Hackney isn’t exactly known for its silence. It’s loud. It’s gentrified. It’s full of overpriced coffee and Victorian terraces that cost more than a small island. But for forty years, right under the feet of the people living on Mortimer Road, something bizarre was happening. William Lyttle, a man the tabloids eventually dubbed the Mole Man of Hackney, was digging. He wasn’t just "doing a bit of DIY." He was creating a labyrinth.
It started with a wine cellar. Or at least, that’s what Lyttle told people back in the 60s. He’d bought this massive, 20-room derelict house and decided he wanted a place to keep his bottles. But then he just… kept going. He dug for forty years. He didn’t use blueprints or professional surveys. He used a shovel and a home-made pulley system.
Honestly, the scale of it is hard to wrap your head around if you haven’t seen the photos of the aftermath. We aren't talking about a crawl space. We are talking about tunnels reaching 60 feet in every direction from the house. Some went down 26 feet into the London clay.
Why did he do it?
That’s the question everyone asks. Was it some kind of post-war trauma? Was he looking for treasure? Or was it just a hobby that spiraled out of control? Lyttle was a retired electrical engineer, so he had a technical mind, but he wasn't exactly forthcoming with his motivations. When people asked, he’d usually give a cheeky answer like, "I just have a thing for digging."
He once famously said that "Digging is a hobby that has a sequence to it." He didn't see it as madness. To him, it was a long-term project. A very long-term project.
But here is the thing: he wasn’t just digging under his own property. The tunnels started snaking out under the public pavement and even under neighboring houses. Imagine sitting in your living room in East London and hearing the faint thud-thud-thud of a shovel thirty feet below your sofa. It sounds like a horror movie plot, but for the residents of Mortimer Road, it was just "Bill."
The engineering nightmare of Mortimer Road
The local council eventually had to step in, but it took way longer than you’d think. People knew he was eccentric. They saw him hauling buckets of dirt out of his house and dumping them in the yard. The house looked like a wreck—broken windows, overgrown ivy, and piles of debris everywhere. It was a localized eyesore, but inside, it was a structural catastrophe waiting to happen.
The breaking point came in 2006. A survey using high-tech ultrasound sensors revealed the true extent of the hollow ground. The tunnels were everywhere. There were reports that a sinkhole had appeared on the pavement nearby. The house was literally at risk of collapsing into the holes Lyttle had spent half his life creating.
- The council evicted him for his own safety.
- They found 33 tons of debris in the house.
- The tunnels were filled with 2,000 cubic feet of aerated concrete to stop the street from caving in.
When the authorities finally got inside, they didn't just find dirt. They found a man who had been living without electricity or gas for years. He’d tapped into a power line at one point, which is incredibly dangerous, but that’s how he kept his lights on while he worked in the dark.
The human side of a "Madman"
It’s easy to mock William Lyttle. The media certainly did. They called him a nutter, a recluse, a mole. But if you talk to people who actually knew him, the picture is more complicated. He wasn’t a hermit. He was actually quite social. He’d go to the local pub, chat with neighbors, and debate politics. He was a tall, striking man with a shock of white hair and a big beard.
He didn't hate people. He just loved the earth.
There's a specific kind of British eccentricity that we tend to celebrate after the person is gone, but we find deeply annoying when they’re our neighbor. Bill was the epitome of that. He was a disruptor. He didn't care about property values or building codes. He cared about the physical act of moving earth.
After he was evicted, the council put him in a hotel and eventually a high-rise flat. He hated it. He missed his holes. He died in 2010, just a few years after being forced out of his subterranean kingdom. Some say the stress of living in a normal, "above-ground" apartment is what finally did him in.
The Mole Man's legacy and the $4 million renovation
You’d think the house would have been torn down. It was a wreck. It was full of concrete. It had a "Mole Man" reputation that would scare off most buyers. But this is London. In 2012, the house was sold at auction for £1.1 million.
The buyers? Artists Sue Webster and Tim Noble.
They didn't tear it down. They spent years working with architect David Adjaye—the guy who designed the National Museum of African American History and Culture in D.C.—to turn the ruin into a home and studio. They kept the spirit of the place. They didn't hide the history; they integrated it.
The renovation was brutal. They had to dig out the concrete the council had poured in. They found old cars buried in the yard. They found tunnels that hadn't been fully mapped. Now, the "Mole House" is a stunning piece of modern architecture, but it still feels heavy with the memory of Bill’s shovel.
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What we can learn from the Mole Man of Hackney
There's a weird lesson here about the limits of personal freedom versus communal safety. Where does your right to your own land end? If you own the dirt, do you own the right to remove it until the world above starts to shake?
Most people see a house as a shelter. Bill saw it as a starting point. He reminds us that the city is more than just the surface we walk on. There are layers of history, pipes, cables, and sometimes, the literal manifestations of one man's obsession buried beneath the concrete.
If you're interested in the "weird history" of London, the story of William Lyttle is the gold standard. It’s a story about what happens when someone decides to opt out of the standard "homeowner" script and do something completely, utterly, and dangerously unique.
Actionable insights for the curious
If you want to explore this story deeper or understand the mechanics of what Bill was doing, here is what you should look for:
- Check out the architectural photography: Look up the "Mole House" by David Adjaye. It shows how the structure was saved and how the "excavated" aesthetic was preserved. It’s a masterclass in turning a liability into an asset.
- Research London Clay: If you’re wondering how he did it without the whole thing collapsing instantly, read up on the properties of London clay. It’s famously sturdy and "self-supporting" to an extent, which is why London has such an extensive Tube network. Bill was essentially building his own private subway system.
- Visit Hackney: Mortimer Road is a public street. While the house is a private residence now, you can see the exterior. It stands as a monument to the fact that even in a hyper-regulated city like London, someone managed to hide a massive secret for forty years.
- Understand the legalities: The case of the Mole Man is often cited in discussions about "Party Wall Acts" and neighborly disputes. If you’re planning on digging anything more than a garden pond, maybe check with a structural engineer first.
The Mole Man of Hackney wasn't just a guy with a shovel. He was a reminder that the world beneath our feet is a lot less solid than we like to believe. Whether he was a visionary or just a man who didn't know when to stop, he left a mark on London that won't be filled in anytime soon.