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).

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.

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.

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!

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.

Muriel Spark is an author I do not perhaps know enough about, but living near Peckham I was inspired to read her novella The Ballad of Peckham Rye (1960). I should really have paid attention earlier, for she has a wonderful turn of phrase. Also, quite apart from providing an acutely observed story of interlocking characters working at various factories in the Peckham area, whose relationships are soon rent asunder by the anti-heroic protagonist Dougal Douglas, it also makes reference to the changing character of this working class neighbourhood in the middle part of the 20th century, both its commercial life and its pubs.

The very first page tracks spurned lover Humphrey’s progress around various drinking establishments.

He got back into the little Fiat and drove away along the Grove [Lane] and up to the Common where he parked outside the Rye Hotel. Here he lit a cigarette, got out, and entered the saloon bar…. He walked across to the White Horse and drank one bitter. Next he visited the Morning Star and the Heaton Arms. He finished up at Harbinger. (p. 7)

Except for the last, all these pubs existed and were clustered around the southern end of the Peckham Rye Common. The Rye Hotel (now just the Rye, Peckham SE15, fig. 18) probably still looks much as it did back then, with the ironwork picking out its former name in gold lettering, and the old Taylor Walker lamps and sign in evidence, even if now (in common with most pubs) the saloon and public bars are no longer kept separate.

The White Horse (Peckham SE15, fig. 44) is still down the road a little and over the other side, still half-timbered mock Tudor, but with a slightly disturbing modern sign, while opposite it at the top of Rye Lane is the Morning Star (now called the Nag’s Head, Peckham SE15). The Heaton Arms was on the corner to the south of the Morning Star, but has since been demolished to make way for a residential development.

Figure 44. The White Horse (Peckham SE15).

Most of the novel’s drinking action, however, takes place at the Harbinger, which is not a name attested by any local pubs. In Ed Glinert’s Literary London (2000), the Harbinger is linked to another demolished pub, this one on Denmark Hill in Camberwell (the Golden Lion, 23 Denmark Hill, at the corner with Orpheus Street),¹ which sat out the front of the old Camberwell Palace of Varieties, presumably on the basis of the following quote:

A bright spiky chandelier and a row of glittering crystal lamps set against a mirror behind the bar – though in fact these had been installed since the war – were designed to preserve in theory the pub’s vintage fame in the old Camberwell Palace days. (p. 107)²

There are, however, references in the novel (further up the same page, in fact) that suggest the pub must have been a composite:

And so they followed Dougal and Beauty up Rye Lane to the Harbinger. Beauty was half-way through the door of the saloon bar, but Dougal had stopped to look into the darkness of the Rye beyond the swimming baths… (p. 107)

Denmark Hill is not particularly close to Peckham Rye, but there was apparently a lido on the Rye Common itself,³ nearest to the King’s Arms (later a crime-blighted club named Kings on the Rye), at the corner of East Dulwich Road, now demolished.⁴ (The only other pub to overlook the Rye is the Herne Tavern (Honor Oak SE22), further to the south.)

It’s just a pity some of the other details in her novel weren’t more true, but then she’s tapping into a deep sub-strata of mythmaking and mysticism surrounding the Rye (perhaps most famously encapsulated in William Blake’s vision of an angel). Her story of Boadicea has little basis even in legend, and the tantalising storyline involving secret tunnels dug between Nunhead and the police station on Meeting House Lane are entirely false, though they live on in local legend (as seen on the board outside The Old Nun’s Head pub).

Footnotes:
[1] There is a page on the pub at the excellent genealogical Dead Pubs website. The relevant section of Ed Glinert’s book (2000) is on p. 348 and discusses this and others pubs mentioned in the novel.
[2] Further information about Camberwell music halls may be found here at arthurlloyd.co.uk. Archive photos (which also show the Golden Lion) may be found on a page at the Theatres Trust website.
[3] Thanks to my commenter for the information (see below). See this article about former lidos and outdoor pools in London for more information. The baths were located in the triangle of land at the very north of Peckham Rye Park.
[4] A picture of the pub can be seen in this page on Toby and John King’s transport history website. Dead Pubs has a page with some historical details of the King’s Arms. It was apparently destroyed in the Blitz, prior to Spark’s novel, which further complicates any identification of the Harbinger.

London has a lot of postal districts. Just taking the London-specific ones (W, NW, N, E, SE, SW, EC and WC), there are 119. And most of these have a good range of pubs, too, though most obviously cluster in the centre of town. Not SE21, though: this postal district we can cover quickly. I now have photos of all three (that’s 3) of its pubs.

The vast majority of SE21 (1,500 acres of it, to be precise) comes under the management of The Dulwich Estate, an organisation which is separate from Dulwich College (which itself owns vast tracts of pristine playing fields and attractive college buildings), but which funnels money into the College and other schools as a charitable venture.

Clearly, public houses are not a priority of the Dulwich Estate. In fact, there is only one hostelry in the centre of Dulwich Village, which is The Crown and Greyhound (Dulwich Village SE21, fig. 41). It retains in its name some sense of the history behind it, as there were originally two separate pubs, one on either side of the road, at this location. However, at the turn of the 20th century, these merged into the one larger pub, leaving more spaces for the organic delicatessens and baby clothing boutiques, such as befit the area.

Figure 41. The Crown and Greyhound (Dulwich Village SE21).

The remaining two pubs lie to the West of the Village. One is what is commonly referred to as a ‘gastropub’, The Rosendale (West Dulwich SE21, fig. 42). This appellation may be more warranted than in many cases, given that fine dining isn’t otherwise particularly plentiful in this area (surprisingly), so hungry locals must congregate with those merely slaking their thirst.

Figure 42. The Rosendale (West Dulwich SE21).

Of course, Mitchells & Butlers’ suburban brand Ember Inns provides a third option for the residents of SE21, which is The Alleyn’s Head (West Dulwich SE21, fig. 43), not perhaps as rarefied as the other two, and occupying a large site off Park Hall Road, with prominent car parking out front, looking for all the world like a Wetherspoon’s manqué.

Figure 43. The Alleyn’s Head (West Dulwich SE21).

If there’s a lesson to be drawn from all this, it’s that you’d be better off living elsewhere if it’s a quick pint down the local that you count on in the evening. Then again, you’re unlikely to be able to afford to live here, anyway.

Long time, no update: I’ll bet you thought I’d gone away. Well, it’s the New Year and I’ve been fairly lax about updating here, so I’m thinking of adding more short blog-like posts to fill the downtime between me getting around to writing longer pieces. My compulsion to ensure I have a photo of all the relevant pubs, rather delays me actually writing anything.

Something to get us going again are buildings in the centre of the West End which you’d be forgiven for not realising had ever been pubs in the first place. Probably the original ground level entrances have been completely remodelled, or you’ve just been in such a rush to get out of the crowds you hadn’t noticed the buildings themselves, some of which have giveaway clues (for example, the name of pub in permanent architectural lettering¹), many of which don’t. In fact, most of these buildings I hadn’t myself noticed until I’d done some research and had compared the addresses.

Charing Cross Road

Take our first example, The Excelsior (Soho WC2, fig. 37) at the top of Charing Cross Road. Putting aside the pane of glass which makes up most of its frontage, it’s just about possible to imagine the pub signage running above street level where now it says “Harmony”, and those boxy pillars framing a street-level window. There remains some rather nice ironwork around the discreet entranceway to Falconberg Court on the left, too, though when this was a pub, there would hardly have been any need for smokers to stand huddled under there. It hasn’t been a pub for a long time, probably not since the early part of the 20th century. In any case, it is now condemned, along with the Astoria Theatre it sits alongside, and indeed the rest of this city block, destined to become an enlarged Tottenham Court Road station as part of the vast new cross-London underground railway which has fetchingly been named Crossrail.

Figure 37. The Excelsior (Soho WC2), now condemned.

Moving further south along the street, the provenance of what is now a rather bleak-looking restaurant called Scotch Steak Houses is more obvious, thanks to its prominent lettering (it was, as it proclaims, rebuilt as the Tam o’ Shanter, though was called the Palace Tavern after that, before closing as a pub in 1960).

A building that’s less obviously a former pub, due to its extensive reconstruction, is The Rose and Crown (Soho WC2). It has been part of Foyle’s since very early in the 20th century (Foyle’s moved to the road in 1906), and the interior has been completely gutted and integrated with the larger adjoining buildings (this was done around 1913).² Its name comes simply from the names of the streets at the corner of which it sits: Crown Street and Rose Street. Its identity however, has been doubly erased, as the former is now Charing Cross Road and the latter Manette Street.

Figure 38. The Rose and Crown (Soho WC2), now Foyle’s bookshop.

Oxford Street

Returning to our starting point and turning left into Oxford Street, one quickly comes across a couple of buildings which, like almost every other on this street, have been completely remodelled at ground level and now present discount goods for undiscerning buyers, often with English language schools upstairs.

The Primrose (Soho W1) is up first, less obvious and now more garish. Moving a few doors along, The Queen’s Head (Soho W1) gives itself away by featuring prominently its former identity (on the garret tower reads “1880 | Walton | Old Queen’s Head” — in other words, when the pub was rebuilt and the name of its publican at the time, William Walton).

Figure 39. The Old Queen’s Head (Soho W1), now converted to a shop.

Further along Oxford Street, few other former pub buildings survive (if any), certainly if the evidence of the spectacularly unattractively rebuilt Hog in the Pound (Mayfair W1) is anything to go by.

Inside Soho

Moving in from the borders, a number of buildings stick out. Still one of the most famous pubs in the area is The Intrepid Fox (Soho W1), on Wardour Street, which after several hundred years finally closed in 2006 amid much outcry,³ though it has since relocated to a new site behind Centre Point tower. Even now, the original building still remains in place, boarded up, surely making no profit for its owners who were so hasty to be rid of its occupants.

Turning into Broadwick Street from Wardour, one quickly comes across another former pub building, now in use as a celebrated (and very fine) record shop called Sounds of the Universe. Back when this stretch was called Edward Street, this was The Bricklayers’ Arms (Soho W1). Unlike a lot of former pub buildings in the West End, the tiling on the pub’s facade hasn’t been painted over (or removed to be replaced by a new ground level), so it still shines out from the other buildings along this stretch of road — except that is, of course, the Blue Posts which sits on the very next corner. There’s certainly no shortage of pubs around here even now.

Figure 40. The Bricklayers’ Arms (Soho W1), now a record shop.

Turning up Berwick Street (away from the Blue Posts), there is a building on the corner now occupied by yet another prospective fast food chain franchise, and which was once The Crown and Apple Tree (Soho W1). Of course, in the familiar fashion, the ground level is completely reconstructed, so there’s little left to suggest its former use.

These are just a few buildings in this area which once were pubs. Many more have been demolished to make way for new uses: new shopping centres or stations, new roads or office blocks. The Excelsior, featured at the start of this post, is just another example of this impulse in London to make way for the new by getting rid of what went before.

Footnotes

[1] “Architectural” lettering is embedded in the very fabric of the building. It’s often to be found at the top of old pubs. It must be distinguished from “fascia” lettering, which are signs affixed to the facades of buildings, usually advertising the shop or pub name.

[2] Dates are taken from F.H.W. Sheppard (ed.), Survey of London, volumes 33/34 (1966), available online at British History. The reference to these buildings is here.

[3] See contemporary reports on BBC News for further information on the background to this.

The idle traveller around London is still frequently exhorted to “TAKE COURAGE” by pubs (fig. 34), and even occasionally other buildings which retain their old signage. This is, of course, no mere public-spirited advice; it is advertising. Where nowadays the imperative has been hijacked by Fuller Smith Turner’s brewers and amended to “Take Pride”,¹ the original harks back to the brewery firm founded by John Courage in 1787.

Figure 34. The Amersham Arms (New Cross SE14).

History

Courage started his brewing business in a location by Tower Bridge — the Anchor Brewhouse (fig. 35) — and the company remained based in South-East London until very near the end of their existence. This first site is still there, clearly visible from the bridge, even if now it’s been turned into expensive waterside apartments.

Figure 35. Anchor Brewhouse (Bermondsey SE1), now apartments.

For 150 years, this remained the arrangement, until a 1955 merger with Barclay Perkins & Co., who did their brewing at the larger Anchor Brewery, not far along the Thames.² The story thereafter becomes one complicated by mergers and acquisitions. Five years later, Barclay Perkins merged with Simonds & Co. (of Reading), then Georges & Co. (of Bristol) in 1961, and John Smith & Co. (of Yorkshire) in 1970, though the name returned to plain Courage & Co. in this same year. Then they were sold to Imperial Tobacco in 1972, and in the mid-1980s a new brewery was opened in Reading to replace both the Anchor breweries.³

The Courage brewery was now sold to the Australian company Elders IXL in 1986, who became Foster’s Group in 1990, then merged a year later with the brewing operations of Grand Metropolitan (later to become known as Diageo), which owned Truman Hanbury Buxton and Watney Mann, two other key London players who are now extinct. This newly-enlarged Foster’s was purchased by Scottish & Newcastle in 1995 as its brewing arm, while the pub chain (under the brand Inntrepreneur Estates) was hived off and largely sold after the 1991 Beer Orders.⁴ Most recently, in 2007, Wells & Young’s have obtained the rights to brew the remaining Courage beers.

Insignia

The most distinctive symbol to be found on Courage’s tied pubs was the rooster, most of the surviving examples of which are painted gold. Generally these are found perched atop the hanging signs. A more modest version of this same symbol, on a square red plastic background, can also often be seen affixed to pub buildings. It’s also worth noting the signs often hang off a pole held together by two iron supports with five holes punched in each (as may be seen, for example, on the sign hanging off The Prince Albert, Greenwich SE10, amongst many others).

Figure 36. The Exmouth Arms (Somers Town NW1). It has all three of the features noted above.

What Now?

You can still drink Courage’s beers. Their Courage Best and Courage Directors are fairly commonly available and represent perfectly decent session ales. So, this Christmas, have a good holiday season, and remember. Take Courage.

See also:
Photos of all Courage pubs that I have on my Flickr.

Footnotes

[1] This is a reference to their London Pride ale.
[2] This brewery was located on Park Street in Bankside. It was founded as far back as 1616, purchased by Henry Thrale in 1729, and came under the control of Robert Barclay and John Perkins in the early-18th century. After a huge fire in the mid-19th century it was rebuilt, but closed in 1981 and was largely demolished at this time to be replaced by Council housing. All that remains is The Anchor pub (the “brewery tap”, a name for a pub which adjoins a brewer and dispenses its wares directly) and some outlying buildings, such as one which may have been The Golden Anchor (Borough SE1) and which retains the ‘Take Courage’ banner.
[3] This brewery is itself set to close, with the takeover of Scottish & Newcastle by InBev. CAMRA provides some reportage here in its inimitably unbiased fashion (“no one it appears wants the mass of fizzy yellow liquid…”), inadvertently bringing to our attention the fine compound noun “mega-keggery”.
[4] Details of the changes in ownership are sourced from Jack S. Blocker Jr., Ian R. Tyrrell and David M. Fahey, Alcohol and Temperance in Modern Society: An International Encyclopedia (ABC-CLIO, 2003), accessed online. There is also useful information in the Wikipedia article. The Beer Orders are discussed in my earlier post on Mitchells & Butlers, another former brewer with extensive estate holdings.

There are quite a lot of pubs incorporating the name “Castle”, either that on its own or appended to the name of a place.¹ One presumes the popularity of the name — the idea of the “castle” — comes from it being a fortress against the outside world, the province of lords and kings, an unreconstructed masculine space exerting authority over the world, not to mention a scene of carousing. I’m guessing at this, of course.

Perhaps this is also the reason there don’t seem to be quite so many really nice pubs by that name any more. In fact, a lot of my examples seem to be closed or renamed, though admittedly there are still a lot of pubs by that name I haven’t collected photographs of, which may disprove that perceived trend. A representative example of this may be The Castle (Camberwell SE5, now closed, fig. 31), where the name is an almost desperate bid by an estate pub to latch onto some grandeur in a egregiously run-down part of town. Its sign is a particularly fine example of wishful thinking.

Figure 31. The Castle (Camberwell SE5), now closed.

Implied Castles

My conceptual imagining of the meaning behind the “castle” extends to places named after a local street or area, the pub thus becoming the metaphoric castle ruling over that area, the modern equivalent of that mediaeval stronghold. So we have The Holloway Castle (now The Castle Bar, just off Holloway Road, Lower Holloway, N7), The Alwyne Castle (now The Alwyne, near Alwyne Square, Canonbury N1), or The Dover Castle (on Great Dover Street, Borough, SE1) — the latter also doubling as a real castle popular in pub names.

Actual Castles

Where a specific castle is mentioned, there may be a more complicated origin. For example, The Dublin Castle (Camden Town NW1, fig. 32) may at first glance suggest the nationality of an earlier wave of immigrants to the area, surviving in several other Irish pubs nearby and throughout North-West London. However, a more interesting history lies behind it, as it was built during a period of intense railway construction — Camden Town lies just behind the major London termini of Euston, St Pancras and King’s Cross, where their many lines intersect and run through tunnels to the North — and the construction workers (navvies), sourced from all over the United Kingdom, were prone to factionalism. Hence the Dublin Castle served the Irish workers, while other pubs were built in other parts of the area (but not too close by) for the rest of the navvies. Thus there’s The Edinboro Castle (Camden Town NW1) for the Scots, as well as a Windsor Castle for the English and a Pembroke Castle for the Welsh.

Figure 32. The Dublin Castle (Camden Town NW1), undoubtedly to be encountered again in a later entry on music pubs.

References to royal castles, however, can suggest royalist sympathies amongst the drinkers, though these are perhaps not so strong now as in the past. There are plenty of Windsor Castles and even a (former) Balmoral Castle (now Kennedy’s, Lower Holloway N7).

A rarer case is The Baynard Castle (now the Cos Bar, Blackfriars EC4), which refers to an actual historic castle, Baynard’s Castle, which was sited in that area and which still lends its name to the local council Ward.²

But quite why such castles as Eastnor Castle (Somers Town NW1)³ or Thornbury Castle (Marylebone W1) are referenced in the names of pubs is a bit less obvious. One can only assume the original publican came from those respective parts of the country (Herefordshire and Gloucestershire in the examples given).

One Last Castle

History again informs the naming of Jack Straw’s Castle (Hampstead NW3, fig. 33), a former pub dominating the north-western corner of Hampstead Heath. Jack Straw was a fourteenth-century leader of the Peasant’s Revolt who was reputed to have fomented rebel sentiment by addressing groups on the local Heath.⁵ You won’t see much of that kind of behaviour in modern Hampstead, but then again nor are you likely to be able to take a drink in the pub that bears his name. Like many of the pictured examples, the modern “castle” is no longer a pub, but residential accommodation. The metaphorical has become literal: a man’s home is still his local pub.

Figure 33. Jack Straw’s Castle (Hampstead NW3).

Footnotes
[1] This is quite apart from places called “The Elephant and Castle”, which I have no intention of discussing, nor of getting into the various possible etymologies of that name, most of them largely apocryphal. There’s certainly no persuasive evidence of the popular ‘Infanta y Castilla’ corruption.
[2] See the Wikipedia entry. It was destroyed in the Great Fire of London, 1666.
[3] See Wikipedia entry. It’s not even a real castle, but a 19th century impostor. For the Thornbury Castle, here’s a Wikipedia entry as well. You can see where I do a lot of my research, but I do have books as well.
[4] See Wikipedia entry, an attractive looking place, unlike the pub off Marylebone Road, a thoroughfare rarely described as particularly beautiful or pristine.
[5] See Wikipedia entry.