Figure 80. The Euston Tap (Euston NW1).

Definitions

The term “craft beer” originally came from the United States, ostensibly coined by the American Brewers’ Association, and developed in the 1980s and 1990s to distinguish the microbreweries and other small brewers from the major nationals (now all incorporated into global multinational drinks companies, the three largest being Anheuser-Busch InBev, SABMiller and Molson Coors). There’s no hard and fast rule, but annual outputs of less than 6 million barrels of beer are generally considered “craft” in the American context.¹

Britain, though, has always had a strong relationship with beer at a local and artisanal level. The product which has come to be known as “real ale” has a long history (lagers only became more prevalent in the UK around the 1960s and 1970s), and the vast majority of brewers have been small operations. In fact, in the 19th century and into the earlier part of the last century, there were few pubs who didn’t brew their own beer for sale. After a period of 20th century consolidation into a small number of very large brewing conglomerates, the older, more localised production of ale began to be kickstarted again by the formation of consumer rights group the Campaign for the Revitalisation of Ale (CAMRA, which soon changed the word “Revitalisation” to “Real” when it became clear that some kind of definition for the product they were lobbying on behalf of was required, and to make it easier to say). In the last few years, a rash of new brewers have started up around London (and the UK), often in convenient spaces under railway arches or in industrial units (Sambrook’s, Kernel Brewery, Redchurch Brewery, London Fields Brewery, East London Brewing Company, et al.).

Therefore, it is clear that the term “craft beer” can happily include most “real ales” — perhaps all if we use the American definition, as even the largest producers such as Greene King or Marston’s only make around half a million barrels a year.² And yet it is unlikely that many of the pubs I will look at below would stock these breweries’ products,³ implying a British definition of “craft beer” with a distinctly smaller output threshold.⁴ However, even some of these larger brewers like to experiment with beers: in this country, Fuller Smith Turner has their Vintage Ale range,⁵ while at a far far larger scale, in the United States Molson Coors has its “craft” brand, Blue Moon (though it should be noted that in the UK, Molson Coors have similar brands, brewing Worthington’s White Shield, as well as owning Sharp’s, the brewers of Doom Bar). Whether “craft beer”, then, should be considered as a level of output or as a matter of ethos already points to some confusion in the application of the terminology (and is, of course, a source of much heated debate). At a more emotive level, “craft beer” is often considered to be beer with taste or flavour, as opposed to what is sometimes affectionately derided in the United States as “lawnmower beer”⁶ even by those who drink it (perhaps a rough equivalent to our own “cooking lager”).

An argument could also perhaps be made in the UK that the single-minded focus of CAMRA and the “real ale” lobby means that there is no adequate space in the marketplace for those who want to feature the beers of quality independent brewers which do not conform to CAMRA’s “real ale” definition.⁷ Despite this, awareness of other beer styles has been around for a while now, and pubs such as The Dog and Bell (Deptford SE8) and Quinn’s (Kentish Town NW1) have had significant holdings of bottled European lagers for some time, while specialist beer retailer Uto Beer in Borough Market has been trading since 1999. With an increasing trend towards artisanal food and drink production at the same time as further importation of beers from the United States and the rest of the world, it was only natural that there would be an increase in the range of beers being brewed in the UK. With these trends as a background, the “craft beer” label was seized upon by those seeking to differentiate their non-”real ale” beers, and by the pubs serving those products.

The Pubs

There have long been pubs which have been championing ales from smaller British breweries (like The Wenlock Arms, Hoxton N1, or The White Horse, Parsons Green SW6, fig. 65, both frequently showing up in CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide), as well as those mentioned above which had relatively early started stocking selections of imported beers. The reason they are not commonly called “craft beer pubs” is partly one of age (they were around before the term “craft beer” caught on in the UK), but also one of marketing. If a definition of a “craft beer pub” was one that stocked a large range of American “craft beer” (i.e. beers consciously made and marketed as such), then The White Horse would surely qualify (it even holds a regular and excellent American Beer Festival). The Rake (Borough SE1), dating back to 2006, would surely also do so, owned as it is by Uto Beer importers.

Figure 81. The Craft Beer Co. (Hatton Gardon EC1).

However, the recent tranche of “craft beer pubs” are primarily ones that have claimed that name. Aside from Scottish brewers BrewDog (who have yet to open a London outpost, but have designs on Camden Town), the strongest push has come from The Craft Beer Co. (Hatton Garden EC1, fig. 81), an incipient chain with its own branding, spun off from The Cask (Pimlico SW1). Other pubs which share much in common in terms of beer range and quality with longer-established outlets, but which seem more apt to the term, perhaps from attracting a younger clientele in a louder, more bar-like environment, are the three Draft House pubs (for example the branch at Tower Bridge SE1), along with The Jolly Butchers (Stoke Newington N16) and The Southampton Arms (Gospel Oak NW5).⁸

Figure 82. Mason and Taylor (Shoreditch E1).

With a younger target demographic clearly in focus for these bars, one outcome has been a change to the layout of the pub space (though this is something that has been happening gradually for several decades). Both The Jolly Butchers and The Southampton Arms were long-standing locals’ pubs, but the respective spaces have been opened up, with carpets as well as partitioning removed, to create an open and vibrant (if not simply noisier) space. Other recent ventures have made a virtue of their modern spaces and lack of historically-suffused atmosphere, successfully importing the style of American beer bars (simple furniture, long tables, metallic trimmings) to the receptive yet fairly bland modern developments in which they are housed. Something of this style (along with the selection of craft beers) could be seen in earlier spaces like Microbar (Lavender Hill SW11, now The Ink Rooms) and Bünker (Covent Garden WC2, now closed) and has since been taken up most successfully by Mason and Taylor (Shoreditch E1, fig. 82), though Uto Beer have been in on the act with their shopping centre-based Tap East (Stratford E20).

This New World style can also be found in recent bars which have been set up in much older buildings. The Euston Tap (Euston NW1, fig. 80) is the best example of this, even using the “craft beer” handle in its logo, and which has adopted (partly out of necessity, due to its cramped English Heritage-listed space) a gleaming stainless steel American-style beer dispensing system, largely doing away with old world accoutrements such as pump clips, in favour of chalkboards. Not long after, The Old Red Cow (Smithfield EC1), another pub tucked into limited space, adopted a similar dispensing system to maximise the number of beers available. You can also see some of this modern style in The Old Brewery (Greenwich SE10), run by London brewers Meantime, much of whose output has fallen beyond CAMRA’s strict definitions.⁹

All these pubs are thriving, so clearly the “craft beer” label has popular cachet at the moment and is shaping the style (and, more interestingly, the beer range) of many modern pub and bar developments. Whether the trend such as it is, lasts, or effects any great change in beer-drinking tastes beyond merely the urban middle-class cognoscenti, remains to be seen.

Endnotes

[1] This information is taken from Wikipedia. By comparison, the smallest of the three brewers mentioned above (Molson Coors) has an annual output of around 42 million US barrels (which equates to 30 million UK barrels).

[2] Information taken from Beer Pages.

[3] Interestingly, some of them (such as Cask and The Craft Beer Co.) are actually in buildings leased from Greene King, though they are free of any beer tie to the Suffolk-based brewer, and therefore conspicuously do not feature any Greene King products.

[4] An excellent post attempting to sketch out some meaning for the term “craft beer” can be found on Pencil and Spoon, and expanded upon by Dave HardKnott.

[5] See the Fuller’s website.

[6] In other words, beer that perfectly complements a hot sunny day spent in the garden, under which conditions I personally quite like a fairly low-complexity lager as well.

[7] I should state that although I am not a member of CAMRA, I do not personally believe that there is any need for CAMRA to widen its remit to lobby on behalf of these new beers made via a different process to the one they have defined as “real ale”. The term “real ale” has meaningful currency for describing these cask-conditioned beers, and no one can deny the efforts CAMRA has made on its behalf since its foundation in 1971. Although there might be some sniping in insider circles, there’s no reason that a focus on “real ale” should thereby deny the quality or value of non-cask-conditioned beers, and indeed one can even find such beers dispensed at their annual Great British Beer Festival. However, this is a hotly-contested topic (provoking lengthy and impassioned discussion among my friends when I mentioned it in passing on a mailing list), which I have thus relegated to a footnote.

[8] And don’t make the mistake of thinking they are both run by the same outfit, despite surface similarities.

[9] Though Meantime has not by any means done away entirely with cask-conditioning (as BrewDog seem to have largely done in their bars), and The Old Brewery still has several handpulls dispensing ale, including their own London Pale Ale.

Figure 78. The Blind Beggar (Whitechapel E1).

Remaining Pubs

Of course, like any historically working class area, there were many pubs. Only a handful are still trading (one of which, The Nag’s Head, is a seedy-looking ‘gentleman’s venue’), and it seems as if more close with every passing year — only in the past year has The Grave Maurice closed, while Bar Nakoda (formerly The Black Bull) could be listed in the Good Beer Guide as recently as 2009.

Most well-known of those which are left is probably The Blind Beggar (Whitechapel E1, fig. 78), at the Eastern end of the road, just before it turns into Mile End Road. As the building itself makes clear, it was built in 1894, but like many Victorian public houses, it replaces a much older structure, and the pub has existed on the site since the 17th century. It is named for a popular tale of a nobleman who was reduced to poverty after being blinded in battle, and came to beg in the area; the rather elaborated story (as depicted on the pub’s sign, and set out in a 17th century play, The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green) has him subsequently being taken in by a noblewoman.¹ Latterly, it became famous for being the location of William Booth’s first public sermon (against the vices harboured within), leading him to create the Salvation Army, and for being the site of a 1965 murder committed by local gangster Ronnie Kray.²

Of the other remaining pubs, there’s a pub aiming for a younger demographic called Indo as well as a rather gaudily-painted pub, the LHT Urban Bar, alongside the Royal London Hospital (accounting for the pub’s original name, The London Hospital Tavern). The only other drinking destination is more of a bar and music venue, The Rhythm Factory, though it was a key venue for the early-2000s rise of such bands as the Libertines and The Others.

Closed Pubs

Obviously, being predominantly Islamic, there is little call for pubs from the Bangladeshi population, and this may account for the relative few which remain. However, there are still quite a few remnants of a more alcohol-saturated history, even if those former drinking dens which can still be spotted lack the grandeur of the greatest Victorian pubs. Ground floors have been gutted for shops (as with small pubs such as The Lord Napier and The Lord Rodney’s Head, among others), though the larger building of The Royal Oak still leaves an imposing trace.

Probably the most striking former pub, mainly for not having had its ground floor (yet) replaced by plate glass, is Bar Nakoda (Whitechapel E1, formerly the Black Bull, fig. 79). The pub dates back several centuries, but has been rebuilt in mock-Tudor style in the early part of the 20th century.

Figure 79. Bar Nakoda (Whitechapel E1), now closed, formerly The Black Bull.

Footnotes:

[1] Taken from T.F.T. Baker (ed.), “Bethnal Green: Settlement and Building to 1836,” A History of the County of Middlesex, vol. 11, Stepney, Bethnal Green, pp. 91-95 (1998, online), accessed 18 January 2011. Further information from J.P. Alcock, London Inn Signs (Stroud: Tempus, 2007), pp. 28-29.
[2] More information on Wikipedia.

Appendix. List of Whitechapel Road pubs.

NORTH SIDE
5. The Angel and Crown. Demolished.
11-13. The Two Bells. Demolished.
17-19. The Nag’s Head (originally The Nag’s Head and Woolpack, on the same site). Still trading, albeit as a strip pub.
53-55. The King’s Arms. Demolished.
97-99. The Dolphin. Demolished.
133. Indo (formerly Ye Olde Blue Anchor and originally The Blue Anchor). Still trading.
181. The Duke’s Head (originally The Duke of Cumberland). Demolished.
187. The Pavilion. Still standing, now a shop called The Money Shop.
199. The Black Bull. Still standing, since known as Bar Nakoda, now a restaurant called Bombay Grill.
217. The Old Red Lion (originally The Red Lion). Still standing, now a shop called Sidhu.
233. The Star and Garter. Still standing, now a takeaway called Whitechapel Fried Chicken.
235. The Lord Napier. Still standing, now a shop.
247. [Beer house.] Demolished.
269. The Grave Maurice (for a time called Q Bar at the Grave Maurice). Still standing, now a bookmakers.
285. The Lord Rodney’s Head (later Flunky Monkey, originally The Rodney’s Head). Still standing, now a shop called Shoe Box.
299. The Lord Nelson. Still standing, now a shop called Keya.
317. The Queen’s Head. Still standing, now a bookmakers.
337. The Blind Beggar. Still trading.
345. The Duke of Cambridge. Demolished.

SOUTH SIDE
14. The Old George (originally The George and Dragon or The George, on the same site). Still standing, since a sandwich shop, but now closed.
16-18. Rhythm Factory. Still trading.
100. The East London (originally The Earl of Effingham). Demolished.
120. The Royal Oak. Still standing, now a shop called Audiostar.
142. The Earl of Aberdeen. Still standing, now a shop.
176. LHT Urban Bar (originally The London Hospital Tavern). Still trading.
214. The Earl of Warwick. Demolished.

Figure 74. The George IV (Kentish Town NW5).

There’s no real link between the amount and quality of foliage on display and the quality of the pub underneath (or its beer), but it at least betokens a certain regard for appearance that sets apart the publicans who really care about their premises. You may not be able to ascertain whether a good pint of ale will be available, but you can at least be sure that somebody cares about the pub experience enough to make it worth your while going in; there are worse methods by which to make a judgement about any particular pub.

i. It’s Just Sensible Branding

One of the cases where you can clearly see that the foliage is just part of the general branding exercise is with the All Bar One chain (for example, the branch on Holborn WC2, fig. 25). Not strictly pubs, but aiming for the wine-drinking¹ office worker demographic, these are marked out by their prominent central locations, wooden doors, soberly stringent capitalised lettering, and most distinctively of all, by their overflowing hanging baskets lining the windows.

ii. A Burst of Colour

The most common use of foliage is to give a burst of colour near the entrance. Hanging baskets of flowers draw the eye (and, the publican would hope, the custom) on busy pedestrian thoroughfares. You can see this in effect on one of the West End’s finest pubs, The Harp (Covent Garden WC2, fig. 75).

Figure 75. The Harp (Covent Garden WC2).

Here, as also on, for example, The Harlequin (Finsbury EC1), The Old Doctor Butler’s Head (Bank EC2), or The Blue Posts (Berwick St, Soho W1) and The Castle (Holborn EC4) — which add spiky potted plants to the general variety on display — there’s a conscious effort to differentiate the pub from the blandness of surrounding office blocks.

Particularly effective at this are The Exmouth Arms (Somers Town NW1, fig. 36), which maximises the space along both street-facing sides of the pub to showcase flower displays, and The Hope and Anchor (Camden Town NW1), which takes advantage of a low roof to load up on flowering foliage. Another strategy, where less space is available on the façade, is to have hanging baskets and flower beds at various levels — as on The Fox and Pheasant (Chelsea SW10), where both upstairs and downstairs windowsills, as well as the space between windows, is fully utilised.

Taking this to the extreme is The Churchill Arms (Kensington W8, fig. 76), where hanging baskets quite enshroud the pub building, from the roof down. No surprise either that this is a pub regularly featured in the Good Beer Guide, along with many a tourist brochure.

Figure 76. The Churchill Arms (Kensington W8).

iii. As Above, So Below

Branching out from hanging displays, many pubs also invest in street-level shrubbery and potted plants to add variety. The Cross Keys (Covent Garden WC2), where space is limited and the pub building is quite thin, adds them for decorative reasons.

However, such features can also be used as a way of either simply demarcating the outdoor drinking area (as at The Tarmon, Barnsbury N1, for example) or else, more extensively, creating a natural acoustic barrier between the outdoor area and particularly noisy roads, as at The Beehive (Hoxton N1) or The Alwyne (Canonbury N1, fig. 77).

Figure 77. The Alwyne (Canonbury N1).

Even when noisy roads aren’t an issue, sometimes pubs can only offer outdoor space at the front of the building (rather than the more usual beer gardens out back). Where such constraints exist, it can be difficult to provide adequate areas without obscuring the building behind, but foliage, used effectively, can easily improve such areas, as at The Olde Apple Tree (Peckham SE15). Relatively rare amongst London pubs in this regard is the use of hedges, which can be seen at The Clifton (St John’s Wood NW8), where the property, despite being in pub (and hotel) use, is typically residential in style to fit in with the surrounding area.

iv. Ivy League

Where foliage starts to get out of control is when ivy is introduced. There are of course plenty of restrained examples. The Clifton is one, using ivy sparingly, while The Railway Tavern (Broadgate EC2) is another, central London, example, where ivy makes a fairly bland building (and a fairly bland Greene King ‘traditional’ pub) more appealing to the passing commuter. The Albion (Barnsbury N1), meanwhile, uses its ivy to distinguish it from an otherwise unremarkable row of terraced (residential) properties.

However, there remains a small number of pubs which really maximise their use of ivy. The Faltering Fullback (Stroud Green N4), The George IV (Kentish Town NW5, fig. 74) and The Hemingford Arms (Barnsbury N1) all restrict the ivy growth to the ground floor level, but the effect is of a peculiarly colourful forest through which the prospective drinker must venture. It still may not be any guarantee of good beer on offer, but it certainly makes for a more attractive place to while away some time, which should surely be the aim of any good pub.

Endnotes

[1] Though as of 2010, some All Bar Ones have started offering draught ale in addition to the many wines.

i. Sir Michael Balcon, 1896-1977

A film producer famous for his work at Ealing Studios, Balcon was born in Birmingham and relocated to London in his 20s. He was hired to head Ealing Studios in 1938, and it is his work with them which has led to his lasting reputation, responsible for putting out a number of memorable comedy films during the 1940s and 1950s particularly. The JD Wetherspoon pub chain has a habit of naming its pubs after notable local figures (a few others feature in this post), and their pub in Ealing W5 is no exception.

ii. Sir Colin Campbell, 1792-1863

This Glasgow-born soldier may have been Scottish, but the pub commemorating his name in Kilburn NW6 is now an Irish boozer.² As a military commander, he distinguished himself particularly in the Crimea, repulsing a Russian attack in Balaklava with his famous “thin red line” of soldiers. Although the 1st Baron Clyde appears to have had no personal connection to Kilburn, the pub may have been set up by one of his soldiers and named in his honour (there are still many Marquis of Granby pubs all over London, named for similar reasons).

iii. George Canning, 1770-1827

Figure 70. The George Canning (Denmark Hill SE5). It’s been renovated since this photo was taken.

A politician for most of his life, and even briefly the Prime Minister (for the shortest period of time of any PM), Canning was born in Marylebone to Irish parents, and educated at Eton and Oxford (as have been so many politicians). He spent far more time as Foreign Secretary, involved heavily in the Napoleonic Wars. His links with the area of the two pubs in London named after him (one in Denmark Hill SE5 (fig. 70), the other — since renamed as Hootananny — in Brixton SW2) aren’t exactly very clear, as he seems not to have had any links to South London (he lived mainly in central London, as might be expected, and died in Chiswick).³

iv. Charlie Chaplin, 1889-1977

A comedic actor of the silent era, and one of the most famous film stars of his time. He was born in Walworth, and through his parents became a music hall entertainer very early in his life. He relocated to the United States in his 20s and it’s for his work there that he is best remembered, though he was forced to relocate to Europe late in his life due to his political leanings. However, his connection with the area of his birth is remembered by the name of a local pub (attached to the Elephant and Castle Shopping Centre).

v. Herbert Chapman, 1878-1934

Figure 71. The Herbert Chapman (Holloway N7).

Born near Rotherham, but strongly linked to Arsenal (the team’s stadium still based in the area near the pub bearing Chapman’s name, fig. 71) by virtue of having been its manager for ten years until his death. His playing career was undistinguished, but he was an influential manager and brought Arsenal its first ever FA Cup and a couple of League titles, setting them up by the time of his unexpected death as the dominant team of the 1930s.

vi. Thomas Cubitt, 1788-1855

Born in Buxton, Cubitt came to become the leading master builder in London by the mid-19th century. Though he was responsible for swathes of Bloomsbury, some of the Victoria Embankment, and part of Buckingham Palace, one of his greatest achievements was building much of Belgravia. It is for this work that a Belgravia gastropub commemorates him.⁴

vii. Nell Gwyn, 1650-1687

Figure 72. The Nell Gwynne (Covent Garden WC2), using an alternate spelling of her name.

A prominent early English actress. It is not clear where she was born, but she grew up in Covent Garden, where nowadays a pub with her name (fig. 72) adjoins a local theatre. She became a star of restoration comedies in the 1660s, though her theatre career came to an end when she became a mistress to the King, Charles II.

viii. Eva Hart, 1905-1996

Born in Ilford, Hart lived and died in Chadwell Heath RM6, where a (JD Wetherspoon, again) pub is named in her honour. As a young girl, she was a survivor of the sinking of the RMS Titanic in 1912 and was prominently involved in related activities for most of her long life.

ix. Marie Lloyd, 1870-1922

Another figure from the theatrical world, Lloyd was a famous music hall singer, born Matilda Wood in Hoxton (in the Borough of Hackney). She gained popularity from her teenage years on, and was known for her racy double-entendre-filled songs. The Hackney Empire, a theatre built as a music hall in 1901 (and at which Marie Lloyd performed), was extended between 2001-04, and its new bar was named after Marie Lloyd.⁵

x. Sir John Morden, 1623-1708

A merchant, Member of Parliament and philanthropist, born in London. Unlike some of the other figures listed here, Sir John did have a connection with the area where the (former) pub named after him is located, having in 1695 established Morden College in nearby Blackheath, which continues to exist even now as a residential care charity.

xi. Sir Robert Peel, 1788-1850

Born in Bury, Peel served as a Tory MP in a number of northern constituencies (including a few ‘rotten boroughs’). He was Home Secretary and twice Prime Minister (1834-35 and 1841-46), but is best remembered for creating the modern police force when he founded the Metropolitan Police in London in 1829. He was an opponent of George Canning (see above), and resigned as Home Secretary when Canning came (briefly) to power.

As a prominent figure in London history, a number of pubs were named after him (others not pictured here are in Walthamstow E17 and Kingston KT1), though none is particularly salubrious. The one on Bishopsgate (opposite the entrance to Liverpool Street station) is now closed, but still retains its tiling and is very close to the modern police station on that street.

xii. Sir Paul Pindar, 1565-1650

A merchant and ambassador to the Ottomans, Pindar was born in Wellingborough but came to London early in his life. He lived in Bishopsgate and his house became a tavern (the Sir Paul Pindar’s Head) in the 18th century. In 1890, however, the building was demolished to make way for Liverpool Street station and its façade preserved in the Victoria & Albert museum. The pub was rebuilt shortly after and then demolished again in 1990; the name of the pub at the ground floor corner of what is now an office building is the only remaining link to the site’s long history.

xiii. Montagu Pyke, d. 1935

Proprietor of a London cinema chain in the first decades of the 20th century. The JD Wetherspoon pub named after him on Charing Cross Road WC2 was originally built as the 16th (and last) of his chain of cinemas. His life was filled with incident, as he tried out gold mining and the stock market amongst other occupations, before settling on the cinema business. He was eventually bankrupted when his crooked methods of financing were exposed in 1915.

xiv. John Snow, 1813-1858

Figure 73. The John Snow (Soho W1).

Born in York and moving to London in his 20s, Dr Snow gained fame through his epidemiological studies of cholera in Soho. The result of his work was that cholera was recognised as being water-borne, and the outbreak in 1854 was traced to a water pump on what is now called Broadwick Street. As such, the pub nearest to that fateful water-pump (a replica stands outside the pub) was renamed in his honour (fig. 73).⁶ There’s a very fine book (The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson) written about his researches into cholera, which I’d warmly recommend reading for a portrait of society (and Soho in particular) in that era. Interestingly, Dr Snow was also a teetotaller.

There are of course many more pubs named after famous Londoners, and I can only hope to mention more of these in a future post.

Addendum

xv. Jeremy Bentham, 1748-1832

An important figure in the philosophy of law, and influential as a utilitarian, it is Bentham’s links to University College London (UCL) that are most pertinent here, and which have led a pub on nearby University Street to take his name. His connections with London start with his birth in Spitalfields and his education at Westminster School. He was not active in the establishment of UCL, but his work and ideals inspired its creation and he presides over it as something of a patron. Indeed, his skeleton, dressed in his clothes with a wax head, is still on permanent display in the building (the preserved head is locked away, however).

xvi. William Camden, 1551-1623

An antiquarian and historian of the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, Camden was born in London and lived his later life in Chislehurst, which is at least in the same general area of South-East London as the pub named after him (which is in Bexleyheath DA7).⁷

xvii. Sir Alexander Fleming, 1881-1955

The Scottish biologist best known for his work in discovering penicillin, Fleming moved to London and enrolled at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington in his mid-20s, where he qualified with distinction and thereafter worked. As such, a nearby pub takes his name.

xviii. William Webb Ellis, 1806-1872

Born in Salford and educated at Rugby and Oxford, Webb Ellis has only negligible links to London itself, having worked in several West End churches in the mid-19th century. Indeed, as an Anglican clergyman, Webb Ellis is hardly, one would think, a fit candidate for being honoured by an outpost of JD Wetherspoon’s Lloyd’s bar chain. However, it his link to the game of rugby union (of which he is credited as the inventor during his time at Rugby School, though there is little strong evidence for this) that ensures his ‘immortalisation’ by this bar in Twickenham — where the Rugby Football Union and one of the country’s largest rugby stadiums are to be found.

xix. Charlotte Despard, 1844-1939

Born Charlotte French and with a nascent career as a novelist, it was not until the death of her husband in 1890 that Ms Despard became prominent for her work as a suffragist and social reformer (including early charitable work on behalf of the poor, as well as women’s suffrage, and later a range of causes: “Save the Children, the Indian independence movement, theosophy, the Labour Party and the early British Communist Party, the London Vegetarian Society, and the Irish Self Determination League”⁸), before moving to Ireland later in her life. The area of London with which she is most closely linked is Nine Elms in Battersea: she lived there and stood for Parliament (on behalf of the Labour Party) in the 1918 general election. Although there’s a street named after her in Battersea, this pub takes its name from Despard Road near Archway N19 (at the corner of which the pub is sited). Her primary links with this area appear to be confined to her imprisonment (twice) in nearby Holloway Prison, in 1907.

Footnotes
[1] A post about pubs named after famous literary figures may follow in the future, as there are plenty of them.
[2] The hanging sign which depicted him was removed by the Irish owners, with some suggestion that it may have been because he was English, which is obviously incorrect. The same blog post notes that the film County Kilburn (2000, dir. Elliot Hegarty) was shot in the pub.
[3] It might also be noted he is not the notable Canning after which the area of Canning Town was named (that was probably Charles Canning, George’s son).
[4] Incidentally, the area of the Isle of Dogs known as Cubitt Town takes its name from his younger brother, William Cubitt.
[5] The pub that was demolished for the extension work had been named The Samuel Pepys, after another prominent London figure (a literary one, hopefully to be covered in a future post).
[6] It was for most of its history called The Newcastle-on-Tyne.
[7] He gives his name to the Borough and area of north-west London only indirectly, as Charles Pratt, 1st Earl Camden (for whom Camden Town is named), took his title from his estate in Chislehurst, which was named for its original owner, William Camden.
[8] Margaret Mulvihill, “Despard, Charlotte (1844–1939),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: OUP, 2004); online edn, May 2010 (accessed 14 October 2010).

Of all the properties name-checked on the canonical (London) Monopoly board,¹ only one of them lies south of the River Thames, and it’s the one that has seen probably the most change over the last three-quarters of a century since that game was created. Of course, the Old Kent Road has always been a major thoroughfare and has changed greatly since it is first recorded, as part of the Roman road Watling Street,² but the twentieth century in particular has seen a vast amount of post-World War II rebuilding. Vast tracts of it are now taken up by council estates and huge branches of familiar retail chains like Tesco, Toys R Us, PC World, B&Q, Halfords and Asda.

Figure 68. The Lord Nelson (Walworth SE1).

To a certain extent this reflects rebuilding after wartime bombing, but it is also due to the flight of industry from the centre of London which had started happening even before then and has moved on progressively over the last century. One of the great lost rail termini of London was sited at the top of the Old Kent Road, Bricklayers’ Arms, and after an initial, abortive, attempt to compete with London Bridge station for passengers (Bricklayers’ Arms was opened in 1844 but closed to passenger traffic in 1852), it settled down for the remainder of its existence as a goods depot, meaning that many industries set up along the Old Kent Road and around the Bricklayers’ Arms terminus in Bermondsey. By the time it closed in 1983, most of the industrial works had long since moved out, leaving large tracts of bleak space, the remains of gasworks and other heavy industry, and a pall of underdevelopment.³ Efforts have been made at regeneration, of course, the most notable being the reclamation of much of the bombed land west of the Old Kent Road as a vast new open space, Burgess Park.⁴

With respect to this blog’s focus of interest, an 1878 text (available online), Old and New London by Edward Walford,⁵ includes the following passage about the Old Kent Road, which is instructive in just how much the road has changed:

The most noticeable feature in the Old Kent Road is the number of public-houses, each with its swinging sign and drinking-trough for horses.

Walford then goes on to mention a number of hostelries: The Kentish Drovers; The Thomas à Becket; The Shard Arms; and The World Turned Upside Down. None of these pubs is any longer open for business, although, rather surprisingly, the buildings of three of them still exist in some form.⁶ Of course, this was just a fraction of the total number which once ran the length of the road. The Dead Pubs website, an excellent resource, lists 39 drinking establishments, which I’ve listed in an appendix at the end for reference.

Remaining Pubs

Currently, there are only two pubs still trading on Old Kent Road. There are, in addition, a number of bars (not to mention bar/restaurants), though it can be difficult to get a sense of whether some of these are still in business, as many open late in the evenings or for occasional events only and give every appearance of not being in business (such as Virgo’s, Walworth SE1, or Clear Spirit Vodka Bar & Lounge, Peckham SE15).

The two remaining pubs are The Lord Nelson (Walworth SE1, fig. 68), around halfway down, and The Breffni Arms (Peckham SE15, fig. 11), towards the far, New Cross end of the road. Both pub buildings are impressive examples of Victorian pub building, with the latter a particularly striking example.

Closed Pubs

More impressive yet is The Thomas à Becket (Walworth SE1, fig 69). This landmark pub, latterly a boxing gym and now a gallery, stood on the old coaching road to Kent (hence Old Kent Road), named after a famous pilgrim who travelled this stretch of road to Canterbury. It was a well-used break on travellers’ journeys, as it stood by a crossing of the (now buried) River Neckinger,⁷ and the spot was thus known as St Thomas à Waterings.

Figure 69. The Thomas à Becket (Walworth SE1), now closed.

Of course, like many other pubs on this road, it has long since closed. However, its sizable presence along with The Green Man (Walworth SE1) and The Dun Cow (Bermondsey SE1), demonstrates well the former prominence of public houses in this part of London. The only other surviving pub buildings from the Victorian era are the comparatively modest The Duke of Kent (Bermondsey SE1), now a mosque, and The Kentish Drovers and Halfway House (Peckham SE15), though the latter still sports a rather striking mural depicting travellers in times past. As part of the modern A2, the road is still used heavily for travel, it’s just that few anymore feel the need to stop here.

Footnotes:
[1] As you know, the original 1935 Monopoly board was based on properties in Atlantic City, USA, though the British version followed very shortly after, going into production in 1936.
[2] These days “streets” do not tend to traverse most of the southern half of a country, but that is what the original Roman road did. The Old Kent Road is just a very small section of what originally extended from Dover to Wroxeter, and which in London also takes in Edgware Road and the section of it in the City which still bears its original name.
[3] Much of the land taken up by the old railway lines through South Bermondsey has already been reclaimed for housing developments.
[4] Work began in 1950 on what was then North Camberwell Open Space, and has continued for most of the 20th century, including the opening of a new recreational lake in 1982. The line of the old Grand Surrey Canal, which was finally closed in 1971 and then drained, has been incorporated into the park, with one branch of it forming a pleasant pedestrian and cycle path from Camberwell right up to Peckham Library. Information about the park is taken from Andrew Crowe, The Parks and Woodlands of London (1987), pp. 74-76.
[5] The six volumes are available on the British History website. The quoted passage is from this section on the Old Kent Road.
[6] The one no longer extant is The Shard Arms, at the corner of Peckham Park Road, which was demolished in the 1990s and replaced by a residential development. See Appendix for more information about the individual pubs.
[7] I took this information from the otherwise exceptional Russ Willey, Chambers London Gazetteer (Edinburgh: Chambers, 2006), but Diamond Geezer‘s information (along with that on Wikipedia) suggests that this was not in fact the River Neckinger but presumably another minor tributary now long-lost.

Appendix. List of Old Kent Road pubs.

WEST SIDE
2. The Bull (or The Black Bull). Demolished.
8-10. The Brighton. Demolished.
40. The King’s Arms. Demolished.
64-66. The Magnet. Demolished.
82-86. The Swan. Demolished.
148. The Brunswick Tavern. Still standing, now a bar called Virgo.
210a. The Prince Consort. Demolished.
224. [Beer house.] Demolished.
276-280. The Green Man. Still standing, now a bar called Pardis and a separate restaurant.
320-322. The Thomas à Becket. Still standing, now the Nolias Gallery.
338. [Beer house.] Demolished.
386. The Lord Nelson. Still trading.
490. The Oxford Arms. Demolished.
512-516. The Lord Wellington. 512-516. Still standing, since known as Vogue Bar, now closed.
578. The Alexandra. Demolished.
588. The Bridge House. Demolished.
602. The Britannia. Demolished.
610. The Shard Arms, since known as Cockneys. Demolished.
720-722. The Kentish Drovers (or The Kentish Drovers and Halfway House). Still standing, now a restaurant.
762. The Suffolk Arms. Demolished.
886. The Breffni Arms (formerly The Prince of Windsor, and The Prince of Saxe Coburg). Still trading.

EAST SIDE
9. The City Arms. Demolished.
37-39. The Bricklayers’ Arms. Demolished.
83. [Beer house.] Demolished.
87. The Horseshoe. Demolished.
103. [Beer house.] Demolished.
145. The World Turned Upside Down. Still standing, but now closed.
205-209. The Castle. Demolished.
279. The Dun Cow. Still standing, now a doctors’ surgery.
365. The Duke of Kent. Still standing, now a mosque.
561. Liddell’s Brewery. Demolished.
567. The New Half Way Inn. Demolished.
583. The William the Fourth. Demolished.
615. [Beer house.] Demolished.
623. [Beer house.] Demolished.
695a. The Manor House Tap. Demolished.
711. The Turk’s Head. Demolished.
799. The Rising Sun. Demolished.
827. The Elephant and Castle. Demolished.
871. The Gem Bar & Restaurant (formerly The Canterbury Arms). Still trading.

This time last year I did a ‘favourite pubs of 2008′ list on my own personal journal, and I know I try to avoid value judgments about pubs over here at Pubology, but as it’s the start of a new year I’m going to be self-indulgent. Normal service will return shortly, I hope. Please note that this is an entirely subjective list compiled by me (Ewan) based solely on pubs I visited last year, so this isn’t a list of my all-time favourite pubs and you may well disagree or have your own favourites, but I can only judge on the basis of the few pubs I visited during 2009.

In 2009, according to my spreadsheet (yes), I made 393 visits to pubs and bars, a total of 295 separate establishments (54 of them I visited more than once). The majority were in London.

Cosiest Pub
An important category this, and more so since I spent a very chilly evening in Soho the other night at a pub I generally like (so shan’t name), but which had little interest in keeping its patrons warm. Therefore, I present my award to The Bricklayers’ Arms (Putney SW15) which is still a pretty lovely place for a cosy pint, though The Hammersmith Ram (Hammersmith W6) gets my runner-up vote. Also, despite not having a fireplace, The Carpenters’ Arms (Bethnal Green E2) cheered me up with some mulled wine when I needed it most. I also really liked the wood-panelled rooms at The Clifton (St Johns Wood NW8), which was rather like drinking in someone’s very nicely-attired and clean home; I’d say the same for the snugs at The Fox and Anchor (Smithfield EC1), though I’d wager that had I visited at a busier time (i.e. any time but the weekday afternoon that I did visit), I’d have found it far less appealing.

Figure 65. Just some of the draught taps at The White Horse (Parsons Green SW6).

Best Beer Range
This year was my first visit to The White Horse (Parsons Green SW6) and both times I got to try some excellent beers. The first was during an American Beer Festival, but even returning on a regular day, I got to try some strange and exotic brews and my friends and I ended up taking a bit of a world tour (fig. 65), without ever having planned it. I must also mention Meantime’s pub The Greenwich Union (Greenwich SE10) because I do like their beers so very much and we need to support local(ish) brewers.

Favourite Food
I had a really great Sunday lunch at The Sandrock (Shirley CR0), halfway through doing one of the London Loop walks, and I’m hoping it was in some way indicative of a consistent quality to their kitchen, but if not, well, it was great that one time. The food at newcomer Cask (Pimlico SW1) was good, certainly, but the sandwiches set themselves apart by looking like crabs — OK, so I’m easy to please, but I wasn’t the only one. Mr G. Ramsay gets plenty of flak for his ventures, but The Narrow (Limehouse E14, fig. 53) still managed to serve me some enjoyable food early last year. Plus I need to give a special shout out to The Coach and Horses (Clerkenwell EC1) for the quality of their scotch eggs.

Favourite Beer Garden
I’m going to go with The Horseshoe (Clerkenwell EC1), partly because the garden was so surprising, given it looks like a tiny one-room hut from outside. (We were also able to watch what was going on out there on a TV screen, for some reason, but it was beguiling.) Also — though not really a beer garden at all — the al fresco Portuguese-inspired dining at The Gun (Blackwall E14) was one of my fondest summer memories of 2009.

Most Reliable Central Pub
This category seems to get won by locals’ and estate-style pubs, as I gave it to The Shakespeare’s Head (Finsbury EC1, fig. 13) last time. That pub remains a decent place, but this year I’m going to plump for The Newton Arms (Covent Garden WC2). It only has a couple of ales, but they’re both well-kept and the service is always, always and reliably, friendly and warm.

Figure 66. The Lost Angel (Battersea SW11).

Favourite Non-Central Area for Pubs
This year, I’m picking Battersea. It doesn’t hurt that my ex-girlfriend moved there during the year, so I got to try a few different establishments, but I’ve been impressed in the past by the occasional pubs I visited in the neighbourhood. The Duchess (SW8) remains a good bet for a drink, with a pleasant roof terrace overlooking the majestic and crumbling Power Station, while The Victoria (SW8) doesn’t go in for pretentions, but offers a decent local with a good solid food menu (and plenty of TV screens for sports fans). Other pubs along Battersea Bridge and Park Roads are pretty strong, but my favourite was easily The Lost Angel (SW11, fig. 66), which is sort-of-a-pub, sort-of-a-bar, but manages to strike a great balance, with a fine cocktail list, some good wines (including tasty mulled wine in winter) and a great selection of mostly local ales on handpull.

Favourite Chain Pub
Fuller’s: They’ve done well in creating a fine range of pubs, and they remain my favourite of the brewery-operated chains for dependability alone (not to mention that London Pride remains my stand-by ale when the choice is limited, over Young’s ordinary, and certainly edging out the other London-named beers this year, Young’s London Gold and Greene King’s Royal London — though Meantime’s London Pale Ale still has my vote on that matter). This year, I made more inroads into West London, which meant encountering Fuller’s more often, and The Drayton Court (West Ealing W13) was a great pub in most respects: really very friendly service, and loads of space, though still managing to feel cosy. I also had a pleasant experience in The Mad Hatter (Borough SE1), stopping by in poor weather on the way to a movie and finding friendly service and a tasty pie.

Mitchells & Butlers: Their ‘Castle’ sub-brand provides decent quality in food and a good range of beers (if very standardised across their estate). This year I recall a nice meal, some warming mulled wine and a lovely view across the frosty heath at The Princess of Wales (Blackheath SE3), a cosy and attractive pub in a well-to-do corner of South-East London.

Antic: Antic Pubs continue to expand their reach, and there’s good reason. They haven’t always got it quite right — and some of those rickety second-hand antique chairs and tables they go in for can be trying — but when they do, they provide a cracking local like The Royal Albert (New Cross SE14).

Young’s: They have a patchy estate, including a number of dull bar refits that can count my least favourite venue of 2009 among them (The Stinging Nettle, Shepherd’s Bush W12, to name and shame), but The Morpeth Arms (Pimlico SW1) gets my vote this year for having a lovely and cosy upstairs room with a great view of MI6 the Thames.

Punch Taverns/Spirit Group: Again, a standardised menu gives consistency across their outlets, and setting aside the hideousness of my experience with the vegetarian ‘fish’ and chips (it was slightly better the second time when I tried a bit of a friend’s), The Imperial (Leicester Square WC2) remains very dependable, more so now that they’ve dispensed with the TV screens. However, The Museum Tavern (Bloomsbury WC1) provided the best surprise, with a really very decent range of ales available even if it was (predictably) busy with tourists.

Sam Smith’s: I still visit them from time to time, and they certainly still have their place. In fact, I’ve been learning to appreciate them more than in previous years. There’s not much among their various pubs, though — the same food, the same drinks, and a remarkable consistency in (often echt-historical) decor — so it’s very much a matter of personal preference. I think the visit to The Glasshouse Stores (Soho W1) was my favourite of the year, and when they open their downstairs bar, it offers more space to spread out than many pubs in the area.

Geronimo Inns: These guys are really very hit-and-miss. For every pleasant refurb they’ve done — and my favourite this year was probably The Elgin (Ladbroke Grove W11) — there’s an equal number of bland modern outlets in shopping centres, airports and just off Oxford St (not that there’s much competition in those places, so they’re at least dependable).

Favourite Non-Pub
Not every visit I make is to a pub, and I have a great fondness for (the right kind of) bars. Terroirs (Strand WC2) was pretty great for a central place to meet up. However, I think my favourite overall would have to be Albertine (Shepherd’s Bush W12), not least because it’s the most civilised place for a drink in that unfriendly and chain-dominated part of town, but also because it has a great range of wine and it’s not too expensive for the quality (plus decent food and cheese). For cocktails, my favourite was the bar at Bob Bob Ricard (Soho W1).

Most and Least Improved
The Duke of Wellington (De Beauvoir Town N1) started the year out as The Wellington, not a bad place by any means, but its subsequent refurbishment under new management upped its game considerably. It now has a great range of beers (not to mention putting on the occasional beer festival), wines and top-notch food and snacks (including scotch eggs, pork pies and even veggie pasties).

The Hope (Fitzrovia W1), however, which was my most visited pub in 2009 (mainly due to its convenience to my workplace), really slid downhill. I continue to hope it’s just a blip, but it’s going to be a long time before I forget the time we arranged to meet up there, only to find there was no beer available at all on either draught or pump.

‘Favourite’ Gimmick Bar
A special category to honour LiquidNation (Ladbroke Grove W10), a ridiculous recession-themed venture offering all drinks and food at £2.50, some odd decor choices, and vast portraits of financial misadventurers across the spectrum of public and private enterprise. It sustained a few visits on sheer WTF/LOL value, but it wasn’t really very good on the whole.

Favourite Overall

Figure 67. The Seven Stars (Holborn WC2).

1. The Seven Stars (Strand WC2, fig. 67). This is a tiny place, and on most evenings it gets ridiculously crowded with local lawyers, as it is sited directly behind the Royal Courts of Justice. However, on my only visit we managed to get a small table in the corner, and it was a substantial success on the quality of the beer (mostly from Dark Star, an excellent Sussex brewery and one of my favourites this year), the service and the quirky atmosphere. I bet the food is good too, but we didn’t get to try it.

2. The Gunmakers (Clerkenwell EC1, fig. 46). I held my birthday drinks here, and I did so because it’s one of my favourite pubs. In some ways it may not have been the best choice for my birthday as I had too many people trying to fit into what remains a pretty tiny pub, but it was a great success. Everyone who went thought it was a great pub, as indeed it is. There’s a strong focus on the quality of the ales, and no less on good lager and a decent wine list, plus my burger was really very tasty. (We also put away a fair amount of whisky on that occasion.)

3. The Duke of Wellington (De Beauvoir Town N1), see above (“Most and Least Improved”).

4. The Lost Angel (Battersea SW11, fig. 66), see above (“Favourite Non-Central Area for Pubs”).

5. The Bricklayers’ Arms (Putney SW15). You can go far with good beers (Timothy Taylor’s), a cosy pub (see above, “Cosiest Pubs”) and a warm welcome. It doesn’t hurt that there’s not a great amount of local competition.

6-10. For the other half of of my top ten, I present newcomer Cask (Pimlico SW1), which made us happy with its strength in ales and its good food (see above), despite the slightly offputting estate pub exterior and pretentious full name (“Cask Pub & Kitchen”). A proper local is North Nineteen (Upper Holloway N19), which again has a misleading name (it suggests a bland bar to me), but turns out to be a really very fine pub with good beers and a good sized back room for larger gatherings. The White Horse (Parsons Green SW6) I’ve already mentioned above for its beer range, but it’s really worth avoiding at busy times if you’re not a fan of the aspirational middle-classes (it’s not nicknamed the Sloaney Pony for nothing). Back in central London, The Red Lion [Crown Passage] (St James’s SW1) was a fine pub with no great frills, but a cheerful chap tending the bar and some cosy rooms. Finally, I mustn’t overlook my favourite pub of last year, The Royal Oak (Borough SE1), which was no less good in 2009, still with some great beers, still offering satisfying food, still a dependable pub in a good area for them.

Runners-Up:
I also wanted to mention two quite different places, but not so far apart geographically, The Exmouth Arms (Somers Town NW1, fig. 36) and The Lexington (Pentonville N1). On a horrible rainy night, The Exmouth was just what was needed, with good music, comfy banquettes and the stench of chip fat proper pub food. The Lexington itself knows how to do really good food, but is more of a bar with an American theme. What this means is a huge range of bourbons, some good American beers, and some really good bands stopping by to play the upstairs room, but also plenty of hipsters. Still, relaxing there on a Sunday afternoon was one of my rituals of last year, and will probably continue to be throughout 2010.

Finally let me just mention my friends over at Freaky Trigger, who have been compiling their own series summing up their London pubs of the ’00s, and which is proving every bit as subjective.

Figure 63. The Lord Roberts (Upper Woodcote CR8), now closed.

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. 63), 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

Another former temperance venue is The Walmer Castle (Marylebone W1, fig. 64), 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 64. 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).

Figure 55. The Water Poet (Spitalfields E1).

Even the most basic examples are eye-catching. Some simple red tiling enlivens The Water Poet (Spitalfields E1, fig. 55), 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.

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, fig. 36.).

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. 56).

Figure 56. 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. 57). It sticks out particularly through the canny use of shades of blue and purple, colours which aren’t often seen on pubs.

Figure 57. 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. 58) are as good as any examples one might pick.

Figure 58. 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, now closed).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. 59). 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 59. 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. 60), The Macbeth (Hoxton N1, formerly The White Hart), and The Dog and Duck (Soho W1).

Figure 60. 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. 61-62), 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 61. The Marquis of Lorne (Stockwell SW9).

Figure 62. 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.

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. 54), on Woburn Place.

Figure 54. 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.

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.

See Also:
You might want to look at this piece by Martyn Cornell. The “gastropub” is now, apparently, dead. Or perhaps, rather, the term has just become meaningless.

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!