Temperance Inns

In a post last month, I tried somewhat flippantly to question what exactly a pub was by presenting a hotel bar called London Pub (fig. 53). It seems, however, that there may be more examples of when a pub is not really a pub, namely the temperance inn.

Temperance societies first sprang up in the United States in the early-19th century, finding their way soon after to Britain. The movement faltered in the middle of the century, but regained strength by the end with such groups as the Sons of Temperance Friendly Society (still in existence — its grand headquarters can be seen in London on Blackfriars Road) pushing a message that had developed from one of mere moderation to the outright prohibition of alcohol.¹

One of the effects of these pressures on pubs (and on licensing magistrates) was the creation of larger, grander, apparently more cultured environments utilising the kind of decoration that can be seen in my previous post. More pubs during the early-20th century became family-friendly, offering food and games in addition to alcoholic beverages. However, at the same time, there was some pressure to create pub-like environments which dispensed with alcohol altogether. The “coffee tavern” and “temperance inn” were two such forms of this, though even at the height of the temperance movement in the early-20th century, there were never more than several hundred throughout the country.²

In London, there are still a few notable surviving buildings, such as The Lord Roberts (Upper Woodcote CR8, fig. 62), on a grand estate created by a local surveyor, William Webb. Opening in 1907, the Lord Roberts takes the form of a pub, it has a pub’s name and hanging sign, and it once offered food and drink to the residents of this suburban development. However, of course, it sold no alcohol. The fact that it has long since become a post office and small store suggests that the temperance cause was not greatly profitable in this area (where, one imagines, the wealthy residents hardly had need of a tavern anyway).³

Figure 62. The Lord Roberts (Upper Woodcote CR8), now closed.

Another former temperance venue is The Walmer Castle (Marylebone W1, fig. 63), originally listed as a “coffee tavern” and later a “temperance hotel” in the historical directories. A blue plaque on this building records it as the former residence of Emma Cons, a prominent suffragist and social reformer of the 19th century, who was also responsible for reopening the Royal Victorian Theatre near Waterloo as a “Coffee and Music Hall” in 1880 (it soon after became known as the Old Vic).⁴

Figure 63. The Walmer Castle (Marylebone W1), now closed.

Beyond these examples, there’s little evidence of the continued effectiveness of temperance at such an overt level,⁵ though of course political pressure continues to be exerted on what is perceived as the spectre of excessive drinking. The temperance movement may scarcely exist anymore, but it seems sometimes that it hardly needs to offer its own alternative venues, as pubs close in ever greater numbers. Still, that hasn’t stopped pubs like The Temperance (Fulham SW6) from honouring the concept in name without skimping on the alcohol.

Footnotes

[1] Even commercial interests became aware of this public feeling, and exploited it with “temperance ales” being brewed and sold on a promise of relieving drunkenness and ruin, as seen on this poster from the National Archives.
[2] There’s good discussion of the temperance movements in G. Brandwood, A. Davison and M. Slaughter, Licensed to Sell: The History and Heritage of the Public House (London: English Heritage, 2004), pp. 31-39.
[3] More about the history of the Webb Estate in Upper Woodcote can be found on the London Borough of Croydon’s website.
[4] As ever, one can find out more information from the Wikipedia entry.
[5] Only one temperance inn appears to survive in the United Kingdom (the Cross Keys in Cumbria).

Tiled Pubs

There are plenty of ways to increase the attractiveness of pubs — a bright new lick of paint, a few hanging baskets, wood panelling, hanging lamps, a sign — and I’m sure many of them will warrant their own posts in future, but one which has dwindled over time and now largely remains on just the older buildings is that of decorative tiling. Like the finest early-20th century tube stations by Leslie Green,¹ it’s still quite easy to spot a turn of the century pub by the prominent glazed tiles (sometimes also referred to as faience) that adorn the exteriors. Some have been painted over, but smart developers know that these are distinctive and attractive, whatever the building’s use.

Even the most basic examples are eye-catching. Some simple red tiling enlivens The Water Poet (Spitalfields E1, fig. 54), a rich emerald green features on The King William IV (Pimlico SW1), while larger, earthier coloured tiles set apart The King and Queen (Shoreditch E2, now closed) amongst many other examples.

Figure 54. The Water Poet (Spitalfields E1).

Somewhat more elaborate are the tiled columns that prop up the exteriors of such pubs as The Tom Cribb (Leicester Square SW1), while small flourishes adorn The Camel (Globe Town E2), which additionally sets off its name via an attractive colour contrast between the two sets of tiles. The Newman Arms (Fitzrovia W1) shows a little more restraint, with small flourishes of eye-catching tilework under the windows, while The Old Parr’s Head (Canonbury N1, now closed) features two tile colours, with additional decorative panels between the windows on the first storey, and small heads above the windows themselves.

Brewery-Specific Tiling

The best places to find tiles are on pubs that were re-built by the breweries that owned them around the turn of the century. Like a lot of the most attractive aspects of modern pubs, tiling dates to the late-Victorian era, when pubs were being refashioned not just as dark and dingy drinking holes, but as grand and glorious temples to what publicans (under pressure from Victorian temperance movements) no doubt wanted to promote as the least squalid of popular entertainments. Therefore, the most striking tiling dates to the late-19th and early-20th centuries, though occasionally you will see it on more recent pubs trying to recapture some past glory — such as The Endurance (Soho W1), not entirely succeeding in effacing the charmlessness of the residential tower block above, or The Tower Tavern (Fitzrovia W1), failing spectacularly, unless looking like a toilet block was the intention.²

Like the examples we’ve seen above, simple but effective red tiling is provided by the former Courage pub The Compass (Pentonville N1, originally The Salmon and Compasses), which includes a small box with the brewery name. That tiled name is a bit more prominent on The Guy’s Arms (Borough SE1, now closed) and The Exmouth Arms (Clerkenwell EC1).

Taylor Walker, which took over the Cannon Brewery and assumed its cannon logo, was also able to create some attractive pubs, generally in the more prestigious central London locations. The Florence (Canonbury N1) has some nice red tilework offset by more abstract decorative patterns in yellowish tile on the columns between windows (obscured by hanging baskets, perfectly attractive in their own right), and The Fountain (West Green N15), which struggles on as a pub, has some glorious touches, include some attractive tiled lettering.

More elaborate still is that of Simonds on The Rose and Crown (Clapham SW4), with its exquisitely-maintained reddish-brown tiles offset by attractive relief carvings depicting, as one might imagine, a rose with a crown (fig. 55).

Figure 55. A detail from The Rose and Crown (Clapham SW4).

Young’s and Fuller’s

Young’s liked their tiling, and there are few pubs they built in this era which pass up the opportunity to include it. Until 2006 and its merger with Charles Wells (and subsequent relocation to Bedford), Young’s Ram Brewery was based in Wandsworth and so the best surviving pubs tend to be around there, though it’s hardly likely to be coincidence that one of their most extravagantly tiled pubs, The Crown and Anchor (Chiswick W4), was closest to the home of rivals Fuller Smith Turner (still based there). Pale tiling surounds the lower level, with a relief of the Young’s ram jutting prominently out from the logo above; the exterior is listed (as is proper), but this just means that even now it’s no longer owned or operated by Young’s, the name and logo have to be retained.

Fuller’s were no slouches, though, even if they did tend to use tiling less often. Not too far down the same stretch of road can be found The Salutation (Hammersmith W6, fig. 56). It sticks out particularly through the canny use of shades of blue and purple, colours which aren’t often seen on pubs.

Figure 56. The Salutation (Hammersmith W6).

Rather more restrained than the above examples, though still excellent in its own understated way, is the clash of richly hued tiles on Young’s The Tamworth Arms (Croydon CR0). A similar effect comes from the shades of green on The Alma (Wandsworth SW18).

Charrington

Never the flashiest of London’s now-defunct brewers, Charrington (or Bass Charrington as it’s also been known over the years) nevertheless knew how to make a pub stand out. Moving forward from the understated contrasts of The Bromley Arms (Fitzrovia W1, now closed), their best pub facades seem to pack in ever more tiles, shinier and brighter, into the same space, and The Thornhill Arms (Pentonville N1) or The Prince Albert (Camden Town NW1, fig. 57) are as good as any examples one might pick.

Figure 57. Detail of The Prince Albert (Camden Town NW1).

Truman’s

Some of the best brewery brickwork comes courtesy of Truman Hanbury Buxton. Distinctive green tiling distinguishes a good few of their pubs (some of which are no longer in use as such), as on The Birdcage (Shoreditch E2) or The Hop Pole (Hoxton N1, now closed). The same green tiling, attractively offset by light brown tiled columns, can be seen on Living (Brixton SW9, once The Coach & Horses, now closed), and there are other suburban examples in The Park Tavern (Eltham SE9) and The Nag’s Head (Camberwell SE5).³

However, the two finest examples of Truman’s tiling both occur in SE1, with the gorgeous The Lord Clyde (Borough SE1) and The Victoria (Bermondsey SE1, fig. 58). At neither of these pubs have successive publicans seen the need to make ‘improvements’ except to maintain the splendid tiling outside and the standard of decoration inside, and it’s to each pub’s great benefit too.

Figure 58. The Victoria (Bermondsey SE1).

Interior Tiling

Tiles weren’t by any means confined to the facades of pubs. At the same time as these were being overhauled, many pubs fitted tiles inside. As is evident from their still widespread use in bathrooms, tiles were particularly useful as they could easily be kept clean and retained their fresh look where paint faded and carpets stained. Fine examples can be seen in such pubs as The Ten Bells (Spitalfields E1, fig. 59), The Macbeth (Hoxton N1, formerly The White Hart), and The Dog and Duck (Soho W1).

Figure 59. Interior of The Ten Bells (Spitafields E1). There are also vast pictorial scenes on the side walls, in addition to the decorative tiles behind the bar.

The Best

Still, we all have our favourite examples. Aside from the two Truman’s pubs mentioned above, Fiesta Havana (Fulham SW6, formerly The Red Lion) retains and, with its more recent paintwork, enhances the gaudy extravagance of its tiled facade. Perhaps best of all, hidden down a south-west London side street, is The Marquis of Lorne (Stockwell SW9, figs. 60-61), a riot of colours and decorative motifs prominently ascribed to its publican of the time (the 1880s), T.T. Castle. It’s no surprise Theodore Castle might have wanted to be memorialised in such long-lasting a material, though it’s unfortunate that his work languishes in an obscure corner while the pub behind it gradually crumbles. The tiles should be with us for some time yet, one would hope.

Figure 60. The Marquis of Lorne (Stockwell SW9).

Figure 61. Detail of The Marquis of Lorne (Stockwell SW9).

Endnotes:
[1] As ever, more information and links can be found on the Wikipedia entry. He designed stations on the Piccadilly, Bakerloo and Northern Lines, and all of them are instantly recognisable.
[2] It’s a very decent pub, though, to my mind. It always serves a decent pint of ale and isn’t ever too crowded.
[3] Green tiling is by no means confined to Truman’s. You can see it on former Watney Combe Reid pub The Easton (Finsbury WC1), and popular Young’s establishment The Lamb (Bloomsbury WC1), among many others, some pictured in this post.

What’s in a Name?

Sorry for such a long gap between posts. I’m working on something now, but just while we wait, here’s a brief one.

In my last post, I tried to settle on a definition of a pub so as to discuss the phenomenon of the gastropub, which to a certain extent is overtaking the very form of the traditional pub itself. We talked about the look of a place, we talked about the drinks available, the decor, the expectations of its drinkers, all kinds of things.

I therefore present this photo, of London Pub (Bloomsbury WC1, fig. 53), on Woburn Place.

Figure 53. London Pub (Bloomsbury WC1).

Is it even a pub? Despite its hopeful name, this could be considered a bar — and a hotel bar, at that.

The Gastropub

Unlike many of the previous topics, this one promises to be contentious, for it concerns the much discussed phenomenon of the gastropub. Everyone it seems has an opinion about them, roughly ranging from grudging acceptance to downright loathing. Given that even how to define such an establishment is itself debated, for me to discuss them I must start to offer some personal opinions, so I’m moving decisively to the first-person for this post. You may differ in your definition, but that’s to be expected. There’s no single defining element at work, though I’ve heard people trying to argue that things like serving handmade/hand-cut chips, or having a chalkboard with food specials, are the sole feature making a place a ‘gastropub’. Perhaps, though, they could feature on a checklist we might come up with, or a mathematical equation?

What It’s Not

Even the OED entry errs on the side of vagueness when grappling with the gastropub:

“gastropub, n. Brit. A public house which specializes in serving high-quality food.”

While one might quibble about how to define “high-quality” food, let’s start with what the gastropub is not. It’s not a restaurant. Which means that restaurants that happen to be located in former pub buildings, even really striking ones retaining their old signage and name — for example, Konstam at The Prince Albert (St Pancras WC1) — do not in any sense count.

The gastropub is, then, quite rightly, a pub.¹ But how, after all, do we define a “pub” in the first place? We could say that if you can go in and just have a drink, it’s a pub for our purposes. You may not feel entirely comfortable just ordering a drink (these are gastro-pubs for a reason), but it should be possible without any undue attitude on behalf of the venue.

Then again, this doesn’t take account of the differences between a bar and a pub. One place which is local to me, where a person can happily just have a drink but which I don’t think of as a pub, is Masons (Ladywell SE13, fig. 50). It’s in a single-roomed former pub building; it even has a pub-like name (from its original name, The Freemasons’ Tavern). However, it’s fairly obviously a restaurant as well, and not a gastropub. There are many other places — whether housed in former pub buildings or not — that bill themselves as “bar/restaurant” or “restaurant/bar” which are, in essence, restaurants.

Figure 50. Masons (Ladywell SE13). Not a gastropub, but a bar/restaurant.

A pub doesn’t have to offer real ale (plenty of them lost their handpulls during the mid-20th century, as lager gained in popularity post-World War II), and then again there are places like the bar area at St John Restaurant (Clerkenwell EC1), which has several handpulls for ale. You could argue that pub decor is distinctive, perhaps emphasising wooden panelling, it might even be carpeted, but then there are plenty of places which shun these expectations and are no less pubs. Being able to sit at the bar doesn’t make it a pub (since you can do that at Masons), and if you are expected to stand while drinking it’s probably a bar, but some bars have seating and some cramped centrally-located pubs have a real dearth of it (The Coach and Horses in Covent Garden WC2, for example). It’s really a very subjective thing in the end.

In other words, you know a pub when you’re in it.²

More Food Than Drink

Taking the set of establishments we accept as pubs, then among those which could be called gastro, there are those which emphasise the food over the drink, and vice versa. It’s this first category which I would single out as the canonical gastropub and which have given rise to a certain characteristic style (which one can even see creeping into restaurant decor, just to further confuse matters).

They may not fully be restaurants but they certainly share characteristics, such as being laid out for service. Many fêted gastropubs will have a room, or several rooms, or another floor, laid out for service. Some may have only a few tables, or even just a bar stool area by a shelf, for drinking (especially during busy service periods, such as lunchtimes or dinner), which is I think fairly miserly, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a pub. The Running Horse (Mayfair W1), to take one example, may be dominated by tables laid for service, but it’s still a pub.

The most famous — claimed, in fact, as the pioneers — are The Eagle (Clerkenwell EC1) and The Anchor and Hope (Southwark SE1, fig. 51), and fit into this category. The latter has a separate drinking area, but those crowding it are often waiting for a table in the coveted dining area next door (for which no bookings are taken). When I visited on my own, hungry, during a downpour, I was seated at the bar on the drinking side. The food was great, and there was quite a crush of people around me getting drinks in, but as a pub, it remains marginal.

Figure 51. The Anchor and Hope (Southwark SE1).

Even if not prominently laid for service, a gastropub will share other characteristics with restaurants, like offering a full multi-course menu, with daily specials (often to be found on that omnipresent chalkboard, just to emphasise the regular turnover of dishes). Your food might be preceded by some bread to nibble on; if you’re lucky, you may even get some olives gratis.³

More Drink Than Food

If most people consider the appellation “gastropub” to be a criticism — those people for whom a pub is the social heart of a community (a community perhaps primarily comprising beer drinkers) — then there must be a place for a good pub which happens to also care about serving food that matches the quality of its beer and wine. This post in fact was prompted by a conversation with my friend Kake⁴ about whether The Selkirk (Tooting SW17, fig. 52) was a gastropub. I disagreed: I don’t believe it is, at least not according to my definition in the section above. It’s simply a pub which happens to offer a good, regularly-changing menu. Thankfully, many such places exist, all striving to strike that ideal balance between serving their community, but also serving good food and well-kept drinks — and surely this should be part of that service. Thankfully, the time when the idea prevailed that pubs should just serve beer — and usually only to men, at that — has long since disappeared.

However, some will certainly consider these pubs (the ones which make just a little more effort with their food) to be gastropubs, and there’s little sense in arguing too strongly that they’re not. They may, after all, still have separate dining areas, or employ a trained chef with grand pretensions,⁵ and it’s admittedly a very fine distinction to make — that these places, unlike the ones in the section above, don’t force you to think about food when first you enter their doors.

Figure 52. The Selkirk (Tooting SW17).

This doesn’t mean that all pubs serving food succeed. All kinds of factors may adversely affect their attractiveness as a destination, but most often, they’re sunk by a lack of quality control. A lot of pubs have introduced menus in recent decades, more so again since the smoking ban was introduced to London (and England) in 2007, and that is to be welcomed, but not all of them really care enough not to just source their meals from a professional catering company.⁶ And if you’re doing that, I don’t think you can be called a gastropub. Young’s is an example of a PubCo (it’s also a brewer, of course) who have upgraded a lot of their pubs over recent years according to a template emphasising food and hospitality, but in so doing have at times removed the vitality from them (though by no means from all of them: they still have some fantastic pubs).

Gastropub Chains

Having dismissed Young’s as not being truly gastro, there are nevertheless several up-market chains which focus even more robustly on this end of the pub market. Perhaps most prominent among them are the increasing number of pubs owned by Gordon Ramsay Holdings, starting with The Narrow (Limehouse E14, fig. 53) back in 2004, and whose estate is increasingly extending over West London.⁷ One might expect these to actually be closer to restaurants, but my experience in The Narrow, at least, has been that the majority of the pub is given over to drinking (with a separate, shorter bar menu available to these areas), and that the ale has been well-kept (if rather unchanging).

Figure 53. The Narrow (Limehouse E14).

Another currently-expanding chain of gastropubs is that owned by Ed & Tom Martin (under the sober business sobriquet of the ETM Group), often refitted Victorian-era boozers with an added food enticement — though at least one, The Botanist (Sloane Square SW1), qualifies more as a bar than a pub.

So What Is the Gastropub?

You know a gastropub when you’re in it. Just don’t expect everyone to agree with you.

Footnotes:

[1] By instinct, I almost appended “first and foremost” there, but that would itself be controversial.
[2] I conducted an entirely scientific poll of people’s opinions over at another blog of mine, and the consensus basically returned to this formulation. One of my favourite suggestions was that it’s a pub “if it has a group of old giffers in the corner”. More carefully reasoned was a combination of food availability and whether it serves beers or prefers cocktails — in that bars tend not to offer food and tend to be able to make cocktails, whereas pubs do not, but they may well have food. For as good an example as any on the Internet of the way these discussions can continue at great length without resolution, here’s a thread from the message board ILX.
[3] This was my girlfriend’s experience at one pub mentioned under this heading. Most often, though, you’ll pay for the extras. However, if there’s a cover charge, it’s clearly not a pub. Table service with the “optional” service charge automatically added to your bill is more of a grey area.
[4] She runs the Randomness Guide to London, an unflashy and uncommercial review site to which I contribute the occasional review myself. In fact, I link to them in the sidebar for all the pubs I visit.
[5] Perhaps employing a chef who doesn’t cook from pre-prepared ingredients and menus is the key to the “gastropub”? Though I suspect even here there will be exceptions.
[6] The Spirit Group (owned by Punch Taverns) and Nicholson’s (owned by Mitchells & Butlers) seem to me to be chief offenders in this regard.
[7] Beyond the reach of my photos, though I’m working on that!

Warmongering Pubs

If I said I’d been away on holiday in New Zealand for three weeks,¹ that’d hardly make much difference, given that at best I seem to put up one post on here a month, for all my good intentions. So I’ll just get straight down to it. This post returns to the subject of pub names.

London, as the country’s capital, was once the capital of a vast Empire stretching around the globe. Maintaining an Empire requires a strong military, so it’s no surprise to see pubs which reflect that history. Of course there are many pubs named after admirals, generals and other figures known for their wartime heroics (not to mention the occasional prominent warship or important battle). There are plenty of Dukes of Wellington, several Nelsons, quite a few Churchills, the list goes on.

Signing Up

Before you can have armed forces, you need the forces, and ideally they’ll volunteer — indeed, there are quite a few pubs of this name, like The Volunteer (Marylebone NW1).

Then there are the many different branches of the armed forces to which volunteers might sign up. Given their long history and importance to the Empire, the Army and Navy are well represented (as in the Stoke Newington pub The Army and Navy, fig. 45), whereas the Marines and the more recent Royal Air Force (formed in 1918) don’t find their way into pub names too often.²

Figure 45. The Army and Navy (Stoke Newington N16).

Weaponry

Once you have your forces, they need to be armed. Weapons must be manufactured first, and many of those early industries were based in London, which once upon a time was the Empire’s manufacturing centre as well as its capital.³ Almost all industry has long since moved away, but it is remembered in pub names like The Gunmakers (Clerkenwell EC1, fig. 46), which recognises the work of Hiram Maxim, based in nearby Hatton Garden.⁴

Figure 46. The Gunmakers (Clerkenwell EC1).

Once the weaponry has been made, it’s ready to use, and there’s certainly no shortage of pubs named The Gun (this example in Blackwall E14, thumbnail below).

Military Roles

The enlistees then need to be assigned ranks and roles within their respective forces. There are few ranks to be found in pub names beyond Admiral — and there certainly aren’t any called The Private (or, for that matter, The Cannon Fodder)⁵ — but you can find a few usefully martial skillsets among pub names. The Marksman (Bethnal Green E2, fig. 47) is just one such,⁶ though another called The Gunners (Highbury N5) no doubt owes more to a certain nearby football club’s nickname.

Figure 47. The Marksman (Bethnal Green E2).

Emplacements

On the field of battle, you need to shelter your soldiers against the danger as best you can. I’ve already written about pubs named after castles, and it’s not surprising that the kind of close camaraderie that undoubtedly comes from these embattled emplacements lends itself easily to the public house. Then again, a pub like The Fort (formerly The Royal Fort, Bermondsey SE1, fig. 48), probably has more claim than many to a siege mentality.

Figure 48. The Fort (Bermondsey SE1).

Success

Finally, if one’s forces fight well, maybe they’ll achieve Victory (this example being in Bethnal Green E2, fig. 49). Quite a few of the pubs by that name, though, seem to have renamed or closed, and perhaps, given the predictions of gloom in the industry, that’s not entirely inappropriate. I certainly hope that’s not the case.

Figure 49. The Victory (Bethnal Green E2).

Footnotes:
[1] Yes, I had a nice time, thanks. I went to a few brewpubs (I’d recommend The Twisted Hop in Christchurch, particularly) and quaffed some nice ale, which they like to keep at a much colder temperature over there. Also tried an interesting seasonal from Mac’s called Brewjolais which uses very young hops, though I don’t personally understand all the technicalities. On the way home, we stopped off in Seattle, which also has plenty of fine microbreweries. However, this blog is dedicated to London pubs, so enough of that.
[2] Though The Dog and Bell (Deptford SE8) used to be called The Royal Marine.
[3] Not all manufacturing of explosives was turned to war, and if I find nowhere else to mention one of my local pubs and one of the more strikingly sui generis pub names in London, then I shall shoehorn it into a footnote here: The Pyrotechnists’ Arms (Nunhead SE15), named for a former local manufacturer of fireworks.
[4] The pub’s website gives information about the historical connections. Also, you’re probably aware of it, but the publican’s blog (Jeffrey’s Beer Blog) is one of my favourites, and I can heartily recommend it, even to those who don’t obsess about the gravity of real ale, or whatnot.
[5] As far as the photos I have, The Driver (Pentonville N1) used to be called The General Picton, and I daresay there are others I’ll uncover in time, but already I have The Admiral Duncan (Soho W1), The Admiral Hardy (Greenwich SE10), The Admiral Keppel (Hoxton N1, now closed), and The Lord High Admiral (Pimlico SW1).
[6] Incidentally, it appears to have been given a makeover in the last year, as befits its proximity to Columbia Road Market, perhaps.