonial officers around Africa treated Mozambique as an off-duty playground. They flocked, in particular, to the Santa Carolina, a five-star hotel on a gorgeous archipelago off the country’s southern coast.
Run by a Portuguese businessman and his wife, the resort included an airstrip that ferried visitors in and out. Ask locals why the place was eventually reduced to rubble, and some whisper that the couple were cursed—and that’s why no one wanted to take over when the business collapsed in the ’70s. Today, seeing the abandoned, crumbled ruins and murals bleached by the sun, it’s hard to dismiss their superstitions entirely.
The overwater bungalow, a shorthand for barefoot luxury around the world, began in French Polynesia—but not with the locals. Instead, it was a marketing gimmick cooked up by a trio of rascally Americans. They moved to French Polynesia in the late 1950s, and soon tried to capitalise on the newly built international airport and a looming tourism boom.
That proved difficult because their five-room hotel on the island of Raiatea lacked a beach. They devised a fix: building rooms on pontoons above the water. They were an instant phenomenon, spreading around the islands and the world—per fan site OverwaterBungalows.net , there are now more than 9,000 worldwide, from the Maldives to Mexico. That first property, though, is no more.
The Ricker family started out as innkeepers, running a stagecoach stop in Maine in the 1790s. When Hiram Ricker took over the operation, the family expanded into the business by which it would make its fortune: water. Thanks to savvy marketing, by the 1870s, doctors were prescribing Poland Spring mineral water and die-hards were making pilgrimages to the source.
The Rickers opened the Poland Spring House in 1876, and eventually expanded it to include one of the earliest resort-based golf courses in the country, a barber shop, dance studio and music hall. By the turn of the century, it was among the most glamorous resort complexes in New England.
Mismanagement eventually forced its sale in 1962, and both the water operation and hospitality holdings went through several owners and operators. While the water venture retains its prominence, the hotel has weathered less well, becoming a pleasant—but far from luxurious—mid-market resort. Former NYU hospitality professor Bjorn Hanson says attempts at upgrading over the decades have been futile. “I was a consultant to a developer in the 1970s to return the resort to its ‘former glory,’ but it never happened.”
