My Nan’s studio flat at 45 Terry House, Park Row, Bristol BS1 5LX was small. Very small. Cozy would be pushing it and “single occupancy preferred” would be the agent’s euphemism of choice. It was definitely not a flat for a couple, however well they might get on.
The total floor area was a modest 30 square metres or so. That’s quite a bit less than half the size of just the ground floor of my modest 3 bed mid-terrace in Acreman Place.
Terry House was a purpose built red brick block of modern apartments built in the late 60s, or possibly the early 70s judging by the style. The Princes Theatre used to be on the site, famous for its pantomimes, but it was flattened in an air raid during the war and the site was sold in 1954. Two blocks of flats were then put up named Irving and Terry House after the actors Sir Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. Terry House was tucked immediately behind its sister block Irving House.
You came in and there was a tiny bathroom immediately on the right, then an even tinier galley kitchen (of which there was room for only one person) and one main room, off which there was a curtained off bedroom area. Not a bedroom, just a space in which there was just about room for the smallest of single beds.
There was a garage but Nan rented it out as a handy little top up for her state pension. There were a few parking spaces for visitors and that proved most useful over the years.
And that was it. But I loved Terry House and it was Nan’s perfect dinky little domain. She spent nearly 20 happy years there, from 1979/80 to 1998.
Whilst the flat may have been diminutive, it undoubtedly had a fantastic location, tucked away at the back of the Esso station on Park Row and I loved the exciting buzzy Bristol urbanness of it. The big glass window with views of the back of Park Street and Cabot Tower atop Brandon Hill on the horizon. The constant hum of traffic and wail of ambulances and police cars, the hourly chime of the Great George bell housed within the gothic splendour of the nearby Wills Memorial Building. Everything was on the doorstep and you were just a hop and a skip from the delights of Park Street.
There in that landmark Bristol street on the steepest of inclines I could wander happily for hours amongst the many desirable emporiums: Rayners, Replay, Rival & Revolver for records and Georges for books. Georges was no ordinary single bookshop, it was a sprawling empire of half a dozen shops: academic, art, second hand and more besides. It was a place to contentedly browse and occasionally spend, but only after much careful deliberation. Today of course, all those shops are gone. Indeed for years the only survivor from those 80s and 90s days was Bristol Guild, a unique arts & craft department store and a Bristolian institution where I would often go hunting for interesting Christmas and birthday gifts. I have just googled it and sadly The Guild too has now gone from Park Street, closed forever in 2024.
Nan’s little studio was always a welcome oasis of calm and sustenance, of sweets, chocolate and occasional handouts, of pound notes stuffed firmly into my hand. Resistance was always futile.
Which seems as good a place as any to recycle a small section from the tribute I gave for Nan when we lost her in 2014.
My happiest memories of Nan probably stem from the three years I spent at Bristol University from 1987-1990. Nan’s flat was literally just around the corner and as you can imagine, barely a day went by when I didn’t visit. You might assume that as a student I was taking dirty washing around but that would be quite, quite wrong, I took that to Mum’s instead.
No, I went to Nan’s to enjoy all day cooked breakfasts, tea and coffee (with lashings of sugar) and a sympathetic ear at all times, particularly when I was stressed with exams. Nan was just the best, soaking up all my stories and news and I just loved those visits. There were no mobile phones then and the visits were rarely planned, I just turned up, often with only half an hour to spare between lectures. But Nan was always in and the bacon would soon be frying. In fact the bacon would often be frying before the lift doors even opened and I eventually figured out Nan must have been sitting at the open window keeping a long range lookout for my arrival.
These years were indeed very special but my bond with Terry House had started before uni and for some years after. The flat was so small that I could never really stay over comfortably, but Nan would rectify that by selflessly insisting she vacate to stay at her sister (my Auntie) Anne’s in High Kingsdown. So in this way Terry House was often the perfect post gig crash pad, and the occasional ideal venue for a weekend city break.
I remember feeling quite bereft when Peter told me that Terry House was being sold as Nan was struggling and would be moving into supported accommodation (with an alarm cord and a warden on site) at Guardian Court in Clifton.
Terry House was a huge part of my childhood and I can still picture its every nook and cranny, all permeated with the faint smell of Silk Cut, the crackly intercom, the décor, the pictures and the photographs. I can also recall the dramatic wall-shaking clunk of the lift as it arrived, with the resulting rattling ricochet of all the letterboxes of the flats on the third floor. The lift shaft was immediately adjacent to Nan’s flat and you could hear the wheeze and grind of the lift machinery 24/7 but strangely I kind of liked that too. All part of Terry House’s busy urban charm.
Rightmove tells us that Nan’s little studio was sold for £33,000 in 1998 and has not been sold since. So it probably went to an investor, the flats barely seem to come up for sale as they are eminently rentable to nurses at the BRI or to University staff. Zoopla reckons it is worth a fairly astonishing £221k now.
Nan spent six years in Guardian Court before her diabetes became just too difficult for her to manage and she then moved to Abbots Leigh Nursing Home in 2004 where she lived for another decade. But for me Nan will always be about Terry House, the ultimate little city pad for the most amazing Nan.
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