Ballad of Peckham Rye pubs

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.

Pubs by Area: SE21

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.

Former Pubs of Soho

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 Pub Chain: Courage

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.

Pubs Named After Castles

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.